The Birthday and Teaching Post

On Saturday June 20^th, the day before my birthday, my two compañeras (Sarah and Rebecca) spent the afternoon helping Doris with an English essay—or so I thought. It was only that night at dinner that I discovered they actually spent the afternoon baking me a chocolate cake in an outdoor, wood-fired oven! Sarah and Rebecca went so far as to teach two of our favorite students—Melvin and Darlín—how to sing Happy Birthday to me in English. The surprise party was topped off with a yellow construction paper “Birthday Boy” crown.

Melvin,7, and Darlín, 6, are the grandchildren of Doña Hilda, 48. They live here in rural San Isidro with their grandparents and their mother lives in Tegucigalpa—the capital of Honduras, a three hour drive. Darlín and Melvin are attractive, intelligent, well-behaved, funny, and know how to entertain themselves. Two weeks ago, I found out Darlín has diabetes. Hearing a sweet 6-year-old girl talking about her “sangre mala” (bad blood) is one of the most heart-breaking things I've listened to in Honduras. Yesterday, I learned that Darlín and Melvin live here, while their mother works in Tegucigalpa, because their father lives in the United States—where he has started another family with a new wife. These two kids have had more hardship in their young lives than I've had in the entireity of my much longer one (their dad left for the States before Darlín was born). I want the best for these two kids but the only way I know I can help them is to be the best role model possible.

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This week was our most independent week yet. We had opportunities to teach close to home—in San Isidro, at the primary school, and in Vallecillo, at the high school. The teacher at San Isidro, Johanna, gave us control of her classroom for 5 hours on Monday and Friday (because of teaching conferences and family plans) and left us with 39 kids ranging from first to sixth grade. The picture at the top of this blog post was taken while I posed with some of the third graders during recess. The photo doesn't show it, but It's an exhausting 5 hours even with 3 of us teaching; we can't imagine how Johanna does it 5 days a week. Our lessons with these younger focused heavily on basic English (colors, daily activites, members of the family, and parts of the body) and personal hygiene.

Though Vallecillo is considered within walking distance, we still have to walk at least 1 hour over the mountain and through the town to reach the school. When class starts at 7 am we leave our seed bank at 6. Thursday, we taught 3 groups of students for 80 minutes each about climate change. It's worth the hour long uphill trek to teach when you see that the lessons have a real impact on the students. After lecturing on climate change with the students, we directed them to write a diary entry that imagined their lives in the year 2050 and we challenged them to be descriptive about how they envisioned climate change affecting their lives. To watch the San Isidro kids show their family trees to the class, and to listen to the Vallecillo students read their diary entries, is why I came to Honduras.

Shout-outs to all of the Shaffers (and former Shaffers): Nana and Paps, Tony, Jeanne, and Libby; they all supported me financially and emotionally before my trip and continue to do so now. Their support led directly to meeting Melvin and Darlín and to two extra days of classes for the kids in San Isidro.

The Real Deal

To begin, I'll dispense with the notable milestones that made the last week so enjoyable and worth writing about. I reunited with 4 of the original group members in Jesus de Otoro, developed a special affinity with a 3 year old named José, danced for 3 ½ hours at my first Honduran fiesta, bought the hammock swinging lazily from the porch of our seed bank, washed clothes by hand for the first time, and (along with Rebecca and Sarah) delved head-long into our vigorous teaching schedule. I'll only go into detail with a few of the events in the interst of writing a shorter entry.

Let me tell you about this kid named José, especially because the picture with this post is of him. José is the son of Omar, a FIPAH employee in the Jesus de Otoro. During my visit to Otoro this past weekend, we spent two long evenings at Omar's house with his family. He has two daughters who are perfectly well-adjusted and love interacting with visitors. However, according to Claire―who met Omar's family last year and sees them on a regular basis this year―José never seems to like anyone. I can vouch for how silent and reserved he is. I don't know what it was about José, but the first time I saw him, I wanted to play with him. The first day he wouldn't speak to me at all. He still let me hold him and toss him up in the air. When we returned the second time, I was stunned b y how much José would talk to me with his quiet, shy voice. Claire told me that our developing friendship was a minor miracle―which may be a minor exaggeration―but I was sad to leave Otoro because it meant I wouldn't have another chance to see José.

Also during the Otoro trip, I went out to what Hondurans call a “discoteca” with the 4 students from our group and their host, Verónica. We actually did dance for a solid 3 ½ hours and I'm going to be honest and say that, at least at times, we were the stars of the show. On many occasions the DJ would yell out, “Saludos Yankees!”--which roughly translates as, “Hey everybody, look at those crazy white people dancing! Haven't they been going at it for a while?”

Since returning to San Isidro, Rebecca, Sarah, and I have started a vigorous schedule of English and deforestation lessons at 5 different local schools. Typically we'll work with one school each day (for about 4 hours) but on Thursday we doubled up. I won't digress to describe how endearing the students are after they overcome their initial shyness, but I do have to mention how much they impress me. After being in school from 7 in the morning until around 1 or 2 in the afternoon, almost every student goes home to work with their parents in the fields. Kudos to them and I'm sure I'll be sharing many more stories about the students when I write next week. I do need to fall asleep soon because we're planting corn in the morning but there's one last thing I can't forget―my weekly shout-out.

I'll stick with the three-at-once model from the previous post―Sue R. and Pastors Doug and Ellen. Mrs. R (I hope she doesn't mind me saying this) had trouble with the website and accidentally donated 3 times the amount she intended to for my trip. But, when I told her this, she decided she wanted me to have all of the money. The Martin duo offered to publish an annoucnment for me in the church bulletin and graciously donated themselves. People like the three of you are making all of this work possible. I truly appreciate it.

Small Town with Big News

I'm writing after I've spent over a full week in San Isidro. As for the adjustment period that I was dreading so much the last time I wrote, it's been over for a while. Recognizing that I was in an adjustment period made it slide by that much faster. So much has happened to me in this week I'm not sure where to start with stories and descriptions. To make things easier to understand I should clarify the characters in this crazy adventure. You've already been introduced to Sarah and Rebecca (my teammates, Canadian and American, respectively). Marvin is the FIPAH Director for the Region and he is married to Paola, another FIPAH worker. The last employee is Carlos. Another important distinction: my time here can be broken into the first few days, when Marvin and Paola were here, the last 5 days with Carlos as our sole FIPAH connection, and the two days since Carlos has left us. The first few days were a lot of adjustment for me. I wasn't talking as much as I normally would have been and I tried to explain to myself how much I was going to enjoy the next 7 weeks. Since then we've kept relatively busy (at least by my standards, my roommates have at times expressed the desire for more work) by learning about what FIPAH does, interacting with members of the community, planning the lessons we will use in the 5 schools we'll work in, swimming and playing with the kids, cooking some for ourselves, and eating at Doña Hilda's house each night for dinner. I don't have enough space to describe everything I've done so I'll focus on the experiences that are most meaningful and memorable. Mirna is a farmer in our community living with 5 of her children. Her oldest daughter is in the United States, which is where her husband went but, unfortunately, he died there because of heart failure. Sarah and I were able to use a few hours the other morning to work with Mirna and her kids (including Claudia—one of my favorite kids in San Isidro) in her fields to clear the weeds from around her bean plants. The work was hot and not easy but more rewarding than I could have imagined. (The picture for this post is of Sarah and 3 of Mirna's children in the field.) Mirna had food ready for us as soon as we finished cleaning the field; in an incredibly kind move she actually came to our door about 30 minutes ago to deliver some freshly baked sweet breads that she recommend we drink with coffee or Coca-Cola. To give you some context, this happened while Paola and Marvin were in La Ceiba writing a grant proposal and we stayed in San Isidro with Carlos. The other notable activity we undertook before the return of Marvin and Paola was a trip with Carlos and Elvin (a farmer in the community with a fascinating story) to Tegucigalpa. Carlos was nice enough to show us around the center of Teguc and we also had a chance to do some grocery shopping. I actually rode back from Teguc in the back of the truck for 3 hours in the hot sun. Part of the reason I volunteered to sit in the back was so I could write the previous sentence but, to be honest, it was actually much more comfortable sitting in the back on the seeds than being crammed in the back seat with all of our groceries. Right before Marvin and Paola returned we were informed by Carlos that he was being told to transfer to Yorito to work. As much as we miss Carlos we know he's doing great work in Yorito and should have a great time hanging out with our friends there. Now that Marvin is back we have started working with him again. Yesterday we drove for an hour up into the mountain to work with a farmer who was planting some potatoes (papas) high up on the side of a mountain. Little did we know that the first thing we needed to do was help clear the field.... with machetes. I guess it's about 85 degrees or warmer at this point, but without the humidity it's not that bad. After my first few tentative strokes with the machete it turned out I was a machine when it comes to clearing potato fields in the mountains of Honduras. It seems that being the tallest person here has its advantages in terms of moving the most brush and 3 year old palm trees at once. Interestingly this was also the second time a Honduran agricultor (farmer) called me Tomasito (I use the name Tomás when I'm here and speaking in Spanish, also, Tomasito means “Little Tomás”). I couldn't figure out why these farmers were calling me little. I'm literally the tallest person I've seen since arriving in San Isidro. I didn't know if it was supposed to be some kind of ironic joke or something, but I've since discovered it's a term of endearment. One final note, because I know how long this post is, tomorrow morning I get to visit my friends in Jesus de Otoro and I think we are going to continue on to La Ceiba for a couple of days. I can't wait to write another post from the beach!

Even though this is such a long post I can't forget the now-standard shout-outs. I also think I like the idea of doing them in pairs. Today's pair is actually a triplet! I want to thank the 3 eighth grade teachers that donated to my trip and made it possible for me to work in Mirna's fields the other day. Dana Thompson, Beth Gall, and Karen Sanborn all deserve special recognition. I have to do a special note for Ms. Sanborn because she wrote me THE funniest email about my trip and put me in the right frame of mind before I left. Thanks and I'll hopefully get to see all of you when I return in the fall!

Vivo en un Banco de Semillas (I Live in a Seed Bank)

I'm writing this on my first day after arriving in San Isidro, where I'll be spending the next seven weeks. As I've already mentioned, the first two days of my trip were spent with the whole group of 11 in La Ceiba and I should describe that time before detailing my current situation. The most memorable moments were walking across the bridge with many missing planks in the National Park “Pico Bonito” (this is the picture for this blog post), being nervous around the police men with the huge automatic weapons, seeing more Pizza Huts in close vicinity to one another than I've ever seen in the States, and eating meat from a bone for the second time in my life (and the second time I've done it to avoid being rude). Unfortunately, though, almost as quickly as we arrived in La Ceiba, we left; on June 2^nd seven members of our group boarded a bus headed for Tegucigalpa, the capital of Honduras. Four members got picked up about five hours into the trip to continue on to Jesus de Otoro. Remaining were myself, Rebecca, and Sarah, as we rode on the bus for an additional two hours to Teguc where we first met Carlos. He was our FIPAH envoy whose task that night was to drive us another 3 hours to Vallecillo. Turns out Vallecillo is the name of the municipality and a town but that the place we were actually staying was a different community named San Isidro. I think that this simple miscommunication should have tipped us off that the rest of our minimal expectations needed to be left at the door. This is where the title of the post finally starts to make sense. It turns out that the place we will be sleeping every night also serve's as FIPAH's seed bank for the entire Vallecillo region. There are two small rooms on the left and right when you enter the seed bank with some wooden beds and ancient mattresses. First reaction (at least from myself and Rebecca): Seriously? This was what I had so anxiously looked forward to settling in to. After traveling the entire day with the too-much luggage I had packed, I was moving into this. This is the beginning of what I know is an adjustment period for me. I had one when I traveled to New Orleans and to Puerto Rico. The question remains as to how long this adjustment period will last. Did I mention that our toilet, sink, and one-option (cold) shower were outside?

This post's shout-outs go to Jocelyn and Rachel, two of my favorite people at UNC. Both of these girls supported me so much when I was planning to go on the trip—emotionally and financially. Jocelyn did this from France. I'm sorry I didn't get to see her before I left for Honduras but I look forward to our reunion in August. Jocelyn not only supported me financially on the trip herself but made it a family affair by inviting her fantastic mother to do the same. So, special thanks to the Frelier family. Rachel and I didn't have the Atlantic Ocean separating us but she still made as good an effort to be supportive of me throughout the semester. Not only did she help prepare me for the Honduras trip but she also made my 2 English classes with her the best classes of my semester. Thanks to both of you and I can't wait to see you in the Fall.

Arrival and Initial Impressions

So, it´s official. I have stepped on foreign soil. It didn't count in El Salvador because we didn't leave the airport. My plan had been to grab a taxi and take it to the beach for the 5.5 hour layover. Unfortunately, the group didn't see eye to eye with the plan and we just chilled inside—basically America Land with a Brookstone and Lacoste to boot. I don't know why, but it hasn't really sunken in yet—this idea that, for the very first time in my life, I'm out in the world. I read about this place all the time, see it on TV, see it in the movies, but now I'm actually here. Hell, this could even be the mysterious place that grown-ups are always babbling on about when they wax nostalgic about the real ¨world¨. Maybe it´s because I haven´t seen it during the daytime yet. I first felt it, the feeling that something new and big was coming, was when the plane was landing in El Salvador. I was shaking all over; so full of excitement. You know that El Salvador didn't end up counting (and, speaking of counting, don´t worry Dad; even though I didn't leave the airport I got you some El Salvadoran money) because we basically hung out in a mall with uncomfortable chairs; but it was daylight and that could partially explain the shaking. I think another reason I might not have felt like my arrival here, in La Ceiba, was the authentic foreign experience was because we saw so many American places to eat, so many neon signs—Popeyes, Quiznos, and a two-story KFC. The picture I´ll put up with this post is the first time in my life that I´m seeing the Pacific Ocean. That`s all I’­ll type for now. A lot more happened but this is what is on my mind right before I drift off to sleep. More shout-outs this post: Mom, you get on here again because I talked about you with a girl on this trip named Carolyn for about 15-20 minutes, and I know I haven´t called yet but I haven´t been near a phone and I´ll call as soon as I can; a special shout-out to Dr. Chappell, he made the donation that finished my fundraiser, a huge thanks to him and to all the others that donated; last shout-out of the day goes to my dad, last night dinner was great even though it was at Uncle Buck´s (I know, it was my choice), we also went to go see UP earlier that afternoon which was fantastic, then he had no problem driving my extremely tired butt to the airport early early earlier this morning, thanks Dad, I´ll miss you a ton.