The rain is pouring down in full fledged buckets. I can almost set my well-worn Target digital watch to these daily afternoon tropical rainstorms. We are officially deep within the rainy season in central Honduras. Just two weeks ago, I sat in a bright, dry kitchen in Spokane reading the news on the internet of the start of hurricane season: flood warnings were high, and school and buses were cancelled as fears worsened that the bridges in Tegucigalpa were going to collapse over the rising rivers. The Ranch suffered minimal damage with just a broken water pipe here and there; but the impact of unceasing heavy rains on the subsistence farmers indicate much more severe consequences.
I am back on the Ranch after a lovely week at home to see my sister, Colette, graduate from G-Prep and to spend some time with my family (and to catch up on sleep). I won’t gush over all the unbelievably wonderful things about the U.S.A. that I rediscovered—dependably clean public restrooms, sushi, and Costco being just a few of the highlights that left me breathless—but I will say that I was surprised by how quickly and often my thoughts settled on my students, my girls, and this endearingly bizarre country that I’ve called home for the last 10 months. I knew I was back when I was in the customs line in San Pedro Sula and three different Honduran women came up to me at different times with a sob story of why they should get to cut in line. I didn’t let them.
Now I’m back on the Ranch after spending several days with two of my best girlfriends on the spectacular Caribbean island of Roatán, Honduras’ touristic pearl. It’s hard to think that two weeks ago I was flushing my toilet paper in the U.S., one week ago I was sprawled on a white sand beach and snorkeling with turtles, and today I am fending off fire-breathing 8th graders with my Expo marker and grade book.
However, it does feel comfortingly good to be back in the classroom with my game face on and #2 pencil poised to strike. As usual, one of my classes has stuck with me all through the day and has made me rethink how lucky I am to have been born in the United States and to have a loving, stable family. In my lowest level class, an especially remedial section with students ages 9 to 13 who have come to the Ranch without any previous educational experience (or only speaking an indigenous language), I was completely caught off guard by the topic that my young students brought up: crossing the border.
Just like any teacher, I've little memory of how we got onto the topic of immigration and what rights and privileges Americans have over Hondurans, but as I was led deeper into the discussion by their questions about passports, the police, and coyotes (the "specialists" who transport illegal immigrants across the border), it dawned on me why the students likely knew so much about border crossing. Angelo had told me weeks ago about his uncle working as a janitor at Sea World in California, and Carmelita and Michell have always boasted about their cousins in New York and Houston. Moises was most persistent with his questions: what exactly happens to you if the police catch you on the border without papers? Do you have to have a passport? What if someone who is already in the United States knows you and can vouch for you? They were more than disheartened with my answers: no papers, not legal.
I did my best to answer truthfully . . . and then Angelo, an 11 year old child with severe ADHD, shot me the million dollar question: why is it so easy for Americans to get passports and enter into Honduras and so hard for Hondurans to get passports and get into the U.S.? Try to explain that one to a group of remedial 11 and 12 year olds who can’t read or write in Spanish, but whose knowledge of the world outside the sheltered walls of the Ranch runs deep. Intelligence in a classroom isn’t everything: these kids have watched their family members experience things that I’ll hopefully only ever see in movies.
On a joyful note, the newest addition to the Ranch arrived several days ago: Scarlet Mirielle Flores is somewhere between three and five months old and is one of those babies who only ever seems happy. Our social work department went to pick her up from the authorities in near Olancho (north-central Honduras) where her mother was trying to sell her on the highway for 500 lempira (roughly $24 US). We are overjoyed to have this beautiful baby girl safely on the Ranch and sure to be loved.
And that's the news from Rancho Santa Fe. In only a few short weeks, the newest group of volunteers will arrive to replace my outgoing group. We’ll take them through orientation, introduce them to the kids in the hogares, and train them in their new jobs. I haven’t fully realized yet how soon to finishing my volunteer year I truly am, though I got a taste of it when I was home two weeks ago. It’s hard to imagine that someone else will be teaching my kids about Dante, alcoholism in Central America, and crossing the border. Oh, and English . . . I do teach English, too, occasionally.
One last note before I end this note: viva los Catrachos! Viva Honduras! Viva World Cup 2010!
I am back on the Ranch after a lovely week at home to see my sister, Colette, graduate from G-Prep and to spend some time with my family (and to catch up on sleep). I won’t gush over all the unbelievably wonderful things about the U.S.A. that I rediscovered—dependably clean public restrooms, sushi, and Costco being just a few of the highlights that left me breathless—but I will say that I was surprised by how quickly and often my thoughts settled on my students, my girls, and this endearingly bizarre country that I’ve called home for the last 10 months. I knew I was back when I was in the customs line in San Pedro Sula and three different Honduran women came up to me at different times with a sob story of why they should get to cut in line. I didn’t let them.
Now I’m back on the Ranch after spending several days with two of my best girlfriends on the spectacular Caribbean island of Roatán, Honduras’ touristic pearl. It’s hard to think that two weeks ago I was flushing my toilet paper in the U.S., one week ago I was sprawled on a white sand beach and snorkeling with turtles, and today I am fending off fire-breathing 8th graders with my Expo marker and grade book.
However, it does feel comfortingly good to be back in the classroom with my game face on and #2 pencil poised to strike. As usual, one of my classes has stuck with me all through the day and has made me rethink how lucky I am to have been born in the United States and to have a loving, stable family. In my lowest level class, an especially remedial section with students ages 9 to 13 who have come to the Ranch without any previous educational experience (or only speaking an indigenous language), I was completely caught off guard by the topic that my young students brought up: crossing the border.
Just like any teacher, I've little memory of how we got onto the topic of immigration and what rights and privileges Americans have over Hondurans, but as I was led deeper into the discussion by their questions about passports, the police, and coyotes (the "specialists" who transport illegal immigrants across the border), it dawned on me why the students likely knew so much about border crossing. Angelo had told me weeks ago about his uncle working as a janitor at Sea World in California, and Carmelita and Michell have always boasted about their cousins in New York and Houston. Moises was most persistent with his questions: what exactly happens to you if the police catch you on the border without papers? Do you have to have a passport? What if someone who is already in the United States knows you and can vouch for you? They were more than disheartened with my answers: no papers, not legal.
I did my best to answer truthfully . . . and then Angelo, an 11 year old child with severe ADHD, shot me the million dollar question: why is it so easy for Americans to get passports and enter into Honduras and so hard for Hondurans to get passports and get into the U.S.? Try to explain that one to a group of remedial 11 and 12 year olds who can’t read or write in Spanish, but whose knowledge of the world outside the sheltered walls of the Ranch runs deep. Intelligence in a classroom isn’t everything: these kids have watched their family members experience things that I’ll hopefully only ever see in movies.
On a joyful note, the newest addition to the Ranch arrived several days ago: Scarlet Mirielle Flores is somewhere between three and five months old and is one of those babies who only ever seems happy. Our social work department went to pick her up from the authorities in near Olancho (north-central Honduras) where her mother was trying to sell her on the highway for 500 lempira (roughly $24 US). We are overjoyed to have this beautiful baby girl safely on the Ranch and sure to be loved.
And that's the news from Rancho Santa Fe. In only a few short weeks, the newest group of volunteers will arrive to replace my outgoing group. We’ll take them through orientation, introduce them to the kids in the hogares, and train them in their new jobs. I haven’t fully realized yet how soon to finishing my volunteer year I truly am, though I got a taste of it when I was home two weeks ago. It’s hard to imagine that someone else will be teaching my kids about Dante, alcoholism in Central America, and crossing the border. Oh, and English . . . I do teach English, too, occasionally.
One last note before I end this note: viva los Catrachos! Viva Honduras! Viva World Cup 2010!
