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.