Going postal?

Being patient and flexible has been crucial to my success thus far in Honduras. Things are constantly being changed, people don`t show up when they say they are going to and things take 10 times as long to get done here than I`ve ever experienced. I am surely rolling with the punches. The most recent jab was received last week when I went to the post office (aka the house of a women named Yolanda where the mail for my town is delivered from a nearby larger town). She came to the door and began, ¨Fijese que...¨ which in Spanish translate to something like,¨Here´s the thing...¨. She proceeded to tell me that after 14 years of providing this service to my town of El Porvenir that it will no longer be provided. So, not a big deal, I have rented a PO Box in the La Ceiba, so I do have a new address for you to continue sending all of the wonderful things you have been sending. Yesterday I got the announcement of my best friends new son, last week a dear friend sent fall leaves pressed in wax paper to give me a taste of the Northeast Ohio autumn I missed so dearly and a few weeks ago I received 18 individual letters from my friends classroom of students asking some great questions about what I am doing here and Honduras. Thank you so much for all of the great mail. I received some good news today that I may be able to move into my new house as soon as this weekend and when I do I can`t wait to decorate my walls with all of the beautiful pictures I`ve received. Here`s the new address:

Jessica Dillworth

Apartado Postal #911

La Ceiba, Atlantida

Honduras, Central America

Don`t worry about the letters and packages currently in route, they will get to me. Believe it or not my Spanish is good enough that I was able to go to the post office, explain what I needed and that I was still waiting for mail going to my old address and rent a PO box! This patience thing is really paying off!

We are family!

When the Peace Corps matched me up with a host family in El Porvenir I think they did so based on my picture because I really look like I could be one of them. Here is a picture of my host brother and sister at the river. The other evening my host mother and I were doing some front porch sittin when a neighbor pulled up on his bicycle to shoot the breeze. I followed most of their conversation up until the part where he gave me the ol´ lip point and asked if I was Mariza´s niece and she shook her head yes. Certainly I had misheard . When the conversation was concluded and the man drove off I asked Maritza if she had told the man I was her niece. She said yes! She explained that I looked so much like her niece Lora that lives in the states that everyone just assumed I was her. She just went with it, why, I am not exactly clear. I told her that as soon as I open my mouth people know I am not Honduran. She explains to people that I have lived in the states my whole life and I am just visiting here for a couple of years so that’s why I don`t speak Spanish very well. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone, why on earth is she telling people this? When I asked that question she said something about it just being easier and more private. I think the reason may be that she thinks they will become a target if they know a Gringa is living there because we are all filthy rich don`t you know! They were supposed to make me feel like one of the family, but I think this is a bit much! Here is my host family playing cards.

¿Scooby Doo, donde estas?

Some things just dont translate. The other day I brought home a jigsaw puzzle to do with my family. There are lots of days when everyone just kind of sits around not doing too much, especially with all of the rain recently, so I thought this would spice things up a bit. Wanting to share a little of my culture I thought, this is the kind of thing we up north might do on a rainy day, right? At first they didn´t know what it was, then once I got the box opened they informed me that they call it “rompe cabeza”, literally translating to “break head” because, apparently, that’s what such a brain teaser does to you when you are trying to figure it out. We were off to a great start; my host sisters and brother were really into it as I guided them through how to start. First we flip all of the pieces face up, then we look for all of the pieces with a flat edge to work on the outside first. It took us a while but the first couple pieces were matched after a couple of minutes to which I said jokingly, “Only 498 more to go!” at which my host mother gave a hearty chuckle. Being able to make jokes in the language you are trying to learn is so encouraging. Sarcasm and making people laugh is something I thrive on in my “normal life”, but those are the kinds of things that don’t translate exactly in Spanish, so its fun figuring out how to make it work. So we are sailing along with this puzzle, which by the way is a fall scene of a little house on a lake with the autumn colored leaves reflecting on the water, (sniffle sniffle, makes me miss home a little, but thanks to my friend Joy, I miss it a little less after receiving her the beautiful fall leaves from NE Ohio!). I start to notice that not only is my younger sister jamming the pieces to make them fit no matter what (seriously, her face was all scrunched up while she was doing it as if saying “I am going to make this thing fit if it’s the last thing I do”, I think she was even grunting a little bit), but parts of the outline that had already been put together are completely wrong. Boy was the rule following , coloring within the lines anxious ridden person I normally am being tested. I gently encouraged my younger host sister to be a little more kind to the poor puzzle pieces and politely showed my older host sister how the pieces on the outside didn`t quite match up. After about an hour everyone gave up and I optimistically suggested that our brains just needed a break and we could try another day. The next day I came home and the puzzle was boxed back up and put in my room.

Lifes a Beach.

A land lover I have never been, at sea is where I would rather be any day. Of the many beautiful, natural attributes El Porvenir has to offer, I must say the Caribbean Sea is #1 for me. Growing up on Lake Erie I have such fond memories of Edgewater Park and the beaches all along the northeast coast of Ohio. Happily I report that I am right at home with the sea a few minutes walk from where I live and work. Angela, Marvin and I took a walk to the beach the other day and I touched the water for the first time since I have been here, ahhh, what a refreshing feeling after all of the gloomy days we have been having this rainy season. Angela and I hiked up our skirt and pants respectively, flung off our shoes as fast as they would drop off our feet and hand in hand ran down the surf as small waves crashed into our feet and legs. Que rico! Que rico Jessica! (how refreshing) Angela said about a billion times. Uncertain whether she was simply enjoying our time together or if she never does this I made mental note to take advantage of this type of outing with the kids more often. Sand castle building contests, beach volleyball and skipping rocks have made their way to my agenda. Marvin found some other boys to play soccer with on the beach while Angela and I screeched at every wave that splashed us and dug our feet deep into the sand like little clams. We came upon some beautiful driftwood, half buried in the sand, the other half protruding from the ground. When we started heading back up the shoreline the way we had come Angela wanted to race, we ran to our shoes giggling like little school girls the whole way, at least Angela has an excuse, she is 9. What a beautiful day, I cant believe how lucky I am.

Fried gecko anyone? And no, it is not something I ate this time!

Geckos are our friends. They don´t hurt anyone, they aren´t messy, they eat up all of the bothersome little insects, they are kinda cute actually. They give off this soft purr, a soothing nightly noise that you come to look forward to each night and gently reminds you that you are in Honduras. This morning I came into the office to use the computer they have for me there and to my chagrin it was all torn apart, obviously being worked on. My co-worker beckoned me over and there it was…

a gecko had caused my motherboard, and himself in the process, to fry. What a site, the poor little guy never saw it coming I bet. There are just some things you could never say in the states, “A gecko crawled into my computer tower and fried to death” is a chart topper in that category. I wonder the last thought that crossed his little brain, maybe “Is someone barbequing?”

The sugar cane that left a sour taste in my mouth.

My municipality is super kid friendly, meaning kids are welcome to mill about, drink from the water cooler and just hang out if they like. Everyday I am surprised at how different it is in the states where kids would be *in the way* if they were just standing in your office and running about in common areas. As I mentioned the kids here are holding my heart prisoner, especially the pre-teen boys. Marvin (pictured here) and I met the other day (I absolutely love the names here, Oscar, Melvin, Oswaldo). He and a couple of his friends stopped into my office, at first to just stare at the Gringa, a game they like to play and, whether I want to play or not, am forced to be the other participant. After overcoming the initial awkwardness we began to speak, at first exchanging pleasantries and general information. Once they caught a glimpse of the manual for teaching English I have it was clear what we were going to do for the next 2 hours. Taking turns the three went through vocabulary, attempting to say the words in English, but only one of them was able to read much at all. I do not think the other two could read very well in Spanish, never mind English.

Marvin lives in my town with his grandparents because his parents and older siblings live on Roatan Island for work. The following week Marvin and his grandma were up at the municipality because they were giving away food to those most in need. What a debacle, the families were told the food would be there Monday, then Tuesday and then, after sitting at the municipality all day Wednesday they finally got their food packets. Marvin hung out with me the next morning and then I told him I wanted to see where his lived, a little surprised he repeated what I had just said to make sure he understood. Sure, I told him, I like to see where all of my friends live. The smile that snuck up on his face confirmed I had succeeded in communicating that I cared about him, something you can do even without speaking the same language very well. We strolled the streets of El Porvenir chatting the whole way, it was hard to believe we were able to fill the whole time with conversation, it was effortless, an adjective I have become unfamiliar with during my pursuit of learning a new language. When we arrived he unlocked the gate (which entails unlatching a loop of barbed wire from the wooden fence post) for me to enter. The whole way he had been talking about cañe (pronounced Kanye, as in Kanye West), asking what I knew about it, if I liked it, etc, I had no idea what he was talking about. After a brief hello to his grandma who was so hospitable, grabbing the nicest plastic lawn chair they had for me to sit, we went out back to meet grandpa. Marvin was talking about that darn cañe again as grandpa whipped out his machete (is it weird that I am used to such a site this now?) and commenced chopping at a large stalk growing from the ground. After freeing it from the ground he started working at cutting the outside bark from the top of the stalk. When he finished that he asked me to hold onto the part he had just shaved the bark from so he could lob of that part for me to eat. Without hesitating I grabbed it and he wacked it off with a couple swings (again, I was not phased me, I think I have been here too long!). Sugar cane, that is what Marvin had been talking about. Chomping into the stalk I realized why he was so excited, and also why everyone{s teeth are falling out here. Sweeter than sweet, it was a delicious snack after a long walk in the sun. After a pleasant visit with grandpa, Marvin grabbed what remained of the stalk which was taller than him informing me it was a gift, and proceeded to walk me home like a little gentleman. When I arrived home awkwardly trying to get in the house with this 7 foot stalk of sugar cane prepared to explain to my host mother what it was and what we needed to do with it. Silly me, obviously I haven{t been here long enough, otherwise I would know that everyone knows about sugar cane and how to prepare it, as my host mother demonstrated by casually suggesting I put the long pole on the pila (a large concrete basin where our water is stored) and when my host dad could he would go out back with the machete and take care of it. Of course he would!

It was the next day while my host sister (pictured here) and I were relaxing in the backyard that I was forced to rethink my experience, which on the surface was an innocent gesture from a kind Honduran family to the new foreigner. She proceeded to first chastise me for having gone into that neighborhood because it was dangerous (I had not known this and besides they say that about every neighborhood that isn{t their own) and told me that the only reason the family gave me the sugar cane is because they want something from me exchange, probably money. Processing the sudden punch in the stomach I had just received, I became silent and thoughtful momentarily. It had not occurred to her that they were genuinely trying to be kind to a person who had been spending some time with their grandson, just as it not occurred to me that ulterior motives were involved in this seemingly harmless exchange. After I thanked my host sister for her concern and suggestions for my future behavior I pondered. I dont want to become a jaded American having lived in a developing country because I was always second guessing the locals intentions. At the same time I need to be cautious enough to protect myself from unintended situations that may arise and the ramifications of behavior which I am unable to interpret. Naïve I am not, but there is a fine line naivety and erring on the side of optimism.

I fell in love today, and then I ate some chicken feet.

It was one of those days, the kind where I felt truly connected to my purpose and felt as if I were exactly where I needed to be (some people think PC volunteers feel like this everyday, believe me, we don´t). My really good day started last Sunday with Amalia and Charlie who live and volunteer here and are quickly becoming good friends of mine. Here is a picture of them and their neighbor (Charlie´s baby) Syra. Amalia is originally from Honduras and Charlie is a good ole´ southern boy from Texas, a little firecracker if you ask me. They (as well as most of us as I am finding out) live next door to a church whose members make everyone within earshot (and further even) aware of their love for God by yelling and singing about it at the top of their lungs, virtually every night. While I personally don´t share their enthusiasm where religion is concerned, I say more power to them, but not Charlie. He threatened to introduce the Hondurans to Willie Nelson on full blast the next time he deems their services too loud! Charlie and Amalia, among other projects, have been working on a project they call Grandma´s Kids. When they first came to help El Porvenir after Hurricane Mitch they stumbled upon some abuelitas (grannies) who were living with their children and grandchildren in dire living conditions. They didn´t have running water, were using the ocean to bath, wash clothes and to relive themselves, roofs falling in on top of them, malnourished, most of the children had TB among other health issues. One girl has epilepsy and is permanently damaged from seizing so profusely in the past as a result of not having the proper medication, at times for 30 minutes straight. Over the past years Amalia and Charlie have secured improved living conditions, provided assistance for means to feed the 7 women and 25 or so children and provided medication to treat many of their ailments. Even still, they could not be considered anything but poverty stricken by any stretch of the imagination. One of the issues is that there is no one to care for the little kids while the women work, so Charlie and Amalia built a daycare. This is the event I attended, the grand opening. And this is where I fell in love. These kids didn´t know me from a hole in the wall, but hugged me, touched me, clung to me and loved me immediately, like I had known them their whole life. The feelings were mutual. Here is a picture of Oscar (as you can tell the picture is compliments of him), he held my hand during the entire ceremony and gazed up at me so lovingly, I was melting. Another one of the many ¨oh yeah, this is why I¨m here¨ moments, which come when I´m not even expecting it, the best time. Expectations, what a relative term, like night and day between here and the United States. Right now my expectations are virtually nonexistent because I haven´t been here long enough to determine them. I´m finding that being in that mindset I am rarely disappointed and often pleasantly surprised, I could get used to that. Here´s a picture of all the kids, their moms and the grandmas. They are standing on a little bridge that connects their yard to the street, before it was built they trudged back and forth through essentially a swamp.

Charlie and Amalia are going back to the states for a couple of months so I told her I would check in on Grandma´s Kids while they were away. The next day I was still high and on my way home from the municipality when 3 of Grandma´s Kids riding a bike (see previous blog entry) started screaming Jessica!! Jessica!!. One of them jumped off, and came charging toward me. I caught him in my arms where he clung with his arms and legs wrapped around my torso like a koala bear. He asked where I was going and when I told him my house and he quickly replied, no you´re coming to my house, grabbed my hand and led the way. Who am I to argue with one of Grandma´s Kids? Originally, I had figured I would come by the house in a week or so to check in, but I found myself back there the very next day. Yes, I do believe in fate. Jose and I got closer to the house and as they saw the Gringa (that would be me) they came charging and screaming my name, 10 or so of Grandma´s Kids. Some had no shirts, some no pants, most had no shoes, some of those babies where even stark naked. One boy, maybe 3 or 4, who asked me no less than 100 questions (and screamed the question at the top of his lungs whenever I asked him to repeat it as if I couldn´t hear rather than couldn´t speak the language), was eating a cacao, a fruit with a bunch of seeds with sort of slimy sour flesh. As he spit out the seeds another little boy picked them up off of the muddy street to suck any juice that was left in the regurgitated seed. One curly dark-haired naked baby sat in the middle of the road, her little butt was caked with mud. They all fought to be the ones underneath my arms on each side, however being surprisingly polite to one another allowing turns to be taken. We talked for a while. They get such a kick out of teaching me Spanish and I feel less inhibited speaking around them than adults. When it was time to go I got 15 hugs (5 other kids had joined the ruckus by that time) and was made to promise to stop by tomorrow, the easiest promise I´ve ever made. I walked home contemplating the circumstances which had been presented; this is the kind of stuff I imagined when I signed up for Peace Corps. I finally feel like there is truly something I can do to help, although I´m not sure exactly what that is yet still, but I´m getting closer everyday. After all of the goodness that had filled my life in the last 24 hours or so I sat down to dinner that night excited to talk to my family about Grandma´s Kids and then…I was served chicken feet, 4 of them, and some of their necks too. Ok, not the worst thing in the world that could´ve happened, this is true, but it was certainly a first for me. I didn´t take a picture out of courtesy to my host mother, I didn´t need to, the image is now conveniently burned into my brain forever. Nonetheless, I did not come all the way here to be some prissy American that doesn´t embrace new experiences so I shoved one of the claws (there are three toes by the way in case you were wondering) into my mouth trying to simply scrape the meat (is there even meat on chicken toes?) with my teeth and then the middle claw broke off into my mouth. Yep, that did it, I was done, I had been a good sport and now I was done. My host mother had pretty much the same reaction she had had with the fish (see previous blog entry) and gobbled up the remaining 3 feet along with the other pathetically partially eaten limb, what remained of my feeble attempt at reaching new cultural horizons.

Here´s one of the streets on my way to work.