The Importance of Vocabulary…

One of the guys and two of the women where I work are constantly trying to tell me jokes. I constantly look blankly at them when they get to the punch line. Then they explain the joke and I still don’t get it. Then we all laugh at… well… me. At least they get a laugh. And I appreciate that they keep trying. Someday I aspire to understand jokes in Spanish. That’s when everything will come together. The jokes that I tell are all very much on the elementary school level but it seems to make people laugh. “So Rebecca, how do you like it here working with us?” “Everyone is real nice. Except Manuel.” And the room bursts out in laughter (Manuel is usually the one telling the jokes).

So a flying roach landed in my egg the other day. I very briefly considered the 3 second rule and then decided that there was no way that applied to flying roaches. So I gave it to the dogs when nobody was looking. BTW. Flying roaches in Hondu are WAY different than in FL. They are faster and fly AT YOUR FACE!

So my newest attempt at explaining something that was way above my language level was the phrase “bleeding heart.” I was trying to explain to one of my coworkers that a lot of people say that I have a bleeding heart. And keep in mind that I didn’t have my dictionary with me so did not know the word for bleeding. Only for blood and bloodborne (thank you HIV training).

“Well, people who join Peace Corps are a little different. Like, there is a phrase in English like ‘my heart has blood that goes.’”

“Well yeah! Of course your heart has blood!” with a very confuddled look on his face.

“No, no it’s like it goes. Like in a cut. It goes.”

“Right. Your heart has blood…”

“No, no, it’s a phrase, like I feel for things. My heart has blood that goes out of it”

“So it’s a bad thing.”

“Well… no, but some people think it is.”

“So what does that have to do with blood?”

“No, it’s a phrase. Like my hearts blood goes for people.”

“Right, of course it does.”

“No, it’s a phrase in English. It means like, I feel too much.”

“So it’s a bad thing.”

“Well… to some… but no, not really… nevermind.”

So I don’t think I have really told you guys how a typical “getting to know you” conversation goes in Honduras. I love it. It is so predictable. The only variation is the order of questions:

“What is your name?”

“Rebecca JoAnne Williams.”

(You may be thinking dear God Becky, why do you give your entire name? Do you have name turrets? No, I do not. But if I don’t give my whole name the next question is “What is your last name?”)

“What state are you from?”

“Florida.”

“Oh! Miami!”

“Well yeah, but I’m about 7 hours North of Miami.”

“Oh, is that near (insert one) New York/Los Angeles/Houston/California?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh, I have a brother/uncle/husband in the states.” “Oh really? Where?”

“Texas (for example).”

“Oh, are they legal or illegal?”

“Illegal.” (almost always).

“Ah, that’s a tough life.”

(I have learned that the legal/illegal question is perfectly acceptable)

“How long have you been here?” “How long are you staying”

“I have been here for 4 months and I will be here for 2 more years. I have been in this town for 1 month.”

(I never know which one they are asking so I always just answer both questions.)

“Do you have a boyfriend?” “No, I do not have a boyfriend. I don’t really want one right now. I had one in the states.” (This extra information usually prevents the “I have a son/ cousin/ nephew/ brother who…)

(This question can vary depending on who is asking and how sly they are “Is your husband in Peace Corps too?” “Is your husband in the states?” “What is your boyfriends name?” Is your husband going to come visit?”)

“Do you have children?”

“Umm…. no.”

(I always really want to answer yes and make some long elaborate lie about how I left my kids in the states. But then I remember that a lot of the women here are single moms because their spouse left to work in the states. So the question really is reasonable. Then I feel like an asshole.)

“Are you Catholic or Evangelical?”

“My family is Protestant. I was raised Protestant.”

(This usually is followed by blank stares from the Honduran, who I am sure is thinking “What is a Protestant and why didn’t she answer the question?” I feel bad for my Jewish friends.)

This is usually where introductions end and one of the following conversational questions ensues (And I am really not joking…):

“Have you tried Rosquillas?” (When in Sabanagrande)

“Do you like mangoes? Would you like 1 (which means 5)?” (When in Pespire)

“Have you tried Papusas?” (When in Valle de Angeles)

“Do you know Baraq Obama?” (Seriously people…. Seriously.)

“Do you like our country?”

And my personal favorite…

“What do you think about the war in Iraq?” (You would be amazed how often I get this question from all ages of Hondurans)

Oh so seriously, last week we were discussing how amazing it would be to bring the phrase “Qué Barbaridad” to the states. And I am sure you all agree with me. Well, I have noticed recently that there is a lazy version of “Qué Barbaridad” that would be absolutely amazing in the states. It makes me laugh inside every time. “Qué Barbara.” When you just don’t have the energy to get out an entire “How Barbaric” just blame it on Barbara!

So, sometimes completely random things happen to me here in Hondu. I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t really know what is going on, or if it’s because nobody bothers to tell me because they just assume that I won’t know what is going on anyway. I mean honestly, sometimes people will talk to me and all I understand is that we are going SOMEwhere. And then usually when they gesture for me to come along I’m like “Oh, now? Okay.” I have decided that I am a much more trusting person than I ever thought I was. “Come and get the pretty candy little girl!” “Okay nice Honduran person I barely know!”

Usually these outings will be to somewhere pretty mundane like to drop off some materials in an aldea. I always love going along because the drive is so pretty. And I also get nauseous enough from the bumpy, windy roads to not want to eat much for dinner. I call that Weight Watchers Honduras. But every once in awhile I end us somewhere completely unexpected. For example:

So the other day my mom is all spruced up and tells me that she is going to a boda. Lovely! Have fun! (Whatever that is…) And she tells me that my host dad wants to take me to meet a community after the boda. Fine with me, I say. So she disappears for awhile, I assume at whatever that boda thing is, and then she comes back and tells me we are leaving soon. But she is still all spruced up. And so is my host dad. And then I see a gift on the table with wedding paper wrapping. And now I am getting suspicious. So then my host brother asks me where I’m going this afternoon. So I say “I’m going to go to meet a community.” And he says “Oh, I’m going to the wedding too!” DRAT! So I quickly retreat to my room and change out of my jeans and music festival T-shirt into my soap tie-died pants and fancy schmancy shirt. Note to self… boda = wedding…

So now I am in the back of car with no kidding, 4 other Hondurans (ever hear the one about how many Hondurans fit in the back of a car?), on the way to this wedding in this little aldea. So we get most of the way but there is an ice cream truck blocking the road (ice cream truck = normal truck with a cooler in the back, an ice cream scoop, and some cones. Usually one flavor. I’m pretty sure the other day I had candied fig ice cream…). Well, the ice cream truck was in front of the house with the wedding, which you have to admit is just darn good business sense! But there was no passing this truck. So we basically pulled over and hung out with a whole bunch of other people who couldn’t fit into this little house.

And now I am confused. Are we at a wedding? Are we at a wedding reception? Where are we? And who are these people? Are we related to them? And why are they all staring at me? Oh wait, I know the answer to that one.

Then, the bride appears in the dirt street, I must say looking rather lovely, and then her husband (perhaps?) appears. And then we are walking back to our parked car, I am assuming to leave. My host mom mutters something about the house being too full. So I was like well, whatever. It was something to do and now I know a new word! Boda!. But, as per usual, I am out of the loop. So once the ice cream truck leaves, and the kid on the horse goes by, we start going AWAY from the highway. Hmmm. So we get about a kilometer down the road and there is the entire wedding party WALKING in the DIRT STREET. Not cool. So my host dad pulls over, kicks my host brothers out of the car, and picks up the bride and groom. Or the married couple. Not sure which because I still don’t know what is going on. (How Barbara.)

So we go about another kilometer and then my host dad gets stuck in the mud. This isn’t too big of a deal because we got stuck like right in front of a house with like a zillion people and balloons so I am assuming that was the wedding reception (and now I know what is going on… HAHAHAHA good one). So we get out and leave my dad to getting out of the mud. Meanwhile, I go and sit against a wall outside of the house with my host mom and seriously about 150 other people. Two women are serving rice, meat, tortillas and tang (they LOVE tang here) to the guests. And I’m so thirsty I was about to go stick my whole head in their rain barrel. The only thing that kept me from it was the certainty that that would result in an intestinal parasite or bacteria. But the tang ladies never came to us! And then they started passing us into the house with actual GLASS glasses of tang. I was saddened at my misfortune. I have never wanted a glass of Tang so bad in my whole life. Plus it’s fun to say! Try it once…. Tang….

So then, all of the sudden, my host mom gestures for me to go inside. And I walk inside and there is like a table with all the fancy plates, the bride and groom, and a few other people, and chairs for us! Wha? So I totally ate at the head table with this random couple. I still don’t know how they were related to the family or even their names. And where we were seated were the huge glass plates and the bride and groom had the little guest sized plates. And this concerned me because I figured the big plates were for them. But then they gestured for me to eat. I’m still beyond confused by this. I should also mention that this was a dirt floor house. Very poor. But they had it all decked out for the wedding. But seriously folks, there is no awkwardness like the awkwardness that is randomly eating at the head table of a wedding. That, my friends, is awkwardissimo.

So then they had this completely awesome folk band with ghetto instruments that looked like they survived the Spanish Civil War, were totally out of tune, and they JAMMED some Honduran folk tunes. And I couldn’t sit still. Which, btw, means in Honduras that you like to dance. So about 100 people asked me to dance and I had to explain to them that I had absolutely no idea how to dance to folk tunes (besides the fact that I am by far the tallest person there). So I just tapped my foot and bobbed my head and I think every Honduran there said “You like the music?” Ummmm no. I think it sucks. I hate it. That’s why I can’t sit still.

So then, then it started POURING down rain (sideways and in sheets). And there is no electricity in this house and it is getting dark. And all these people start cramming into this little aldea house. So we flee for the car. And this is great because I’m about done getting stared at and feeling out of place for the day. (Think that introduction conversation above times like 150 people.) So the thing is, however, the car has no windshield wipers, no lights, and no AC. So we are all steamed up inside, can’t see anything in the rain, and it’s muddy and downhill the whole way. So here we are driving completely blind in the pouring down rain down very sketchy mud and rock roads with drop-offs on one side. No worries. I was pretty sure I was going to die, but I figured at least I knew how the Harry Potter books end. So whatever, I can die.

So, then, like a week later, my host dad asked me if I would like to go meet a community with him. I have a feeling that this is actually the community that he wanted to take me to and somehow I got roped into the wedding through ignorance. I didn’t really have any idea why, but I said sure! I suppose I could have asked, but why ruin the adventure? So Sunday rolls around and I ask him when we are going and he says, “11:30” which in Honduras can be translated as “sometime in the afternoon.” So I tell him I’m going to take his niece (she is 8) and we are going to go watch a soccer game. And he makes it very clear that we are leaving at 11:30, and I need to be back in time. Sure, whatever dad.

So 11:15 rolls around and I dutifully walk back to the house knowing full well that we aren’t leaving any time soon. Sure enough, my host dad is having a meeting with about 20 people in the gazebo underneath my underwear, socks, and bras which are hanging up to dry. I can’t really decide if it’s more embarrassing that they were a) having a meeting under my knickers, b) that all my undies have rainbow colors and butterflies, or c) that none of my undies are lacey. It also has not escaped my attention that my undies, after 3 months of hand scrubbing, are looking a little more… ratty than I would normally like.

So Sunday afternoon we get in his little truck and we go tooling off to this little community. We arrive and go into the town meeting hall and it turns out that he had taken me to a Water Board meeting and they were having a meeting about trying to bring water to this community. So, I was taken a little bit off guard because I didn’t really have any idea that a Water Board meeting was where he was taking me. But I recuperated quickly and pretended like I knew why I was there the whole time. And there were also a good 40 community members there. So here I am, randomly sitting in the front of 40+ people. And my host dad and an engineer are both sitting there talking with this community about how I can do the topographical survey for them and the design of the system. Which is all true, just a bit out of the blue for my normal Sunday stroll, and generally making promises is you know… a BAD IDEA. Thankfully though, the engineer was quick to point out that I couldn’t do anything unless the perforation showed that there was a sufficient amount and quality of water for the community.

Anyway, so on the way home my host dad pulls over in this random location near a house that was situated down at the bottom of a hill (a walk down the hill… and I should also mention that “hill” in Spanish means “treacherous rock laden path down a 30 degree angle slant”). Turns out that he was buying firewood. So the four hitchhikers that were in the back of the truck and I walk down the hill and start hauling firewood back up to the truck. I mean, what else would you do after a random Water Board meeting but randomly haul firewood? After a bit of hauling, I realized that he had bought ALL of the firewood. So the wood completely filled up the back of the truck all the way to the roof. And since we didn’t have any rope (I mean, why would we?) we tied it down with barbed wire. (How Barbara) And then the four dudes just climbed up on top of the firewood! I mean, I consider myself to be rather brave… but riding in the back of a truck that is going to end up on the highway while on top of a bunch of firewood (AKA burnable sticks) tied down with barbed wire does not seem very safe. Maybe I’m just getting old.

So, we get about 10 yards down the road and the truck won’t go up the hill. I think the only reason it didn’t roll backwards was the sheer force of willpower of my host dad mashing on the brakes. So the dudes jump out of the back and grab big rocks to put behind the tires. And my host dad guns it and gets enough power to go up to a flat spot where the dudes jump back in the back of the truck. Keep in mind that this is a little bitty 2 wheel drive manual shift truck. So then we end up back out of this little aldea and onto the “highway” (which if I haven’t explained before is a paved two lane road. Highway.) and make it back to the house with a truckload of firewood and the expectation that I will be able to find water in the ground. What a weird week.

But I think the best experience was my friend Banana’s. I totally stole this from her blog so you could appreciate that I am not the only one who has no idea what is going on half the time…

…..Oh, and by this time I’ve noticed that there isn’t any coffee growing in this area, because we’re pretty high up. Now, forgetting that I often lose things in translations, I start to panic about what is really the mission for this jaunt into the mountains…

1) They’re selling me into the sex trade and we’re going to the obscure meeting spot 2) They’re going to kill me, because I haven’t paid them rent yet 3) They’re going to sell me into regular slavery, because they don’t like Americans

Well, we get to a point where it doesn’t appear that cars would be able to go much further. It’s a lot cooler, and just extremely beautiful. So, eventually the road does end, we hop out, and start climbing upwards. Well, apparently they have animals up here, and we’re checking on them. Where’s here? A national park. Turns out we were in Celaque National Park, which is an extensive park in this area, which I think includes a cloud forest, which is where the forest is in the clouds? I don’t know. I feel like a bad person, because apparently everyone else did a lot of research on Honduras before we got here, and one of the major attractions was the Bosque de Nubles (Cloud Forest). So I wandered around, KICKING MYSELF, for being so stupid and not understanding enough Spanish to understand we weren’t going to a coffee farm, but a national park. Granted, I don’t think I would have known anyways, because those details weren’t provided anyway, but I should learn to just bring my camera everywhere I go.

Say it with me now…. Taaaang….