WANTONLY

April Cascadas:

Life is a simple equation that we tend to complicate with trivial things…the stuff we call our stuff. Then there´s the emotional system between people, what we call support. How that works, I´m just not sure, I don´t think it can be explained in words, but is an interchange of gestures and conversations, a wantonly-kind of give and take that in the end, boils down to all the different kinds of love we can experience.

04.21.08
Today is my first full day back @ site after a 4 day trip to Teguc and back. Its always a little rough the first couple of days back in site, the readjustment back to campo-life…but I think its just a bit of loneliness barking at my heels.
I made the Rounds, visited the small collection of families and friends i´ve accumulated in the town…I know I should try to expand the circle, but it seems overwhelming to add more to the mix, I wish too though…
Emails killed me today: kate, snish, snar, dad, laura, brendan, george…missing people just suxª!

Since this Tuesday, things have gotten hectic! Deadlines and projects I care about/feel truly invested in have started to take up all my time. My bathroom falling apart and me breaking yet Another glass on the ceramic floor amidst the flood was just a bonus! (I´m not a good candidate for cermaic flooring...)

The tourism project is all-a-buzz and I´m a bit stressed to do this right. We have a meeting coming up this next Tuesday with two NGOS, Mancomunidad and Proyecto Norte to present all our potential tourist sites within the Municipio. That means I have been planning and running around trying to take pictures of everything (great time for my camera to be busted!) and not leave a soul nor community out of the loop. There are people from 3 communities claiming the same waterfall and trying to be the diplomat has been a delicate task. We´ve discovered some illegal wooding in one of the mountain ranges here that is protected, and thus reported that to our mayor. There was talk of a corrupt employee, but it seems to have been an ugly chisme rumor…pues there´s been some drama as of lately…


04.24.08
Well yesterday I smelled like burnt popcorn and goats. My first stab at making popcorn from scratch, not so hot…half burnt and the stuff left was more kernel than pop…
Earlier that day I went to explore and take pictures of the Mayan-Chorti Goat farm project and the stream and little waterfalls behind that for potentail tourism project.
Today I went to document the cuevonas (caves) we have up in the mountains. I learned an important thing about myself, I do not like caves very much…or perhaps its just the bats and their poop that made me want to get the hell out of there! Moncho and my host brother Adalid had no fear of the bats, and climbed right under their upside down heads to explore the caverns even further. I hovered as close to the ladder as possible, which was my only means of escape as the bats sweep past my face…eeeek!

04.25.08
Ella no contesto. La Carmen se fue. My little host sister packed a suitcase, wrote a note, and left when no one was at home. My host family is torn apart. The thing that is terribly hard for me to understand is the acceptance of these young girls being ¨robbed¨ (as they say here) or running off, and the families not taking action, not pursuing them, or dragging them back to la casa, as would be the case (In my normality as it was) in the States. (Then again, my mom just told me about a polygamy colony the authorities broke up in the States and all the underage girls they found there being sexually assaulted…and thus the backwards thinking can be found in every part of the world)

I know here its all a question of context, perspective, circumstance and overall culture…but its just so hard for me to accept that this beautiful, talented and intelligent 17 yr old girl would throw away all her chances at a career for some older guy she hardly knows (and that the family would not stop her)…perhaps its how we think when we are young and romantic…I know i´m not a stranger to the idea of running away…but it´s just that as someone who loves this girl and wants to protect her from the worst of the world, all I want to do is bring her back home! Her mother feels the same way, and thus is taking the appropriate actions. She is an exception to the rule, as well as her father, so I have hope that I will see her again…soon.

04.28.08
This Sunday we visited the community of Narajales (Oranges), to document the cascada they have near by. This waterfall was the most impressive I´ve seen so far…not because of its height, but for the beautiful natural swimming pool that had formed below. I borrowed a pair of shorts and dove in the muy helado (v cold) water to swim to the waterfall and climb up it in order to catch the best shots of the site.

The family of Oscar Ulloa came with us, along with other children from the community. We all had a great afternoon swimming and playing by the waterfall. The house of Oscar is also in a perfect spot to receive tourists for the terrific views! It´s truly a calm and picturesque place and I would love to share this with those who will come visit and do the tour! I just can´t believe all the stuff there is here, hidden away in the mountains, only known to a few farmers and curious kids.
In Naranjales I also got a marriage proposal from a shirt-less, campo-smelling viejito (old dude) who told me he had chickens, beans and corn and that we should get hitched…I told him it was a very tempting offer, and that I needed to take his picture so that I may send it to my father to ask his permiso (permission)…and I will definitely include that you have Chickens! The line : Tengo Guillinas (I have chickens) must be a classic here!


04.29.08
Well, like so many times in Honduras, we went to the reunion, only to find it canceled.. . so who knows when we will get to present the Tourism Presentation we all worked so hard to put together at such last minute! At least now I will have a chance to visit Mirasolito where they too claimed to have a waterfall worth mentioning. It took us all morning to get to the site where the reunion was suppose to be held, we had to take two different buses and then jalon out to the parque, and once we got there, we got to turn around and do the regresso…my coworker was more than enojada...

Tourists come to Cabanas!

The first two tourist groups have come and gone from Cabañas—and the consensus is: Que bueno!
It has really been a great time playing tour guide and sharing my litle pueblito with others! The Rural Tourism Excursion consists of a jalon ride up the mountain to the tranquilo farming community of San Manuel.

Here at the casa of Antonio Cruz we all enjoy a merienda (snack) of Tikukos (Tamale-like dish) with a tomato sauce and refresco of tamarindo. We then mount horses and ride down the mountain path to an opening where the men have made a path to the waterfalls. Here the road gets a bit rough, but the guys from the community all are there to help the tourists not to fall on their butts too much! (All parto f the fun…but we are planning to fix the path up for a less strenious hike)

We stop at three different waterfalls, the last one being a perfect place to rest and enjoy the coffee brought in thermo and homemade bread. Here we all hang out and relax in the beautiful surroundings. Then we hike along the river until we come to the clearing again and remount our horses. We ride back up to the town and do a pass of the community befote stopping to tour the finca (farm)- After that we head back to the casa of Antonio for an Almuerzo (lunch) of plato tipico, that is the best I have ever eaten! I love chimol! AFter lunch we just hang out and talk, learn a bit about the typical honduran farmer life and then eventually pile back into the truck for the trip down the mountain to casco urbano. Below are some of the pics…but look on flicker where i downloaded almost all…
I´m loving my town, life, everything right now…

Water Falling Down>>>

02.22.08
here, when I lock myself out of the house, the only way back in is through the roof.


02.23.08
Yesterday I went to see the Cascadas en San Manuel. It was Moncho, Alicia, Adalid, and I along with two men from the community: a machete-man named Hector, and a burly mountain-man named Antonio Cruz. It seems the mountain is chalk full of Cruz brothers…I’ve met at least 6. It was a pretty intense hike b/c Hector had to re-hack the trail from scratch by using his machete, chopping down branches, vines, and whole tree trunks. I almost fell down the mountain several times due to loose soil and steep sides, though Moncho always managed to pull me back up again. We discovered there were actually three different cascadas: two up top of the mountain and then one further down where the two streams become one and thus produce a much more impressive water flow for the final fall. We ate lunch beneath one of the upper falls. Antonio showed up after we had already arrived, carrying all the lunches and a bottle of soda. The men of the mountain aren’t joking around. Give’em a machete and they can make the whole natural world let them through, with one hand on the knife and one on the coffee bag full of homemade food. That was a nice part, just sitting under the fall and eating tortillas and rice with my grubby fingers. We were starving from the hike and the weather was chilly/misty/rain, so the hot food was that much more enjoyable.

The way back we took a slightly more developed path that Antonio knew of, and Alicia collected medical plants along the way. Pushing through the plants and freshly broken branches; leaping from one slippery rock to the next; the bruises and dents I acquired along the way; the dirt in my nails; the bugs in my hair—it all reminded me of being a little kid in the meager patch of woods behind our house in Pittsburgh. There with my best friend we passed days, weeks, summers constructing a shack, running from make-believe villains, being the good force, sharing a secret world. It all comes back to me. And then here I am, in a real forest, still believing myself part of some good force.
Once we cleared the forest, the group burnt a small pile of our trash right then and there, and I moved away to avoid the all too common smell of burning plastics. Luego we made it back to Don Antonio Cruz’s house to enjoy coffee with fresh cow milk. I was already feeling sick at this point, so I barely touched my café.
Once we said our goodbyes, our group walked down the road to the coffee processing operation of one Señor Ramos, who was also an owner of one of the lands that we want the municipalidad to buy for the project. We sat there admiring his coffee crop, just picked and cleaned, damp and fragrant in the cement trough. After about an hour’s wait, we all piled into his truck for the slow descent back to casco urbano, arriving just as the sun slipped away.



To the Dirty and back
And...Happy Birthday to me!
A little trip down to the south has turned into a medical stay until Tuesday. So now I’m 26. I know it’s normal, that time is just time and I’m just stuck in it. It’s just surreal to be growing older when I feel like I’m going back in time. All my friends from site called me—sang Feliz cumpleanos a ti! Then my parents called and sang in English, then Claire wrote me in French…so all the lingual bases were covered. My parents called while I was at Ruby Tuesdays…of all places to be, I would never have foreseen myself in Tegucigalpa, drinking a ruby red, in an American chain restaurant.


Anyway, it was awesome to see some of my fellow volunteers’ sites in the bottom, sweltering hot, half of the country. We all are living such a different experience. Down south the air is Hot! Unbearably hot and dry. There is one major, paved highway that we hitched along and it felt right out of some western flick, where the heat waves roll out in front of you and the sky takes up more than half of the horizon b/c the terrain just goes flat. The sun is so strong it creates this buzz in your ears, and you can do nothing but pour buckets of sweat.
At Nicole’s site I got to see what her business center was all about, and meet the women who work every day making there traditional Lencan pottery. Their work is beautiful. (see pics!) I’m excited to create their logo and help with the marketing of their craft.



Jordan’s site was charming. His house--big and open with a Cashew tree in the back. We picked the fruits and then built a fire to roast the nuts.
Gallo’s site was hot and dirty. But we showed up for the town’s naming of the feria queen and thus went to a town dance, where Gallo got to dance with the queen and I with her primo. The best part of being so damn hot is how wonderful a cold bucket shower can feel in an outdoor pila-shower.


Im finally back and site and I finally have a pila to call my own! My Honduran dream has come true...

Honduran Verano: only 2 seasons in the wor.d

01.20.08
It’s a balancing act: not getting your hopes up, yet living with hope. The house is near completion, and now it feels…permanent, like moving in there means this Honduran town will be my home, that half a yr is up and time will not slow, that the doors on the house will all be installed, will all shut, lock. Living alone brings new fears to mind. Yes, I will have more ‘control.’ I just think cleanliness! But I will also have to face the silence I have now forgotten to miss. What will silence feel like again? The tv is always so loud, layer upon layer of sound. Here nothing shuts things out, it is constant, esp. when it rains and you feel pounded without being touched.



01.22.08
Grey morning w.hot tea. Little Netio almost made me cry last night, he had come to tell me good night, and in his pocket, he was storing a little tube of toothpaste b/c I made him promise to brush his teeth every single day. He and his little brother are going off to work on a farm in Sta. Rita again this week, and so he bought it to keep his promise to me. If only all promises were so easily kept.



A rather old and tall missionary man/vet who was once a volunteer with his wife in the Dem Rep. came to Cabañas today looking for a house…I was like: Get in line buddy! But no, I gave him a little tour…told him about the slight joys and warm friendly town where I was working. But I didn’t really know what to say to him, he was a bit off on the whole eye contact/communication thing…best if he isn’t in the neighborhood…if you know what I mean…though perhaps it would be good for my town? The more foreigners the better? Scratch that, reverse it.


01.25.08
El día de la mujer hoy. The 25th of January is the national celebration in which we are to honor the day women first got the vote in Honduras. Sadly, It’s hard to say if it isn’t just a superficial celebration. What I really want to know, if people honestly just come for the free almuerzo? I hope less than half do…but its prob more like a little over half. My role today was per-usual during eventos: help at the registration table, write names, put on name tags, and then hand out the golden ticket (green almuerzo papel) I also help with the clean up and documenting (photos, and excel spreadsheet input)…such events are emotionally exhausting for me. Too many new faces and standing on my feet and mass feeding.

An x-voluntaria from Venezuela was here traveling with her husband and another couple. So far, all x-volunteers that approach me seem intimidated by something. What their service did or didn’t accomplish? That they no longer are living the volunteer life? Don’t get me wrong, they are all very nice people, just a bit off-kilter. That makes the 2nd x-PCV in my town in a week! Looks like tourism is picking up after all!


01.29.08
My best friend here goes to AA parties for fun on the weekend with her 30 yr old boyfriend.
She also picks her nose right in front of you, no pena. They all do.
Here, this is all good and normal. There is so much that floors me, or de-minds me. Questions, like: will I ever find the lip-point normal? Or will I ever think its o.k. to let a married man grope me in the office? Or will snot rockets onto the floor ever not gross me out…prob. not…but I’m truly amazed already with what you can get used to…


02.09.08
Well it’s D-day. Por fin. After 4 months of waiting and being mislead, I’m suppose to move into my spank’n brand new casa today! (Actually, tonight since they were still painting it this morning…) The wife of my landlord-to-be looked at me and said: “He’s a liar (speaking of her husband), they don’t lie in the states do they?” I wasn’t sure if she meant people in general or just men, either way, I told her: “uh, Yes! They do lie in the states.” Then I had to let my frustration go…because, we are all guilty of something.

Yesterday I got back from Reconnect (Where all of my fellow MuniD volunteers from group 11 and group 9 get together and share work experiences, ideas, collaborate, ect.) It was held in the very chilly mountain resort of Gloriales. While a beautiful place, there was not much to do at night but play cards and watch fellow volunteers perform. (you’d have to have been there to appreciate the kind of performances they were…)
What I got out of reconnect was some nice bonding time and more work!
I’m part of the Project Citizen Committee to redesign and modify the manual for PC Honduras. I’ll be doing the illustrations. This means I will be back in Teguc at the end of the month…just another 12 hr bus trip to look forward to. In truth, I like being en trajet. As long as I’m not feeling ill…which was the case yesterday, where I thought I was going to be sick for 12 hrs straight (or rather 12hrs very very curvy mountain roads).
Besides the new manual designs I am the representative for ENLACE, which is a group of PCVs that promote gender issues and equality. This entails another meetings on March 6th, the day before my bday! I can’t believe I will be turning 26! I’m going to stick with my Honduran-age-thing and say I’m turning 8 months old…
Besides these two commitments I agreed to help various people with Graphic Design projects, mostly logos, catalogues, websites…so I will now have less time to read, which is kind of sad…but being involved with other’s projects is a good way to invest time.


02.10.08
Today I was reminded again why I came here. I went on the “Cabañas rural tourism excursion” that the previous volunteer Nicolas had started to develop before he and his wife left. These experiences with the natural beauty of this country and the generosity of the aldea communities is beyond rewarding. Good’ole loco Pakistani drove us up the mountain in his gravity-defying blue stead of a pick-up truck. (I’m always impressed that we don’t die in that thing) We passed several of the small coffee-farm communities before dismounting at the house of Angelito Ramos of Peñas I. There we took the costumary café-pan break before setting out to hike to the cascada (waterfall) “Diamonte”. The path was steep and peligroso, and challenging. By the time we reached the creek that leads to the cascada, I was already half-drenched and Alicia had broken her shoe. From there, we crawled upon massive mossy rocks, tight-rope walked across slick fallen-trees, and clung to the roots upon the cliff to keep from toppling down to the valley below. The mountains out there are puro. There are no houses, no contamination. It’s just untouched and fresh.

Finally seeing this part of the project I will be working on really brought me out of my funk from post-reconnect. We’ve planned another excursion to a different, more impressive cascada in a week. The short-term plans involve having the municipalidad buy the land and declare it a touristic-zone. Then we can start actually developing the project, building more secure-paths and developing a picnic/ seating area.

When we reached the truck again, the tire was flat, so Paki had to get his spare and the guys got to work on that. Once all 4 tires were basically screwed back on we returned to Angelito’s house for a hot chicken soup with just-made tortillas and cafés. Being the wet and tired crew that we were, the warmth of the kitchen and the food was pretty close to perfect. We discussed the project after lunch and our hopes for the revenue such a project may bring to the people. Then we all piled back into the Paki-mobile and chugged, skidded and smoked down the mountain, collecting and dropping off people along the way.

I almost moved into my new house again today, but only managed to get it cleaned up, since there was no work done since yesterday, and the workmen had decided to use the steps as a garbage dump…
There’s always tomorrow!



02.11.08

The gate of the municipalidad was closed this morning. Sonia told me why: “Ellos mataron Alex.” (They killed Alex.) Patí was first to explain to me what exactly had happened, that in leaving a reunion someone rear-ended Alex’s car, él anduvo bolo (He was under the influence) and so was the other driver and so when Alex got out of the car, waving his gun, the other man shot him. It wasn’t the rounds of shots that I heard fired off last night that made my heart jump, it happened in Sta. Rita, at 4pm. I’ve now heard the story twice, each time, la culpa (blame) falls differently, but this 28yr old is still dead. Patí said pobrecito Alex, that he was like a son to Napo (our mayor), a crazy man, a true character, but with a good heart. Moncho (my host father) said that he was a violent man, looking for trouble, and in the end, it found him. Patí said everyone at the reunion had pistolas, most men in politics here do. I’ve seen bastante men here carry them all the time tucked into their pants. I’d never seen Alex without his. He was the one who drove me into site that first sunny morning to start my service here. He was my Honduran John Wayne. He was definitely a cowboy, and now he just was. I can’t even say I was particulary friends with Alex, I usually told him hello and then tried to avoid his embrace and cigarette breath. But for my friends, for Napo, and my red-eyed co-workers I do cry. I know their grief will last. I am invited to go to the wake and burial, but am afraid to go, and yet, don’t know how to say no. There are still too many things here that I don´t know how to say.

2008: a new year…to laugh

So far this year has consisted of two states of emotion: 1.) Laughing 2.) Laughing or else I’d cry.
I think being in a foreign country is just like that. Learning to see the humor is step one, and allowing yourself to be the constant butt of the joke is step two. I have a little story:

Here there is a traditional food that is the near-twin of the Tamale. It has black and green beans inside a sweet cornmeal, is steamed in husks, and called a “Tikuko.” The Mayan-Chortis used to make these and they are made currently on special days of the year.

A few weeks ago I was shopping with two of my amigas, Elma y Patí from Cabañas, and they asked me if I was hungry. I said: “No. No, I was stuffed from all the “Tikaka” I ate that day.” They started to laugh and then asked me what I thought of the “Tikaka?” I said: “Ellos fueron muyyyy rico”…this made them laugh hysterically. (I figured I had fumbled in my pronunciation.) Then Elma informed me: “Raquel it’s TiKUKO, not TIKAKA! Tikaka is slang for PUSSY!”

I had just told my friends that I was stuffed from eating delicious vaginas that day!

We like to tell this joke often in the municipalidad where I work…



Work is another laugh/ laugh or cry story. This month, like the past three, is flying by. The Plan Estrategico Desarrollo Municipal (PEDM) is finally starting to finalize itself… The Asambleas Comunitarias are all done, minus one (casco urbano). And all the information is now in my nice and neat spreadsheets and stored in the municipalidad’s computer. I even used formulas in Excel to get some fancy statistical data out of all that info! Esther Kay would be proud…I’m using the photography and the stats to put together a presentation with my coworker Elma for the big Cabildo Abierto (Town meeting). All the big wigs will be there so we can show off all our and our community leaders’ hard work!
Here’s a list to give you an idea of the kinds of projects the communities in my municipio need:

1. Electricity
2. Running water/ Clean water system
3. Housing/ Improved Housing: roofs, walls, flooring. (Currently houses are sun-dried-dirt only)
4. Latrines
5. Pilas (Sinks)
6. Bathrooms
7. Improved Roads/New Roads (Currently most communities are accessible by foot/horse only. Sometimes they are not accessible at all during the rainy season )
8. A Kinder Garden/School House
9. Seeds to plant basic crops
10. Improved Wood-Burning Stoves
11. Soccer Field/Playing Field

The above-mentioned are some of the most demanded projects, which the majority of the 40 communities of Cabañas listed in their top 5. (They were to prioritize a list of 30 most necessary projects) Obviously the ERP funds are not going to be sufficient enough to realize every project the communities are in need of, but if the representatives of the community will come to the Cabildo Abierto, they can make sure a few of their pleas are answered.



Besides working with the Unidad Tecnica in realizing this democratic process, and hopefully increasing transparency, I have initiated a few side projects/groups. One is an adult English/Spanish intercambio group. The other is a womens’ exercise group.

I think it’s too soon to tell how effective or sustainable these will be. The turnout has varied from one meeting to the next. Yet, just putting myself in charge of these micro-efforts has definitely increased my community interaction and confidence—thus whether they sink or fly, I will have succeeded in moving one step closer to being seen by the folks of cabañas as someone invested in their community, who wants to bring new/intended-to-be-positive opportunities into their lives.

I don’t know, I think I’ve reached a good place when I can show my Honduran co-workers pics of “drag queen brunch” in Adams Morgan, Washington, D.C. and field the homophobic questions that follow, no?


About the days/times when I want to cry…

When only 8 women out of 57 women invited show up at a meeting intended to be the start of planning for El Día de la Mujer, on January 25th. I think one of the problems is this passivity to such meetings/events. I’m not sure all the women understand what a day to celebrate them is really for? They are too busy with their chores and their normal lives to take time to plan a day where they are suppose to feel “special.” Its true, such days may seem superficial…but the point, I think, is them taking that time out of their other chores to recognize their own worth and value as more important. Perhaps I am naïve to think that matters just as much as getting dinner ready one night, but I hope that is not the case.

When the men in the office seem completely out-of-line with some of my younger, pretty coworkers…and worse, when my younger pretty coworkers really like such married mens’ attention.

When women I think I am friends with, gaining confianza with, lie to me about coming to a meeting I am holding. They will look me straight in the eye and swear they are coming, in the end…no one comes. It just isn’t that big of a deal. And I guess it’s not. Only to me.

When members of the community I have never spoken to and don’t know my name are asking me to write them a letter of invitation to get a visa to come to the US…

When they promise me a house by January, even when I tell them its ok to tell me when it will really be ready. I guess its nice they don’t want to disappoint me, it’s not lying, it’s pleasing. I walk past my unfinished house everyday, the water isn’t boiling yet… I’m still without a chez moi.

When I asked for a pound of pasas (raisins) and my friend brings me a pound of papas (potatoes)…

***
I have to remind myself, not everything is a potential project to my neighbors and friends. They are not necessarily looking to change their lives. I am the one who is trying to bring something new to them, maybe even make them change something (for me). When I think about it like that, I don’t know what I should expect from the community here. With Peace Corps, you kind of have to assign yourself a job to do, and most the time, your just guessing what that should or shouldn’t be. It’s a lot of trial and error.

***



Yesterday, I was starring at the concrete floor of the widow’s house and I thought: no one here will ever miss the comfort of carpet, or how substantial an insulated house can feel. I would never have accepted to go with Sonia, Elma and Patí had I known they were taking me to a wake.

I entered that room with the dead body and was shocked and afraid. I could feel the death. You can truly feel the presence of someone who is no longer the master of his own cavern of kinetic energy, but has let it go into the universe. It felt as if the energy continued to slowly leak out of him—perhaps this is what people call a soul, perhaps a soul is pure kinetic energy that will go on forever?

All I could do was sit and look down. Such places are too personal for me, they belong alone to family and friends of those who have passed. All I could do was relate it to my own life, to see the red eyes, washed out cheeks, and think: grandma

***
In so many respects I feel like a hunter-gatherer. I feel closer to the earth and the natural process of everything. (poop included) Here, when I’m up in the mountains, I hear every part of the world in motion, every micro bug step. The huge hover-craft style bugs are just suspended in midair by the force of their wings’ movement, and those movements surpass subconsciously--they are not thinking: up down, up down, up down…they just are, flying.

I am no longer afraid of where I am or who I might become. Who I have already become in these short 6 months that feel like years and years. Yet, instead of transporting me to the land of the older and wiser, I feel like I’ve become younger—is that possible?

I guess in Honduran years, I am only 6 months old…

Feliz Navidad

My first Honduran chrsitmas has come and gone. The 24th was the slaughtering of the cerdos, which is a noise I will never forget. The five final cries of a dying hog are not the most soothing of wake-up calls, though waking up to death can’t be expected to sound nice. Alas, that was only 1 of 5 pigs that would die in the family’s backyard that morning. The chickens were up next. I had not realized that I was living with the town butchers. But apparently my family has held this important job every Christmas since Juanito can remember. The animal’s corpse was hanging, swaying, and the blood and such draining, dropping into the sunny dust of the back yard—I only saw it for a split second, but that was enough to turn me off of meat forever, not that I was turned onto it in the first place. Our family also seasoned and roasted all the heads and legs and sides of hog for the neighbors who came one by one to pick up the cena. Besides the plethora of meat, there was more corn than normal to make the tamales and mantukas. All of this is part of the traditional Christmas meal. Today I imagined making a tamale with only broccoli and cauliflower inside with some cheese, now that would be a tasty tamale…All of the day before Christmas is spent cooking and watching futbol, so that is pretty much similar to in the states. Then around 8:30 we began to play Amigos Secretos, which involves you buying a present for your secret person who you selected by chance out of a pile of paper slips with so and so’s name on it. I selected Juanito, and little Benjamin had me. The way they played was you had to sit in a chair and be blind folded and then your secret amigo would stand before you and you had to tocale (touch them) until you guessed who it might be. This part was particularly embarrassing for me because Juanito had to basically feel me up to get his soccer ball…which, he was very happy with. Little Benjamin gave me a set of earrings, a matching hair clip, and a teeny tiny mirror. Very cute. After amigos secretos the night was pretty tranquilo. We ate some food, watched some t.v., heard some firecrackers, ok, a exuberant amount of firecrackers, and then at midnight, went to bed.


Chrsitmas day was much different than the night before. First all the family went to visit the abuela de Alicia in Bario Lempira (the one I run through to get to the aldea of Llano) and she was so sweet and cute, and I just love old people here! Their youthful bright eyes contrasting with their much lived-in skin. I had also been thinking greatly in my own grandmother and our past Christmases spent in her house. Our visit consisted of enjoying grandma’s tamales and café, admiring her nacimiento she constructed with the dancing Santa, and relaxing on the patio. Her casa reminded me of la Cumbre San Lucas. Actually, a lot of the casas I visited Christmas day were unique and beautiful in their own little ways. After Gandma’s house I went to platicar (chat) con the Chinchilla’s and while I was there chatting away with the Misses, along came the pareja (couple) that drove me to the office holiday party, (how very different this yrs than last’s). So we went from Julio’s to her house to have pastel tres leche-yeah cake! Then we drove to bario el Marazán to find Elma and her sis, Evan. From there, we went to la Pati’s in barrio el Tigre, but she was in San Pedro, so we visited with the family and ate more tamales with tang! From there we went to Elma and Evan’s tia’s (aunt’s) house, up the hill and down we went before she could try and feed us more tamales! Though while I was there Evan pointed out a young boy who had un pierna equipo y lebano lepro, which are the two deformities that can be operated on in an upcoming medical brigade I’m trying to help with. I’m trying to contact all families in my Municipio who have infants with these deformities…so it was by chance I met this young boy and now we can sign him up for the free operation in Teguc.


After we left Tia’s house we went to the nativity scene in the parque because it is tradition to steal the baby jesus on the 25th. Thus four chicas sat and schemed to steal the baby jesus as the park guard (Don Chepe) sat near by. We finally succeeded in doing so with the help of the town police officer who distracted Don Chepe… Elma took him from his mossy bed, I ran him a couple feet further and stashed him behind the wall in the parque, then Elma grabbed him and together we walked him to her amiga’s house. I returned to the scene of the crime, so not to arouse suspicion that it was I, and then Elma returned, but not after Don Chepe already pinned all four of us as potential baby Jesus robbers.
Later we took the baby to Myki’s house (daughter-in-law of the mayor), where she hid him in the room I once occupied. After the baby was stashed, we went to la casa de la Elma for cena, and as always, I love cena at her house. There’s always café, beans, tomato, and tortilla. For me, it’s perfecto. The family watched Shrek 2 en español, and I told Elma and Evan stories of skipping school, hacer falta de escuela. Yep, the cut-party story that my dad always told to my aunts at Christmas time…each family has its own traditions after all.



12.26.07

Today we cut café on Don Quijote’s (that may not be his name…) farm in La Cumbre San Lucas. I had planned to go today even before Eva Lidia and baby Katie showed up at the house. I had printed out the photo collage that I had made them for la Navidad and had wanted to deliver it, besides just wanting to go up there since it had been two weekends without a visit, two weekends is half a month, and I’ve now been here in Cabañas for just about 3 in total! Halloween, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas, next New Yrs.


I, Carmen, Netio, y Adalíd all hiked up together since Eva was going to go up anda en caballo with baby Katie. The day was beautiful, perfect really without a cloud in the sky—it sure doesn’t feel like winter here. Even at night, or in the early mornings, it feels more like camp-chilly until the sun takes hold. Adalíd was supposed to be cutting café in the la Cumbre San Juan today, but did not go, which I’m glad he stayed behind. I told him, as my father always told me, “you have your entire life to work.” I’m actually quoting my father, which is a scary thing.

Once we arrived at the house we were served almuerzo of beans, tortilla, queso, chilis y café. Then we were led to the finca where everyone in the family was already busy in the day’s work.
Cutting café was fun, and hard and above all dirty! We strapped the buckets to our waists so to have hands free to pick the mature beans off the plants and drop them in the buckets. By the end, everything part of our bodies were covered in dirt and spider web and pollen, and bugs and just outdoor stuff. The hills where the plants were were extremely steep and slick with dried dirt and so we were falling and grasping onto the tree trunks to sturdy ourselves so not to fall, even though we did. All of Eva Lidia’s sisters were in the field, they all look identical: tall, lean, and classic beauties. Perfect for the look of the 1920 flapper girls or the 1960 hippie with their big brown flower-child eyes, and pin straight long dark hair. They all wore their baseball caps and long-sleeved shirts in the fields and were crouched down skillfully picking the crop, along with their dad and nephews. We brought refresco and white plastic cups to offer the group a bit of refreshment, though lukewarm it was by the time we got there. The kids and I only picked for about an hour or so before heading back home. It was enough for me to know and understand how much work it is. How hard it would be to do that all day long, in the rain, and esp. in the cold. Today we were lucky, it was beautiful, and I’m so glad I went up and got to do that. The intimate process of everything that one consumes in a day, it is important to know, I am starting to realize that. The animals, the coffee, the bread, the tortilla, the bean—everything here that we use as fuel has a natural process, we see it from grain-to- life –to- death –to- processing –to- food –to- la merde, literally. We see everything here. People are much less reserved about many things, esp. the natural and perhaps ugly or not “clean” part of life. I’m learning about that and it is hard for me to accept much of the dirt, but I am slowly learning how to see it and not want to run from it, but know I can coexist with it and it with me.

A town bolo is born_ el nacimiento designed by a jew_ cock fights _ pigs for navidad:

Happy Hanukkah to me! Better late then never, as the special jew-package from my loving sister did not arrive until the day after the last night of Hanukkah…so my celebration was a bit delayed, but celebrate I did. (I even crafted dreidels out of paper, which is actually the second time I had to do such, the first time was that one Hanukkah I spent in the Mid-Pyrenees of France…la sigh…) I shared the little candle-lit menorah show and chocolate coins with two different families I have grown close to here in Cabañas—paper dreidel was a big hit!
Ever since I reluctantly designed the town’s central parque nativity scene I’ve been spending a lot of time explaining Judaism to coworkers and families. (The fact that those of the Jewish faith do believe in God has been punto #1 I’ve tried to put straight.) I feel like I need to go back to Hebrew school to answer all of their specific questions about the Jews and Jesus. I guess that’s what google is for….
The nativity scene is a really big deal here, and I can now say with pride that I’ve painted, glittered, and put to bed a baby Jesus. The constructing of the nativity scene was actually fun, since everyone from the muni helped and it was like a big arts and crafts project, which I have a soft-spot for in my little jewish heart.

During the real Festival of Lights I was mostly in transit due to a date w/the HPV vaccine. The trip to Teguc and back went pretty smooth—aunque largo, it’s do-able, as long as you have the mind set to be spending the entire day en ruta, which isn’t hard to do with a good book or an ipod fully charged. I arrived in Teguc with a splitting headache and just in time to get my lovely HPV shot. Peace Corps put me up in hotel Guadelope II where a couple other PCVs were staying for their Last Night in country…their 2 yrs was up! We dined at Quiznos b/c the main blvd. of Teguc looks like a section of the US Highway with every fast food joint with-in a 2-mile stretch. These big US chains don’t pay taxes to the Hondu government as part of an incentive for them to bring their golden arches and double-stuffed crusts to the developing world—as if there weren’t already enough malnutrition problems without the bigmac.

I was back into my sweet little cabañas after 3.5 days of travel, it felt like I’d been gone so long, and I was all smiles to be back—I set straight to scrubbing clothes in the pila, oh the pila—what was I like when I didn’t even know you existed?

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These past two weeks since Worlds AIDS Day I’ve continued my work with the Unidad Tecnica in executing the Asambleas Comunitarias. I’ve been transferring all the information from the meetings into excel documents to try and keep things organized and accessible for our future work. I’ve been typing every name of every inhabitant living in the aldeas, along with their number of identity and their role in the community—thus learning all the peculiar family names. Hondurans typically have two first names and two last names from both parents, that’s four names per-person. (For example: José Gilberto Valle Cruz. Or para una chica: Maria del Carmen Aguilar Pacheco.) Another list I’ve been creating consists of all the projects that the communities are requesting ERP funding for from the Municipalidad. The majority of pueblos want electricity, better water systems, usable roads, improved housing, bonos for single mothers and senior citizens, a kindergarden, a soccer field, pilas, better fogones (wood-burning stoves), and a machine to grind corn. If the proposals are drafted and the funds come through, these projects are all real possibilities. I will be eager to see if this ERP process will work or not. If the money will truly find its way to our tranquilo municipio…

Going up into the mountains and meeting the people who live without la luz everyday is one of those parts of my life here that change the way I see and think. Today we went up to two of the higher altitude comunidades: la Cumbre San Juan and Nueva Esperanza. I got to test out my ears’ progress in recognizing Honduran family names while I assisted in the lista de participantes…I recognized Aguilar, which is one I wouldn’t have known before, so that is progress, right?
The careterra was so feo up there from the rain and lodo that we had to ditch the truck and continue on horseback. (We tend to ditch the truck a lot when it’s raining) It was freezing—a wet misting cloud-surrounded day and for that, yo tengo el gripe en la garganta. The people who gathered in the meetings wore their frayed neon beach blankets and knit caps, and the large unlit cement building where the meeting took place felt like one dark, giant freezer.
I was thinking as I walked home from la Elma’s after showing her family my menorah and how to play dreidel, how easy it is to forget yourself here, and forget that riding horses in the frescita mountain ranges of Central America amidst the lush green coffee fields, is not a normal day, or would never have been a normal day back in the states. This kind of work doesn’t exist there…I don’t think. I like being constantly out of the office, not having a desk, no cubes. Yet I enjoy the times when I can sit and type away on my clean white Mac and create order out of the chaos, or rather invent a system, find the patterns, catch-on to the cycle, break it?

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Today my host dad showed up to the casa with a big ol’porker in-tow…that means blood will be a-flowing in the pila the day before Christmas…Last week it was a cow. An entire cow was skinned and cut and sawed and stuffed into the fridge. You couldn’t open it without a chunk falling out….I had to evacuate the tomatoes! Good thing it’s a family of men who grilled it, boiled it, and roasted it up; thus, ate it up in a mere couple of days, else the lack of electricity would’ve been a slight problem…

Speaking of the bloody—I saw my first cock fight (first and last). The cock owners actually lick the bloody heads of their roosters in between rounds. They stick the entire bloody feathered-cabeza in their mouths to clean it off. It’s not pretty, and the blood and violence and such is just not worth whatever slight entertainment value might come from the animal abuse. Though I have to admit it reminded me of boxing, and then of gladiators and the human enthusiasm for fights till the death. Why is blood so bad? Yet, why is fighting applauded? There is something very self-destructive in it all. In each peck, cluck cluck.

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Tonight on Canal Doce: Ernesto Grande’s evil twin Ernesto Bolo terrorizes the town of Cabañas!

It seems our local t.v. guy is an alcoholic. He was always a bit eccentric, verbose, loco—but now, he is a drunken menace, and the town is abuzz with Ernesto bashing. He showed up at our house nearly every night last week asking for my host sister’s hand in marriage, that is after he asked for some café and a tortilla toasted with queso. My host dad could barely get the guy to leave; the kids and I hid in our rooms. The next night, he asked for my hand in marriage, that was after he pleaded for comida y cafécito again. This time, we just didn’t open the door. A few people now have him on video being bolo-of-the-month on their cell phones. Everyone in town seems to have their own Ernesto-encounter to share. This is my first real taste of how powerful chisme (gossip) is in a small town. I predict much Enersto Bolo chisme this Christmas eve as the families gather to eat their chickens and hams and the niños set off firecrackers till dawn…Pop pop pop*