Formerly Nerdalicious in Honduralicious…

IN THIS WEEKS BLOG: Boredom. Gangsta amoebas and Russian mob lettuce. Empty apartments. Electricity provides energy as well as the occasionally buzzy feeling! Bored, whine whine whine. Sweaty pits on the way to the island. Giant toilet spiders. Stop pulling my hair! I’m telling!!!. Awesome sweaty British band song!

Well, unfortunately there has been little to write about for the past month, so my apologies in slacking in my blog-entertaining duties. Since the coup, or political overthrow, or whatever the hell it was, things have been very dull and slow moving. Mostly because so many NGOs and other groups working here in the country get funding from outside of the country (such as from USAid) and the much of the funding has been frozen while this situation resolves (or doesn’t resolve, as it seems). Anyway, so I have basically been sitting around with my thumb up my rear for the past month. Literally, for about a week+ thanks to a bacterial infection and Edgar, the parasite. But that is a story for another paragraph.

So I basically sat around with my thumb up my rear for a week+ thanks to a bacterial infection and Edgar, the parasite. The parasite was likely a gang of amoebas (I imagine them with facial tattoos, gold teeth, and a bandanna tied around their arm, with little amoeba cars with spinning rims and sweet sound systems) that I got while taking pictures in La Espina. That day, my coworkers asked me to come along to take pictures somewhat out of the blue, so I did not have my water bottle with me. Well, turns out that we spent most of the day there, in the heat, and I had no water. So, when the lovely little community offered me a glass of lemonade, I took one look at it, thought to myself “I’m about to get sick” and downed it with glee. Aaaand about 3 weeks later I was pooping water, vomiting, 101 fever, body aches, and headache. And let me tell you. Vomiting in a Honduran toilet shared by 8 people is really really gross. Not to mention that showers and toilets are usually not in the same stall in Honduras. So you can only imagine what I was praying  to NOT happen while I was vomiting! But DAMN that lemonade was good. Moral of the story? Always have a full water bottle.

The bacteria could have been something as simple as lettuce. The lettuce here is like the Russian roulette of illness. Did they wash it? What did they wash it with, the sink water? Did they disinfect it? Am I going to get sick from this? Oh well, let’s find out! SPIIINNNNNNNN! CLICK!….. Shew, no bacterial infection today!

Well, I finally am in my own place. It’s a pretty nice place, though it is sorely lacking in a bed and a refrigerator (just got a fridge for $1500 lemps, used) I did buy a 2 burner stove (which incidentally shocks me regularly, so I now wrap a towel around my hand to prevent the daily electrocution) and my friend Feisty and my counterpart agency gave me colchitas to sleep on, which are like thin foam mattresses. I have three of them stacked up which is sort of like sleeping on a giant memory foam pillow. It’s good for now, though I think if I sleep on it for two years I may end up with back issues. But, for now, it is WAY WAY WAY better than the week I slept on the tile and it is pretty cozy. My refrigerator issue makes me want to throw things and pout. They are pretty pricey, but my landlord has the previous volunteer’s fridge. Unfortunately, he won’t give it to me and will only sell it to me. Granted, the price is less than I would pay for a new one, but I’m still mad I have to pay for it at all. It’s a little dorm fridge. It will totally do the trick so long as I don’t buy like a 2 liter of soda or anything. Pots and pans are REALLY pricey here. It’s surprising. So I bought one frying pan and one pot. I think I may need one more pot so I can make spaghetti.

Anyhoo, so it is rather fun learning to live with basically no belongings. It is freeing but also a bit pathetic. I’m going to build some stuff like a coffee table and some shelves when budget permits. I built a clothes rack out of PVC (closets are like, nonexistent in Honduras) so at least my clothes are off the floor. I’m using my sleep mat as a “couch.” It works. But anyway, I’m super glad to have the privacy of my own place. I even have the occasional hot shower when my electroducha is working! It’s kind of like the hot water lottery. You have to just turn the handle in the morning to see if hot or cold water comes out. Sadly, it hasn’t worked since the last time the power went out and ever since then I get slightly electrocuted every time I touch the on/off valve in the shower. Hmmm. That can’t be good. The kitchen water is equally as exciting. Some days I get green, chunky water. Other days I get relatively clear water that doesn’t make me want to vomit as I wash my dish. Obviously, I buy water to drink. And since I’m never quite sure when the water is going to be chunky, I also use purchased bottled water to cook with. Though I know that I will kill everything with 15 minutes of boiling the sink water….. really. It’s chunky water. That’s just gross.

And before you tell me that I should tell my landlord about my green, chunky water, and my issues with electrocution, let me just go ahead and burst out in skeptical laughter and save you the trouble of mentioning it. BWAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! Well, perhaps I will call about the electrocution. Though mildly pleasant, it has got to be dangerous.

So, things are holding steady with Thegro Beanwit. I’m still in a total holding pattern waiting for what is going on and what I will be doing. In their defense, they have been meeting in the capital a lot lately, and since I am not allowed to go to the capital right now, I am rather out of the loop. Last week I was busy being incredibly ill and wanting to be put out of my misery. This week they have been in the capital all week so I have been wandering around the town, hanging out with a visiting friend, I got special permission to go to another town 2 ½ hours away to buy groceries (rather than go to the store in the capital that is 45 minutes away and ¼ the bus fare), and have generally just been in a malaise. But, I also wonder if they are just going to put me off forever. So they PROMISED we would start work this week. We shall see. I have already typed up letters to give to other organizations introducing myself and stating what I can offer them. So I am going to hand those out, probably tomorrow.

Everyone that I know has been pretty down since the coup (including myself if you can’t tell by the tone of my blog). It’s hard enough to try to adjust to living here and finding work to have the country suddenly politically unstable and arguing with all of the neighboring countries, and all foreign aid to cease. Most of us are in the same place. Work is halted, trying to figure out what we are doing, etc. A few lucky people are funded internally or from the local governments and have continued work or have gotten work. I have kind of gotten screwed by my geographical location. I am just south of the capital and just north of the edge of my E-zone, which means that I haven’t been allowed to leave my town. It also means that nobody can come through the capital to help me with my first water survey, and I can’t go help anybody with their work. So basically I have been up to nothing. And it looks like I will not be able to travel through the capital anytime soon. So I am stuck in the South while 95% of my friends are in the North, East, or West. Unfortunately, with all of this going on on top of trying to adjust to volunteer life, we have thusly lost 6 volunteers from my training group in the past month, making it 11 total and approximately 25% of my group. Morale amongst my training group is very low at the moment. There is really no way to explain how difficult it is to adjust. It is right up there with the hardest things I have ever done in my life list. (bested only by my lovely and fun breakup). So with the travel restrictions, the coup, the political instability, the difficulty adjusting to a different culture, being isolated, homesickness, adjusting to living on very little money, trying to find work, trying to integrate into a very macho culture, etc, there is certainly no faulting people for leaving. I’m certainly not planning on leaving any time soon, though I can most assuredly understand why people do. So anyway, I know that was probably a downer, but I think you should all know the reality of how difficult service is in addition to how funny it is to be here in this strange place. Plus, my morale isn’t exactly in the stars at the moment.

I finally figured out a small project I can start on which has become a bit of a lifeline for me while this political situation settles itself. The idea is from a previous volunteer who had a radio show on environmental education. I managed to get the recordings and they are pretty funny. So, I’m currently listening and transcribing these tapes so I can get some ideas on what I can do in an enviro ed radio show. My counterpart group wanted to do that anyway, so it ends up working out well for me.

Yesterday our travel restrictions were lifted enough that I can go to the other two departments here in the South. That means that I may be able to get another volunteer from the H12 group to come up and help me with a survey I have been waiting on.

RE: packages. I know that I have packages in the PC office in the capital but I don’t know how many or who from. I’m waiting for a PC employee to travel south for some reason and thus drop them off to me. Worst case scenario, my “boss” is coming down for a site visit on August 7^th and I can get them then. As soon as I get them I will let you all know. You have no idea how excited I am about these packages you guys have sent!!!!

I finally had a sort of adventure the other day. When I found out I could go to the department of Valle, I immediately told my friend in Amapala that I was going to visit. Amapala is an awesome island just off the coast in the South. It is actually on the back of the 2 Lempira bill. You can see El Salvador from there. And I have a friend who is a business volunteer there (actually she was my roommate during staging and thus shall heretofore be called “Roomie” in my blog) so I went to visit and stay the day on the beach. The really cool thing about Amapala is that it has beaches with black sand (volcanic), dark sand that is kind of a blackish/brownish color, AND white sand beaches. And the island is only about 20 Kilometers in circumference.

Anyhoo, so I got up at 6:30am to hop on the bus to go to Amapala. Well, I get to the bus stop and I start waiting. And I wait, and wait, and wait, and I soon start to get suspicious that maybe the bus doesn’t actually SAY Amapala, but perhaps says something else. So, I text my friend and sure enough, I’m supposed to catch the bus to Coyolito. So I start looking for the bus for Coyolito. So I wait, and wait, and wait and then I start to get concerned as it is now 9:00. So I text the German who had gone a few weekend previous, and it turns out I’m supposed to take the bus to San Lorenzo, get off, and THEN take the bus to Coyolito. Damn. I internationally suck at directions.

So, I finally get on a bus to San Lorenzo at about 9:45am. This is probably the worst bus I have taken in all of Honduras. It is slow, I have to stand the whole way (because of where my town is located this is not uncommon. I always get on the bus just after all the people from the capital get on, or just before all of the people from the capital get off), it is hot, and it stops a lot. And the ayudante (the bus has a helper guy who takes your money) was insisting on cramming more and more people on the bus until I really felt like the people around me should take me out on a date so we could get to know each other a bit better. I’m not one to usually get so close on a first encounter. AND the guy standing to my immediate left was STINKY. So eventually I just started giggling. Especially when the people got on the bus to sell their wares and insisted on walking all the way to the back of the bus with their mangoes, watermelons, fried plantain chips, or whatever else they had. At one point a poor chubby lady just COULD NOT get through the crowd and off the bus. And all the people were kind of making fun of her trying to squeeze through. I think when she passed me she actually frisked me. I know she definitely had wandering hands…

Anyway, so eventually we got to San Lorenzo and I gratefully beat my way off the bus and gulped in the fresh air. Okay, let’s be honest. I gratefully beat my way off the bus and gulped in the burning garbage smoke air that was fresher than the pits of the stinky dude next to me. It’s all about perspective, people. Burning garbage ranks better than stinky-honduran-farmer-pits, given that the wind is blowing outside of the bus and inside the bus the air is stagnant. One day, I shall give you a ranking of Honduran smells. Perhaps that is something to look forward to in my next blog.

But I digress. So, I get off the bus and very shortly after the bus to Coyolito pulls up and on I get and thankfully there is an open seat next to a kid! Woohoo! So after awhile the ayudante asks for my money and I tell him to please let me know when to get off the bus for Amapala. He must have thought I was dumb because it turns out the route ends literally on the dock for Amapala. Silly gringa. But, he nodded and about 10 people around me got super excited and said “Are you going to Amapala??? ME TOO!!!” Now, that usually doesn’t happen on a bus. But, people usually only go to Amapala to spend the day at the beach. So that lifted my spirits because it was pretty Honduranly cute.

So, the ride to Amapala from Coyolito is very pretty and reminds me a lot of Florida other than the obvious volcanic islands off in the distance. When we arrived we took a ferry over to the island. Unfortunately, it is now 12:00 noon and I will have to leave at 4pm to catch the ferry and bus back home (I had a meeting the next day). But, I met Roomie at the doc and we immediately went to her host family’s house, changed, and went to the black/brownish sand beach! It was so lovely. AND, because it wasn’t holy week, there were very few people and the water had minimal pee!!!

I miss Florida tons. Especially the beaches. So 4:00 rolled around and we walked back to the dock. But, the last boat was pulling away DOH! So, I waited a few more minutes hoping enough people would gather for another boat, and then eventually just paid 80 Lempira to go alone (normally it is 15). So I get across to Coyolito and it turns out I had also missed the last bus back to San Lorenzo. DAMN. So, luckily, there is one boat about to leave back to the island so I hop on it and call Roomie to let her know I needed to crash with her.

So, I get back to the island but the power is out, and we couldn’t cook and all of the comedores are closed. We ended up buying tamales on the street and when the power came back on we got some ice cream. And then the power went back out (no joke) so we went back to her place, sat in the complete pitch dark, and chatted. Eventually, the power came back on, yet again, and I was then able to go to the bathroom, see the two gigantic spiders, decide I didn’t have to go that bad, and thus went to bed. The next morning I got up, Roomie assured me there were no spiders when she went to the bathroom, and I peed the most glorious pee ever.  Before she assured me that there were no spiders, I was having a serious conversation with myself on if A) I should suck it up, be a grown up, and use the bathroom with the giant spiders, B) Find somewhere I could go outside when nobody was looking and pretend like I had used the actual bathroom (Many Honduran bathrooms are outside separate from the house and this house had a latrine style bathroom), or C) Hold it the 2 ½ hour trip home. I was seriously leaning towards B. As it was, when I went I totally left the door wide open so if any of the spiders appeared I could get away quickly. Don’t judge me. Everyone else was asleep, Roomie was changing in the house, and the door opens inwards so I would have to BACK UP FURTHER into the bathroom if the giant spiders decided to eat me and I needed to run away. So at least with the door open I had a fighting chance (although I envisioned myself falling over with my pants around my ankles. But at least I would be out the door and in the sunlight away from the advancing spider hordes.)

Then Roomie walked me back to the dock, I chilled for a bit waiting for people to show up for a collective boat, and had a rather uneventful trip home. And I actually felt so much better after spending a day on the beach and an accidental night in the island town.

Do you think there is a limit on the amount of sugar ants you can eat? I mean, I double Ziploc bag every single thing but a few still wheedle their way into the bags. It must be a pretty high amount you can eat. Can’t taste them. Extra protein. I pretty much just pick them out of my bread before I make a sandwich.

Speaking of eating bugs, there were weevils in my pasta the other day. That one kind of surprised me and I had to fish around in the boiling water to scoop them out. Peace Corps changes you.

I think my neighbor is watching Matlock… it’s one unmistakable theme song….

Well, the situation between Zalaya and Michelitti is just darn annoying at the moment. Nothing is really going on other than an elementary school style battle of wills. I have decided that this entire situation is basically a grown up version of a schoolyard fight:

Z: I want to be the captain!

M: You were the captain LAST time! You can’t be the captain again!

Z: Yes I can!

M: Nuh uh! We’re kicking you out of our club!

Z: I’m telling!

M: Fine, baby!

Z: Teacher, they kicked me off the team!!!

T: Well, that’s just not very nice. You let him back on the team!

M: I don’t want to! He’s a meanie!

T: Well you better or no snack for you!

M: No. I won’t. I’m going to take my ball and go home!

T: Well, you’re going to have to go to the principal’s office then! Both of you!

P: You two need to get along!

Z: NO!

M: NO!

P: Well we are just going to talk this out until you can get along.

(Days later)

P: Okay, you two need to work this out. I will give you a day to think it over.

Z: HA! Look! I’m touching your ball!

M: You get away from my ball!

Z: HAHA! Lookie Lookie! I’m touching your ball!

M: STOP IT!

Z: Fine. But I’m going to stand here right next to the playground until you let me back on the team.

M: I won’t! You… you… AMOEBA!!!!

Z: Yeah! Well, I’m going to get my friends and we are going to beat you up!

M: Yeah, right you big wimp!

To be continued….

Now tell me, isn’t that exactly what is going on? At least very few people have been hurt. And I was once called an amoeba by a 5^th grader who thought himself clever. At the time I thought he was an idiot. Now that I have suffered from a gang of amoebas I have decided that “amoeba” is a rather horrid insult! If I knew where that guy was I would offer him a delicious Honduran salad poorly washed with pila water. HA! NOW who’s an amoeba?!

Okay, so I totally wrote that part like 3 days ago, and today I was at lunch with my coworkers and they were making fun of the political situation. And seriously, one of them got up and totally did the following (imagine a line on the floor made by tile)

(He hops over the line)

”HAHA! HERE I AM! OH, POLICIA”

(he hops back over the line)

”HAHA! IM IN NICARAGUA”

(he hops back over the line)

”HERE I AM! OH, POLICIA! ”

(he hops back over the line)

”HAHA! IM IN NICARAGUA”

I kid you not. I was cracking up thinking about what I had just written in my blog.

So my neighbors are pretty cool. I actually hesitate to say that we may even become friends. There are three single moms who are my neighbors all of whom have two kids each. Their husbands all are illegal aliens in the states who are sending remittances back here for their families. Two of the three are super nice, pretty young maybe mid thirties, and totally chat with me. They are very laid back and I like their kids (although they have an annoying habit of screaming into my window when they want my attention). So hopefully I can eventually make friends with them (the adults, not the kids). They seem open to it. Just the cultural differences that make things hard.

Anyway, so it is amazing being on this side of the illegal alien deal. Every single person I have met tells me, after the standard questions which if you recall are: name (including middle and last), age, state of residence (no, not Miami), marital status (yes, yes, hard to believe I’m 29 and single. You don’t have to remind me), kids (yes, I left them at home with a jar of peanut butter), Obama (yes, of course I know him personally) that their brother/cousin/uncle/dad/husband is in the states “mojado.” (That is one impressive run-on sentence. Feel free to nominate it for a run-on sentence award. The “Runsies,” if you will. I would fix it but that’s just not my style.) And you can see the impact of it here. My neighbors have  nicer places than mine (they actually have furniture) and one is even sending her kid to bilingual school, which gives the kid an enormous advantage. I see a lot of families who would be in extreme poverty if it wasn’t for the remittances. And I’m not saying I agree with illegal aliens, I’m just telling you how interesting it is to see the affects of it here. And a lot of them have been telling me how things are getting a lot harder because there is no work in the states even for the illegals.

So it becomes more interesting when you consider that I myself do NOT get remittances from the states other than the occasionally begging for money from my relatives (like I tell them, every family needs a hippie schmooze), and thus I am sitting on a mat on the floor and using my borrowed plastic chair as a coffee table. It gives one a lot of perspective not just know, but to LIVE that things like garlic presses, coffee tables, desks, etc are really not necessary in the least (though it makes things much more comfortable). And when you take away all of the awesome things you can get in a US grocery store, you can still be creative enough to make decent food that IS NOT FRIED Honduras, SHEEZ!

Well, living here gives one perspective like you wouldn’t believe, but I will always feel like a visitor. Now, when I hear the song “Common People” by Pulp, it rings truer than it ever has in my entire life. I used to sing it at the top of my lungs thinking about super rich people who have no perspective on the working class. Now, I feel like it’s a song about me:

She came from Greece she had a thirst for knowledge.
She studied sculpture at St. Martin’s college.
That’s where I caught her eye.
She told me that her dad was loaded
I said, “In that case I’ll a rum and coca cola”,
She said fine, and then in thirty seconds time, she said:
“I wanna live like common people.
I wanna do whatever common people do.
Wanna sleep with common people
I wanna sleep with common people like you.”
Oh what else, could I do?
I said “oh, I’ll see what I can do.”
I took her to a supermarket.
I dunno why but I had to start it somewhere.
So it started there.
I said “pretend you ain’t got no money,”
And she just laughed and said
“Ha, you’re so funny.”
I said, “Yeah? Huh, I can’t see anyone else smiling here.
Are you sure
You want to live like common people?
You wanna see whatever common people see?
Wanna sleep with common people?
You wanna sleep with common people like me?”
But she didn’t understand, she just smiled and held my hand.
Rent a flat above a shop
Cut your hair and get a job
Smoke some packs and play some pool
Pretend you never went to school
And still you’ll never get it right
Cause when you’re lay’n in bed at night
Watching roaches climb the wall
If you called your dad he could stop it all, yeah
You’ll never live like common people.
You’ll never do whatever common people do.
Never fail like common people
You’ll never watch your life slide out of view
And then dance and drink and screw
Because there’s nothing else to do.
Sing along with the common people.
Sing along and it might just get you through
Laugh along with the common people.
Laugh along even though they’re laughing at you.
And the stupid things you do.
Because you think poor is cool.
Like a dog lying in the corner
Let it bite you and never warn you “look out”
And tear your insides out
‘Cause everybody hates a tourist
Especially one who thinks it’s all such a laugh
Yeah and the chip stains grease will come out in the bath
You will never understand
How it feels to live your life
With no meaning or control
And with nowhere left to go
You are amazed that they exist
And they burn so bright whilst you can only wonder why
Rent a flat above a shop
Cut your hair and get a job
Smoke some packs and play some pool
Pretend you never went to school
And still you’ll never get it right
Cause when you’re lay’n in bed at night
Watching roaches climb the wall
If you called your dad he could stop it all, yeah
You’ll never live like common people.
You’ll never do what common people do.
Never fail like common people
You’ll never watch your life slide out of view
And then dance and drink and screw
Because there’s nothing else to do.
 

Yeah, right? And now that you think I’m all being humble and crap about being here in this country. Let me explain line by line what it is that I actually think about when I hear this song now….

So yeah, totally awesome song with excellent lyrics that keep me in check very nicely. Not that I had any worries that I don’t stick out like a sore thumb here.

Well, that’s all for now. More stuff has started to happen so my next blog should be cheerier! I miss you all!!!!

Hey all! Here is a shorter than usual blog because I know you are all concerned about the situation down here, so I jumped the gun in posting a new one.

If you didn’t read my post last Friday, here is the synopsis “My apartment is naked. LOKIE is my HOMO. Roaches, leeches, and centipedes keep chasing me. Beans, salty cheese, and eggs is my fave combo. It’s a kilt, not a skirt. I’m tall and white. Give the gringa a cookie and put ‘Everything I do, I do it for you’ on the CD player.’”

In This Short Post: “It’s a pretty day for a coup, but not as pretty as Michael Jackson’s nose. Old Maid and cocaine. Do you spell Sexy with one x or two? Peace and Love.”

So you may or may not have heard about the non-violent coup that occurred down here in Honduras this week. I’m assuming that you did not hear about it since Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, and Billy Mays died this week, and you know, the most important news must be prioritized. That, and since my family and friends in the states only knew because I texted to let them know I was okay (must have been a somewhat surprising text message “Hey guys! No worries! I survived the coup just fine!” “WHAT?!?!”) I pretty much figured that our lovely media was doing an “as usual” fantastic job of not covering what is actually going on in the world. (I have heard that you guys finally got news of this the day after it happened. However, I stand by my view of our lame media…and the equally as lame media in Honduras) So, in honor of the sham of a media that used to be the “fourth estate” there to bring light to that which was actually occurring in our government and in the world, I will tell you all what happened this week using all Michael Jackson songs. Shout out to Farah Fawcett and Billy Mays who got ignored by the US press and thus my blog, too.

Is it Scary? Well, thankfully there was No Blood on the Dance Floor. Seems like it was easy as ABC, actually. I can’t say it was too Off the Wall. There are a lot of accusations that he was Bad. A Smooth Criminal, if you will. The country is very divided. Many say that They Don’t Care About Us and just want the Money. Others feel that he was a Rockin’ Robin, Workin’ Day and Night, and is Gone too Soon. So basically, Billy Jean was trying to have a vote this week to change the constitution so that he could run for office This Time Around. But, the Supreme Court said this was Dirty Diana and unconstitutional. So The Man in the Mirror told the military to support his referendum. The military said Why you Wanna Trip on Me and refused. So, Little Susie fired the head of the military and at least one general thought this was Doggin’ Around and resigned in protest. So, the next Shoo-Be-Doo-Be-Doo-Da-Day, at the Break of Dawn, the congress, the Supreme Court, and the military Come Together to decide if this was a Black or White situation and summarily told Girlfriend to Beat It.

If you are confused about this, You are Not Alone. I have been a Tabloid Junkie for the past couple of weeks but the newspapers here are pretty biased and make me want to Scream. Best I can explain is that there are a lot of Lost Children here who feel Speechless. The economic divide is gaping and many of the poor think Chavez is Invincible while the History with the US is wrought with Ghosts. The more educated people who aren’t in abject poverty often think the US is a Superfly Sister and good relations, This Time Around, will Jam. But there are many destitute people who not only Remember the Time(s) that we have messed with Honduran politics, but also think there Ain’t No Sunsine, and are Dangerous desperate. These people support Ben, who now is a Stranger in Moscow (well, Costa Rica) and want him to say I’ll Come Home to You. However, the newly instated president and the government and many people seem to think We Got a Good Thing Going without Johnny Raven, and say that they will Burn This Disco Out and throw him in prison if he returns.

The odd thing is that Dapper Dan is a Chavez supporter, but it appears that the US and many other countries are saying Honduras Can’t Let Her Get Away. So this is an interesting situation to watch. I’m keeping my own opinion In the Closet as PC volunteers are Speechless on political matters. My biggest concern (other than the safety of the Hondurans) is that the seeming international position (including the US) is that The Way You Make me Feel is Dear Michael, this coup was unconstitutional. Don’t Walk Away from your president, or we are going to Scream Louder and take away our foreign aid. That would really put Butterflies in my stomach. Honduras may drive me a little batty, but she’s the Lady in my Life right now and you know, The Girl is Mine and I am not ready to leave. I still have a lot of Earth Song work to do (dirty hippie). So, I hope that doesn’t happen.

As for our own security, well, I’m not going to say we are Invincible, but we are not Threatened. They are keeping tabs on us and keeping us up to date on the situation. So, Keep the Faith, P.Y.T Pretty Young Thing, I’m safe and sound.

So that, in a nutshell, is what is happening.

I Can’t Help It, but the one thing that I want to say, is that too many people think the things that happen abroad are 2Bad. But, You are My Life just as much as In Our Small Way Honduras is a part of yours. I know it’s Human Nature to only worry about you and yours, but What Goes Around Comes Around and what happens here makes a lot of people Cry. And the US has been a Heartbreaker and had a lot of impact on Latin America (I love the US, but she Drive’s Me Wild sometimes). Together, we need to Heal the World as we only have one. Whatever Happens, here in Hondu, I’ll Come Home to You, but we should all remember that We Are the World. Because, you know,

There comes a time, when we head a certain call. When the world must come together as one. There are people dying, and it’s time to lend a hand to life, the greatest gift of all. We can’t go on… pretending day by day, that someone, somewhere will soon make a change. We are all a part of God’s great big family. And the truth, you know love is all we need. Because….We are the world. We are the children. We are the ones who make a brighter day, so let’s start giving. There’s a choice we’re making! We’re saving our own lives! It’s true we’ll make a better day, just you and me.

In other news, this week I had an interesting experience that showed a small bit of both the good and bad in Honduras. The canuck was nice enough to invite me to her house the other night to play some cards with her and a few of her Honduran friends (and the German girl, too). So, I decided that it would be fun times, so I went. Well, there were a few guys there around 21-25 years of age and they taught us how to play a game called “Con Quien” (With Whom) which is pretty much a weird, bastardized version of rummy. It’s quite fun. Well, the canuck works with kids so she also had a deck of “Old Maid” cards with her. So, we taught the Hondurans how to play “Old Maid.” Wow, these guys took this game very seriously. It was so hilarious. I actually thought a fight may break out. The Characters included:

• Me
• Canuck
• Sheb (SHaved Eyebrow Boy… apparently this trend is still popular in Honduras)
• Tito (iTty bItty Tattoo bOy… he was very proud to show me his itty bitty tattoo after he saw one of mine)
• Manli (GerMAN’s Love Interest)
• Mr. Suave (Mr. Suave… no explanation necessary)

Here’s a brief synopsis of how this game went down:

MR SUAVE: “Okay, so we take a card and then the next person takes one of yours, and you make pairs, and you don’t want the old maid, right?”

CANUCK: “Right.”

(Play begins)

SHEB: “HA! I have two firefighters!”

TITO: “Awe cheater!”

SHEB: “No! I was dealt it!”

MANLI: “Hey, you can’t bend the card and look at it before you take it!”

TITO: “I’m not! I’m just not sure which one I want!”

MANLI: “Stop bending the card! Just take a card!”

TITO: “I’m not looking at the card!”

(One turns to hold his hand up to the next person and the person behind him peers over his should to see his cards)

SHEB: “Are you looking at my cards?”

MANLI: “No!”

SHEB: “You’re looking at my cards when I turn around!”

MANLI: “Well you shouldn’t be so stupid!”

SHEB: “You’re stupid, stop looking at my cards!”

MANLI: “Stop showing me your cards!”

(the next person pulls the old maid)

MR SUAVE: “DAMNIT!” (they would suck at poker)

TITO: “BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! I GAVE YOU THE OLD MAID!!!”

MR SUAVE: “YOU BASTARD!… Am I going to lose now?”

ME: “Maybe, you have to try to get rid of it.”

(he now becomes VERY serious…)

SHEB: “HA! I have two teachers!” (As he throws down a teacher and a crossing guard)

MANLI: “THOSE AREN’T THE SAME!”

SHEB: “THEY ARE BOTH AT A SCHOOL!”

TITO: “The picture isn’t the same, you idiot!”

SHEB: “Oh.”

(I proceed to pull the old maid)

MR SUAVE: “BWAHAHAHAHA! I GAVE YOU THE OLD MAID!!!!”

(Hondurans summarily high five each other… the canuck and I are cracking up)

Repeat this series of events until somebody wins and then does the Honduran “I won” dance. This was pretty much one of the most adorable things I have seen thus far. They were absolutely cracking me up how seriously they took this ridiculous game. So after that we went back to Con Quien and had fun chatting and generally just having a good time.

Unfortunately, one of the guys I met apparently, uses quite a bit of cocaine. Sadly, all of the drugs from Nicaragua, Venezuela, Columbia, etc. have to come through Honduras because of where it is geographically located. And for some reason, my town has a huge problem with cocaine. What do you do when you have no money, little education, no work, no prospects, nothing to do, and you are 23 years old? It’s a hard thing to understand coming from a middle class white background until you have seen it. This country has a 66% poverty rate with 43% in abject poverty. 25% are illiterate. Unemployment is currently at around 33% and inflation is around 9%. Average education level is 6^th grade. It’s scary and sad. This is an absolutely beautiful country and the people are beautiful as well. And it is going to either fall apart or explode if something doesn’t happen soon. As evidenced by this really nice guy, who referees and basically puts together, of his own accord, an entire league of children’s 5v5 soccer teams who play every Saturday, and still is so bored with his life that he, and many many of the other young men here, use cocaine to either make life more interesting or make them forget that it isn’t, I’m not sure which. Both, really. It makes me sad.

On a more positive note, this week I met a child named Sexy. I only heard it so I am wondering how they spelled it (I heard it multiple times. I’m positive it was Sexy). I am assuming it is one of the following:

• Secksi
• Sekzi
• Seksy
• Seksie
• Sekzy

If they spelled it Sexy, I’m going to personally find his parents and smack them. Can you imagine? I mean, I have had enough people shout things like “Hey baby!” at me to think that they didn’t know what “sexy” meant. Can you imagine if he grows up and moves to the states and goes to a club?

“Hey baby, what’s your name?”

“Elizabeth, what’s yours good lookin’?”

“Sexy.”

“Thanks, but what’s your name?”

“Sexy.”

“Yes… thanks… so are you going to tell me your name?”

“….. Sexy.”

“Creep.” (she walks off)

(he walks up to another girl)

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure, I’m Lena.”

“I’m Sexy.”

“Hahaha that’s funny. So what’s your name?”

“My name is Sexy.”

“What?”

“My name is Sexy.”

“Are you serious?”

I’m thinking that eventually he would figure out that Sexy wasn’t going to work and would go by his middle name:

“Hey, want to dance?”

“Love to.”

“What’s your name?”

“Natalie, what’s your name, handsome?”

“Bitch.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bitch.”

“Look, I just want to know your name. You don’t have to be such a jerk.”

“It’s Bitch! Bitch!” (as she walks away in a huff)

“No!!! My name is Sexy Bitch!!! Sexy Bitch!!!”

Poor guy. He’s doomed. Good little soccer player, though.

So, sadly that’s all I really got for you guys right now. Nothing else has really happened because we haven’t been allowed to leave our towns, and a couple of days we couldn’t leave our houses (by PC mandate). All of my visits to the restroom have been uncommonly smooth and my meals have all been pretty standardly fried. So, not much else to share! In any case, thanks for checking up on me! I am doing well and keep your fingers crossed that all works out okay down here. It’s certainly been a Thriller.

HA! You thought I was going to forget Thriller, didn’t you! Puh-lease, my nerdiness knows no bounds. You should know me better than that!

So, I would like to leave you with whichever final thought suits your day the best:

• If you are thinking of naming your child Sexy, Fly, T&A, Hotty McHotstien, etc…. just don’t.
• It doesn’t matter if your Black or White. Unless you are Michael Jackson in which case, apparently, it does.
• Fourth Estate, my ass.
• Peace and Love!

Rejowi.

Yo yo.  Forgot to tell you that my pics have been updated in pretty much all of my albums. I will probably add more as the internet decides to cooperate…

I got a few comments that my blog was rather lengthy last week. So I decided that I would go ahead and start giving a synopsis of my blogs so that you can skip to the section that you would like to read. For those of you who couldn’t get through last week, here is the synopsis:

LAST WEEK IN “NERDILICIOUS IN HONDURALICIOUS:” Acronyms, REJOWI, and wookies. Guaranteed dengue. Thegro Beanwit doesn’t want me to work with Othgro. What the blazes? Touché, Honduras, touché. Penguins are cute. Sour cream burps. Spiders! Apartment?? Spiders! Didn’t get robbed, rum on sale, never cross the river (unless you need a bus), better smelling flip flops, and friend’s baby. Married with Children, baby-wielding lactating woman hitchhiker, and Hoda’s circus. Hamburger and tape worm.  I totally know baseball. Motorcycle parking only in the living room. Mei Ling guest starring on Walker Texas Ranger, Wednesday! Veggie trar. Bus to bus salesman and memory cream. And last but not least, rusty wheelbarrow candied fig ice cream man… is invisible.

THIS WEEK IN “NERDILICIOUS IN HONDURALICIOUS:” Apartment! SMART is stupid. What the heck is a USA? Homo is funny. Carrots. Bugs. Dancing around in panicked circles. There are no grapes in Honduras. Unmentionable places. Centipedes. 4x3x2x1 ways to eat dinner. Camel poop and pipe snakes. Bad singing and Scottish headbangers. Elda busts a move and Rejowi gets a wet rear. Good business management with Bryan Adams.

So there you go! Now if you just don’t have the time to devote, you can still know what is going on in Honduras! Glad I could help. It’s all for the people (Vote Rejowi, 2012).

So I did end up getting the apartment. Shew! I talked the manager out of making me pay a 1 month deposit, but instead I have to pay for the whole month of July. So I shall be paying double rent for half of July. July shall be lean, but whatever. Oh, and there is NOTHING in the apartment. I’ll take pictures of all of my two bags of stuff unpacked in my two rooms and kitchen and living room. Should look…. spacious. At least I won’t have to deal with clutter!

Can we revisit acronyms for a moment? Yes? Great, thanks. So last week I told you about how fun acronyms are. (As an aside, my friend texted me “usa” in a text message this week and I literally spent 3 minutes first trying to figure out what “usa” meant, and then, realize it was an acronym, trying to figure out what it stood for. University of Southern Alabama? No, she’s from the Midwest… ) Well all this week I was trying to decipher these bloody acronyms in meetings (along with what we were meeting about and why).  And this is when I realized that there is no rhyme or reason. They pick whichever the hell letters they want to use to make the acronym. And how is anybody supposed to know what is going on? This was evidenced in a meeting this week when they were using the word SMART for an acronym. Now, last I checked “smart” in Spanish is “inteligente” or “listo.” So this acronym really sucked because a) it was in English and b) they had to ask me what “smart” meant, thus rendering the acronym completely useless. Now, in all fairness, my coworkers were mandated by headquarters to use this English acronym. But what is confusing, is that Thegro Beanwit (who shall keep this name until I am no longer “anwit”) is a German NGO, who gave an English acronym to a Spanish speaking country. I’m all for multi-cultural exchanges, but Christ, things are confusing enough as it is! So rather than coming up with a NEW Spanish acronym they change the English words to Spanish words and then grab random letters out of them. And I am very sorry that I can’t remember what the words were (thus this acronym sucks) but here is the Rejowi version:

Stupid

Mangling of

Awesome

Retention

Tricks

When you are too lazy to change it to an adequate Spanish word becomes…

EStúpido

Mutilando de

MAgníficos

TRucos de

MenTe

(Don’t judge my Spanish… nor my English for that matter. I can’t speak either, anymore.)

Ridiculous. However, because I am all about adapting and integrating into my new culture, I decided to use this SMART method to solving a problem I was having with my own acronyms. The problem is the Honduran-acronym for host mom, which would be HOMO. And although I find no end to the humor and amusement in using “Homo” all over my blog, it’s not going to work so well for my host mom’s nickname (still makes me giggle like a 12 year old boy). So then I thought I could go all Spanish and use “madre anfitriona” which would be MAANF. But that sounds like an onimonipea for a punch in the stomach (You callin’ my momma fat?…… MAANF!) So now that I have learned that I can do anything I want to make an acronym, I’m going to now call my host mom LOKIE (Loving mOms cooK In Excess).

I love some of the questions you get as a foreigner in Honduras. For example, my friend Rebeckster got asked by her host family, “Have you ever tried carrots?” O_o

So there are plusses and minuses to rain here in Honduras. The plusses (at the moment) include the fact that the rain has cooled off the temperature significantly, I always sleep like a rock when it is raining, my super snuggly mosquito net becomes a mega snuggly mosquito net in the rain, and just before it rains it’s really fun to watch the lightning storms off in the mountains. Oh! And I also enjoy watching the garbage float down the street. A plantain chip bag has the most lovely ebb and flow.

The minuses (at the moment) include that it makes everything mildewy, tomorrow there will be a bazillion mosquitoes, and the flying roaches love to enter my room when it is raining (surprisingly we haven’t lost power yet…). Now, I know I have complained about the flying roaches before. But what you don’t understand is that my room is seriously about 10 feet by 7 feet. So when the flying roach is flying, there is NOWHERE TO HIDE! And because my room is so small I usually take down my mosquito net during the day. And since half of my room is taken up by my bed, that means that in that entire half of the room if I can kill the evasive little bastard it is going to land on my bed. Ewe. NOT cool.

So, generally I follow it around my room, in a perpetual ducking motion, while wielding my sneaker until it lands somewhere that I can smoosh it and it won’t land on a) my bed (ewe), b) my night stand which has all my toiletries including my toothbrush and hairbrush (double ewe), or c) on my little desk that houses all of my books and 2 ½ bottles of rum (not quite as gross, but it’s the principle of the thing). So why do I mention this? Because just now one of the little bastards chased me around my room and is now somewhere under my desk that houses my books. And if I look under there it will literally fly into my face. And if it doesn’t fly into my face I am usually convinced that it is somewhere on my body so I dance around in panicked little circles trying to see if it is on my back or something. So I have been waiting for the little turd to emerge…. I put up my mosquito net, but you know, the nemesis of every mosquito net is a bug that is crafty and can crawl under it. And these little bastards are crafty.

My shoe is calling you, you little shit…

“Universal Stapler Adaptor” no…that’s not it…

Oh, speaking of gross, so the other day I’m minding my own business and I go to unlock the door to my room and I feel something go *squish.* So I am thinking that it’s like a grape that fell down or something (later, I will think back on this moment and will realize that I have not seen a single grape in Honduras…). Anyway, so I look down and I had stepped on, and magnificently squished… A SLUG. Soooooo grooooossssss. And of course, since I have never seen a slug here before, I am now constantly wondering where else slugs may be lurking… Okay, so honestly, once I stepped on the slug the first thing I thought of was leeches, then I thought of the classic “fall asleep while fishing” movie scene with the kids all covered with leeches, and then I had convinced myself I had stepped on a leech, and then I gave myself a quick look over and didn’t see any leeches, but then convinced myself that since I saw no leeches that I must have a leech in an unmentionable place (because you have all heard the story about the leech in the unmentionable place), because there is no way that a leech just happened to be in front of my door, clearly there were hundreds of them after the gringa. So no, I’m not afraid of the slug, I’m afraid of the thousands of gringa-eating leeches that are clearly lying in wait for me to let my guard down…

Oh, and then just now I was washing my undies and a centipede fell out of one of my sports bra’s! This begs the question: Was it there when I was wearing it? Was it in the bucket I use to soak my clothes? Where did it come from!?!?! And then the other night I woke up and there was another centipede in my room!!!! Well, technically I was awake from the migraine, the screaming 2 year old, the barking dogs, the loud talking Hobro, the midnight text message, and the buzz of a mosquito INSIDE my mosquito net, in that order, that kept me awake and led to me turning on the light and seeing the centipede on my wall. This makes me ask the following question

1. Why must I jump at everything that moves?
2. Why must everything MOVE?
3. Why is Honduras so LOUD?

“ridícUlos Siglas (Acronyms) de espAñol?” nope, definitely not…

So my integration has come to a certain landmark. And that landmark is that the other day we were out of tortillas and I couldn’t figure out how I was supposed to eat my dinner without them. Now, I still think it is really strange that they give me 4 corn tortillas with sugar-ketchup-hotdog-spaghetti, chicken and rice, and soy sauce-spam-lomein (not to mention today when I got rice, potatoes, and tortillas for lunch… carb-hell). But, how are you supposed to eat beans, salty cheese, avacadoes, and egg without tortillas? I have no idea either! I was really confused. I mean, I spend most of my meal time deciding how to vary my soft taco. There is the standard beans, cheese. Then there is beans, cheese, avocado. Or, beans, cheese, egg. (And this, folks, is what happens when you allow the gringa to eat all of her meals alone…) The variations are limitless! Okay, technically they are not if you want to all use math and crap. But, whatever. I don’t worry about that stuff. I have a spreadsheet that does it for me. So yeah. I was sad. But thankfully, because there is a never ending supply of tortillas in Honduras, some did arrive about 2 bites into the meal. Good thing.

One day this week I randomly (shocking, I know) found myself being the official Thegro Beanwit photographer in a little aldea that we will (hopefully) be able to help. This is a little town of about 50 houses where multiple families commonly live together in a 1-3 room adobe house with dirt floors, cracking walls, and inadequate roofing. It was an interesting opportunity to take some photos of some of the poverty here in Honduras (we were invited into their homes) coupled with how beautiful the landscape is in the exact same location. If you are interested in the photos you can visit them in my “Poverty and Beauty in La Espina” photo album. ( “The moooore you knoooow”…. PBS? Anyone?)

Did I ever tell you guys that Sabanagrande means “Large Savannah?” But if you say it with an accent in the wrong place “Sábanagrande” it means “The Large Bedsheet”

“SUperman LoveS lois lAne?” getting closer….

So lately I keep dehydrating myself. This is in part because it’s hotter here than one realizes and it’s easy to get dehydrated. It is also in part because nobody drinks anything but coffee and coke (or tang) so that is usually what I am given to drink. And it is also, in large part, because I refuse to have to pee because I don’t want to pee anywhere but my house. Okay, I know that’s wussy, but what you have to understand is that I never know what to expect with bathrooms. First of all, I think I have finally learned to carry toilet paper with me everywhere I go. Second, you never know if it flushes or not. I mean, generally you can assume it requires a bucket-flush (remember this is when you throw the water down the toilet) but sometimes there is no water around. And when there is water, some asshole (or some poor gringa who has no t.p.) usually throws water all over the seat and doesn’t wipe it up (don’t you love how I have decided what proper Honduran bathroom etiquette should be?), and then the seat is wet (not like I’m not hovering, anyway). And sometimes it is a latrine, and sometimes there is no toilet seat and you just never know. And then just to make my bowel life all the more uncomfortable, my toilet nightmare came true in my own house.

So, in my house the toilet actually flushes because we have a pump and a tank in our house to store water. But if the power is out or the pump is not working you have to bucket flush. No worries, right? So the other day I go to the restroom and innocent #1 and flush the toilet and it kind of fills up with water instead of flushing. Hmmmm. Later, I will decide that this was suspicious. So, I thought not much of it because most people in Hondu let the yellow mellow, so no big deal, right? Well, the situation with #2 has changed significantly for me here in Hondu. Back in the states I was a very reliable “just after the 2^nd cup of morning coffee” kind of girl (which actually means “just after I finished my 20oz giant cup of $4 coffee” my how things change…) Here, because of my strange diet, I am more of a “store it up like a camel until it has been a 5 days and then go a whole lot during the next two days” kind of girl. So, I had to go about 10 minutes after going #1. So I went back to the bathroom, and it was one of those moments that men brag about and women try to pretend like never ever happened. And I flush the toilet… and it fills up with water instead of flushing. Ohhhhhh noooooo. So I am thinking “well, I’ll just bucket flush!” So then I threw about 2 more gallons of water over the top of it. And…. nothing happened. The toilet just filled up and slightly overflowed with water. THAT is NOT supposed to happen…

Now what? So now I am staring in disbelief mingled with horror at the toilet. So what does a normal person do? RUN AWAY! Except, Hosisma walked past me when I was walking towards the toilet so TOTALLY would know it was me. DAMNIT! So, I washed my hands while thinking of a plan B. So I go back to the toilet and it has now decreased so that there is zero water but my…. embarrassment… is still there.  So now, naturally, I’m thinking that I clearly just need to throw more water down the toilet. So I get about 3 gallons of water and pour it with gusto! And… it filled up and almost overflowed again. And now I’m convinced… God hates me because I’m gay.

(Favorite movie line ever: “Edie, are you gay?” “Gay?!?! I’m ecstatic!”)

So now I have no choice. I go to my room and get my dictionary and look up the word for “plunger.” I then go to the kitchen, where of course EVERYBODY is and asked Lokie for a plunger. And of course, because she is a good host mom, she wants to take care of it FOR me. While I am blubbering “NO! NO! I CAN DO IT!!!!” So she insists and serves me dinner and ushers me to the chair to eat all the while telling me that she will take care of it. And now I am in the chair just wishing that lighting would strike me dead. And then Lokie comes back from the bathroom, gives me a big grin (I would have expected that from Hoda, but from mom it was a bit off putting), and walks to her bedroom, and emerges with a pipe snake. Are you serious? A pipe snake? And I really want to explain that although I realize that there is a very large…. embarrassment…. in the toilet, I was not actually the one who BROKE the toilet. But at this point, I just decided to count my losses and focus on deciding how many ways I could combine refried beans, sausages, soft cheese, and avocado into my 4 corn tortillas.

So the next day, I have to do this again, because as I said it is 5 days with nothing and 2 days with lots of something. You better bet your britches that I test flushed the toilet first. I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t flushed, but I would have thought of SOMEthing… So yeah. If I was afraid of strange toilets before, now I am TERRIFIED of them. So the moral of this story, is that constantly being slightly dehydrated ensures that you will have to visit strange toilets rarely.

As an aside, does anybody else find it strange that Lokie keeps the pipe snake in the bedroom???

“hondUras fluShes inAdequately?” That could very well be it….

So I ended up in an unexpectedly random situation again the other day. I’m almost sad for the day when I understand what is going on and don’t find myself in surprising and uncomfortable situations. I’m sure that will happen someday… yeah… right…

Anyway, so there was this singing competition this past Saturday that my host sister was in, and it turns out was put on and basically paid for by Hoda. This man certainly knows how to run for office (he’s running for mayor). So I went because Hosisma was in it and because, let’s face it, I had nothing better to do. So the competition was pretty painful, as a high school singing competition should be, and of course some of the competitors tried to sing some rather ambitious songs because everybody thinks THEIR kid can sing and thus encourages this (Of the 18… about 6 were decent). I don’t know if Laura Paussini is popular in the states right now. I’m confused by her because her famous songs here are all in Spanish but she is Italian and her music video has gringos. So I figure it isn’t entirely ridiculous to think her songs are in English too… I think they are? Maybe? Anyway, if it is popular, somebody tried to sing her really popular song and I had to go buy a soda during it so that my former music teacher soul didn’t completely die. This singing competition proved that a soul could actually come back from cardiac arrest…

Back to the story…

Anyway, so I have seen these two obviously not Honduran girls around town and I have been getting up the nerve to say hello to them. And I have also been scoping them out to see if they were religious nutcases, I’m not going to lie. That may sound odd, but most of the gringo people I have met are religious nutcases. And I’m not talking about your cute little church mission group that builds a school or something. I’m talking about people who aren’t allowed to cut their hair or wear pants (the women that is… although I might actually befriend them if it were the men who couldn’t cut their hair and had to wear skirts. Then they would probably be Scottish heavy metal musicians and thus great drinking buddies!) Anyway, so I finally decided the fact that we have seen each other like 5 times in the past month, smiled awkwardly at each other, and then not ever said anything to each other, has gotten downright creepy. So I finally said hello to them at the horribly bad singing extravaganza. Turns out they are rather normal people. One is a German here on a program similar to PC and one is a Canadian who is here on a summer program. They were pretty cool. So then they told me (and so did a couple of other people) that there was a fiesta that night and that I should come. Well, honestly, I feel awkward about parties here because I have recently learned a few things about myself including that I am:

1. Tall.
2. White.
3. Slightly chubby.
4. My clothes all fit.
5. My hair is short. (Somebody actually asked me if I sold it. I told them no, but I wouldn’t have gotten a very good price, anyway. They agreed.)
6. For the states I dress like a sporty girl. For Honduras I dress like a boy.
7. My dress shoes are feminine with pants in the states. In Honduras they look like boys school uniform shoes.
8. I brought nothing to wear to a party.

So yeah. It’s a bit uncomfortable. On the bright side, I always did want to be non-comformist. And now I have succeeded!

So back to the story. So I go home and Lokie invites me to go with her to a birthday party for a friend of hers. So I figure I will go to the party and when we get back I will see how I feel and will probably go to the party because if I don’t got to one now and again I’m going to get a reputation for being dull. So, I agree. And Hoda, Lokie, and I squeeze into the truck and go to this party. Well, we walk in the door and you can hear the record player needle screech off of the record as all conversation halts and all heads turn towards the gringa. Right. This is going to be fun. Of course, knowing that I am going to be stared at all night, the only thing I can think about is that I have a giant zit.

So it turns out that this fiesta is for an ELDerly lAdy of about 75, whom if I had sneezed surely would have fallen over. So I figure we will chat a bit, sing happy birthday, eat some cake, and then jet. Well, I learned a very important lesson about little old ladies in Honduras. Little old Honduran ladies like to party. And when I say party I mean PARTEH! Elda had a DJ who pumped up the jam about 10 minutes into the party and man, could that little old lady cut a rug! I couldn’t believe it! And then the Honduran karaoke began which was amazing. I have never heard so much bad singing in Spanish in one day in my life. But it was quite entertaining.

So then there are two ladies who for the past two hours have constantly been passing out  food, drinks, etc. So they come by me for the 10^th time and this time have a little half a glass of a light brown liquid. So I was curious and grabbed one and suddenly I notice a bunch of the ladies and Elda are watching me very closely (thankfully they had a glass too so I didn’t break any cultural rules). So I take a sip and it’s some kind of cider-tasting alcohol. So they all smile and laugh and comment that I like it (little do they know). So I finish it and they hand me another. And I finish that and then all of the sudden they hand me a FULL glass that is like 10 times stronger. And now I can taste that the alcohol is guarro which tastes much like turpentine. And now I realize they are trying to get me drunk so I will dance. Funnily, in my head I had kept saying “if I was drunk, I might dance.” Hmmm. Nicely played, Elda. Apparently little old Honduran ladies can also read minds…

So after a few minutes of dancing I realize the following about myself including that I am:

1. Very tall.
2. Very white.
3. My hips don’t move.
4. I dance like a middle aged white man.

So anyway, this party finally ends at…. I told you, Elda likes to party…. 1am. Of course, now it is pouring rain. And of course, we have to give 3 people a ride home including Elda’s equally as old sister (who since the party is always waving at me. She’s cute.). So I hop in the truck bed and kind of sit on my haunches so I am not sitting in the water in the bed of the truck. And one of the hitchers is nice enough to give me an umbrella. So here I am in the back of the truck at 1am holding an umbrella and sitting on my heels in the pouring rain. And you know what happens. We get about 10 feet, hit a bump, and now I am sitting on my ass. Well, surprisingly, the truck bed was relatively dry. So I am feeling rather fortunate! Meanwhile, I have noticed that the truck is not actually running. My host dad just threw’er into neutral and we are coasting down the hill back into town. Until we get to the bottom of the hill and start going up and then he cranks’er up… and all the water that was in the front of the bed of the truck came pouring down to the back of the truck and thus down my ass. Oh, Honduras. Score one for you.

Thankfully though, the hitchers let me borrow the umbrella. Not like they don’t know where I live.  I am one of only 3 non “creepy religious” gringos in town. And I live with the dude running for mayor.

“yoU Shouldsendmea pAckage” Oh, that’s a good one…

So lastly, I would like to leave you with some suggestions on improving your business meetings back in the states. I have learned these methods in my brief time here in The Big Sheet and feel that they may lend a hand in your “good management practices.” You can thank me later.

• A meeting should always start a minimum of 1-2 hours late. Especially if you tell the gringa to get up early for it.
• If the gringa is late, be sure the meeting starts on time.
• A morning meeting should stop for a snack at 10:00am or after approximately 30 minutes of work. Whichever comes first.
• A late morning meeting should break for lunch at 12:00. If you are going to have a late morning meeting you better damn well serve lunch.
• An afternoon meeting should stop for a snack at 2:30pm or after approximately 1 hour of work. Whichever comes first.
• Cell phone calls are acceptable assuming that you A) Are running the meeting and speak loudly enough on the phone for all to hear, B) You are participating in the meeting and you talk softly enough so that the person running the meeting can still run the meeting, and C) You are participating in the meeting and you talk softly enough so that the person running the meeting can still adequately hear their own phone call.
• If the person running the meeting is speaking on the cell phone, this is the best time to make your own much needed phone call.
• Text messaging is perfectly acceptable at any point in time.
• When not talking or texting be sure your ringtone is catchy and loud so that when it rings everybody can comment. Really embarrassing songs are preferable, such as anything by Bryan Adams.
• At least once during the meeting you should leave for no apparent reason.
• At least once during the meeting everybody should leave one by one for no apparent reason until only the confused gringa is left.
• When everybody has left for no reason, be sure to be gone long enough so that the gringa gives up on waiting and goes to buy a soda or to the restroom. Be sure to be back in the meeting before she returns so she looks like an idiot.
• At least every 15-20 minutes change the subject to something not having to do with work or having to do with work but a completely different topic.
• Once in awhile check to see if the gringa is understanding. Ignore her glazed over eyes and continue talking about nothing related to work.
• If there is a hint of understanding in the gringa’s eyes, change the subject.
• At least every hour crack a joke at the gringas expense or at somebody else’s expense on the behalf of the gringa. Check to see if she got the joke. Smile and pat her on the head. Give her a cookie.
• If you are meeting all day, at least once break for an hour long inspirational speech on the work you are doing. It is preferable to make the hour long speech starting during the last 5 minutes of the working day.

I got it! I got it! United States of moldoviA.” Shew.

Until next time, watch out for dancing old ladies, befriend your local Scottish headbanger, and watch out for a gringo eating battalions of leeches!

Really

supEr

maJorly

ridiculOusly and

Wonderfully excited about the next Harry Potter movie which thank god is opening

Internationally

Take THAT Honduran acronynms. *MAANF*…. I win.

One thing I love about Honduras is their really long and complicated acronyms. We keep it simple in the states with things like ATF (which, because of the TV show ALF – another acronym I may note, I thought meant “Alien Task Force” for a long time), FBI, NSA, and KFC. But in Honduras they go all out to create something asinine. I think that’s because our letters use less syllables than theirs. Anyway, so in Pespire we had classes in ADEPES which was short for something like “Administración de Desarolla Pespirenses” or some crap like that. So instead of ADP it is ADEPES. Which, granted, is funner to say. And they do this ALL THE TIME (FORCUENCA is a good one). So that would make ATF = ALTOFI (or ALTAFO if you are a confused child who watches too many quality 80’s television programs). FBI = FEBUIN, NSA = NASEA and KFC = KEFRICHI. And it work really nicely, I think because ALTOFI, FEBUIN, and NASEA still sound intimidating while ALTAFO sounds like a snuggly, furry, alien who chases cats and KEFRICHI sounds like a delicious laboratory-based food product. Maybe instead if RJW I should go by “REJOWI” Hmmm… That kind of sounds like a Wookie….

I accidentally swallowed a mosquito the other day. I think that pretty much guarantees dengue… I’ll let you know in two weeks after the gestation period.

So Honduras is currently thwarting my attempts to get out of the type of work I have been doing and into Environmental work. This really makes me want to throw my tortillas against a wall (think they would stick?). I have to be like super careful what I say about my work here on my blog. So I will try to talk about it in becky-code (aren’t you lucky).

Okay. So I was placed to work with an organization that we shall call “The Group Becky’s Annoyed With” or “THEGRO BEANWIT” for short. I was also placed with a secondary organization that we shall call “Other Group” or “OTHGRO” for short. Okay, so with Thegro Beanwit I’m supposed to be doing environmental education work and with Othgro I’m supposed to be doing water and sanitation work (topo surveys and water system designs). Well, the problem is that Thegro Beanwit doesn’t want me to work with Othgro and only wants me to do education work. Which wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that they don’t really actually have enviro ed work per say. They have programs I could help with but they already have people in charge of them who don’t really want a gringa woman stepping on their toes. So, I was gone several days last week, and when I got back I had been put on the Art/Culture project (apparently Hondurans are familiar with the method of nominating people who are absent for jobs they don’t want… touché Honduras, touché).

Granted that I taught music. But what the blazes do I know about Honduran music and dance!?!?! And what does Art/Culture have to do with environmental education??? And why wasn’t I put on the Basic Sanitation or the Health Education projects instead? Oh…. Read the “gringa woman” sentence again for the answer to that one. And they scheduled me to be in the schools with them every day for the entire month of July. But hold the phone! I have already scheduled a topo survey with Othgro for one week of July. So yeah. I’m super frustrated right now. They don’t get that I am supposed to be a volunteer working for the community at large. Not their personal education person. We are going to have to sit down and talk about their expectations, mine, and Peace Corps. They need to understand that I have a specific job PC asked me to do, and it is not Art/Culture. That can be a side project, but it shouldn’t be my primary project. I had a feeling this was going to happen with Thegro Beanwit. Okay. I’m done bitching now.

So somewhat in relation to the former topic, today was quite the failure for me in every sense of the word. I wasn’t feeling well last night so I went to bed really early and slept in late. So I didn’t get to work until 9am and when I got there… there was nobody there (and how am I supposed to work on these ed projects?). Apparently everyone had gone to a meeting in the capital. I mean, I suppose they could have told me, but why would they want to do that? God forbid I knew what was going on.

So then I went to Othgro’s office and they were gone too. So then I sat in the park and eventually went home. But the power was out so I kind of just chilled with my host mom. Then I decided that I really needed ice cream but forgot that the power was out so when I went to the internet café (the only place that sells ice cream… it makes sense in Honduras) they were closed from the power outage. So then (I still haven’t realized that ice cream with no power is stupid) I went to a ladies house who I know has ice-cream-like-things but a wall fell down in the last earthquake (we have had a bunch of smaller ones since the big one) so she didn’t have anything because of the damage to her wares (the nerve!). So then I gave up and went to a little store and decided to buy a processed plastic-wrapped cupcake (amazing what you will eat here compared to the states) but I didn’t have enough cash so had to go home for more cash. So I finally got my damn cupcake and sat on the steps and ate it.

So then the rest of the day I just read my book outside until the mosquitoes bothered me too much and since then I have been in my room doing absolutely nothing noteworthy. I am now constantly reminding myself that eventually there will be work and that everyone goes through this in the first months of service. But I’m frustrated. So basically in this entire day I accomplished eating a cupcake. It had a penguin on the wrapper, so at least there was that. Penguins are cute.

Okay, so now I’m done bitching for reals.

I think my cereal milk was a little off this morning. It has made me burpy and the burps have more of a sour cream flavor. Not wholly unpleasant, but not normal either…

I had two spider incidents a couple of weeks ago. My family now officially knows I am terrified of spiders and they think it is hysterical. I think it is hysterical that they are afraid of frogs. So there. Take that.

Anyway, in the first one I was on my way to the shower and I ran into my host dad with his towel about to take a shower himself. And behind him on the wall was a spider about the size of my face. Okay, it was about the size of a softball. Okay, FINE it was about the size of a ping pong ball. So anyway, my host dad says “Do you want to take a shower?” (Yes, Captain Obvious) and I said “I can wait” while backing away from the spider. And he says “No, go ahead!” And I say “Thanks… ummm… I have big fear of spider.” And he looks at me like I am crazy. And I point and say “Spider! I have fear of spider! Please, are you able to kill it?” And he says “Sure!” While I am still babbling “I fear spider. I no like spiders.” (I’m pretty sure that I constantly sound like a Native American in an old Western… Me gringa. Me heap big fear spider…) By this time I am basically across the yard. So he grabs a broom and kills it. And then while laughing at me, tells everybody in the family that I fear spiders. Siiiiiigh.

The second event was a bit simpler. I just walked into the kitchen to put down my plate and there on top of a dirty dish was a spider. One of the furry jumpy ones about the size of a nickel. So I literally jumped backwards about three feet while yelling “SPIDER!” in English. My host sisters were just looking at me like “What?” And I say “SPIDER SPIDER!!! No….. that’s English ARAÑA ARAÑA!!!!” They didn’t seem to be very disturbed by the spider… What Is WRONG with these people!?!?! Qué barbaridad.

With that said, I do have an accord with a spider that lives in my room. He lives up in the corner and is a little guy about the size of a dime. He isn’t furry, he doesn’t jump, but he does look creepy in the “I’m a spider” kind of way. I have never seen him leave the corner. He has his little web and he catches tons of mosquitoes in there. So because of that, I have allowed him to live in my room with the understanding that if he ever leaves that corner he will get the shoe. By the time he is big enough to contend with, I will hopefully be in my apartment. And I also feel like my mosquito net is an impenetrable force field. What is it about mosquito nets that are so darn comforting? Even the poop brown colored ones. I’m pretty sure it would save me from a midnight alien abduction.

Speaking of my apartment, I finally got the number of the owner. So I called him and this conversation occurred:

“Hello, may I speak with the owner of the apartments?”

“alie aoies bvalkdn eouabekjbg.”

“What?”

“qlekn qoiene wonlqjnn owner.”

“You are the owner of the apartments?”

“Yes.”

“Oh! Well, my name is REJOWI and I am a peace corps volunteer. And in one month I need one of your apartments.”

“aehb aoehalkjdsbnf qaweouyhcmc?”

“What?”

“qaweoekowh kdo weujh woeh upstairs or downstairs?”

“Upstairs, please.”

“Vaya pues.” CLICK (This is the Honduran way of ending a conversation.)

So you tell me. Did I get an apartment or not??? I have no idea. I’m going to make a Honduran call him next time.

Oh back to spiders real quick (don’t you love my flow of thought…) so there is kind of a chalk outline of the spider that my host dad killed on the wall by the bathroom… It’s kind of like in cartoons when the crate of ACME dynamite explodes and leaves the little black acrid dust outline of Wiley Coyote. Except Wiley Coyote was rather charming and this dead spider outline makes me jump every time I go to the bathroom. I think my host brother rigged up a camera and spends his evenings laughing as I go to the bathroom and jump thinking the spider is back. What? I don’t think that’s any more irrational than thinking that eventually Wiley will catch the Road Runner!…. What? Why are you looking at my blog like that…

So this past week was gringo/semi-gringo week in Honduras. I spent last Sunday with a Honduran friend that I know from the states (small world) and then most of this week with a Peace Corps friend. Nothing all that humorous happened, but you know, whatever, I’m going to tell you about it anyway.

So Sunday Feisty and I hung out. (She is feisty. Therefore that is her blog nickname) I took the bus into town for the very first time alone (as a volunteer and without PC knowing where/why I was going to the Capital). I was terrified as to when/where to get off so after about 40 min on the bus I finally decided that if the woman next to me was going to rob me, she would have done it by now. So I asked her “Where is plaza Loarque?” And she said something that I didn’t understand. But the nice thing about being a gringa on a bus of Hondurans is that they all kind of look out for you (when it comes to getting off the bus). So as we approached Loarque like 10 Hondurans, including her, point and say “Loarque! Loarque!” And ushered me off the bus “There you go little gringa!!! Goooood gringa!”

So I call Feisty who tells me her husband is in the shower and they will be there in 15 minutes. Of course, I know that they are Honduran even if I did meet Feisty in the states, so I planned on 45. Ended up working in my favor because I had a bank issue and then I wandered around inside the grocery store for a few minutes and discovered that Flor de Caña rum was on sale buy 2 get 1 free! SCORE! And here in Honduras a single bottle costs about $5.

Anyway, so Feisty and Hubby asked me what I wanted to eat and I immediately said PIZZA! So they took me to this AWESOME Italian restaurant. And it wasn’t even Honduran-Italian. It actually tasted like Italian food! No ketchup or processed meat product to be seen!

After they showed me all around Teguc which was cool. Especially Comayaguela and the ensuing speech about Comayaguela. Comayaguela is right next to Teguc and you have to go there to catch any busses outside of Teguc (other than mine to the south). All of Comayaguela is forbidden with the exception of the bus station. And F&H told me like 10 times “Once you cross this river you are in Comayaguela. It’s very dangerous (as we are driving around there). Don’t come here. Only for the busses and then take a taxi out immediately. It’s very very dangerous.” I locked my door. When the Hondurans tell you it is dangerous…

But then they took me to buy flip flops (mine are…. gross). And they bought them for me! How sweet! And then I went to her house and met her parents and her baby son. CUTE! I had such a blast. It was so nice to get out of Sabanagrande for a bit. And their Spanish is soooo much easier to understand because they both speak clearly and slow down a bit for me.

Anyway, so then this past Wednesday I hiked it up to the PC office in the capital to get some resources I needed (to make it look like I’m doing any work at all) and to meet up with a friend. I left my house at 7:15 with the mindset that I would be in Teguc by 8:30 and thus would have plenty of time to meet with two volunteers I needed to talk to (who also happened to be in the office) and to get all the stuff I needed. So I start walking down the street towards the bus and then I hear my host dad (who I really think needs to be called HODA from now on) hollering after me. So I turn around and he says “Hey, I’m going to Teguc as soon as I take a shower if you want to wait.” SCORE! This will totally save me the cost of the bus and a cab. So I go back inside and watch TV.

So just to make things more exciting, “Married With Children” was on TV and was in English! I remember watching that show when I was a kid, but holy hell it is funny now that I understand the jokes instead of just laughing along with the canned audience! So I watched two episodes of Married With Children and one episode of Mad About You (also a great show). And if you are calculating along with me, this makes it about 9:00am. And now I am realizing that I was stupid to think that we were leaving as soon as Hoda took a shower. I mean, it’s like I haven’t lived here for 4 months or anything.

So then we finally leave, but in Honduran tradition we had to run an errand first (I should be happy it wasn’t 4 errands). So we have a random motor to something-or-other in the back of the truck along with three guys, and we have to drop off this motor in an aldea. So that goes relatively smoothly, and on the way out of the aldea, Hoda, who knows everybody, sees a few people heading to Teguc waiting for the bus. So they all hop into the back of the truck. And one of them is a mom with a baby about 9 months old. So I go to get out of the truck and into the back (remember this is a tiny truck) and she says “No! No! It’s okay!” and HANDS ME THE BABY through the car window! I mean, technically me being just shy of 30 means I should have at least 7 children, but still!!!! So the baby takes one look at me, and I am sure you will be shocked to hear this, starts crying at the top of her lungs. And here we are looking at each other both with no idea what just happened. I’m sure the shock and terror on my face didn’t help the situation any.

So we start down the road with screaming baby and truckload of hitchhikers. About 10 minutes down the road Hoda has had enough of screaming baby and pulls over. I hop out of the truck and baby momma hops in all apologizing (I mean really? You didn’t think that was going to happen mom?) so I go to get in the back of the truck and she says “No! No! Sit here!” And squeezes over enough so I can barely fit next to her. DRAT! So I get in the truck. Well, since baby isn’t happy mom decides to feed her. So now I am in the truck with mom, mom’s left boob, crying baby, Hoda, and a truck bed full of hitchhikers (and a partridge in a pear tree?) And I started giggling. Can you blame me?

So now we are finally off. We get about 20 minutes down the road and there is a car broken down by the side of the road. And I think to myself “I bet Hoda is going to stop.” And sure enough. He did. So he gets out and chats with the driver, who based on how quickly we left, I figure told Hoda he already sent someone for help. But, because my host dad knows everybody (granted, there are only 7.5 million people in Honduras), he knows 3 people in the car, all of whom are going to Teguc, and they all hop into the back of the truck.

Right! Off we go. So about 10 minutes later there is another truck broken down. I KID YOU NOT Hoda stopped. By this time, one of the people I was supposed to meet is texting me with the “????” text. I texted him back and told him “I’m having a very Honduran morning.” I think he understood because he didn’t text me back after that. So now baby has fallen asleep but mom hasn’t noticed so mom, mom’s right boob, sleeping baby, 10 hitchhikers, and I are watching Hoda crawl under a truck. He dinkers around a bit, came to the conclusion he could do nothing (since he is an agronomist and not a mechanic I am not surprised by this), and two more people jump into the back of the truck.

And the circus themesong is playing in the background…

So, because we have 3 times now stopped to pick up people and give them a lift, we also have to drop them all off. Of course, they are all going to different places and my place is the farthest away. So, I think I finally arrived at the PC headquarters at like 10:30. I was supposed to be there at 8:30. But, I saved 100 lempira! (Roughly $5.) Totally worth it…. Yeah….

So then one of the people I had to meet ended up not feeling so hot because she had dengue so I only met with one guy who explained to me how to pick the correct pump for a water system so that I don’t accidentally totally screw over a community (not that I have nightmares about that or anything). And then I picked up most of the resources I needed and my friend Mcat and I went back to Sabanagrande. Oh, oh!!! Not before I ate the first hamburger I have had since leaving the states! I probably have a tapeworm now, but damn it was good! And the inevitable tapeworm weight loss is an awesome side benefit.

Anyway, so then that evening I met Mcat’s host family (I am H14, Mcat is in H12 who trained in the town I am currently living) who was lovely and lives next door to the only apartments in town, so they will be my neighbors. I’m excited about that. And then for a couple of days I did nothing but chat and drink coffee. Awesome. Well, except now the coffee lady won’t give me my food unless I say it correctly. Smarmy little vixen.

Then, I went with Mcat to the National Rural Baseball Tournament where her baseball team (Siguatepeque) was playing in the Tourney. That was really fun and cool as the kids got to play in the Olympic Village baseball stadium. And they rocked their first game. The next day I went back to watch the next two games where they lost, but almost beat the team who went to the finals and played a game worthy of a cheesy Hollywood sports movie (they were the “little rural team that could”). At one point I considered that excitement of that game coupled with the copious amounts of lard I have eaten in the past 4 months were going to cause me heart palpitations.

Anyway, so I went to support Mcat and her team and also went because I’m going to start a team here in Sabanagrande. Okay, pick up your jaws off the floor. Just because I never played baseball doesn’t mean I can’t coach a team. I mean, all you do is put 11 people on the court and give them each a mallet to hit the puck and run around the goalposts until they score a basket, right? Oh, and you have people on horses to catch the shuttlecock and throw it against a wall at 180 miles per hour before they tackle whoever sticks the landing. Besides, I used to watch the Magic and Dolphins play all the time in Florida. Only thing I can’t remember is how many holes there are and when you use the brooms to smooth the ice. But don’t worry, there’s no problem. I totally got this.

I have noticed that a bunch of people here park their motorcycles in their living rooms…. Am I the only one who thinks this isn’t the BEST idea?

So sometimes I question my own intelligence. When I was watching TV the other day I kept noticing that they would advertise shows and would put “MEI” under the name of the show in the commercial. And I kept thinking, “What is MEI? Is that like, an actress or something? Like Mei Ling? But Mei Ling isn’t in Frasier… I don’t get it. Oh! It must be an acronym… My Entertainment Industry? No, that doesn’t make sense, that would make it MYENIN. Plus that’s English… Maybe Mei Ling is guest starring? But why is she guest starring in Frasier, Seinfeld, AND Walker Texas Ranger? Is it like, Mei Ling day in Honduras?” Then eventually I realized. MEI = Meircoles = Wednesday. Right. Me heap smart gringa.

I have decided that there are several work opportunities that are popular here in Honduras that could really help with our economy problem in the states. I think I may try one or all of these when I get back if I can’t get into grad school or find a decent job. If you are having job troubles, feel free to try one or more for yourself!

THE VEGGIE TRAR

Buy yourself a trar (truck/car… el camino) and load the back of it as high as you can with varying fruits and vegetables. You will know you have done this properly when your trar is approximately 6 inches above the ground. Above 6 inches and you still have plenty of room. Below 6 inches and you will hit the rocks in the streets. Buy yourself a very very loud bullhorn and strap it to the top of your trar. Be sure the microphone will reach through the trar window. At approximately 4am start your day at work. Turn up your bullhorn volume to 11 (why not just make 10 louder?… Because it goes to 11…) and slowly drive through the neighborhoods hocking your wares. But be sure that you speak in monotone and slur all of your words together very quickly so it sounds like “Cucumberbananalettuceavacadomangonionyuccaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.” It is best to end on an “a” word because then you can draw out the last word for quite some time. Find the house where the gringa lives and either a) Pass it 100 times between 4am-7am or b) Stop outside of her house for at least a 20 minute interval until she gives up on sleeping. This particular entrepreneurial venture works best with at least three creepy men. One to drive (note – you always drive the trar better when drunk or hungover), one to slur together words in the bullhorn, and one to sit in the back of the trar with the vegetables.

BUS TO BUS SALESMAN

For this job you must first decide what you wish to sell. This can include:

• Snack food (such as cut up mangoes)
• Really sketchy pills that promise to fix all of your ills (including getting rid of the amoebas that children get from drinking milk *cough cough*, curing cancer, or just simply helping you lose weight)
  
• Belts/watches/Honduras football jerseys (these are usually sold by the same person)
• A cream to help with memory issues (where do you put the cream, I wonder?)
• Super creepy religious books that promise that you will go to heaven and homosexuals are the cause of all of the world’s problems and have a one way ticket to hell (I have seen all of these on the busses).
  

Once you decide what your scam, I mean wares are, stand on the side of the road and wait for a bus. When the bus stops, hop on, give your spiel (if you have one: EG pills and Jesus) and sell your wares until people stop buying. Get off at the next stop, cross the street, and repeat. Do not worry about paying for your bus fare. Just give the driver a little something something. This job only requires one person but if you choose to sell food products, it functions best with small children (big puppy dog eyes and a glint of malnutrition are a benefit) who can easily squeeze around the people jammed into the isles. Only prerequisite is enough schooling to be able to make change.

WORK FROM HOME!

In very hot climates put a cardboard hand-made sign up by your front door that promises that you sell one of the following: delicious juices that are frozen in small plastic bags (charamuscas) or delicious juices that are frozen into dentist sized cups with a popsicle stick sticking out (I forget what these are called but it starts with a P…). Be sure you have a big stock in your freezer! No permit necessary. Please wash your hands before preparing. Though nobody would know if you didn’t. Sellig tip: if you want to sell to gringos be sure that a) you have flavors involving chocolate or b) that your children are emaciated (sympathy vote). On a personal note, I think this would go over well in the states if you threw in some rum or tequila into the juice before freezing… I will try that when I get my own place and I will let you know.

WHEELBARROW ICE CREAM MAN

This may sound a bit self explanatory. Buy yourself a wheelbarrow. Preferably slightly rusted and with sharp edges (you don’t want those kids just reaching into your wheelbarrow all willy nilly). Buy yourself a cooler. The best coolers are from roughly 1965 and have a lead lining (don’t worry, there is lead in your water, anyway.) Buy one flavor of either completely mundane ice cream (Neapolitan is popular) or very obscure ice cream (Grape for example, or candied fig). Buy a scoop and some cones. But most importantly, buy a bell. Place all of your items into your wheelbarrow and walk through the town ringing your bell. Don’t worry, eventually you will learn the “hold the wheelbarrow handles while ringing your bell” technique. It just takes practice. Be sure that when the gringa is around that you are within earshot yet nowhere to be found. Laugh as she looks around wildly for where the ice cream wheelbarrow is but can’t find it. Selling tip: School gets out at 12:00pm and at 5:00pm. Be waiting. This job is best performed by toothless old men and children around 10 years old.

SEE WHAT OTHERS ARE DOING!

And finally, if you just can’t figure out what to sell, look and see what all the others around you are doing! If you see five shops all selling clothes and shoes then clearly there is a market for clothes and shoes! Open up the exact same shop one more door down. Don’t worry about market saturation or originality, that’s just fancy talk.

Until next time, I highly recommend cupcakes with penguins on the packages, be sure to catch Mei Ling guest starring on Texas Walker Ranger, and watch out for baby-wielding lactating women hitchhikers!!!

Kisses, hugs, and wookies!

REJOWI

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….

To make up for my slackerness in writing blogs for 2 weeks… HERE IS ANOTHER!!! TWO FOR ONE!!!

So I survived my first earthquake last night at 2:30 in the morning. I am very south of the epicenter which was located off of the coast of Roatan so it affected my friends up in the North more than me. Up there it was a 7.1 and destroyed a lot of buildings, bridges, etc. I have no idea what it was down here, but it woke me out of a dead sleep. I totally thought somebody was breaking in because my bed is right under the window. I was convinced somebody was jumping on my bed. But then I realized where I was and that the bed was going back and forth and not up and down. And the rumbling sound. And you could almost hear people collectively holding their breath in all of Honduras. And then the children near the house were crying and I tried to figure out who I should call at 2:30am to say “WHAT WAS THAT?!?!? EARTHQUAKE??!?!?!?!” But I wasn’t sure how far out the earthquake reached and if I would wake anybody up. In retrospect I don’t think any of my friends would have been upset to get a phone call with me on the other line saying “AAAHHHHH!!!!!!!! EARTHQUAKE!!!!!” But instead I layed in my bed thinking “What am I supposed to do? Stop, drop, and roll!… no that’s not it… Duck and cover!… no that’s not it either…. Poop your pants!… nope… Stand in the doorway? I think that’s it.” And by the time I figured it out it was over. And then I thought “Should I get up? I don’t hear anybody else up. If I hear somebody up, I will get up.” And I heard my mom talking but that was it. So I thought, “Well, my host mom will save me. She’ll knock on the door if I need to get up.” So I rolled over and went back to sleep. Then this morning I woke up and my first thought was “HOLY SHIT! THAT WAS AN EARTHQUAKE!”

So let’s talk for a moment about bananas. The bananas here look like they have been thrown down a flight of stairs, trounced upon by a dance troupe, and then drug down the road by a horse. But they taste of heaven. I mean seriously. So there are a lot of different bananas and I’m not mistaking them for plantains. I’m not THAT white. I had my favorite for the first time today. They are yellow and red colored, about 4 inches long, and are fatter than the bananas in the states. They are still in the ginormous bunches and are sold out of the front of a house. And the nice toothless lady whacks off a few with a machete for 1 Lempira each. (1 dollar = 18.9 Lempira) They have a really nice banana taste but have an aftertaste that is nutty in flavor. Wow. Amazing. Don’t even get me started on the pineapples and mangoes.

So I tell you this not to make your mouth water in jealousy, but to tell you that there was a worm in my banana today. One time there was a worm in my apple when I was a kid and I didn’t eat apples for like months (sorry mom, I traded them… usually for fruit rollups… sometimes for those little canned hot dog thingies). But here a banana trade would probably land me with more corn tortillas. No thanks. And to waste food is like, super bad. Although I also have to say briefly, because I can’t tell a story without at least 2 asides, that they still tell their children that there are starving children in Somalia. WHAT?!?! You have starving children HERE! Like, right there dude! Like, tons of them! Anyway, so I just kind of looked at the worm (it was dead), shrugged, and ate around it. So the question to all of you is… was it the banana with the nutty flavor? I hope so.

Speaking of food, let’s talk about coffee. I must say that I was horribly horribly disappointed in the coffee here. I mean, I know I used to tell all of you how amazingly uber excited I was about going to Honduras who has some of the best coffee in the world. And I love coffee about as much as…. Well…. Let’s keep it PG. I love coffee. But then, I learned, that Honduras exports all of their good coffee. To whom? The United Freeking States of Preventing Becky From Getting Good Coffee. So instead we get the ghetto coffee remnants that they scoop up off the floor with dust and…. some other gross things and they call it coffee. But then, then I moved to Sabanagrande. One day, I was having dinner and occasionally my host mom gives me coffee with dinner. And one day, the coffee was….. delicious???? I was really confused. I looked around to see if I had woken from some bad coffee dream and was in a Vegan Hippie Independently Owned Free Trade Coffee Shop in some artist colony in Berkley, but no it was the same wall I stare at every evening! I know for sure because I usually stare at the fishing rod in the corner and think “Nobody uses a fishing rod in Honduras…. There isn’t even a river NEAR here…” I was so excited I sent text messages about coffee! I thought for sure she put something IN the coffee. I mean, it was honestly the best coffee I have ever had. Ever – no exaggeration. So I couldn’t let this phenomenon go! So I ask my host mom “What’s the difference between the morning and evening coffee?” “Why?” she asks. “Because it tastes much different.” “You didn’t like the coffee?” “NO! I LOVED the coffee! It’s really good!” “Oh, that’s because the morning coffee is Indio or Maya (like the Columbia House man with the sombrero and donkey vomited into a can and called it coffee). That coffee was from Marcala and is pure coffee.” SCORE!!!!! So, I happen to have two friends placed in Marcala. Guess who is going to Marcala? Guess what everyone is getting for Christmas? Trust me. You will thank me. I have tasted the hell and the heaven of coffee and lived to tell the tale.

My friend Kisser McGee just sent me a text message saying that a semi-pro Ping Pong player stopped by her house today to ask for help in starting a team. Let that be a lesson: anything is possible in Honduras.

One more thing about food. Let’s talk about meat for a moment. Now, most of you knew me when I was a devout vegetarian. And you all know I am a vegetarian in my heart and will very very likely go back to the way of the veg. But I must say, the meat here is really, really sketchy. I was shocked when my host brother-in-law’s brother (does that make him my like, my host second cousin or something?) told me that Honduras is known for the high quality of its beef. “LIARFACE!” I yelled at him. But apparently, Hondu really DOES have high quality meat! So, the next time you enjoy a delicious steak, think of Becky, who is eating the really really sketchy meat that is NOT shipped to the States. How sketchy you ask? Well let’s just say there is no such thing as rare, medium rare, medium, or medium well meat here. You get well, or weller, or shoe leather. It’s safer that way.

So today I went to a whole bunch of aldeas to drop off school supplies with my counterpart organization. First of all, word to the wise: Always wear a sports bra when going to aldeas, get one of those Dramamine patches, and try to get a seat in the front of the truck. Anyway, so the aldeas are an amazing place. Some of them you can only get to by foot paths and a couple hours of walking. Others have “roads” and are nearby. But all of them are universally incredibly poor. Many of the children have a blonde tint or blonde streaks in their hair which is indicative of malnutrition among Hispanic children. Their houses are tiny and usually made of adobe. One of the W.V. programs is to donate cement and zync roofing to the communities to beef up their houses and battle illnesses associated with dirt floors and poor roofing. I asked my associates what happens to the zync roofing when the next big hurricane hits. They laughed and said, “Good question.” One thing at a time.

But the thing I wanted to say, was not the poverty, it’s that these people live in some of the most gorgeous areas I have seen here. It’s like the opposite of the states where the rich live in remote areas and have amazing mountain scenery and the middle class are in the burbs and the poor are in the cities. These aldeas are absolutely beautiful in the scenery and greenery. Usually their houses, though poor, are painted in bright colors (at least the doors) which lends to the beauty and you can see the brightest and most beautiful colors of flowers and trees. It’s so disconcerting to see this abject poverty coupled with absolutely striking views. And the people themselves, the ones I have met, are amazingly humble and kind. A friend told me a phrase that she heard “These people would kill their last chicken for you.” And I absolutely believe it. I also believe they would fry it in lard and serve it to you with all of their tortillas for the week. These people’s smiles would touch your heart.

The other day I went to the bathroom and there was a giant frog in the toilet (bigger than a softball). I removed him. I have since seen him in or near the toilet no less than 4 times. I named him Prince John. I think it’s apt.

So my favorite Honduran phrase is “Que Barbaridad” which pretty much literally means “How Barbaric.” In Honduras this phrase can be used for just about any negative circumstance. For example:

“My, it’s hot outside today.” “Que barbaridad!”

“My sister got robbed in a cab today.” “Que barbaridad!”

“The hardware store was out of cheese.” “Que barbaridad!”

I really think that I’m going to bring this phrase back to the states with me and try to make it stick. I think it could totally work. Try it with me:

“Somebody didn’t put a new roll of toilet paper in the bathroom!” (How barbaric!)

“They just raised the price of a movie to $10.” (How barbaric!)

“Brad and Angelina are breaking up!” (How barbaric!)

“I heard Becky ate around a worm in her banana today!” (How barbaric!)

Try it out. Let me know how it goes.

So on a more serious note, I’m actually really concerned about my health here. I have lost some weight and I’m sure I will continue to if I continue to play soccer and if I ever actually get up in the morning to go run at the soccer field. But, the reason that I became a vegetarian, well other than my lame attempt at Buddhism, my bleeding heart, and a vegetarian girlfriend (funny how that works), was because I got a letter in the mail after giving blood that my cholesterol level was like 245 or something like that. So I freaked out with my family history of heart problems. And now I’m eating meat again, although for cultural reasons, and my host families have a tendency to use a 1:3 Oil to Bean ratio and cooks everything else in lard. LARD, PEOPLE! Plus salt and sugar are used more than liberally and green vegetables are a rarity. Today every single meal that I ate included tortillas fried in lard. (When/If I visit in the states if you give me a single corn-based food product or anything fried… well… I will not be held accountable for my actions.)

So I have 6 more weeks living with a host family and this situation is not going to change because my host mom is great and I refuse to insult her by asking her to cook differently. But, I’m a few months shy of 30 and I’m 20 pounds overweight at the moment. (Don’t raise your eyebrows at me!…. Fine… 30 pounds.) I really don’t want to die of a heart attack at 45 and I’m not being melodramatic – ask my dad’s new heart valve. The PC doctors here are Honduran and I doubt will be able to help me with the dietary issues. So, I can go back to vegetarian easily here because there are plenty of beans and a lot of vegetables although not much variety (GARDEN SEEDS PEOPLE!). And I can get access to flour to make seitan and lentils which with some spices will make me set. But does anybody know if there is some kind of fasting, juice fast, or raw food type fast that I can go on for a few days or a week or two when I get into my own place that will help me clean out and kick some of this grease out of my system? One that only costs the cost of groceries? In the mean time, I’m going to have to suck it up and exercise more to try to at least keep my heart ticking well. But if you have any ideas kick me an email. I will have 5 total months on the lard/sugar/salt/oil diet soon. How barbaric.

OTHER PEOPLE’S STORIES:

Sometimes, I just have to share other people’s stories. HOLLA! They are just funny as hell sometimes. The first is the tale of a Korean in Honduras. First of all, to be Asian in Honduras is not easy as the Hondurans assume you are from China and in their diplomatic politically correct Honduran way, will inevitably call you “Chino” and will ask you if you know Kung Fu. So this guy is pretty much amazing and wins the award for the absolute most random peace corps volunteer background of all time: professional ice skater.

This is noteworthy not only because it is really awesometastic, but also because this guy, who we will call Jin in my blog, laughs at the fact that he is a Korean stereotype worthy of Honduras. He was a professional ice skater and he does actually know Kung Fu. So when the Hondurans say, “Hey Chino, do you know Kung Fu?” He hangs his head and says, “Siiiigh. Yes.”

So during FBT Jin was giving a lecture at one of the schools and whenever the kids talked to him they called him “Chino.” So, because you know, Jin is KOREAN and has a NAME he tries to teach the kids his name and the following scene worthy of Abbot and Costello occurs (Note… Yo in Spanish = I/Me. The letter J in Spanish is pronounced like Y)

“Chino!”

“Me llamo Jin (Yin)!”

2 minutes later…

“Chino!”

“No, me llamo Yin, Yin!!”

2 minutes later…

“Chino!”

(at this point Jin gives up and decides his last name is easier: Jo)

“Me llamo Jo (Yo).”

“Chino!”

“No, Yo!”

“Si, Chino!”

“No, Yo! Yo!”

“Si, Chino!”

“Yo!”

“Chino!”

“Yo!”

Chino!”

“No, Yo! YO!”

“SI! Chino!”

Meanwhile, all of the volunteers watching are cracking up. “Chino!” “Me!” “Chino!” “Me!”

The other is the tale of La Paz which was told to me by Kisser McGee. Apparently, in La Paz where the health volunteers trained, there are two seemingly boring things that together unite to create hilarity. Bolos (drunks) and Ropa Americana Stores (Goodwill Stores). These two things combined create: “BOLOWEAR!” Coming to Runways near you, with really disgusting, stinky, drunk, unshaven, dirty models bearing new T-shirt fashions including slogans such as:

“This is what cool looks like” (This guy was actually passed out in a doorway)

“D.A.R.E.”

“I hate doing this shit”

“Engage the restrictive barrier and pop it like it’s hot”

“World’s largest source of natural gas”

“Girls Gone Wild Film Crew”

And my personal favorite:

“Hit it and Quit it”

And yes folks, these were all actually sited on the La Paz bolos. It’s a special thing.

Until next time: Watch out for worms in your nanners and stay away from lard! And remember folks, in an Earthquake don’t forget to stop, drop, and roll!