EL PARAISO : FBT

08.08.07
el Paraiso: FBT
There is a chicken and a 6 yr old boy named Angel outside my door. I have two freshly formed mosquito bites on either arm. The roosters kept me up all night. This is New Life, Parte II.

At 7:30am Dona Letvia dropped me and my gorda suitcase in front of the Laguna. Don Wil had called me earlier in the AM to say his goodbye. It was sad to say goodbye to those who had been so kind and generous to me. They were truly the perfect family for a solo gringa dropped in the middle of Honduras--so open minded, such huge hearts…It’s hard to say goodbye to that.

The group of 44 aspirantes gathered one by one in front of the Laguna. I fed the ducks some whole wheat bread, my last piece of the heavenly loaf from Samantha’s host mom. We took some group pictures. It didn’t feel like a good-bye. The Muni-D and Pam kids got into the same bus while the Youth Development group waited for their own. We drove off and waved to the waiting. The road trip was tranquilo, time for refection driving through the central mountain ranges. The sides of the highway are beautiful here—green mountains, the skinny dark pines and the soft pastel grasses crosshatched in the dull, low morning light.
Our school bus pulled up to bustling and colorful market plaza en El Paraiso around noon. From there I got my mammoth suitcase, broke from the group, and took off down the dusty road towards a sign reading el farmacia Guadalupe. I was to find a green house across from a clinic where la familia Sanchez lived. I wheeled my suite case up to the closest muchachos hanging out on the corner and they pointed me in the right direction. You think they would’ve just given me the number to the house, but here # addresses are a rarity.

Miriam Lorena Sanchez greeted me, seven month-old baby Susan in tow, and little 6 yr old Angel not far behind. The Empleada, Glenda, took the baby and bounced her softly in her lap as Miriam and Angel gave me the tour. The house is large and clean and stereotypical Honduran-style. My room is separate from the rest, as is the kitchen and el baño. In Honduras, the houses are usually situated around an open courtyard where the pila lives (the big concrete sink/tub-like water source). In the living room, there are the standard diplomas on the walls and the television constantly set to Latin soap operas.

After the tour, we all had lunch, which consisted of the plato tipico (rice, beans, tortillas) and jugo naturel (fruit juice). Angel and Susan are both adorable children and I love them already. Angel, I can tell, will be my best friend here. I’m very happy to have kids to play with and learn from. Plus, Angel really wants to learn English, and has already played his English music while showing me his notebooks de ingles. He is for sure a smarty.

The husband, Wiliam, came home for lunch as well. He is a maestro (teacher) at a tech colegio (tech school) for metalwork, woodwork, and electrician certification. Miriam is also in school to become a maestra. She attends school on Saturdays and Sundays. They are very religious people, as is the majority of the town/country. The two main faiths seem to be Catholic and Evangelical, there are no none believers. After Wiliam dashed off to a 4-day church retreat, Miriam and the kids showed me around the town. El Paraiso is much larger than Santa Lucia, much hotter, dustier, and the town itself is very flat. I sense the group will be pretty content with this set up. I know I am. Six weeks of Field Base Training (FBT)! I Can’t believe how long that seems right now—largo y lejo.

08.09.07
My fellow aspirante Cynthia left. Jorge told us after the fact. I couldn’t believe it. Of all the women, why Cynthia? Selfishly I needed her here. I think we all did. She was so inspiring, so smart and beautiful. Such a great resource, and I earnestly wanted to work with her on future projects. I felt lonely—truly solo—and it was the family that saved me. Angel is my angel. He sat with me in my room and we looked at pictures, played in Photoshop, listened to music, and watched videos of my friends, oh my friends… Children are so open, so free, so vulnerable. It is true, everything starts with them—the solutions to the right kind of development. Thus, the loneliness passed.


That night, Miriam also gave me a fan, so hopefully the mosquitoes wont be so much of a problem in the future. Now, if only the dogs and roosters will shut the #$%@@ up so I can get some much needed rest. I’ve realized that in Honduras, there is either complete silence, or complete ruido (NOISE). When you need to sleep, it’s non-ceasing ruido: a combination of television, radio, roosters’ calls, dogfights, speeding carros, and chattering chismastic neighbors.
True sleep is also the start to everything.
I dreamt that I got to say goodbye.


08.10.07
The first real day of Field Based Training (FBT) was spent making a map. This was a pretty cool activity. We broke into groups by barrios (neighborhoods) and marked down what was what and where—important landmarks, places to eat, to shop, to get food, and places to be wary of. Nicole and I were in charge of mapping out the barrio el Centro, which was a pretty easy one to do since it only consisted of the main Parque where la Casa de Cultura resided. We ventured to and fro exploring our new home. There is a lot of stuff here: Supermercados, a discoteque, a million pulparies, dentistas, bike shops, billiard rooms, bars, comedores, colegios, escualas and farmacias. The point of making a map, besides familiarizing oneself with new surroundings, is to locate potential resources for future projects. This activity is one we are supposed to replicate once in our permanent sites.

08.11.07
Saturday night was a dinner for all the host families and volunteers. It was held at a local restaurant at the Plaza. The restaurant was muy bonita and once everyone was seated with their proper families, we all filed onto the stage, family by family, to present our new “moms/dads/sisters/brothers/cousins/ect…” Some of the more verbose of the host parents took the opportunity to lecture a bit about various topics—mostly Gods influences, Honduran’s future, coffee exports, and such. There was also the somewhat persistent mentioning of past volunteers marrying with nationals. Once we were all seated a troupe of dancers performed several traditional Honduran dances, which originated during the time of the conquistadors—thus the brilliant colored dresses and red handkerchiefs, reminiscent of travels in Spain. The group was young, vibrant, and dynamic. During the final moments of the last song, they pulled a few of us out of our seats to dance (with much less grace) on stage with the group. After dancing, the dinner was served—un plato tipico: beans, rice, meat, tortillas, chismol, queso, and fried platanos.

Sunday the president of the government council came to el Paraiso, and in his honor the local high school band performed a grande bienvenido in the streets of the Plaza. It seems that this man donated all of the instruments to the town in order for them to have the very band that was beating away in the afternoon sun. A few of us from Peace Corps attended the event, and were embarrassed and honored by the three different political figures who recognized our presence and work in the country. The councilman made his shout-out in English, thanking the “beautiful American girls for coming to his country.” It just so happens, that our group is nearly 100% female; thus, only “girls” were in attendance at the event. We took it for what it was. We took pictures with the politicos and enjoyed the bands rapid drumming as the dark clouds formed over all our heads, threatening to pour on the liberal parade.
Pour it did not, not until later that evening, and so the crowd dispersed steadily and slowly and we all returned to our casas for la cena. It’s a change to be part of a family, firstly that is not your own, and secondly that eats every meal together!For me the family has been a great source of comfort and refuge. Again, the children are just amazing for lifting ones spirits. Miriam even made me a bowl of fruit salade, my first real dosage of fruit, just like My mom used to make...it was nice, really nice.

Marale con Alicia

Volunteer Site Visit: Marale, Francisco Morazan.
Voluntaria: Alicia, Hondu 9, Mundi-D.
Recounting y Reflections.

Marale, en la casa de Alicia: I’m sitting on the sofa, the Brissa fan going full blast, the door to Alicia’s large and open casa, open to the scenario of her bonito mountain pueblo life—the colors and faces, men and women, ninos and ninas that pass by her house with parasols, appear as if within the clearest picture of a television in any given living room set in the States. This is how my brain digests the visual info—as surreal, a rare unaltered beautiful, a someplace far, far away. Yet here I sit, and all I really have to do is lift myself from the sofa, walk across the doorframe, and step outside into the very same strong sun, dusty roads, azul-colored casas of the seemingly elusive picture.





This trip to Marale, I consider my first real Honduran adventure. I met Alicia in Santa Lucia at 6:30 am in front of the school for the blind where we caught the bus going to Teguc. From hospital San Felipe we hoped on another yellow school bus to the supermercado. I was in a little slice of American product paradise—purchasing a huge tub of raisins, an apple, a yogurt, 2 boxes of kashi cereal, and a Chilean win—pure bliss. After we were loaded down with our luxuries we took a taxi to the mercado where all the buses were, and to our dismay, the 9am bus to Marale was not there as it should’ve been. As it turned out, it left already. Thus we decided to take the bus to the next closest town where a health volunteer was stationed, and where we could seek her assistance/company to await for the next bus passing to Marale—since the Mercado was not the safest place to wait around for 3 hrs with bags of stuff. The bus ride was long, but Alicia and I filled up the time by sharing our pasts and her answering all my naïve, trainee-type questions.


Once we arrived in the town, we got out at a standard kind of ‘waiting place’ and the health volunteer who lived there came by to visit. While we were talking, Alicia found us a jalon with two women from her municipalidad returning home after a conference. Sometimes there is just no other way to reach your final destination once you are far from any major urban zone. The ride was the bumpiest-ass ride of my life. The road to Marale was winding and an Indian-red clay in color. It appeared as if it was freshly cut out of the ascending terra. More beautiful vistas and further and further into the mountains we went, until finally we could see the bright white catholic church of Marale and Alicia informed me, we were home.


Alicia’s house was huge and you could see the underside of the clay roof tiles, meaning there was no ceiling in order to keep the house cool in the hot Honduran sun. She had electricity and running water in the mornings and evening. She did bucket showers, cleaned her clothes in the pila, and had no internet access, but besides that, it seemed a pretty comfortable set up. And she was definitely content in her casa with few complaints at all. Yesterday, we walked through town and made house visits to all of Alicia’s friends, which after almost 1 year in site, she had a lot of! Everyone we passed she seemed to know something about.


The school were she teaches English classes on Saturdays was the first stop to pick up some charla paper for a health charla we were to give at the health center. After that we stopped by the woman who washes her clothes, who makes amazing bread, and who was currently taking care of a baby whose mother passed away during childbirth in a nearby aldea (town) She was very smiley and enjoyed my facial expression when Alicia explained to me how she had tried cow’s blood! Despues, we stopped by another home where the women were braiding hair and the three little girls and one little boy played with the three week-old puppies. They offered us refrescos of banana and naranja, which we accepted, and as Alicia informed me, was custom when any visitor came. Something must be offered and accepted, punto. Even if the people had nothing to give, they gave. We then stopped by the house where a blind man was building a cooking table for Alicia. In this house lived the most flaco hombre y perro del mundo. His ton and Alicia carried the finished table home to rest. Alicia’s friends Gabby and Marecel who are 8 and attending her English class where waiting for us when we got back with the mesa. We helped them with their homework and then took pictures of all of us in the park still under construction. When we were worn out by all the neighborhood kids, the woman who prepares the baleadas and tamales was dropping off Alicia’s order, and we hurried home to have cena. The tamales, pepino ensalada, and white wine made for the best meal I’ve had yet—the wine and conversation. After we were good and full we got out the charla paper and prepared a short lesson on how to treat burn. Once that was finished, we were exhausted and went straight to bed.




Today I took my first bucket shower, which was fine b/c Alicia heated up the agua for me, so really it was no big deal. Breakfast was cinnamon toast, oranges, pineapples, and coffee. Tan rico. After desayuno, we went to give our charla. Unfortunately, the nurses were all at a reunion the next municipio over, and so the office was closed. Que lastima. We thus preceded to the Municipal office where Alicia has designed a computer-based system to track tax records for the municipio and aldeas since there was no real system in place, and years of unpaid and unregulated taxes. If folks will pay their taxes, the municipal will eventually be able to have the citizens apply for property rights b/c currently in this municipio, as in the rest of Honduras, no one actually owns deeds to their land. No one feels the need to pay taxes on something they don’t even own! It’s an initiative recently reinforced by the current President to encourage folks to get titles for their land. After we left the municipal, we headed over to the library where Alicia had to inform the librarian that Riken (organization of a former Peace Corps volunteer that donates money for the creation of libraries in third world countries) was not building libraries in Marale’s zone currently. But, if they were persistent and kept working towards it, RIKEN may just come and build a library in Marale. We left the library and went to one of the aldeas across the river. There, a mother was keeping house and taking care of her 3 yr old hijo sick with a rare disease that no one knows the name of, nor the cure for. Entonces, Alicia has been helping this family get the medical exams he needs in order to analyze what the disease might be. The mother is part of 1 of the indigenous groups of the area, she has 4 sons and an older daughter. The family raises chickens and pigs. The young boy, David, is so soft and sick that he is moved about in a wheelbarrow by his older brother, and he cannot really speak. It was enough to make you want to never leave. Back at Alicia’s house, we ate our lunch slowly, cleaned the dishes in the pila, and just chilled out a bit, digesting the days thus far…

A few women from the municipal stopped by b/c Alicia had take photos and got them printed at Teguc. She does this occasionally b/c she is one of the only people with a digital camera in the village and so she just charges what the prints cost, and renders the service when she can. The women were very curious and full of big smiles. They asked me if I was married or if I had a novio or children. They were shocked when I told them none of the above, and then one of the woman guess that I was 17yrs old! Unbelievable! The day before another woman of the town guessed I was 20! It seems here if you do not have a husband or children you must be of this age bracket. After our visitors left, Alicia and I started watching a movie on her laptop, but we heard the children making noise outside the casa so we would go outside and play with them. Finally, we left the house to play, and the eager kids grabbed our arms and we took off down the road to the cemetery. The children took us to the tombs of their relatives most recently deceased. These were five of many. One was buried just last week, it was a woman who had contracted a rare skin disease and the people had tried to cure here by covering her raw and naked skin with leaves collected from the river. But this only made her condition worsen, and sadly she passed away not long after. The children talked openly about death, but they dare not touch the crosses, which marked the tombs. Once back in town and away from the overgrown, yet freshly serviced burial ground, we all were in a lighter mood and began to play games. We played red light/green light, we danced, ran about, played monster chase, and tornado, and wore ourselves out. The kids however would not let us slip away easily into Alicia’s house, and we had to literally pry their hands from our wrists before closing the door in order to commence cooking a vegetable curry and coconut milk soup for cena.


My last day at Alicia’s the leak of one of her outdoor faucets was finally fixed, and thus the neighbors shunning of the wasted water could be put to rest. There were men threatening to get her water turned off if the leak was not fixed. And though Alicia had told her landlord repeatedly, the leak had remained; thus, a nearby man told Alicia he would fix it if she would give him money for the part. This she did and in ten minutes he had the leaky problem good and tight. The rest of the community was making its way to church service with the visiting pastor from another town as we waited for my bus. It seems there is not one pastor in the town itself, and so one comes for Sunday service, but he does not know the community. Our friends were back to see me off, and so when the 8am bus finally showed up at 9am, I was ready for goodbyes. I was amazed at how much I was saying goodbye to. In one small mountain town with not one restaurant nor venue, other than a Sunday morning service, I felt like I had absorbed and now must close a novel. The people make their own entertainment, they sit and talk, visit and clean, smile and joke, chase and catch, nurture and feed one another and make it a point to know everything about everyone, for they are all there is, they are all they’ve got. And when there is nothing to give, they give themselves.

Break the Cycle: Week Three

Today was similar to most days of the past 3 weeks that have flown by at a frightening rate: 5:30am wake-up, cereal for desayuno, walk to school, clase d espanol, almuerzo, Tech class, run w/gringas, Cena con mi familia, homework, bed, sleep! Has normalcy set in already? Tonight, as I made the trek back from Roberto’s house (Honduran I am working with to design t-shirts for our group), up the hill of all hills, I noticed how apparent the stars were, and how I no longer felt uneasy on this road—gringa in the dark. How amazing it is to be somewhere and not miss anything. Not be aware that the life you left behind is still accelerating at the pace it was at when you left it. I guess it hasn’t hit me that I am here. That this is going to be My life, my real life, my day to day…

I am still very sheltered from the difficult parts, for I’m living in luxury with Don Wil + Letvia. Though I sense it around me--these small, haphazardly built casas with carcasses of rusted out cars in their overgrown front yards; the very sad, half-dead stray dogs; the lack of agua and the cost and inconsistency of luz. It’s not accurately described as “poor,” just different, just a very different kind of normal.


What’s inspiring is how impassioned and genuine the Hondurans are at al centro de capitiation (Peace Corps Training center). Jorge, our Tech leader for Muni-D (Municipal Development) is a man with a huge heart, and great open mind. I really didn’t know what to expect from him, but truly, he is one of the best men I think I will ever find in the entire country. My fellow volunteers are also extremely intelligent, and it keeps long (long) training sessions stimulating. Plus, the information has been crucial in understanding a little bit better what we could possibly be doing here! The problems seem overwhelming. “Break the cycle,” is what Jorge has adopted as the Muni-D slogan. Never letting a problem presented to our group slide by without questioning us: “How can this be changed? What would you do to break the cycle?” Again, the problems seem too large.


This past Friday the Mundi-D group had a field trip to a pueblo 35 minutes away on the route to Teguc., called Cantaranas. It’s still part of the Departmento de Francisco Morazan, which includes my current ‘home’ of Santa Lucia. Jorge drove us there in rollercoaster-style, and more than a few of us were feeling every turn along the way. The Municipal of Cantaranas was tranquilo, class C. (All municipals are divided by class: A,B,C,D—‘A’ being the best, ‘D’ the worst) Not much to see, or not see. Our objective was to interview those working for the municipalidad, including the mayor, secretary, and various other facilitators in the community. The office was airy and bright, with high ceiling, and uneven, wilting wooden floorboards. We broke into groups and proceeded to ask who did what, and what accomplishments/projects were underway. The seemingly top priority for this town, and for the majority of towns, was a decent water system. This alcalde (mayor) and his team seemed to be doing an honest job, even though the people of the community were not as aware of the current projects and functions of their municipal as one might hope…This tends to be the trend. So… “how do you break the cycle?”
After our hosts served us a variety of fried snacks and fizzy coke in white plastic cups our group took off again, promising to return and taste the homemade baleadas bigger than a cabeza, which were a renowned delicacy of the pueblo.


Saturday I took my first bus trip with a large group of aspirantes to Valle de Angeles, the more touristy of our neighboring pueblos. The day was hot and bright, which added charm to the little gift shops and main town plaza overshadowed by the catholic church. I happened to have the cell number of a volunteer named Katie currently working in the community, and so I called her and she biked down to have lunch with our group. Current volunteers are a part of our training, and a few will come to the center almost every day to partake in our tech sessions. These people are much appreciated; they offer great insight and much hope that all these charlas and long school days will eventually serve some rewarding purpose. A volunteer named Mike was with our group today, and his accomplishments were ones to be admired. He initiated the construction of a whole new market place in his site, not to mention the new stove project, latrines, centro de salud, and project citizen..just to name a few. ”It’s what you make of it,” Mike said. This seems to be another Peace Corps slogan. Only time will tell…