Caribbean Vacation, Extended Version: Thank You Mel Zelaya

Tournabé is the largest of the Garifuna villages outside of Tela on the north Honduran coast, and we had been there all morning walking among the thatched roof huts, letting ourselves slip into the lazy tranquility of this removed beach pueblo on the Caribbean coast. None of the indigenous Garifuna women, men or children were too surprised to see us, even as we stood wide-eyed watching numbers of half-clad kids and dark women balancing plastic tubs on their heads sidle up to the small fishing boat that brought the day’s fresh catch. Over an hour they spent weighing fish on the scale and bartering prices to take the fish back to their small beach-side “restaurants” and kitchens. Every once in a while, a skinny, dark-skinned child would mosey away from the boat with a string of 5 or 6 shiny ocean fish. I was sipping a delightful lemonade, munching on platano chips, and forking into a freshly-caught head of fish—just off the grill— when I got a text from my mother. “Zelaya returns to Honduras; takes refuge in the Brazilian Embassy in Tegucigalpa.” We took our time finishing our lunch and took another dip in the warm teal water until sauntering off to catch the last bus back to Tela. We stepped off the bus to crowds of people frantically scurrying around to food stalls and gas stations. In all of the commotion a ragged-looking man on a bike shook his finger at us and said, “Toque de queda a las quatro! Todos en casa!” I looked at my watch. It was 3:30, and this man was saying that there was a curfew beginning at 4 pm. Promptly so began our extended vacation/house-arrest in a Caribbean beach town.

I am sure you can well imagine the pros and cons to being stuck on the Caribbean coast indefinitely as the host country wrestles with really important political problems like cowboy ex-presidents stubbornly planting themselves in other countries’ embassies and calling for all troops on deck—and all the while, the majority of the country has to sit in their casas and twiddle their thumbs, watching censored news updates and waiting until they can return to work to make enough money to feed themselves. I had been in Tela with 5 other volunteers for three days already, and we had been snorkeling, hiking through a national park to see howler monkeys, hermit crabs and brown boobies, and of course we had spent plenty of time sunning on white sand beaches and swimming in water that was a hundred times warmer than the showers I take on the Ranch. As you can imagine, I wasn’t too upset that we would have to spend at least one more day in Tela until it was safe to travel back to the Ranch.

The irony was, of course, that I had to remain at the hotel we were staying in without any indication of when the curfew would be lifted. Instead of spending my time swimming and tanning while Tegus worked through its issues, I sat on the deck and stared at the waves breaking on the beach a mere three blocks away. The tortuous hours were only lightened for me by the small book of crosswords I brought and the hope that maybe tomorrow I’d still be stuck here and the curfew would be lifted. As you can see by some of the pictures, we also passed the time by making mature messages out of Scrabble blocks to the country's leaders. Luckily, this cruel irony only lasted Tuesday afternoon. Wednesday and Thursday, I took full advantage of our “misfortune” of being caught in the middle of political upheaval in a foreign country.

Now I am safely back on the Ranch taking cold showers and practicing patience with the children, and it almost feels like I was never sipping $1 beers on the Caribbean coast. Thank goodness I took a lot of pictures. The only indication we have on the Ranch that anything is happening 40 km away in Tegus is news that the curfew still is in place. School resumed on Friday as normal. It appeared that most of the city was also going about their normal business when I drove through yesterday on the way to catch the bus to the Ranch. It was a little thrilling, if not a bit scary, to have our papers checked several times on the bus ride back by men in camouflage uniforms with rather large firearms.

While Honduras experiences major changes in government, I am going through a major change in my volunteer role. This weekend I officially switch hogars from Hermanas de Jesús to Hijas de Maria. I will now be working every night and every other weekend with girls ages 8 to 10. After discussion with the volunteer coordinator here and the arrival of another volunteer to the Ranch, I’ve made the decision to move hogars to ensure that I do not get burned out by having the same kids every day, all day (I teach a majority of the girls in my hogar and see them all day at school before coming to hogar at night), and to have clear separation between my job as a teacher and my job in hogar—more perhaps for the good of the girls I am teaching. The line between being a teacher for my girls during the day and their volunteer at night is easily, and often, blurred—to the point that it interferes with the quality of hogar time and sometimes straining my relationships with a few of the girls. The new volunteer who just arrived will be taking over Hermanas de Jesús, while I’ll be just steps away in a different hogar with the “chicas.” The switch comes at a perfect time: after a week of my absence, no classes, and the arrival of the new volunteer. Although I regret not being able to be with several of the girls in Hermanas with whom I’m especially close—Ana included, though nothing could change our close relationship—I will still see them all in school every day and teach many of them, and I’ll see them every night, too, as I head to the chicas hogar.

Already the differences in my new hogar are obvious. Instead of Shakira and Honduran pop music, we listen to Barney songs translated into Spanish (Michael Jackson, of course, spans all ages). Instead of mowing the lawn with a machete this morning, I swept the cement paths with a broom and picked up trash. The girls themselves are worlds away from the teenager attitude. They definitely have their moody and snooty moments, but for the most part, they are sweet and trusting—and really, really cute. One thing that does come with the young girls’ hogar that I am not too excited about: lice. LOTS and lots of lice. I am incredibly grossed out by it, and though I know I’ll probably get it at some point this year, I still hate the thought of live things crawling around and laying eggs in my hair. The older girls all have lice, too, but not to the extent that these chicas have them. For my first day of work today, I spent an hour and a half threading through Jocelyn’s thick, wiry hair, plucking out 2, 3, sometimes 4 lice eggs on a single strand. I soon learned that Jocelyn is known for having the worst lice in Hijas de Maria. Of course I am the one to de-louse her for my first combing experience. Needless to say, I am getting right back into life here at the Ranch after a week off in Tela.

Safe on the Caribbean Beach

Hola from Tela . . . just a quick note to let you all know that I am safely stranded in the lovely beach town of Tela, Honduras. We have been here on vacation all weekend and were planning on returning to Tegus yesterday when Zelaya slipped in and nestled down in the Brazilian embassy. Curfew restrictions have been pretty constant, although because this is such a laid back beach town, we are able to get out and buy food . . . and even slip over to the beach for a swim. Not a bad place to be under house arrest!

I am not sure what the next couple days will bring, but we are watching the news (sometimes censored) and keeping in contact with the Ranch. Just another day in Honduras, I guess.

Adios y hasta tarde,
Daniela

Happy September 15th! (Independence Day)

Yesterday was Independence Day in Honduras. The kids woke up at 3:30--4 am to get all primped for the big parade in Talanga, a neighboring pueblo (village). There were 12 schools there in total, and this was the first year that NPH participated in the parade. Usually the Ranch just closes a section of dead highway and the kids parade in front of the pine trees, potholes and wild dogs. So this year was definitely special. Besides the couple kids who passed out from the scorching sun and humidity, everyone did a great job marching. The baton twirlers were on their game, even if the kids I was marching with had a hard time figuring out their left feet from their right.

Here are a few photos. Happy Independence Day!

Why I’m Here (in case you are wondering)

Just had to share this with you all.

Last night I had 5 girls from my hogar over to make pizza. It’s an activity that each volunteer does once a month with kids from their hogar—a chance for a couple kids to get away and spend some more personal time with their volunteer. These specific 5 girls got to come make dinner with me because they are do not have siblings on the Ranch, and some of them have no siblings at all in addition to no real parents. 4 of the girls wanted to watch a video while the pizza was cooking, to which I obliged, but “Ana” wanted to talk with me instead.

If you read my blog, you know that Ana is that girl in my troublemakers class in Talleres who one day changed her attitude, wanting to read to me from her Spanish reader and asking me to teach her more English. She’s known around here as an extremely tough kid; though only 4’6” or so, looking more like a 12 year old than 15, most would say she could beat the crap out of any kid here, including scrawny volunteers. She steals, she lies, and she has no friends. She’s always doing extra chores in hogar, she’s always in trouble, she’s been kicked out of school once already since I’ve been here, and she is indescribably special to me for what she’s taught me already, though I’ve been here only 6 (?) weeks.

I wish I could accurately describe her to you, but all I can do is tell a story. Already, she has taken me aside multiple times to ask to read to me in Spanish since she is still learning. She asks me to teach her English outside of class, like last night when we pointed around the kitchen as I told her, “oven, sink, plate, stove.” Yesterday she was beside herself to tell me that she passed three classes—meaning she might be able to move up to the next grade level, finally. From someone who was kicked out of school for not working at all in class, I have come to know her as a different person. Tonight, Ana showed me more of her heart than I’ve yet seen. I asked her about her family. Ana pointed to the starry sky and said her mama was watching her from up there. Her mother passed away when she was too young to know her, and her dad couldn’t take care of her and her other 5 siblings, all less than a year apart. After growing up sometimes on the streets with her siblings, NPH family services brought her to the Ranch three years ago. She told me that last year she was able to visit a few of her siblings, whom she misses very much, but she hasn’t seen her dad in years. Knowing how much I miss my family, I asked her whether she would rather be here on the Ranch, or living with them on the north coast. “It’s almost the same to me,” she said, “but here, I get an education. If I lived with my family, I couldn’t go to school. It’s too expensive—notebooks, pencils, backpacks, uniforms. They cannot buy that for me. It is better to be learning, so it is better than I am here.”

Her words struck me profoundly. Here is a girl who teachers, other volunteers, and other students think is stupid. They think she hates school, that she sleeps in class because she doesn’t want to be there, that she hasn’t got a chance to get through Talleres with hopes of going to high school. They give her extra chores because she “behaves so badly” in school. But I know her differently: to me, Ana is the girl who desperately wanted a notebook so she could take notes in my class, and she asked me for weeks to get her one. To me, she is the girl who wants to sit and read with for hours because I am someone who will look at her and tell her that she is doing a great job, that she is smart, that “yes, Ana, you CAN read, stop saying you cannot.” Her smile after I give her any type of positive feedback is worth each cold shower, each dinner of rice and beans, every measly paycheck. To me, she is more driven than many of the kids I graduated with from the University of Portland. She knows that she is lucky to be at the Ranch, to be given the expensive materials to go to school, to be guaranteed a high school education, too, if she works hard. Her desire to achieve is evident by her excitement in telling me her passing grades four, five, six times in two days. Ana stretches the definition of “student” to a different level, defining it in its rawest sense: one who simply studies.

Ours is not simply a student - teacher relationship. Since Ana is also in my hogar, we see each other every evening and every other weekend, too, and we’ve shared many a hug and smile as she’s mopping the floor where the girls all live. Last night, while the other girls were watching a movie while the pizza cooked (and the electricity flashed off and on all night, making us wait for over an hour for the pizza to cook), Ana wanted to wash the dishes and sweep and mop the floor. She reminded me of all the women (myself included) who, though they are dinner guests simply cannot sit still, but feel the need to get up and clear the table, wash the dishes, or help cook. And here was this short 15 year old girl who already does all that work because she’s in trouble, wanting to clear our plates and wash them on her special night in the volunteer house. I managed to persuade her to sit down with me and be a guest in my house, and we started talking. Again her words touched my heart.

“Te quiero mucho, Daniela,” she said. I love you a lot, Daniela. Putting her hands to my cheeks and stroking my face, she continued: You will forever be in my heart, and I will forever be in yours, she said. Wherever I go, you will go with me. And when you leave the Ranch next year, I will go with you, in your heart. And when you go up to the sky like my mama, I will go with you, in your heart.

Though the dark evening was stiflingly muggy and I was still sweaty from the day’s slow heat, a thousand goosebumps charged up my spine. How did I deserve this little girl’s deep love already? Why am I the recipient of her complete trust, when so many others have failed her? Perhaps one of my next thoughts was a little bit crude in the glow of Ana’s honest smile, but at that moment, I couldn’t help but think that Ana would probably kill for me, or at least defend me if I was ever threatened by knife blades in a dark Honduras alley. I looked at her, struggling for the right words, and in my best Spanish I could muster, told her that she had una alma bonita—a beautiful soul. I told her that I could see God’s light shining in her eyes. I told her she is special, that she is a gift, that I love her, too, and that God loves her more, no matter what she does. Her hands reached up again to my cheeks, her tiny mouth cracked into a smile to reveal uneven teeth, and she hugged me tightly around my neck.

Then, as if thinking about my words, she paused. Daniela, she asked me, what happens if you get confirmed and then you lie or steal again? What happens to you? I remembered then that only 3 weeks ago, Ana was confirmed with about 50 other kids in Tegucigalpa. This was the 2nd time she has asked me this question, and still I find it odd to be in Honduras explaining this concept that was ingrained in me after 16+ years of Catholic school education. I tried to explain that no matter how many times you lie or steal, God will forgive you if you truly ask for his forgiveness, if you honestly want to be forgiven and are sorry for what you have done. She seemed mostly satisfied with this response the second time around, but I added to my explanation. “Ana, there are too many people in this world who are bad. They steal and they lie, and they cheat. Every time that happens, their souls get a little bit blacker and their light from God gets a little bit dimmer. We need more people in the world who are honest, who do good things for other people, whose souls are bright and strong. You can be one of these good people, Ana, even if you have lied before. I know you are already a good person, because I can see it in you.” The truth of the concept must have overcome my poor Spanish, because Ana took my hand in hers, kissed it lightly, and then looked up at the stars with a quiet, “Si, Daniela.”

Ana reminds me what I am doing here, what my mission is for the year. I get frustrated with these kids, oh yes I do. When they cough on their hands, yell “SWINE FLU!” and then wipe it on me laughing, I feel like I’ll never make it the whole year. The days are long, but my patience is starting to sprout deeper roots. Moments of pure grace, like those I often experience with Ana, are my soul food here. Inevitably there will be kids here who steal, who lie, and who hate school—indeed, I’ve already had some grapes swiped out of the fridge by two of the teens—but they still deserve someone telling them that they can be good and that they are needed. And I’m hoping I can be one of the good guys who can do that. If you get a moment this week, pray for Ana, and for the kids here on the Ranch who are the “bad kids.” Pray that they realize that they have the chance to be good, and pray that someone takes the time to tell them so.

Peace,
Daniela

The Top 10 . . .

. . . Moments of my week.

In not much of a particular order and including the very good, the ugly, the unbelievable but true, and the Oh SO Honduras:

10. Cashing my first pay-check: 2,176 Lempiras! I'm rich! (translation: Literally living on rice and beans . . . and the occasional Salva Vida, the cheap Honduran beer, but only when I really need it, I swear)

9. Sweating through an hour-long meeting with the Honduran school staff debating what we should wear for our Independence Day parade to Talanga. Really, do we want white polo shirts or white dress shirts? Do we want black dress shoes, or black tennis shoes, or is black just too much? Ay yi yi.

8. Waking up this morning to a cold shower and realizing the water was the color of a day-old latte

7. Letting myself scratch my mosquito bites for 3 minutes. Oh please, just one more minute . . . ok, just one more . . .

6. Being asked by one of my worst studetns to help her study for the test, and then having her full attention

5. Leading a spontaneous discussion with 12 year olds about racism, WWII, Hitler, and of course Michael Jackson

4. Squashing an enormous cockroach with my flip-flop before it could reach my bed

3. Luis Fernando's cross-eyed, crooked smile after I congratulated him on scoring a 45 out of 50 on his English test. He is a student in my specials class.

2. Realizing I was being followed by a hefty brown steer while running on the trail. I never knew I could be so agile.

1. Hearing one of my students trying to impress a younger senorita with the cool English phrases he learned in my class. With the right Honduran accent, "What's your favorite food?" suddenly becomes a killer pick-up line. Only on the Ranch.