Before regaling you all with timeless Christmas tales, I want to devote a few lines to those who have been affected by the earthquake in Haiti, especially those who are connected with Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos there (Nos Petits Frères et Soeurs). Their facilities have suffered significant damage, and while all of the children there are accounted for, an NPH doctor has died, a volunteer was severely hurt and her brother passed away, and Molly, another volunteer—a friend of mine from college—also didn’t make it. Prayers for her and her family that they find peace in knowing that she is with God, and prayers for all of the Mollys out there who are an inspiration to us.
The Ranch held a prayer service on Wednesday afternoon, and since then, the kids have had mountains of questions: what is an earthquake? Did the ground open up? Is it true that Haiti is the poorest country, and that we are number two? In hogar, my girls were especially distraught, and we spent all of last night talking about tectonic plates, poverty, Molly, and what the people in Haiti are doing now. Their comments and questions touched my heart. They were very worried about the kids in the NPH Haiti home. If Haiti is even poorer than Honduras, then the kids probably don’t have food to eat or water to drink, they surmised; therefore, they should just send all the kids to the other NPH homes to live there. And the rest of the people in Haiti, they asked me, where will they be sent, and how will they get food and water? Are they sleeping on the rocks? I did my best to answer their questions, but nothing satisfied them. “Pobrecitos,” they murmured over and over, which means something like “those poor dears.” Two observations of theirs brought me the comfort and warmth that only a child’s sincerity can inspire. The first, that God does miracles. If we keep praying really hard, there will be a miracle, right, Daniela? We just need to ask God for a miracle and he will protect all the people and make sure that all the kids at NPH Haiti have food. This brought them to their second observation, which Carmelina voiced proudly: “Daniela, if Michael Jackson were alive, he would donate lots of food and water and toys, because Michael Jackson cared about the poor people.” She took my silent nod—more of a stifled laugh—to be a sign of assent. Leave it to the chicas to connect Michael Jackson to a devastating natural disaster.
Now I’ll share just a touch of Navidad on the Ranch. Although I knew back in July that I wouldn’t be spending Christmas in the usual winter wonderland of below-freezing weather, the consumer-chaos of Black Friday, and Starbucks candy cane lattes, I hadn’t pictured myself sweating and huffing the nearly two hour hike to the neighboring pueblo,Tamale y Queso, in 85 degree weather with 75 kids all under the age of 11. But that’s exactly where I found myself on December 25th. I felt like Santa Claus in shorts and sunglasses lugging the big bulky sack stuffed with old toys and clothes that the kids had selected from their few possessions to give away to the grateful families living in the impoverished, rural village tucked back in the mountains behind the Ranch.
We stopped at each cement casita, so small and dilapidated one could barely call them houses, and called over to the curious children watching our noisy herd pass by from the front door. I barely had a chance to set down the sack that weighed heavily on my shoulder before my girls tore into it, whipping out wrinkled, stained t-shirts and dirty plastic toys with missing pieces. They passed their hard-loved treasures through the rickety gate into the eager hands of their new owners. This Christmas tradition could easily have been awkward and depressing: watching my kids hand over their sorry clothing and toys to destitute families was a blatant admission of poverty; yet any embarrassment was erased by sincerity and frankness. The whole process was simple enough for an eight year old: I have a pink shirt with a flowers and pandas on it that I don’t need, and you clearly need a shirt with flowers and pandas; what’s there to be uncomfortable about? It was a Christmas day unlike any I have ever experienced, but it will certainly be one that I’ll think about every year now.
I can only imagine that my chicas’ gift-giving facility was aided by a rather sumptuous Christmas morning. Bleary eyed and tired after a night of delicious tamales, apples, grapes, and a 25 foot bonfire, my girls awoke to quite a pile of booty under the fake Christmas tree in our hogar. Our beloved gigantic Frosty, in all his resurrected glory, witnessed smilingly as 28 ecstatic little girls unpacked their stockings to find neon hair scrunchies, pencils and erasers, a fine tooth comb (look out, lice!), their very own nail polish and lip gloss, a stylish notebook, new socks and underwear (usually no cause for Christmas cheer, but here, a surefire hit), and—oh, the joy!—a small fortune in candy: all the spoils of Daniela’s family hauling two enormous, hefty duffel bags all the way to Honduras from Spokane, Washington (thank you Diane, Keri, Mike, Glen & Chris, and family!).
As if we had to remind ourselves of the bonfire madness of Christmas Eve, New Year’s celebrations consisted of no less than FOUR gigantic burning piles. One would think that there would be numerous serious burn injuries when hundreds of sugar-laden kids are let loose to dawdle in flames, but thankfully that wasn’t the case. At midnight, we all gathered around the mother fire and ceremoniously ignited the Old Year, a scarecrow-like stuffed dummy hung on a tree and then lit with fire—a Honduran tradition I’ll not soon forget. The conclave of wild cheers and raucous dancing to the suspended burning “body” was slightly disturbing and unbelievable, yet so are many of the experiences I’ve had here since July. Festivities continued until the wee hours, but most of my hogar had fallen asleep in the grass far earlier, their new Christmas outfits already singed from flying sparks.
It was a tiring yet wonderful two weeks on the Ranch, but sharing it with my family made it that much more special. Essentially tossed into the jungle since landing in Tegucigalpa one suitcase short and shorter on sleep, the fearsome Jolicoeur Five braved the partly-paved concrete Amazon, dodging racing semis, slow-moving truckloads of soccer teams, empathic crates of potatoes, and suddenly one-way traffic lanes to arrive 9 hours later, exhausted yet triumphant, in Copan. Quaint, narrow cobblestone streets and general cleanliness were hardly training for my parents and siblings to arrive five days later at Rancho Santa Fe. Once cockroaches were accepted as permanent houseguests, though, life continued swimmingly. The kids didn’t care one bit that they didn’t really speak much Spanish, instead making a million astute observations like “your dad is always smiling,” “tu hermana es muy beautiful!”, and “Daniela, you’re the shortest and the oldest?” I think many of the kids were especially interested to see a complete family together and happy. More than once they asked my parents (as I translated): do you love your son? Do you love your daughter? How much do you love them? I think it made all the difference having all of us share such a special time with them.
About a month remains until the new school year starts in February. This month, I am officially halfway through my year of service here. It feels like I’ve been here forever and for moments only. Already I can tell that many of the kids are changing and growing (myself included). I can only imagine that in six months, I won’t be able to imagine the changes that will have occurred from the beginning of the year.
Les deseo un año lleno de alegria y paz. Que Dios les bendiga.
Happy New Year, everyone.
