Besos de Honduras

Nearing the End

2006-08-24T10:26:00.000-07:00

Update from our little cozy spot in Moroceli, Honduras: Steve and I are doing really well. The teacher strikes ended (the kids have lost a total of forty days of classes due to the teacher strikes, but finally the government and the teachers have come to an agreement). I will share with you my daily routine.. Every morning, I get up around five thirty or so. I use the latrine, put my contacts in and greet the granny that lives next door and is always making her corn tortillas. I leave and go running by the corn farms for about an hour. I like to see all the men on their donkeys leaving to work on their farms and greet all of them as I run past. Sometimes I get stopped by the herds of cows that run past... I run up a huge gravel hill and enjoy the early sun shining down on Moroceli in the distance. I run all the way to a small stream and sometimes I see parakeets near the stream in the trees. I turn around at the stream and run back. I run past the house of the other volunteer (Timothy) who lives in Moroceli and usually catch him watering his garden. We sometimes have a cup of organic coffee together and I head back to my house. Steve is a sweetie and helps me fill up the big orange bucket so I can bathe and then we usually eat breakfast together...oatmeal, milk and a little sugar with bananas... Sometimes my other neighbor, Sagrario comes over in the morning to greet us with her little adorable daughter. Today she started teaching me how to embroider. At 8 or so, I leave to go to one of the schools in the nearby poorer villages or in Moroceli and I teach classes about the environment. I talk a lot about the difference between Organic and inorganic garbage, how to take care of the water. Why Moroceli`s water is SOOOO contaminated and WHY NOT to drink the water that comes from the faucet... (amebas, worms...) I also get to talk about SEX, positive communication.. condoms, natural birth control... the importance of birth control.. Currently, I am working more with fifth and sixth graders with environmental issues.. but each week it changes and I work with a different curriculum. So I give classes about these topics and then during recess sometimes I go with the kids and we pick strange fruits (Guayabas, Lemons, Passion fruits, Bananas)... I read stories to them and then I go home around 12:30 or 1:00 in the afternoon.. In the afternoon it gets really hot usually. Steve and I make lunch together -- usually bean stew with veggies and he makes spaghetti or whatever.. We check email in the computer center and go around visiting people. I feel famous in my town. I leave my house and EVERYBODY knows me and yells at me like I am somebody important, like a movie star. I am the only white girl in my town. If Steve and I spend the day apart and I am looking for him all I have to do is ask anybody in the street where he is and everybody knows. At five o`clock, I yell to everyone that we are going for a walk and sometimes up to fifteen people come with us. Yesterday, several little girls came with us and they walked the entire hour walk BAREFOOT! I guess since they have never really had shoes, their feet are accustomed to it. We sing songs together in Spanish and read stories afterwards. For dinner, we sometimes eat at a lady’s house named Paula. She makes really good corn tortillas, beans, and tomato, cucumber, cabbage salad. It sometimes takes us an hour to walk the five minute walk home because we have to greet everyone and say good night...

So as you see, I have my daily routine here and I feel really important and well respected. As our departure date of October 28 nears, I feel really worried about the change from humble community life to materialistic big town American life. I feel like I might become lost in the large mass of metropolis, consumerist society. I thank all of you that put your greatest efforts forth to come and know my life here in our quiet dusty town of Moroceli.

On the other hand, there are some days when I miss you all so much I could cry..I do cry. I miss supermarkets and eight hour work days where I know exactly what I have to do.

So I have rambled on a lot about random thoughts and feelings.. I am excited, worried, nervous, anxious to come home.. a little of everything.. SO please, please help me readjust and not feel lost between two different worlds and cultures. We will arrive in Kalamazoo airport on October 28… I do not know the time or the exact flight yet. But I will let you know when I find out…

Lots of love and peace, Teresa and Steve

GRINGO RICHES and CONFITES

2006-08-14T09:57:00.000-07:00

Hola Friends and Fam! I am posting a couple of articles that I wrote for the Peace Corps Honduras Newspaper. Unfortunately, you will need to use a Spanish dictionary to understand the entire article, but it will be a fun challenge~! Love T and Steve

Gringo Treasure

My mother thrusts a box of chex mix into my arms. “I also bought you a super size jar of peanut butter. Oh, and you can have these spoons, forks, and our old set of plates and dishware. You might need them.”
My first apartment, my third year of college… “Oh, just one more thing, dear, a matching towel, rug, and shower curtain set for your bathroom that I picked up on sale at Target.” I was a “HAVE NOT” and accepted all the hand-me-downs and help that I could get. Then as if with a flick of a magic wand over night, somewhere in the clouds, in my travels between the U.S.A. and Honduras, I became a “HAVE.” Instead of a lowly, struggling, college student with hand-me-downs, I am a GRINGA with GRINGA TREASURE AND RICHES! Everyday, I am reminded, just in case I have forgotten. Big-eyed curious children point and exclaim, “Gringa!”-- not hola or como esta, just Gringa! People of all ages come over not just to visit me, but to visit my GRINGO TREASURE.
My sixth grade neighbor girl noted my Lady Speed Stick deodorant and commented on how beautiful it was (the container and top are purple.) I had just bought a second one at the Colonia supermarket in Tegucigalpa as a replacement as I was about to run out. Tania, my neighbor girl, was now holding one deodorant in each fist. “Regalame!” she shouted.
I gave her a fijese que type excuse and she moved to the kitchen in search of more gringo treasure. I admit that every time I go to Tegucigalpa, I sneak into the Espresso Americano to get a drug up on those oh so yummy iced coffees and each and every time they hand me an extra packet of sugar as if the granitas weren’t sweet enough already. Tania had now discovered the espresso Americano packet of sugar on the kitchen shelf and while petting it gently , she informed me, “This is what the rich people use.” I explained to her that the sugar in the packet was the same sugar that we buy from the pulperia but she was convinced that the packaged sugar had a much richer flavor.
Finally, she found my biggest gringo treasure of all while I was pouring my afternoon cup of coffee. I had just returned from the colegio from giving AIDS charlas and had left my box of materials on the table. Her quick little fingers reached inside the box and pulled out a shiny silver packet (a condom). “This is the type of confites that the rich people eat,” she informed me, “Me encantan los confites! Regalame uno, Teresa, vaya!”
Speechless, and red tomato faced, I sipped my coffee in an elegant gringo fashion to give me a chance to think and then replied in another fijese que manner, “I need those for a charla and wont have any extra to give you.”
The question is, What gringo treasures do you have?

The Fight with the Confite Wrapper

I Step into the hot morning sun and the first thing I see are the ten or maybe even fifteen or twenty disgusting little churro bags color coating my little patch of lawn. There are exactly eight plastic coca cola bottles tossed in with the churro bags and one rumpled up dirty disposable diaper. (Churro means potato chip) All together mixed in with the grass clippings, I suppose it could make a great salad if you look at it with blurred sleepy morning eyes. Every night, the high school students leave their classes and discard their bags, bottles and packaging of their unhealthy food habits onto my front patch of lawn and all along the main street headed up to the park. Even on the winding dirt roads that lead out of town to the aldeas are flooded with garbage. I feel anger and bitter with disgust. I change this negative urge to spit or make revenge into energy to make change.
I arm myself with the all mighty charla paper, markers, and dinamicas and head to the elementary school. I start with an introductory, break the ice type activity where each student stands up and states their name (only their first name since the long bumble jumble of their four names confuses me) and their favorite food. In an attempt to integrate environmental education with literacy and creativity, I have the students write poems individually in the same format. With the title, AMBIENTE, spelled vertically, the students have to think of at least three words starting with each of the corresponding letters to fill in the poem.
A agua, aire, árboles, aguacates
M mariposas, maravillas, mangos, y monos
B bosques bonitos, belleza
I islas, iguanas, insectos, interesantes
E ecología, enorme, excelente
N nubes, nances, naranjas
T tigres, toronjas, tormentas, tomates
E estrellas, elegantes, elefantes

(Ambiente means environment)

I am proud of their creativity as each student comes up with unique words for their poems. I then continue the charla with a drama and ask help to arrange all the chairs in an isle to form a bus. I tell them that I am the ayudante and tell the teacher to sit in the first chair and act as the conductor. I stuff all the kids into the chairs and some standing in the middle to act as standing passengers. When I have all the kids stuffed in the relajo of the pretend bus, I whip out the bag of trash that I collected in my front patch of lawn and pretend to sell churros and soda. “Quien quiere comprar churros, agua, agua, agua…Cómpreme fresco, fresco, fresco.” By the time I am done screaming and mimicking an obnoxious vender, each student is holding a piece of trash. I tell them that many people are uneducated and don’t know the damage of hurting the environment and that they often throw the trash out the window. I tell the kids that on the count of three, everybody should toss the garbage on the floor of the classroom as if they are throwing the trash out the window of the bus. “One…Two…Three…:” and the kids are laughing hysterically as the bags of churros and bottles of soda fly over the scattered desks onto the floor. I comment on how ugly the classroom is and how many of the streets in our town and on the road are littered and full of trash… I ask them what they think they can do instead of littering outside the window or on the ground.. We talk about the importance of burying garbage and how garbage sitting on the surface can collect rain water and be a home for more sancudos and more dengue and more sickness. Finally, we make a list of organic and inorganic garbage and how long each type of garbage takes to decompose. The students are astonished to learn that a plastic bottle can last up to five hundred years!

I feel good about the interaction of the students in my environmental charlas and walk away from the week feeling like a successful volunteer.. Just maybe, just maybe I am creating change. On Friday, I feel the urge to escape my small tranquil town and I hop on the 8:30 morning bus to Tegucigalpa. I even shove a couple extra plastic bags into my backpack in order to reuse them in the supermarket. We turn off the desvio and onto the Pan Americana and the bus picks up speed. I smile at the fresh breeze coming in from the window, the lush green life of the rainy season and then glance forward and notice the director of the elementary school sitting by the window three seats in front of me. Nonchalantly, he unwraps a confite from its shiny wrapper and pops it into his mouth. My heart cringes as he tosses the wrapper out the window and ironically in crushes my mood as it comes back into the bus through my window and hits me in the face.

Two Lives Colide

2006-07-18T10:29:00.000-07:00

I almost feel like my life in Kalamazoo was a separate book altogether. Different characters, different scenes, different daily routines, an entirely different soap-oprah. And then one of the main characters in my Kalamazoo life escapes his usually routine and flies into my small town life here. I cant believe that our college buddy, Joe will be landing in Tegucigalpa airport in about an hour. In an hour, a true good friend will be with us to make our friendship grow even stronger. Joe, we are so excited to see you -- you have no idea. Your visit means so so so much to us. You are a true friend. I cant wait to see you and hug you at the airport. Love to everyone! Teresa and Steve

Happy Travels and Evil Amebas

2006-07-07T09:49:00.000-07:00

I feel like I am in the middle of a game of fifty-two pick-up. The cards are scattered all over the floor. While I want to organize them and pick them up, I dont know where to start. Like the fifty-two cards, the details of my life are scattered over the span of the last month and a half and I dont know where to begin. I suppose if I start with one single detail, they will stack on top of one another until I reach the current moment...

I left you last with our departure for Panama City. We left the polluted, nausiating city of Tegucigalpa on an afternoon flight. Arriving late in Panama City made me a bit nervous. However, walking out of the airport, we found efficient safe public buses in a modern style city with plenty of night life and twenty-four hour supermarkets and cafes. We made a temorary nesting spot at the International Voyager Hostal which included use of the kitchen and internet for cheap prices. We enjoyed a couple of days wandering around the old part of the city, walking along the Pacific Ocean boardwalk, and watching big cargo ships pass through the locks of the Panama Canal. We took an overnight bus all the way through Panama to the Northeast corner of the country where we took a mini boat to the well known beatiful Carribean Islands-- Bocas del Torro. As you can imagine, we roamed every nook and corner of the island and also took a day to investigate the scenes underneath the water, snorkeling. The bright purple, neon blue, pink, orange, and yellow fishes that look like cartoons really do exist in the secret world below the sea. After three full days of the Carribean, I had not yet had my fill. We crossed the border without any problems into Costa Rica and stayed in Puerto Viejo for a night. There we enjoyed a long bike ride along along the ocean front road. The road was surrounded with jungle. The white sands reached out to be carressed by the waves of the sea. Steve suggested that we stop for a water break. I glanced up and was surprised to see a group of monkies staring down at us.

On the first day of the big mundial soccer game, we took a LONG all day bus ride through the capital, San Jose, and up into the LUSH GREEN DRESSED mountains. Did you note that detail?? LUSH GREEN DRESSED mountains!!! I would like to point out that Coast Ricans really take care of their environment. From what we observed, the streets were clean without garbage and the mountains are NOT NAKED and BARE as in Honduras. At one point in the long bus ride, the bus driver pulled into a supermarket for a break. We noted that all the employees in the supermarket were glued to the soccer game on the television in the electronics section!

In the Monte Verde Reserve, we spent two days hiking. The expanse of bright colored insects, hummingbirds, and plant life was AMAZING! We even got aught in a down pour. I suppose that the rainforest is called the RAINforest for a reason. We stayed in a hostal just outside of the reserve in the nearest town of Santa Elena. It was owned by a very hospitible brother and sister team from Texas. All along the journey, I always use our lonely planet guidebook and exchange travel suggestions with fellow travelers that we meet along the way to make and change travel destinations. We had heard and read in the guidebook that the active Volcano Arenal in La Fortuna was a spectacular site, especially at night when you can see the red glow of the lava shooting out. We took a jeep-boat-jeep tour to La Fortuna from Monte Verde. From the boat, crossing the Lake, we had a wonderful view of the base of the volcano. However, the tip of the volcano was suffocated with clouds. And the clouds were relentless and stole away any possibility of seeing lava shooting from the top during our entire visit. We did hear rocks falling in the distance. A highlight that made up for our disappointment of not seeing the lava was spotting a family of toucans flying over head on our hike to a beautiful ribbon of a waterfall. I could have easily spent an extra day, and then another day, and multiple more days in Costa Rica as I fell in love with the lush green nature of the country. However, time is not always considerate of my desires and takes me with it whether I am ready or not. We continued North and crossed into Nicaragua. Unfortunately after a LONG all day of traveling, we arrived at the border at six o'clock only to discover that the last public bus to our destination had already departed. We had to pay fifteen dollars for a private taxi to take us to the nearby tranquil ocean side town of San Juan del Sur. The town suprised us with a calm clean atmosphere. We enjoyed overlooking the ocean waves sipping drinks (me coffee and Steve beer). In the morning, we planned on just taking a quick walk along the shoreline before catching a quick bus to a nearby real destination-- Isla Ometepe via Rivas. However, as we walked hand in hand along the coast, I glanced up and saw a white cross clinging way up high to a towering cliff. As all of you close friends and family know me well, the image of a possible great view gave me the desire to climb up the twisting winding road to the top. To Steve's sweaty dismay, he was begged to accompany me. The view was expansive and well worth the hot sweaty sticky hike (according to me).
We spent our third year anniversary at our next destination of Isla Ometepe via Rivas. Isla Ometepe is in the Lake Nicaragua and was created by volcanoes years ago. Of course, the volcanoes are currently unactive. We had a really romantic and adventurous anniversary hiking up the volcano and seeing LOTS of howler monkies. (Keep in mind that this is romantic in my definition and Steve too really is beginning to find a love for hiking and nature)... We spent all day hiking and came back to our hotel just in time to watch the stars over the lake.

Our last night before heading back to our country of Honduras was spent in the colonial town of Granada, Nicaragua-- Granada was actually a bit disappointing.. A bit smelly, some litter, and most disappointing, sewer draining right into the Lake.

Crossing into Honduras, it made me really angry to see people, children, adults, and even teachers I know throw garbage out the window of the bus. I think that Honduras would really have a better chance at more tourism if the people would just put a little more effort into taking care of their environment. This motivates me to work more on environmental education in my last few months here in Honduras.

When we re-entered our little pueblo of Moroceli we were happy to see that everything had turned green and the rainy season had started. However, when the rainy season starts, all the poop from the cows and humans drains into the river which then becomes our drinking water. And as you can predict, it didnt take long before the little ameba devils payed me a visit and decided to throw a party in my belly.

The party (I hope) is now coming to an end and the amebas have been chased away by a troop of medications.

I hope that I have made the distance between us less by sharing a few details of our past month with you. I think it is time to go and enjoy a plate of beans, avocado, and tortillas at Paula`s comedor. We send you lots of love and hugs from our little valley town of Moroceli..

Spontaneous Plane Tickets

2006-06-02T07:36:00.000-07:00

Some ideas are born over a hot cup of coffee in deep conversations, while others burst quickly into the mind on the toilet seat. Some ideas slowly grow like tree seedlings until they finally become something well formed and beautiful. Others come like the big bang like a big crash of lightening without warning. The idea of traveling to Panama came to me while we were walking from the supermarket to the bus stop in the stinky capital of Tegucigalpa. "I am tired of dust and projects," I told Steve. "We just finished the huge world map in the high school and it is a perfect time for a break now than ever."
"What are you trying to say?" Steve questioned, warily. "I am saying we should just escape.. we should just buy a plane ticket this week and go! Imagine, we could be in Panama city by the Panama Canal by the end of the week!"

And just imagine, today a week later, here we are in Tegucigalpa waiting to leave on a flight at 3 p.m. I can't believe that in just a few hours, we will be in Panama City looking for a hotel, exploring a different corner of the world!

Aliens with metal instruments

2006-05-22T15:12:00.000-07:00

I hardly ever look in the mirror. In the matter of fact, I do not own a mirror. The strange thing is that if I had to recognize my face, legs, or hands in a line up, I would likely select wrongly. If I took a picture of your hand and placed it with pictures of ten other hands, would you be ale to recognize your own? What about recognizing your own nose, eyes, legs, or entire profile? I guess these are random thoughts. But the only thing to do on the two hour bus ride from Tegucigalpa to Moroceli is to gaze out the window, note the changes from large banks, Pizza Huts, and Burger Kings to slouching slums to pine forested hills to dry barren land...

Leaving the Grand supermarket after splurging on grapes, apples, and brocoli, I feel the weight of heavy eyes staring at me as I cross the street to go the bus station. I look around me-- they all have arms, legs, one head, knees and two feet like I do. I wonder why I am so interesting to stare at. I supose since I do not look in the mirror, I forget how different my apprearance is in comparison to them. I cant see the light color of my hair that rests on my head and bounces on my back.

One day, I am sitting in the park in front of the Catholic Church. A mini van followed by a pick up truck pull up randomly in front of the church. Ten white americans hop out talking English. As if aliens from Mars had arrived in a space ship, my jaw dropped and I stared and stared at them some more! The father of the church greeted them with a firm handshake, "Buenas Tardes, Bienvenidos." The aliens from mars were actually dentists from Oregon donating a week of their time to have a dental brigade for children. Timothy, Steve, and I were excited to have visitors and to help out with translating throughout the week. I never realized the depth and existance of my own United States culture until I had the opportunity to live outside of it. I have discovered that while I feel a great deal of respect and care from Hondurans it really takes time for a stronger friendship to form. Simply stated, there is a strong wall of cultural difference that has to be broken. Otherwise, they view me as "other," somebody outside of themselves almost too different to feel comfortable with. However, within minutes, there was a strong sense of trust and understanding between us and the dentists. We immediately felt comfortable together and helped them unpack all their toothpastes, anestesia, needles, tooth puller, toothbrushes, and flashlights.

The secretary in the mayor`s office had invited fifty school children from Moroceli to come on Monday. For Tuesday thru Friday, children from all the surrounding villages were invited. On Monday morning, an elementary school teacher came with twenty-five children. All twenty-five of them entered teh church yard and we started by giving a talk about the importance of tooth-brushing. It was a beautiful moment-- everybody brushing their teeth together and then spitting on the Lord`s land all at once!

The thing I hadnt yet realized was that for many of them, teeth-brushing was a rare and foreign event. The dentists inspections revealed mouths full of black rotten teeth and lots of bacterial mouth infections which resulted in lots of wailing as the doctor yanked out many teeth. I sat beside the nervous students and held hands, explaining the different tools. Just the sight of the tooth-picker and the other bright shiney tools brought many kids to tears. Imagine sitting in a dentist chair for the first time with a stranger foreigner leaning over you blabbering in an alien language poking inside your mouth with large metal instruments.
The teacher heard the whimpering of her scared students and entered to assist. She yelled in fast Spanish, "If you dont sit and behave for the dentist, you will not be allowed to return to school. I will get you with the belt!"

"What did the teacher say? Translate it for me, " the dentist asked. Just as I had stared at the dentists initial arrival, she stared back at me big eyed in disbelief at my truthful translation. Since then, I have made a point to lecture on positive communicacion techniques.

On Tuesday morning, children, youth, fathers, mothers, cousins, grandmothers, uncles, grandfathers, teachers and farmers bombarded the church courtyard. The word of the dental brigade had spread and turned into chaos. I translated to the crowd from English to Spanish the dentists regrets.

"We are sorry, but we are only attending children from the poorer surrounding villages."

"Teresa," somebody yelled from the crowd, "I just have a molar that hurts"
"I just want my teeth cleaned. "
"Can I have a free tooth-brush?"
"Are you giving out toys?"
"But I have a tooth that hurts."
"Teresa, you are my friend. Get me in."
Some students even skipped their high school clases to watch the dentists work from outside the window.

The dentists worked non-stop from eight a.m. to seven p.m. with only a quick break for lunch inbetween. We wanted to help everybody. We wish we could have.
I have realized that our job in this world is not to change it. One cant change the world. One can only change his own corner, his own piece of the puzzle. But if we all do our part and touch just a few people, everyone is touched in some way and the puzzle pieces put together create a beautiful picture.

Hot, Dry, Deep thoughts

2006-04-20T13:29:00.000-07:00

It is a hot day today. I feel like I am being cooked for a lavish feast. Instead of spices, I am being cooked in dust. I had plans to visit the school today and also work on a world map painting project in the high school until I looked out my window this morning and saw kids still playing football and running by barefoot at nine o´clock. There is no school today. It turns out that the teachers are on a country wide strike because some have not been paid by the government. So for me that means an overly relaxing day. As most of you know I LOVE to be busy and RELAXING is something that I DO NOT enjoy… So I find myself finishing up my latest reading adventure—The Gringo Trail, by Mark Mann. The book focuses on the travels of three friends through South America (Ecuador, Peru, and Colombia). While at first, I didn’t like the novel because the travelers heavily used drugs and I found it to be a hippie tale, it ended up having a lot of perspectives on life that I appreciate and will share with you.

While hiking in the rainforest, the main character reveals his thoughts… “There could be a million different life-forms within a mile of us—all fighting, competing, living off each other, living in symbiosis with others. You name it, and it’s probably out there somewhere, close by. Every conceivable evolutionary strategy—there’s a plant or animal or insect doing it around us now.” Standing in the middle of the cloud forest over Easter weekend, I had the same feeling that everything around me was so full of conscience, consciously watching me.

Imagine the world mapped according to consciousness. Every life source registers a point brighter or weaker depending on how complex it is. People, animals, insects. Even a plant is conscious, in a sense. It reacts to its environment, and that’s all consciousness is, at a basic level. The capacity to absorb and respond to stimuli. All around us—millions of little points of consciousness. There can hardly be a single spot on the planet more conscious than here. (149)

…”But to my mind, what the animist world-view expresses—with its multitude of spirits and the magical parallel reality—is a sense of the sacredness of Nature itself. The crucial thing is that it’s not just humans who have souls, but everything. To animists, the whole natural world around us is charged with a magical, divine life-energy. The sacred is located within Nature, not somehow outside it, as with our own God. It’s a crucial difference. The Western conception of God reflects the Western belief that humans are intrinsically superior to the rest of Creation: that the natural world has been given to us by God purely for our benefit. If you ask me, it’s this belief that sowed the seeds of today’s environmental crisis.” (160) The Mormons feel that they have it all right, the only true way to God. The evangelic people feel that their faith is the only path to God. The Catholics feel that they are the only ones with the truth. The Muslims feel that Christianity is backwards and that their faith is the only one that leads forward to the realm of their God, Allah. Maybe everybody has a little part of it right. I feel that we are all droplets from a big pool. We leave that big pool when we are born and become vulnerable to sadness, loneliness, frustration, and anger because we are away from the whole. We spend our lives looking for connection, love, closeness to others. During our lives our meaning is to help the other soul pieces along their journey and finally in the end death breaks us away from our individuality and back to our whole spirit once again. I think we are all one, all in the same struggle of life battling the same negativity of feelings and that there is no reason for fighting within religions. The environment, animals, and plants are also part of the whole and a part of life that we need to respect and not waste out of carelessness.

Instead of a usual job path, I chose to escape. I chose peace corps. Many times I feel that our culture is overly centered on the success of a full time job, year round with only two weeks a year of vacation. What about family, love, children, experiences? The main character reflects on his friend who wasn’t the most responsible, nor productive in his life, but he had a few things figured out… “Mark and I hadn’t always seen eye to eye, especially on this trip. But he’d remained a special person for me. Perhaps it was because, almost alone among my friends, he’d rejected all that hypocritical, poisonous career shit. To most people, it looked like apathy and idleness, but I saw it differently. Mark had refused to sell his mind—his soul—to some bland, evil, world-fucking corporation just so he could swarm and backstab his way to self-important middle-management middle-age. I’d seen the vitality sucked out of too many other friends as they signed that Faustian pact. But Mark remained free. Alive. He’d refused to let a System’s projects and values become his projects and values. To Mark, music and drugs and having the time to think always came before money and respectability and a career. And he was right. They do. They should. I respected him for it. I respected him for not caring about things that were not worth caring about.” (283)

Sometimes there are events that you feel you knew were going to happen, somehow you felt them coming. Sometimes there are moments that you feel that you´ve done before. Is it all just coincidence or is there something to it? “Were these just coincidences, only invested with significance by a tragic accident? Probably. Or was there some strange magic here? Maybe all events have presentiments, like ripples in time stretching backwards as well as forwards, so faint that only a few tuned-in people can detect them. Maybe something as powerful as a death sent ripples big enough for even me to detect…” (284)

I am done with deep thinking for now. I am going to bake in the sun and cook in dust on my attempt to walk home and eat beans and tortillas for lunch. I hope you all find a piece of inner-happiness and feel that I am thinking about you today.

Coffee but not Cappuccino

2006-04-19T08:44:00.000-07:00

I have a lot of thoughts and realizations that I want to pour out to you, but like pouring hot water too fast over too many coffee grounds, they overflow at the top of the filter, making a mess rather than a flowing liquid of richness. Riding on a bus in Tegucigalpa, passing the outer slums, a lady wearing a knee length green skirt and contrasting orange and yellow blouse balancing a large white sack on her head holds my eye. She climbs the dirt mound polk a dotted with wooden shacks. Most likely, her residence is one of those modest dwellings. I wonder how she feels looking out of her door each morning. Does she feel and live the beauty of the morning sun welcoming a new day?

I know some people that live in middle-upper class suburbs but they do not notice nor appreciate the morning sun. Sometimes despite its beauty and splendor, it becomes a part of a dull everyday routine. Rich people can live in poverty too. The real heartbreakers-- lonlieness, anger, guilt, and sadness can eat away anybody no matter what social class they belong to. The taxi driver that transfered me from the bus stops shared with me, "I am poor. I was not born with stars. I used to haul firewood from the forest." Note: nearly everybody has a wood burning stove which makes firewood necessary. He said that he had promised himself that he would not always have to haul firewood. He dropped out of school after sixth grade and then joined the military for awhile. Now he drives a taxi. Honestly, I would rather haul firewood and enjoy the nature of the countryside rather than drive a taxi in the slums of the polluted capital. Life is how one perceives it. I told him that I believe that everyone is born with stars and some type o destiny-meaning to help and integrate with others. I thanked him for the ride.

I think of my neighbor Doña Licha. Every morning, I walk out the back door to use the latrine, I ask her, "Como esta?"
"Alegre!" And she really is happy, as if it were a body trait like her skin color or hair color. She is happy and really enjoys the simplicity and beauty of life. She enjoys making tortillas and taking care of her children, grandchildren and daughter-in-law all under one roof.

More and more, I realize and believe that poverty is a concept of self-perception rather than an economic condition. What about me? How am I and who am I? I am happy for the love that I have, afraid of losing it, excited for all the good in the future and worried for all the bad because inevitably both good and bad travel together. I am everything all at once. I am becoming me-- not a North American anymore nor a Honduran, but rather a confusion between the two.

Easter is now another X marked off the calendar. I hope the big fat Easter bunny brought you lots of eggs, even though I do not understand this concept when bunnies do not even lay eggs. When I try to describe our traditions of the Easter bunny or Santa Clause to Hondurans, they wrinkle their eyebrows and stare back at me big eyed. Living in a diferent culture holds a mirror to my own culture, leading me to analyze it and see it from a different perspective. Here also, like in the States, Easter time is a holiday. The week is all vacation time for schools, factory workers and basically everybody. Men usually get drunk, drunk, and more drunk. They swerve back and forth on their horses and sleep in the street-- which is just as proposterous as the Easter bunny but certainly more dangerous. Families also swim in the river as a type of religious cleansing. We escaped both culture traditions and found peace and adventure hiking in the mountains with three other Peace Corps volunteers-- Tim, Xavier, and Karen. We stayed three nights in the cloud forest-jungle feeling the energy of nature and hiked 40 kilometers in total. Here are a few favorite moments from the trip to the Muralla cloud forest.

1. The public bus brought us to the closest town called La Union. From there we walked four hours to the reserve. We left the dry hot dusty town and it gradually changed to pine tree forest then coffee and banana plantations and finally to heavy lush green underbrush. The changes in climate, temperature, and environment is amazing. We left the dry town setting and arrived high in the cool mountain cloud forest setting within 14 kilometers of hiking up, up, up with heavy backpacks loaded with packaged beans, tortillas, oatmeal, water, tents, clothes, and sleeping bags to get us through the next three nights.

2. One morning, our fellow Peace Corps volunteer, Timothy woke up early to use the latrine. While hovering over the hole, he felt rising air beneath him. Before he had time to think, two bats flew in between his legs. Less than five minutes later, I also used the latrine. Luckily, Timothy didnt tell me until my business was done about his encounter with the bats.

3. Hiking through vibrant green bamboo, vines and towering trees and then seeing a flock of toucans fly above us!

4. Even though I loved our adventure hiking and sightseeing in the cloud forest, I admit that one of the best moments was arriving to our humble town once again and pouring the first bucket of cold water over myself washing off days of sweat.

While I love adventure, experiencing life and learning-- I think of you all often and miss you. There never is a place like, "real true blue home." While I have a home here in Moroceli, it is like (for you Judy) drinking coffee with sugar but not quite as good as with your hazelnut creamer. Or for you Dad-- While here in Honduras my home is like driving a motorcycle with the wind through my hair, but home in Kalamazoo with you is like riding a Harley. Or for you, Tammy, Moroceli is like off brand chocolate, but it doesn`t melt in your mouth like German chocolate that I know you love.

I will enjoy exploring the nooks and corners of Honduras but every inch of the way, I miss you all and love you all. The warmth of your love and support keeps me moving forward.

The Miles that I Hiked

2006-03-01T09:28:00.000-08:00

It is now the first day of March 2006. A lot of things have changed and a lot of things have stayed the same since I last recorded my thoughts. First and foremost, we have received a site-mate in Moroceli and are no longer the only North Americans in town. The first day when he came into site, on more than two occasions, a few of our high school aged friends asked him if he was my father. The funny thing is that Tim, our site mate, is only twenty-six years old and I am twenty-five years old. So now, I call him Dad to be funny, although I think it bothers him a bit that the Hondurans think he is so much older than he really is. Time has been occupied more with school starting up again but continues to misbehave and sneak away without permission.
I still struggle in my own circles of frustration, over-eating, under-eating, exercising and not exercising enough… and then we go to help out a group of twenty doctors that came to donate their time in a medical brigade. They only speak English and asked for assistance for translators from the Peace Corps. In the beginning of February, we had little to do in our site with school still being on vacation and were glad to escape our site for a few days. I have never seen so many black rotten teeth in my life. There were also entire communities haunted with the scabies disease. I cant imagine being so desperate, so overwhelmed with disease, pain. The people came to us looking for hope, help, and a magical cream to make their horrible rash go away, but we could offer nothing. The cure for scabies is complicated because the insects live in their bedding, in their skin. The cure is not a quick cheap cream, but rather a long patient process of cleaning thoroughly, boiling sheets and clothing. It hurts my heart to see them go away without help. I hope that God helps them. And then I feel guilty for my unfit frustration over food, and a negative body image. I feel like my own problem is simple and within myself and I should be able to help myself. People with diseases so deep in their skin, in their bodies, out of their own control, need the miracles that God gives.

And what else? I will share with you a glimpse from last Saturday. The oldest daughter (seventh grader) from the small village of Mesias, a two hours walk from Moroceli, came to deliver invitations for her sister’s fourth birthday party. So of course, last Saturday when the date arrived, we set off on foot at eight in the morning. We should have set off much earlier to avoid the hot sun. The sun was relentless and glared down at us with harsh burning eyes. We walked a steady fast pace trying to escape its sharp rays, over the white dry rock, past the dry barren streams, but we didn’t find comfort until we reached the family’s house two hours later in the shade of the kitchen. As always, Tia Wilma welcomed us with fresh corn tortillas fresh off the wood stove with beans. She leaned over the water basin, cleaning the chicken and pealing off its feathers when I asked her about the father of the family. Where had he gone? She explained that he was sleeping in the other room. How rare for a Honduran to be sleeping so late on his daughter’s birthday, I thought. Then as I was finishing my last warm corn tortilla, he stumbled out of the room to greet us with bulging red eyes. I overestimated his step and came way too close and then pulled me into him so close that I could smell alcohol on his breathe. Drunk on his daughter’s birthday and pleading me for more. The mother cooked everything and bathed all the children. Her sister came down from the village above in the mountain to prepare the piñata and the rice. Her oldest daughter put up decorations and balloons. The father swaggered in and out. Finally when all the guests arrived at four o’clock in the afternoon in their best clothes and shined black shoes, he collapsed on the bed and met the consequence of his pre-celebration. What a party. What a shame.
Every morning when I go running, I see several drunks asleep in the street. Or even worse, yesterday I saw two of them with their heads hung over riding on horseback. I ran to the side of the road, afraid they would fall off on top of me, and watched them fly away on their horses with a trail of dust behind them.

It is hot and dusty here. The earth, the streams, the air, the people, we are all thirsty for rain.

As March comes punctually, I think about how November is walking on his last mile and will be knocking on my door before I am ready. November will take me to such great changes. I am excited and scared at the same time. I am sad and overly happy to see my family. I am black and I am white. I am one feeling and at the same time the exact opposite. I love it here so much and then I cant wait to leave. Needless to say, I think beyond my little dusty town. And then it hits me, when I read A Walk in the Woods. I want to hike the Appalachian Trail. I want to feel sweat, hard work, I want to know the land of my own country. The book is about the silly, humorous adventures of Bill and his friend Katz and their struggles as they attempt to hike the Appalachian Trail. I REALLY RECOMMEND THIS BOOK! It is funny, loaded with good details and historic information! I will share with you a few of the thoughts of Bill Bryson that struck me.

“Now here’s a thought to consider. Every twenty minutes on the Appalachian trail, Katz and I walked farther than the average American walks in a week. For 93 percent of all trips outside the home, for whatever distance or whatever purpose, Americans now get in a car. On average the total walking of an American these days—that’s walking of all types: from car to office, from office to car, around the supermarket and shopping malls—adds up to 1.4 miles a week, barely 350 yards a day. That’s ridiculous!” (128)

Is that really true? That is insane. I find that unbelievable.

“I have regrets, of course. I regret that I didn’t do Katahdin (though I will, I promise you, I will). I regret that I never saw a bear or wolf or followed the padding retreat of a giant hellbender salamander, never shooed away a bobcat or sidestepped a rattlesnake, never flushed a startled boar. I wish that just once I had truly stared death in the face (briefly, with a written assurance of survival). But I got a great deal else from the experience. I learned to pitch a tent and sleep beneath the stars. For a brief, proud period I was slender and fit. I gained a profound respect for wilderness and nature and the benign dark power of woods. I understand now, in a way I never did before, the colossal scale of the world. I found patience and fortitude that I didn’t know I had. I discovered an America that millions of people scarcely know exists. I made a friend. I came home.
Best of all, these days when I see a mountain, I look at it slowly and appraisingly, with a narrow, confident gaze and eyes of chipped granite.
We didn’t walk 2,200 miles, it’s true, but here’s the thing: we tired. So Katz was right after all, and I don’t care what anybody says. We hiked the Appalachian Trail” (274).

It is true that Bill Bryson did not hike the entire trail. But he did it. In the same way, I need to remember, that I will never accomplish perfection, everything. I try my best. I need to learn to stop counting my faults, what I lack—how many miles I DIDN’T hike and focus on the positive things that I do.

A few moments to share

2006-01-30T07:07:00.000-08:00

Excerpts from my journal on Jan, 21, 2006:

I am lying under my mosquito net. I have no idea what time it is. Here, time is not really an issue. I imagine that it could be around ten o'clcok or so at n ight. Our humble town of Moroceli is quiet. My mind, however, is loud--screaming with thoughts. This year will bring an end to our relaxed time in Peace Corps in honduras in November. I think about continuing my studies with a scholarship in Georgia. I think about traveling more. I have an odd desire to go to Africa, but ohh--family. I dont know how much time I have with my parents. Right now, thought, its too much to think about. I will focus on the moment. Life really is an accumulation of moments. Since this journal is really beautiful, I figure I will fill it only with positive energy. I am a writer and sometimes, I feel like everything I write has to be flowing with creative detail. Really, writing gives life and longevity to images and people. It makes a memory more vibrant in my mind. Each day, my goal is to write for myself and to bife life and vibrance to four moments that really give meaning to my day.
1. Of course, waking up cuddled with the love of my life. Today we woke up in our host family's house of Profesora Juana Lopez in el Paraiso. It is our first time visiting them since thansgiving!
2. Meeting the lady in the red heart shirt pregnant with her 13th child. I noticed that her skin was wrinkled and scarred. Profe Juana explained that the woman had a horrible burning accident while cooking. She was internalized in the hospital for four months. While she was recovering her husband did NOT come to see her once! Instead he was fooling around with several other women and left one of them pregnant. I asked her if she felt mad at her husband. She said that she is accostomed to it and that now, he still has four other girlfriends, but that he loves the kids. She says that he hits her. While this moment was not a beautiful one, it was a reality shock. I really am lucky to feel true love because not many have it. I wish I could give everybody the experience of really being in love.
3. We came back on the one o'clock bus to Moroceli and went for a long walk to the river. I love walking through the sugarcane fields and greeting all the men on horseback.
4. Visiting with our good friend Mirna who lives on the other side of the stream. Her husband is also foolish and drinks a lot and spends little time at home. What a jerk! He spend all their money on booze last night and now they have no money left for food for the rest of the month or for milk for the baby! Still though, it was great to bring her spirits up and as always-- great to enjoy tortillas, beans, and tomatoes. Ok, Steve is snoring, I will let the day escape me but hold onto the moments that it left behind in memory.

January 23, 2006
Monday
Today was an ordinary day. I guess it is ironic that I have adapted to a routine and feel like I had an "ordinary" day when I am so outside of my own culture and language. None the less, here are four moments that I choose to keep.
1. Closing the black metal front door behind me after a thirty minute run. I cant help feeling the impact of my society and having the desire to be thin and in shape. I hate this materialistic part of myself. Oh right, this is a positive journal. So I accomplished a thirty minute run to El posso and it felt good to come back and take a bucket shower.
2. Everyday, we teach English and computer classes from 1-3. It felt good today to see the students finally get a grasp on differenciating from present to past tenses with like, play, learn, dance, eat, drink, and go.
3. Miguelito came to visit during my English class (the kid of Mercy who went illegally to the U.S. last June and is now working in a meat facotry in Tennessee) I invited him and his sister over to make pancakes. I really enjoyed making Mickey Mouse pancakes with banana eyes with them!
4. Sagrario, my neighbor, agreed to walk with me in the evening. We had an initmate converstation about periods and birth control. If felt good to feel a strong trust with her.

January 24, 2006
Tuesday
I feel like I just got up, but today snuck away behind a rock while we hiked to Hoy Grande (a town on top of the mountain above the valley of Moroceli). Before it runs out of sight completely, I will steal four moments.
1. After two hours of hiking, we took a break in Mesias (a small village at the base of the mountain). The family there is always so welcoming. I enjoyed my cup of coffee with a bit of cow milk. We took pictures of the family sorting beans and making tortillas. I thank God for their amistad (friendship).
2. The hike from Mesias to Hoya Grande is pure up up up. I felt strong climbing the hour up the rocks and really enjoyed the simplicity of dunking my head in Brian's pila. (Brian is the volunteer that lives in Hoya Grande).
3. Picking oranges in Hoya Grande to take back to Moroceli with us. It is just way cool to pick an orange from a tree rather than froma shelf in the supermarket.
4. Attending the Catholic Church couples meeting at Profesora Antonia's house. Well, not necessarily the meeting itself which is sometimes repetetive and boring... what I like the most is the paz--peace-- greeting where everybody hugs each other. I feel accepted and I like that feeling.

January 25, 2006
Wednesday
I started the day with a run to the quebrada and ended it with a walk around the park with Steve. Today, the new mayor took his new position. Oris handed the mayor position to Tabito and to celebrate, Tabito's family offered dinner to the entire town. Supposedly, they killed two cows for the occasion. when we passed the family house on our walk by the park, there was a huge crowd of people still waiting for food. Reggaton mucis swollowed the park in a loud boom boom rythm. We escaped the craziness and went home to snuggle. A few moments to keep inbetween...
1. My neighbor, Dona Licha yelled, "Felicidades, Teresita!" Congratulations? For what, I wondered?! "It is women's day!" she replied. Here in Honduras, they celebrate soooo many more holidays--chid's day, student's week, teacher's day, Honduras day...It is crazy! School is always cancelled for some holiday or another. Anyway, even though women have little respect from men, at least they have women's day...
2. Singing "En la Noche Azul" While playing the guitar with Steve. I am finally able to play and sing a song on the guitar in Spanish!
3. Reading Good Night Moon, in Spanish to the neighbor kids. Carlos Roberto read it and all the kids participated, repeating each line. It feels good to see them enjoy reading.
4. Singing Chickety Chickety Cha with all the body parts in English. The song is like this...
Good morning
We sing a song...
with the fingers, with the elbows, with the shoulders....
(The kids move and dance to the parts of the song and really love it)
Chickety Cha, Cha, Cha!

January 26, 2006
Thursday
We are currently on a Sultana de Occidente bus headed towards Lago Yajoa. With only one English class a day and no school, we decided to take a road trip. Saira, a peace corps volunteer who was sent home on Medical leave in training is here visiting for a week. We are going to meet her and other volunteers in Bob's Brewery. Bob is a smart American who started his own little hotel and beer business just past Lago Yajoa. For sure my favorite moments are NOT on this long never ending bus ride. so, I will catch up later!
1. Definately getting off the bus FINALLY in La Guama, stretching our legs and buying fresh mountain bananas on a road side stand. This area in the North near the lake is definately wetter and lucious with green floral.
2. Seeing Saira, Karen, Tall Katie, and Andres get off the moto-taxi in the intersection to D and D Brewery. It felt soooo good to see other gringos. Even though we dont know each other that well, we all have an instatn amazing connection becasue we share the same culture. I never realized that the U.S. had such a strong sense of its own culture until I was apart from it.
3. Taking a short walk into the poor humble village right outside of the brewery with Steve, Saira and Katie. Even in the dark on a cloudy misty night, our light skin and hair highlights us. Kids point at us, star and shout, "GRINGOS." It was a wierd moment, feeling like an endangered species or a delicacy.
4. Sipping coffee and milk and catching up with fellow volunteers. It felt good talking with Karen and realizing that everybody struggles with the overly relaxed culture, illegal immigration, and ignorant powerless women. It is frightening!@ There are women with so many children with husbhands that have many girlfriends. If the women want to change, there are no options. They cannot just move, get a day job and go back to school. They fear their husbands who can easily hit, abuse or even kill them and the police does NOTHING. It is seen as the woman's fault. A man who sleeps around is a buff untamed macho. A women who leaves her husband or is independant is seen a a bitch. Here, as Peace Corps initially taught us in training, Men can do no wrong and are accepted easily in culture. This really is not a favorite moment, but more so an enlightening one. Enough drowning conversation. Life is overwhelming and I dont know how to create change.

January 27, 2006
Friday
The sun woke me up, peeking in at us through the curtain in the hotel window.
1. After long bus travels yesterday and overwhelming conversation the night before, I really enjoyed a long morning walk up the road to the coffee, banana farm with Steve. The owner welcomed us and explained that he was constructing cabans as part of a tourism project. I enjoyed the cool misty air, even stomping through the mud. The change from the dust...It is amazing the grand diversity in climates within Honduras. Our town looks like a scene from an old western cowboy film and the North Santa Barbara region looks tropical rain foresty.
2. Arriving to Pena Blanca and immediately finding a jalon in the back of a pickup DIRECTLY to Lindsey's sight in San Isidrio. We avoided a two hour bus and arrived at her doorstep in about a half hour!
3. Fresh hot corn tortillas with cabbage, tomato, and read bean soup. Lunch was great! Even better, we marched down the street to arrive at the restaurant in a lady's house. We were a spectacle. A walking zoo! People came out of their houses just to stare at our white skin and light colored hair!
4. Gossip and staying up late! I am always curious to hear what other volunteers from our training group are doing. The hours slipped away. We usually go to sleep by ten in our quiet sleepy town. It felt naughty and good to stay up late!

January 28, 2006
1. Hiking out of Lindsey's site towards the pavement road with Andres and Steve. Exercising and walking always makes me feel strong and happy. Finally, after a good hour's hike, a pickup offered us a jalon to La Guama.
2. Meeting Simon and Crystal (Newer Youth Development Volunteers) in the park in Las Vegas.
3. Being stuffed, standing up, slamming against people like sardines in a jalon up the mountains. It wasn't a favorite moment because it was fun, more so because I really felt like a true peace corps volunteer living like the Honduran people.
4. The mountain....its people are amazing. Leticia, the mountain village volunteer took us to a cabbage farm. To arrive, we had to crawl and tip tow through knee deep mud holes. I fell in! My shoe looked like a chocolate dipped cream cone! When we finally arrived to the farm, the rows and rows of cabbages resting on the mountain sides were outstanding! We ended up visiting the people, sipping coffee too long and had to walk back an hour down the mountain in pitch dark. I am so glad to be back in the main town of Las Vegas in Crystal and Simon's house. It was truely a mud adventure day.

Today is January 30, 2006 Monday--- We are passing through Tegucigalpa and headed back to our dust bowl town. Please write me soon and share some of your moments with us! We love to hear from you. Sorry it took me so long to update my blog!!!! It was just so nice to be home for Christmas and has taken a little time to adjust once again to the overly relaxed culture. Lots of love, hugs, mud from the North, and dust from the South--- Teresa and Steve

The Best Christmas Gift!

2005-12-21T12:00:00.000-08:00

At one a.m. Super late tonight or really early tomorrow morning, which ever way you look at it, I will receive the best Christmas gift ever! I will land in the airport in Chicago and see my family. I will be on my own doorstep of my real home (home is where the family is).
We are currently in the Peace Corps office in the capital of Tegucigalpa and we are about to head to the airport in just a half an hour. The plane will take off from the airport here at five p.m. We have two transfers: one in San Salvador and another in Guatemala City before we finally arrive in Chicago. I am worried about all the traveling, transfers, luggage confusion. The only thing I really want for christmas is a hug from each of the ones I love. To you all, I see you in less than 24 hours. It feels like a dream. But, my dream will soon come true and after being away for one year and five months I will see you once again. You could never imagine how excited I am. I will stop writing for now and leave it at that. I am just so excited, anxious, and everything all at once that I cant even express my thoughts! I suppose it is best to close and express them in action when I arrive--- with big strong bunny hugs! All our love-- Teresa and Steve

The Real Meaning of Over-Sugared Coffee

2005-12-04T17:19:00.000-08:00

On the 27th of November, Honduras had elections to elect a new president. It was very interesting to see the election process in another country. While the idea is the same as in the United States where there are two main leading political parties and a few smaller ones that don’t even have a chance, the propaganda and leading events in the campaign are very different. In the United States the candidates usually discuss their plan in interviews and criticize the opposing candidates (mud slinging). Here, I almost want to say that the politics are even more Mickey Mouse. Months before the elections during the campaign, the people pack themselves in the back of pick up trucks and drive through the communities in caravans yelling, singing and waving flags that represent their political party. Here, people view their political party as though it is in their blood. Many of the people feel that they are born into a political party. They vote with the same political party as their grandfathers did and do not usually change even though a candidate may be bad. There are also many people that don’t vote because they feel that they are regular people and apart from the government. Instead of the viewing the government as a group of selected people to represent them, the people see government as a separate corrupt piece. One dirty trick that one of the candidates used to gain votes was to pay people five hundred lempiras to single mothers. Plainly, the candidate is BUYING votes by giving away money. There is a joke that I heard about the politics of Honduras that I will translate into English and share with you. It starts by saying that a man dies and goes to heaven. He enters heaven and he sees a clock representing each country. The man asks the angel there in heaven’s door why God has a clock for each country. The angel says that God uses the clocks to measure the amount of corruptness in each country. The man notices that the hour hand moves slowly for Canada and also for Sweden. When he glances at the clock for the United States, he notes that the hour hand moves faster at a steady rate (more corruption). Then he realizes that there is no clock for Honduras in sight. He asks the angel, “Where is the clock for Honduras?” The angel replies, “There is no clock here for Honduras because God uses it for a fan”

On the day of elections, many of the people are sent to work in the voting tables in the surrounding villages in the mountains. At two thirty a.m. we woke up in order to be in the park at three a.m. and pack ourselves like sardines into truck that would head up the long curvy road to the mountains. Everybody was stuffed in the back of the huge cargo truck, standing up and hanging onto the wooden sides. I thought of the movies of Shindler`s lists where all the Jewish people are stuffed into trucks and carted to concentration camps. I smelled the invading scent of armpit sweat. I shook hands with one of the teachers that works in the village of Guadalajara. He returned my greeting with a wide smile and “Que gane Pepe Lobo!” (May Pepe Lobo win!) To my direct left (pressed against my side) my neighbor who sells me fresh bananas every morning states, “Urge Mel!” (Elect Mel!)
At four a.m. with the night and the stars still holding onto the act on the main stage, the engine roared and we crawled up the mountain. We crawled around curves, up gravel roads, through streams, and through sleeping villages of adobe houses. First, we arrived in the community called Llano where we stopped at the school to drop off a group of people to set up and work the voting tables. Unfortunately, the school, where the voting is held, was locked. The teacher, with the key, lived in Moroceli. We had to call Moroceli with a cell phone and order for her to find someone with a car and bring the key to open the school, set up the voting tables, and start the voting process. Needless to say, the voting system is a bit unorganized and the voting opened several hours later when the teacher arrived with the key.
When we finally left Llano, the night had already tip-toed away, like a sly cat, and the sun began to dance in its rays and daylight. We passed through Buenas Noches, another small village where several more people hopped off the wooden planks of the cargo truck and became part of the long voting process. Next, we stopped in the village of Mata de Platano. Some of the local politicians entered the small town school only to realize that they had left some of the materials necessary for voting back in Morocelí. They yelled at the Military men for not reviewing the voting packages ahead of the time. The military men stated that they were not responsible for checking the materials, rather only for the protection of the people and for any possible breakouts between the people of opposing parties. Once again, we had to call back to Morocelí and order for someone to bring the missing materials all the way up to the mountain.
I felt the cool mountain air and wow did it feel good in comparison to the hot dry air below in the valley of Morocelí. It gave me a feeling of freshness, of new life, a new vigor of adventure. I don’t know how else to say it – it gave me strength and the hunger to hike and to really know the mountain in all its vastness and culture it kept in its green nooks and crannies. 8:30 a.m., all waiting. I was not going to wait one more moment. One foot in front of another, hand in hand, in love with Steve and nature we spend the day getting to know the mountain.
A man carrying a machete on horseback rounded the corner and greeted us, “Buenos Dias.” His kind greeting invited me out of my shyness to ask for directions to the Biological Reserve.
“WOW! You are going far!” he stated in surprise, “It is at least three hours from here, farther up the mountain. Are you going to the waterfalls?” he asked.
I had heard so much about the reserve, but its great distance from our pueblo of Moroceli had always deterred me. Indeed, finally knowing and feeling the fresh water from the waterfall was in the plan for the day. “YES!” I stated. Steve rolled his eyes and suggested that we walk just for a couple hours to see it in the distance and then go back to observe the presidential elections. “Which direction to the water falls?” I asked, stubborn as a donkey. The man swerved his arm one way and then curved it around a few times. It really looked like he was doing the chicken dance, rather than giving me directions. None the less, I knew that I had to start just following the road up and then look for some type of intersection. We shook hands: his tan crusty one holding firmly onto my soft white one. With a kick of dusk from the horse’s hoof and a quick lift of his white sombrero, he was off down the mountain to vote. A group of little brown adorable children were kicking an old soccer ball back and forth. They were so cute until they set eyes on us and then they turned into statues frozen in fright. I gently waved to them and said warmly, “Hola, como estan?”
Blank long stares. I continue to walk past them and feel their heavy gaze glued to my back. “Adios,” I added, one last attempt at conversation. And then under my breathe, I whispered to Steve, “I CANT STAND THE WAY THEY STARE AT ME! I feel like a monkey or an animal at a zoo!”
He rubs my arm calmly and states, “Teresa, what would you do if a person with dark green skin walked around the corner and greeted you?”
I hesitated in my hypocritical reply and then admitted, “I would stare at them!”
“You see!” Steve stated proudly, “They have probably never seen white people before.”
Each bend climbing around the mountain brought steep inclines, men on donkeys, horseback, random cows, and frigid frozen children. “Buenos Dias,” I greeted a man on foot, holding a machete. “Buenos Dias! Did you come with the politicians?” He asked. I explained that the politicians were waiting for more voting materials to arrive from Moroceli and that they had still not started voting. He had a firm handshake and proceeded to sit down on a rock while we headed forward on our hike. We came across a stream. We looked for some stones to step across in order to save the time and hassle of taking off and putting shoes back on. Steve took a large leap and made it across. I hesitated, attempting to calculate the best route, least likely to surrender myself to the water and a punishment of wet feet. As I hesitated, I looked up and realized that I had an audience of ten pairs of eyes staring at me! I felt like a clumsy green alien. The older lady in the group saw my predicament and pointed me to where they had arranged sticks in order to create a makeshift bridge. “Muchas, muchas gracias!” I told her, squeezing her arm warmly.
“Oh, Darn!” Steve exclaimed, “I forgot to bring water!” He cupped his hands in the stream and took a few gulps to quench his thirst. “Don’t get amebas!” I yelled matter of factly. He rolled his eyes, knowing perfectly well that my concern was well rooted. All it takes is one cow, donkey, horse, or human to poop in the stream to make it contaminated with bacteria or amebas.
OH NO! Yet another incline, with a dusty road slithering slowly, painfully (on the thighs) up the mountain. I felt big drops of sweat streaming down my cheeks in a slimy red glaze. A quaint white adobe house welcomed us at the top and the señora inside was pleasant enough to give us water. Her several children and grandchildren, sisters, brothers, aunts, and or cousins (a mountain of family members) surrounded us and gazed at us while we sipped the water and explained that we had hiked from Mata de Platano and were planning on going to the middle of the waterfall. “Oh… You are going far! About 2 hours from here,” the middle-aged man announced.
“Would you like something to eat? While it is poor food, at least it is something.” The señora said warmly from inside her kitchen. We eagerly agreed and she signaled us inside. I saw the large white wood oven and felt the head of the sticks burning below the hot simmering pot of beans. The corn tortillas were just the right texture and a little bit soft in the center. Oh, and of course, any Honduran meal has to be topped off in the end with a little cup of way over sugared coffee (more like sugar with a little added coffee). Well energized with the bowl of beans, tortillas, and the unforgettable kindness of strangers, we hiked, hiked, and hiked, painting our bodies redder and with a thick clear coat of sweat. A boy on his bike stopped peddling at the sight of us and stood frozen. He stared at us until we rounded the corner, out of sight. One more curve and another stream to hop across and there it stood proud. In the distance we saw the face of a mountain and resting on the front of the mountain, were large waterfalls bending over the crest of the mountain and reaching to hide the water below the tree tops.
“Where are you going?” a friendly man asked, catching up to us from behind. Steve explained, once again, that we had left from Mata de Platano and were headed to the water falls. The man introduced himself, said that he was sitting on a rock a ways back and saw us passing by. He knew from sighting us that we were not from here and wanted to make us welcome to his pueblo. We thanked him for his kindness and he offered to walk with us the ENTIRE way! He shared with us that he is involved in a coffee cooperative and is trying to work on starting a tourism project in the mountain area. Certainly, a tourism project would start easily being that there is a lot of natural beauty. The biggest thing that the area lacks is development. I doubt that many tourists would walk nine hours to see nature, no matter how much beauty it offered. Also there are a lack of businesses to offer places to stay and food. The man offered that his people were very friendly and that anyone could stay with any of the families or eat with any of the families living in the area. However, knowing my own culture well, I realize that many foreigners are not as accustomed to such an open culture and would not likely feel comfortable approaching a stranger’s house looking for a place to stay and eat for the night. We enjoyed sharing cultural stories and tourism ideas for the area. “Lets take a rest at a señora`s house,” the man suggested. Once again, we found ourselves as the centerpiece in the kitchen. Then the señora of the house, her sons, her grandsons, granddaughters, cousins, and mountain of family members enjoyed looking at us while we sipped yet another cup of over-sugared coffee. The man of the house knew a short cut to reach the base of the mountain. With plenty of good company, we set off again. We stopped every few minutes to pick fresh lemons, limes, and oranges off the trees and used the machete to cut our way through the heavily forested areas of the trail. I could hear the rush, the power, and the magnificence of the water crashing downward. And finally, we could see it. I felt the water and let it flow through my fingertips. IT WAS COLD! Five hours of hiking from Mata de Platano and finally we touched the cold mountain water.
We thanked the men over and over for being wonderful guides and over and over again we told them that they really aught to be proud of the beauty of their country. Worried about nightfall, we didn’t overdue our time at the falls. The nice family wouldn’t let us go without picking more oranges and lemons and stuffing our backpack. “Oh, and just one more thing before you go,” the señor stated. We had to try his freshly made sugar cane juice. We waited while he prepared the stalks and put them through a grinding machine. His two sons pushed one end of the grinder until the juice flowed out of the bottom and filled up two plastic cups.
It was already dusk when we finally left the family’s home in the middle of the mountain. Honestly we didn’t care nor did we feel scared to walk in the dark. We felt so grateful for the kindness and humbleness of the people. It wasn’t until six thirty that night when we finally arrived in Mata de Platano again. We practically ran back over the hills to reach the school where the elections were being held. Since we knew that the election tables closed at five, we were afraid that the rides back to Morocelí would have already left. We were so happy to see the truck still sitting on the edge of the small community of houses. Apparently, a great number of people from the outlying areas had arrived all during the day to vote and the politicians were still counting up the votes for each candidate. We took advantage of the extra hours we had to wait in order to ask for food in one of the houses. “Do you have any food that we can buy?” we asked one lady standing in her doorway. She offered us a plate of beans, avocado, and corn tortillas and we gladly filled our bellies. She asked us where we were from and I explained that we lived in Morocelí in the valley below the mountain. She stated that she herself was new to the area. Just as I took a big gulp of the bean soup with a chunk of green avocado, she announced that she had lived most of her life in Tegucigalpa until her son was killed by a gang member working as a police man. Tears filled her eyes as she took my hand and told me she felt safer here in the mountain far away from the gang members. We stuck forty Lempiras in her hand and thanked her over and over again for her kindness and the wonderful food.
I had had enough adventure and thoughts to eat and ponder over for one day, but the politicians didn’t finish counting votes until nearly eleven thirty at night. Just when I thought I was going to sleep in the back of a haul truck, the engine turned over and all the politicians jumped inside the back. We were sardines again and I felt even more like a Jewish hostage being carted off to a concentration camp as it was dark, dreary and all the people in the pueblos had already gone to bed. A long bumpy ride, clinging to the sides of the truck brought us safely back to our pueblo where all the towns’ people were eagerly waiting for the results in the park. With our hair painted white with dust and our muscles sore, we felt like ancient people. The people hung out in the park celebrating an election of the new liberal mayor while I went home for one last adventure. I was a crazy dirty woman desperate for a shower to make me feel clean and feminine again. However, all my babies (seven baby bunnies and the mother) lived in the cement bathroom stall in protection from the roaming cats. So I bathed in the nude in my backyard in front of the wash bin.
Election Day, hiking nine hours, a middle of the night ride on the gravel road, bathing in the nude-- it all makes a great story. But the best part of all that will never leave my heart is the kindness and openness of the people. Thank you, God for such a beautiful day. I pray for that poor woman in the mountain that is living in sadness for the brutal loss of her son.

2005-11-12T12:32:00.000-08:00

I find myself sitting here in front of the computer screen with a constipated mind. I feel like I must must must update my online journal because it has been so long since I have written. However, the idea that I must write something profound and well expressed with details holds me back. So finally, I give up on the beautiful details and profound thoughts and I just start to type. In all honestly, my life is ordinary and because it feels so ordinary I have trouble coming up with fantastic details. Many of you probably expect something unique because I am in peace corps and living in a foreign country. Really, I do the same thing that you all do everyday. I wake up in the morning, I eat, I do something productive or work related, I eat again, I read, write or do some leisure type activity, then I eat again, use the bathroom in between, and finally I go to bed and I sleep long enough only to get up and do it all over again. I do the same thing that I do when I am home. However, I do admit that the shades of the colors that paint my picture of life are a slightly different color because the shapes are filled in with different details. In the morning I enjoy fresh mountain harvested mini bananas that have a much sweeter taste than the imported ones that you purchase from the local super market. When I wake up to use the bathroom, I have to use a latrine outside and flush the toilet manually with a bucket. There is no inside plumbing inside my little humble house so after enjoying my coffee with milk, I have to wash my cup outside in the water basin. Because the water is a cooler temperature and I dont enjoy the bucket shower, I often just rinse my hair in the sink rather than taking a whole shower. I am very very jealous of all of you who enjoy a hot steamy shower each morning and made steve promise that I will never have to do without hot water again :)
Our most current work project is painting a large map of the world in one of the schools in the largest classroom. Each day we take a bus thirty minutes outside of Moroceli and then walk an additional twenty minutes to reach a small village called Guadalajara. First we worked really carefully using small flimsy rulers to create a large rectangle with perfect right angles in each corner. Then, we had the sixth graders in the school paint the entire rectangle blue (one and a half meters by three meters long). The hardest step which included making a large grid over the entire rectangle took a long few days. Finally, last Monday we started using the grid to enlarge a paper version of the world. We just finished drawing the United States, Mexico, and all of the countries in Central America including our much loved Honduras. Next week, we hope to finish drawing all the countries using our grid system and then paint them all different colors! I will be sure to take pictures of our completed world map and all the students that worked so hard to complete it!
Monday through Wednesday morning, we have been here in the ugliest city in the world (the stinkey overly contaminated/urinated Tegucigalpa) for midterm medical examinations. It felt so good to have my teeth cleaned after a year! We are still waiting for lab results on the really exciting poop in the cup experience (sarcastically).
Thursday and Friday, we had a pleasant stay in Siguatepeque. Peace corps paid for a two nights stay in a nice hotel since we went to give seminars to the new volunteers still in training on how to teach English and how to teach computers. The trainings both went well.
Friday marked a great change and a great marking of time..... I turned a quarter of a century of age.... ;) Friday morning, we enjoyed a leisure breakfast with coffee, fresh fruit from the super market, and a long walk through the neighborhoods of Siguatepeque. Later in the evening, Steve surpised me with a get together at our host family's house from training. He had invited many of our peace corps friends to share a cake and sing to me!
I hope that enough details popped into my mind in these moments to paint you a small picture of our lives here in Honduras. And even more importantly, I hope that you can feel the love that we send you all. After traveling and a long long snail bus ride from Siguatepeque we are eager to return to our quiet town. When we left, our girl bunny was pregnant with a giant sized belly. If I am lucky, we just might have baby bunnies waiting for us!
We both send you all our love and are so so eager to come home in just a little over a month to give you all hugs in person. Teresa and Steve

Celaque Conquered ME!

2005-10-05T08:09:00.000-07:00

The ultimate adventure finally stood at front of me and I met it eagerly with energy. Celaque is the highest hill/mountain in Honduras that lives in the town of Gracias in the department of Lempira. For months Steve and I had planned on conquering it with a group of five other Peace Corps volunteers. On Friday September 23, 2005 after an entire day of hitch-hiking and busing on gravel bumpy roads we found ourselves in the central park in Gracias all geared up with backpacks, tents, and sleeping bags and of course good hiking boots or tennis-shoes. After one last dinner in the modern civilized world, we set off for a two and a half hour hike to the visitor's center at the base of the mountain. There, we snacked on Moonbars (a women's nutritional granola bar that Susan had her backpack stuffed with and shared with everyone!) and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We had an honestly bad night's sleep in the hard wood floor with the mosquitos and set off early the next morning hours and hours and hours up, up the mountain. In total, we hiked eight hours into the cloud forest. We were beat and soaked with sweat by the time we arrived to the second camp site. But one person (me) got the shivers instead of the sweats.... All the sudden my body began to tremble. At five o'clock I was already set for bed and I wrapped myself in the sleeping bag and slept in my jeans and Steve's flannel shirt. I left poor Steve with nothing but the bottom of the tent and the bare ground... With a high fever, terrible diarrhea also came to pay me a visit. The next morning, while the rest of the group continued the last two hours to the top, I stayed behind in the tent contamininating the mountain. In the afternoon, I hobbled my way down the mountain with help of an amazing pill called immodium A.D. and straight to the doctor in Gracias. It turns out that I had amebas living in my belly and they took the opportunity to infest my intestines while I was hiking. So with no more words, Celaque conquered me but the good news is that finally feeling better brings a new appreciation for life.

In all I hiked 16 hours (eight hours up and eight hours down). I want to add a side note that on the way home to our site, we hitch-hiked in a back of a pick-up truck. By chance a new mother and her baby also we hitch-hiking back to their small town. In the middle of the ride the baby turned blue. We pulled over and another man gave the baby mouth to mouth... Luckely the baby survived. I was so scared. I just thank God that the baby lived... Next, we also got stuck in a ditch because the road turned muddy in the rain... It was just a crazy adventure that ended up for the good in the end. We got ourselves out of the ditch (even though we were all muddy), the baby lived, and I made it down the mountain with fever and diarrhea and I am feeling better! So yeah for happy endings. I miss you all and December is visible around the corner. I miss home so much (I think it is a side effect of being sick) Ok, gotta go get on a bus away from the dirty capital to our calm quiet site of Moroceli! ADIOS!

Moon light and mountains

2005-09-22T08:01:00.000-07:00

Hola!

Some of you have been telling me that I havent been updating my online journal as frequent as I should. Really, as of recent things have been going great and I have a lot of new experiences to share. I have so many beautiful moments of experiencing the cutlure and the country of Honduras and finally really being a part of it. What I lack is the words to do it justice. I tell myself that I will wait and write when the more creative words come to me. I say right now I dont feel like I can write all the details to make you feel the experience. So I often put off writing because I feel that I cant do a good job or arranging the words in a beautiful bouquet of detail. But never the less, I will try to give you at least a nibble, a taste of our last weekend.

It was late afternoon on Wednesday after an hour of teaching English to a group of fourth, fifth, and sixth graders. We colored pictures of animals with the words printed neatly below in English "Monkey, Cat, Dog, Pig, Cow, Snake..." I took a deep breathe as they all raced out of the high school courtyard with one more page of their notebooks filled with new information that hopefully makes it into their minds. I had enough of teaching, playing with hair, writing on chalkboards, and separating temper tantrum tangles. I yearned for the air of the mountian, the escape of endless hours of footsteps. Steve pulled the dark blue L.L. Bean backpack stuffed with clothing onto his back and I was armed with a sack of tortillas, water bottles, and the umbrella. We made one stop at a small quaint adobe house on the edge of town to add on a good companion and spice to our adventure-- Darwin, a student from upper level high school classes. At four in the afternoon, we started the grueling climb beyond the nance bushes, guayaba trees, into the higher pine forests, past the first small mountain community of Los Posos. The climb left us sweaty, empty, full only with hunger. The people gifted us with more hot corn tortillas and beans-- direct protein to pump up sore muscles. Our first night of the adventure, we stayed in the community on top of the large ascend known as Buena Vista (loosely translated as good view). For dinner we were like monkeys, ravenging through the coffee plantations and pulling off fresh bananas from the shade trees. We even got a quick lesson on how to transplant the seedlings of the banana trees to create more shade for the coffee plants below. Before leaving the next morning to further our hike down the next side of the mountain, the senora of the house made us fresh coffee with once again more corn tortillas. I peaked into a wooden crate resting near the wood stove to see the youngest of her six children. She shared with me that she had the baby right here in the house by herself because she couldnt walk to the nearest clinica in Moroceli. WOW, what a strong woman! We hugged her and exchanged kisses on the cheek. Gracias por el cafe tan rico!
Our hike brought us to the next community (more like a cluster of adobe houses with maybe one house selling snack size potato chips, lard, sugar, and rice) of Las Uvas. We passed a school filled with staring eyes. Coming upon the school, I enjoyed listening to the tune of their national hymn, but as we approached the children were distracted by our height and white skin and the tune fell off key. We kept walking, talking (Thanks to Darwin all in Spanish), hiking, sweating... The views over the green rolling mountains were incredible. It reminds me of the rolling appalachians in Vermont in the United States, only no paved roads and more men on horseback with an entirely different culture forming the details of the lives of the people below. So we hiked, observed, and really dug deep into what is Honduran culture enjoying every corn tortilla and banana along the way and finally arrived to El Jute (another communtiy cluster of adobe mud houses and smoking wood stoves) and at last to Paso Hondo, our final destination where we would stay two nights with our host family. After three hours one day to Buena Vista and additional four to arrive to Paso Hondo we had made it! We read our books, sat lazily by the rivers edge, and shared jokes in Spanish. We no longer felt like North Americans intruding on a tranquil Honduran culture... just friends hiking and enjoying each other. One more detail that truely amazes me that I must share and end with! In the communities where there is no electricity--- there is light... The moon lights up the whole sky and I can always see the gravel stone road, the bubbling of the brook, the lips of Darwin moving rapidly as he tells the finishing line of a good joke!
And this weekend, we are passing through Tegucigalpa towards our biggest adventure yet! To climb CELAQUE-- the biggest mountain in Honduras. We plan to hike up it in two days and down in one day, sleeping in tents in the moonlight with a group of six other volunteers. We are off! one step in front of the other. I send you all my love and just a little taste of the beauty of simple life here in Honduras!!!

Truckin It!

2005-09-11T08:01:00.000-07:00

Buenos Dias amigos y familia!
At five fifteen a.m. this morning, our alarm honked an absurd amount of beeps. Steve swatted at it, but it was relentless as it knew best. We arose from our slumber and threw our jeans, t-shirts on and we got out of the house by five thirty. Every morning, the big yellow public bus hauls itself over the hills, down the dirt dusty roads to the capital. We had never traveled out of Moroceli to the capital on a Sunday and mistakenly counted on the bus leaving regularly. The neighbor advised us that Sunday buses do not pass as frequently as during the week. So there we found ourselves, in the morning dawn wandering down the paved road. Not more than ten minutes later a roar of an engine gave us hope of finding a comfortable ride on the public bus. However, instead of the yellow bus, a large monster of a semi truck hulled itself over the hill. I stuck out my thumb, and at this gesture you must understand that it is not as dangerous here as in the United States to hitchhike. Here, hitchhiking is a common form of transportation because the majority of the population does not own their own automobile. In response to my gesture, the driver of the semi truck pulled took his time putting on the break. The semi lay waiting about twenty-feet ahead of us and we ran for our free ride in the high up cab.
You might think that here is the climax of my story. While it was exciting to ride the semi truck, our ride ended all too shortly at the intersection at the main road and we found ourselves waiting once again for a bus to pass. Those of you that know me well know that one of my greatest faults and beauties is my lack of patience. For this life is never boring since I go from one thing directly to the next. So as you can imagine, as Steve was ready to take a rest under the shade of a tree, I advanced walking not willing to waste a precious moment waiting. We walked up the hill still an immense distance from the capital. Each pick-up truck that passed, I tried the luck of my thumb, but the trucks roared past on the main road. Finally a loud chug, chug, chug, hummed in the distance and its song came closer and closer until we saw its beastly headlights and large white frame. Another semi. We joked about the inprobability of it stopping but we both tried the double luck of our thumbs. It roared past us and then the beast calmed down to a rest some forty feet in front of us and the drivers hand waved out the window, a friendly invitation. We ran with all our might and climbed onto the big jagged tires and crawled into the red capeted cab. My curiosity lead us into a conversation about where he was from, and respectively we shared our experiences with him. Our friendly driver carries cuban cigars all over central america. In his current trip, he had left his home country of Costa Rica the day before and was headed to the North Coast of Honduras. He has two children, he says, and enjoys his job of passing through and getting to know the Central American countries. And for sure we had one opinion in common-- Tegucigalpa is indeed the ugliest capital in all of the world. And in that horrible ugly, smelly, smogged city, he left us with a hand shake and a Que le vaya bien. It was a great adventure truckin it from our small pueblo of Moroceli to the big fat captial of Tegucigalpa.

A day at school

2005-08-16T16:34:00.000-07:00

Some of you email me and you ask me what I am doing. I dont really know how to answer that question. I have my minimal tasks that I do in a day and if I write them on paper as a list they look small and shallow as compared to my list of events back home in the states.
For example yesterday:
Woke up at six-thirty
Went to visit the school in Moroceli.
Went to visit a neighbor
Went home for lunch
Went to the computer center to check email
Went home for dinner and to clean house
Read my book for half hour and went to bed at ten thirty.

(Doesnt really seem that thrilling to write home about) And then I make a list for today:
Woke up at six-thirty
Rode bikes to the school in the nearby town of Suyate
Taught one English class and one reading class
Rode home to have lunch
Went to the computer center to check email
I am still here, but I imagine that I will go home for dinner soon, then read my book, maybe take a cold bucket shower, and then go to bed around ten-thirty or so...

Now let me lay out the events of a typical day in the United States before I came here.
Wake up at seven-thirty
Go to substitute teach at local school
Walk to the supermarket for lunch
Return to teach until four in the afternoon
Walk home to change clothes and get apron
Walk to local restaurant to waitress
Get out of waitress work around ten
Go out to the bar or local cofee shop with friends
Come home around eleven or twelve for bed.

So if I tell you what I do in terms of events in comparison to your lengthy busy scedules in the United States you might be inclined to call me lazy. Now, rather than a list of events let me share with you the details because its the details that are really the important part rather than the events themselves.

I woke up snuggled with my husband this morning at six-thirty. Its so wonderful to wake up close to another human, another soul that knows me inside and out, to be accpeted for my strengths and my weaknesses. So I wake up each morning with the comfort of having my best friend by my side and that in itself makes my world beautiful. We crawl out of bed and the sun is already beating on us. That is another detail--the sun and its amazing power that is stronger than our home in the North. Its the detail of adventure that reminds me that I am growing to know the workings of another culture. For breakfast we have organically grown coffee--yep another detail is organic because the coffee is produced by our friends who hand pick the coffee in the mountain. We devour its freshness with bread and honey (in an old glass ketchup bottle from the lady that lives in the next village)... Another detail is connections and close relations with neighbors. I walk out the back door in my long t-shirt and underwear and my neighbor greets me with ^Buenos Dias¨´ She holds something behind her back with a larger grin than the usual morning and then presents me with my pants that I gave her to cut and turn into capris because its just too hot for me here to wear pants. I try them on and thank her for her wonderful hemming job. She beams at the abilitiy to please the only female foreigner in town. At eight-thirty we head out the door and roll down the gentle road across the valley about forty-five minutes until we reach the small cluster of houses and a school known as Suyate. Here we stop and all the kids yell "GOOD MORNING" They are proud to test the few English words that they can remember from my lessons. I pat some on the head, kiss others on the cheek, hug the taller ones that can reach my shoulders. Others I call my love, and I pinch cheeks too. To my surprise, a crowd of about twenty kids are headed out the school door. I pinch a few more cheeks, shake some hands, and then ask boldly--Where are you all going? They reply that their teacher did not come today because his son was sick. He passed by in a car, they say, on his way to the capital. I announce that I will volunteer to keep them for a few hours to teach some more English words and read them some of my made up stories in Spanish. They hoot and shout with glee and turn around, headed for the classroom. I put a list of colors on the board in English and on the other side of the black board I write the same colors in spanish in a mixed up order. I tell them to draw a line between the corresponding colors. I walk around, pat heads, grab shoulders, tell them how nice their letters are, and how smart they are and how they are doing great in English--even if they do say boo instead of blue. I invite some of them to come up in front of the class to shout the new words to their classmates. The directora of the school knocks softly on the wooden door and thanks me for coming. She brings me a banana shake as her sign of thanks. I hug her and we linger outside the classroom for a good ten minutes sharing about our weekend and how her daughter is finally recovering from the flu and how she is recycling old ketchup bottles to make flower vases. I say I would love to see them and in less than five minutes two of her students stand wide eyed at the door with two of the recycled vases. When the mothers of the community come with a pot of fresh cooked beans and corn tortillas, I dismiss the class with a high five for each student as they pass out the door. I wander in and out of the other classrooms during the snack, more hand shaking, head patting. I read a few of my home made books in Spanish to them as they eat and then hand them out for them to read amongst themselves. I tell the teachers to send me the kids that cannot read to one of the empty classrooms. From each grade (first through sixth) the teachers send two children. Some have no shoes or socks, others are like crazy monkies running in all directions. Without enough chairs, my job is that much difficult. My classroom is a dusty enclosement of twenty screaming, running monkies. It takes me a good five to ten minutes to get them to sit on spots I draw in the dust on the floor. Somebody hits so and so and they begin to run and shout all over again and my drawn lines are stepped on and erased. Teaching is not that easy, you see. It takes patience and guts to be in there with all these monkies. And sometimes it still takes me a moment to move beyond my overwhemness and my frustration to pick out the words in spanish to discipline them. I count in English, I clap my hands, and I pat the good children on the head that are following directions. Finally, finally--just for a moment they are sitting and looking at me. I take advantage of the just about quiet moment and begin reading a story in Spanish to them. I tell them that a story has different parts and somehow without the chairs, without the shoes, without markers, or paper for everyone- we form a story together and we say it together over and over again. We talk about what characters are and setting and a problem and a solution. I dont know exactly how it all happened, but I shook all their hands and dismissed them one by one. I still dont know all their names, so I just call them my love. I am so relieved to escape the rushing spanish and running wild children when we finally ride our bikes back to Moroceli. It begins to rain mid-trip and we have to stop at someone`s shack-impovished wooden house for shelter. I walk in the front room and six sets of curious eyes stare back at me. I ask if they are sisters and brothers and the answer is yes. Some are dressed and some are not. An old wrinkled man comes around from back and shakes our hands as a sign of welcome. I cant help but notice the lack of teeth that makes his language hard to understand. THe rain shower leaves as fast as it came. We thank the family kindly, kiss them all on the cheek for letting us take shelter and we head home after saying Buenas Tardes to everyone we pass. When we arrive home we have to boil water from the water basin (pila) to cook veggies. THe three year old neighbor boy enters the door way and just stares at us. Just stands there staring, staring, and staring some more at the strange white people. I invite him in to touch my pet bunny and tell him to fill up a bowl to give the rabbit water. He does as he is told and then I hand him a book (Dr. Seuss that I found in the peace corps office in English). He cant read anyway, but I figure just maybe the colorful pictures will encourage him to enjoy reading. Just maybe it will make a difference. After lunch, I decide that I miss the comfort of close friends and the close long hugs of my own mother and father. So we walk to the computer center to check email. It takes us awhile to reach the center, not because the walk is terribly far, but because everyone knows us and we take the time to shake hands, and kiss cheeks. I admit that I feel guilty at times because I just cant remember all the names. Even the town drunk stops us to shake our hands. He asks Steve where his other women are and Steve replies that one wife is plenty. We chuckle and keep walking.
So with all these details written and recorded.. what is it that I do? I walk around all day and shake hands, give hugs, hand kids random books. I try to make a difference. In conclusion, I am doing the same thing that each and everyone of you is doing--I am trying to make a difference. When I think of what it is that people have done to influence my life--it is just caring and loving me. Often times I sit here in my quiet, quaint little house and I ponder what is it in life that I am supposed to do.. What really matters? It is not my body, how thin I am, how much make-up I wear, how many hours I work--not at all.. It is love and really caring for others. I want to thank you all for teaching me this. For caring and loving me-- Its that which keeps me going. I love and miss you all.. I hope you all had a GOOD day...

Write Me A Happy Ending

2005-08-16T16:29:00.000-07:00

Grease sizzles at the bottom of the large pan and makes a hot bed for the plantain slices. They pop and dance with energy until they sweat and tan. Mercy uses a spatula to flip them and then place them on a plate to rest. Her nine year old son Fernando places a couple skinny tree limbs into the side of the homemade mud oven, turning up the lively rhythm of the fire. Miguel, her other seven year old son comes out of the adobe house with another tray of freshly cut plantains and adds them to the heated floor of the pan. Maria Jose, her five year old daughter, sees me approaching and runs into me, greeting me with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her little fingers form around mine. My footsteps shorten to meet with her tip tap tip tap pace. We hop across the massive mud puddle. I tug on her arm, lengthen her leap and then hear the sizzling oil, and feel the breath of the flaming fogón. The littlest of the children, one year old Elsa peeks her head out of the scarred, scratched door: barefoot, her mouth hangs in a cute baby face expression. The dust has collected in her dimples and crusts the ends of her feather brown hair.
“Buenas Tardes, Mercy!” I greet her warmly, “Como esta?”
“Bien,” she states, “y Usted?”
“Bien, gracias.”
Her “bien” response is flat, automatic.
I enjoy the kids surrounding me and crunch on the fried platano chips that she gives me topped with cabbage, onion, and a bit of hot sauce too. I enjoy the scene more than the overly oiled spiced banana chips; the green mountain in the back drop, the long dirt road climbing past the small pueblo life to meet it and in the foreground the single mother and her four children all working together selling food on a wood burning stove in front of the house where their grandfather lives too. It seems romantic, authentic, warming to me. I like the small town life. It contrasts the busy monster cities, mall, and materialistic life I came from in the United States. It is simple, like the red wheel barrel poem we read in high school English class. I take my last bit of fried platano and Mercy kneels beside me at first taking the empty plate into her own hands and then meeting my eyes with her wide brown eyes. “Fíjense que yo me voy mojada a los estados…”
My romantic image is shattered. The foreground is ugly and cannot be balanced by the beauty of the mountains and nature in the background.
“what?! QUE?! What about your four children? What about the old frail grandfather? What about crossing Guatemala, Mexico, and finally into the United States illegally without papers. Something could happen Mercy. Are you sure?”
“Es necessario, Teresa. No hay otra manera. No hay otros negocios ni dinero aquí.”
“What about the kids? Who will care for them and love them like you do? Four children with three different fathers, (can we say machismo?!).”
“I am doing it for them. I will send back money.”
“You can’t open up a comedor here in town? You can’t borrow money to make a negocio of your own?”
“No, Teresa. Me voy en ocho días. No hay otra manera. Mi hermana y mis vecinos ya fueron. Mandan cheques.”
“Gracias por los platanos.”

I want to keep her life the way I admire it, tranquilo and rich in cultura, honduran cooking over a fogón. Maybe she doesn’t understand what the United States is really like. Or maybe I cannot understand what it is like to be a desperate single Honduran woman with four children desperately needing shoes. “Mommy, I need a cuaderno for school. Mommy, I need a new shirt,” and not being able to give. Selling fried plantains just isn’t enough.
But send money from the United States to buy shoes notebooks, and new shirts isn’t enough either. Abandoned by father and then by mother. My story is a sad one. I am going to break every grammar writer’s rule and leave it unfinished. I hope it will have its own happy ending someday.

A saber?!

2005-08-13T15:40:00.000-07:00

I have been slacking in writing in my journal not really because I have been lazy nor too busy but merely because life taunts me and haunts me and has me so roped up and choked in confusion. I know that I need to take a few deep breathes, calm down, and hand my life over to destiny. Every minute, I try to think and plan it out: review all options in my mind, trying so hard to predict where the best outcome and memories would be. I feel like my life is the sumation of all my choices and I forget all about the possibility or reality of other forces such as God or destiny. I feel like if I choose the "right" decisions, I will have more influence over others and have a purposeful meaningful life. Clearly, I worry that my decision to join Peace Corps and leave my family was a mistake. I wonder if my influence could be greater at home. Clearly, I might be more productive in definition of having a routine rushing to and from work, appointments, driving my car to save time on transportation... But really, having a filled agenda and a set routine doesn`t create a grand influence in the world, or maybe it does?! But so does having a conversation over coffee with my Honduran neighbors: crossing cultures, knowing, feeling, and experiencng the truth that humans are really all humans despite differences in color, language, and customs. And you ask me how I know this? How do I know that these Burnos dias, como esta, bien gracias, que pedos, todo masizo conversations actually count and make some kind of a difference? I know because it makes a difference in my own life. These conversations signify connection : one person connecting to another, sharing a moment together feeling empathy enough to ask Como esta, wait for an answer, shake a real firm handshake, meet my eyes with their eyes... It means a lot to me. If for nothing else in that moment, I feel as if everything is ok. I am with another, understood by another, accepted and respected by another. I guess in this random, heavy thought process, I have concluded that it doesn`t matter where I am. Life is not so concrete as my moment by moment decisions like I tend to think. Controlling my overall influence and impact on others, destiny is silent and calm, guiding the chain of events. I need to let go and live the truth that influence is invisible to me as to others and even unconscious at times. Influence is a part of destiny or another realm and dimension that we humans cannot see, hear, smell, touch, or imagine. And that is hard to accept for many of us in Peace Corps. We are here because we care and we want to influence, help, and change others. The problem lies in expecting and wanting to see the influence we have created. Influence is not our own, rather it is a part of a whole spectrum that is bigger than us and our own concpetion. A word that someone has said, a phrase in an article, an event, could influence you or act differently in a situation which could therefore change somebody else`s ideas, acts, or choices. Influence, therefore, continues in a silent chain reaction.
While I secretly hope some word or phrase I`ve written here will influence your thoughts or at least touch you, I`ll never know. To some my written thoughts will be a pile of words on a page never read, to others a pile of words read yet still meaningless, and to some of you they will spark a feeling or reaction. I´ll never know just as we will never know our influence and impact in our peace corps service. I think I will go to bed now. I am too tired to influence anyone or even think about it anymore. Buenas Noches!

Almost like Autumn

2005-08-01T17:46:00.000-07:00

In Michigan, I always said that I dreaded the change of seasons. I was always in love with summer sunshine, flowers, hours of hiking in nature preserves and the idea of cold bitter winds made me angry. But now as I sweat, my shirt sticking firmly to my back, I actually miss autumn. I miss the ocasional cool breeze, and jack frost nipping at my nose. This past weekend, though, we found a way to escape the hot brutal heat. We hopped in the back of a pick up truck and went along with a family to visit a town in the mountains called San Marcos de Colon. We drove through Danli, through El Paraiso and across the border into Nicaragua. We drove up into the green lush mountains, through coffee plantations and quiet quaint towns. We entered Honduras again on the southern tip and climbed into the town of San Marcos where a cool breeze rests on the mountain side. All day Saturday, we hiked eight hours into the mountains, into clouded forests. I saw lots of bromeliads, plants that live through the means of air using tree branches as their refuge. The flower blossums were unique and beautiful. The wind and low hanging clouds made me feel like it was autumn in Michigan only the landscape was different! After a weekend of cool mountain climbing and cloud forest, we returned through Choluteca and Tegucigalpa all the way back to Moroceli and its not nearing winter. We are back in hot hot hot summer land. As for projects, here in our little valley town of Moroceli, things are going slow. The government has not payed the teachers and once again the teachers have been on strike, so my classes have come to a halt. I will end my short entry on a good note. Just last week, Steve and I purchased airplane tickets to return to Michigan on the 21st of December and we will be home for two weeks. So I wont have to ask any of you to throw snow balls for me or make me a snow man because I will be there to make one with you! We miss you all so so so much. I hope that you are all happy, healthy, and enjoying the summer weather before your change of season comes! Lots of love, Teresa

I miss my little sister!

2005-07-07T09:23:00.000-07:00

It is currently ten twenty-four a.m. We left our little red and yellow house and our little bunny at five thirty this morning to hop on the yellow school bus that serves as public transportation to the capital of Tegucigalpa. In less than two hours, I will be hugging my little sister! (Actually she is Steve's little sister, but I have adopted her as my own a long time ago). One of the many bonuses of marrying Steve was that he came with two little sisters that I love! (Laura, I miss you too and I think of you often). Its funny the way things here become normal and routine to me. We have our weekly routine that I have written about before--visiting the different schools in the outlying small towns, teaching reading in Spanish and English to the more advanced kids. I remember when I arrived in Honduras a year ago in August how strange I felt to see a herd of cows marching down the street. Now it is part of the NORMAL scenery that passes by our house. It is always exciting to have visiters to bring about new perspectives. I would make this a longer entry, especially since I owe you all a more detailed one, but I'm headed out to the curb to catch a cab to the airport. I hope my thoughts find you all light at heart enjoying this very moment. I think of you all so often and miss you all so very much. **Sarah, if you ever read this--- I want you to know that your visit means so so so much to both of us and we are so excited to have you come. To Laura, Christiane and Didier-- you all make our peacecorps service possible. Without your visits, I am sure I would have given up a long time ago for missing you all. Your visits keep us connected. Thank you all so so so very much.

An Honest Entry

2005-06-24T14:41:00.000-07:00

Living in Honduras is a beautify experience. I love the painting of the cows grazing on the countryside, the farmers in their white curved hats, and the children running to school in their white and blue uniforms. The best part of it is that I get to spend every moment of the day with my dream man. We work together, we play together, we travel together, we share everything together and being so intense with another person has its own beauty in itself. But then there are days that I wake up and I yearn more than ever than to see my family just for an hour, just for a moment. When I miss them so much, it makes everything seem upside down. I always question my place in life, the trails I have chosen. When there are so many trails I could chose from, of course I am bound to ponder the ones that I left only with a glance-- Like the famous Robert Frost poem about the road untaken. So I will leave this message short because really there isnt much to say. Sometimes intense feelings are like that. I can ramble and ramble trying to find the perfect match of words, but really there just arent any as strong as the feeling itself. I miss you all so much. All of you that I dance with, that I drink with, I play cards with, that I stay up late with, that I talk with, that I laugh with... Family and friends, I miss you. Just remember that you are thought of.

¿Do you want to learn English?

2005-06-16T14:57:00.000-07:00

It is early on a Monday morning when we walk up the gravel hill from our little yellow and red house to the elementary school. I pass a group of giggling little girls in their lovely navy blue pleated skirts and their white uniform shirts, late to school. When we enter the school yard, we are overwhelmed with the swarm of students that buzz around us chasing each other, yelling "Hello," in a heavy Spanish accent, and the majority that just do the double S (Stand and Stare). I briefly talk to the director of the school, my insides twist and turn at his prescence. A man with fluffy white curly hair, soiled rumpled blue jeans, and a half unbuttoned striped shirt, he reminds me of a clown I might see in the movies. He stands behind a cardboard table selling candies, lard layden potato chips. This is the man that is in charge of educating the youth of Moroceli. The neighbors tell me that he hits children that buy snacks from any of the dear mothers selling tortillas and beans outside the fence. They are only allowed to fill his pockets with their Honduran dimes and dollars. I feel like spitting at him, but instead I decide it would be more proper to shake his hand and say, "Buenos Dias." He greets me breifly and abruptly asks me what I want. Just two weeks ago before our vacation, I was arriving every Wednesday with a group of highschool students to teach English to the fifth and sixth graders and each and every time he told us that he was too busy. Never once did he consider notifying me in advance. "We are only here visiting. I would like to invite all the fourth, fifth, and sixth graders to an English club that we are having every Wednesday at one o´çlcok in the High school." He shook his head and told me, "Go ahead." "Thank you for your help," I stated, even though he didnt even move so much as an inch from his candy stand to introduce me to the classes. I walked into the crammed fourth grade classroom and I yelled to them enthusiastically (asking in Spanish, of course) "Who wants to learn English?" All of the children raised their hands. "Good Morning," I stated and told them to repeat after me. A few brave souls mumbled the morning greeting. Unsatisfied, I repeated it once more even louder, "Good MORNING!" I proceeded to invite them to the English Club on Wednesday at one in the high school and announced that they had to bring three things to the first meeting. Number one, a notebook to write English notes, number two a pencil to write with, and number three an adult to sign the student in for only the first class. I entered six classes (Two sections of each grade), and repeated the same speach to each. The following Wednesday, the high school was filled with about ninety little monsters wanting to learn English. Only a handfull of them brought an adult, and all of them brought a pencil and a notebook. Three of my High schoolers showed up and helped with the signup. I continue to teach my small group of volunteer high school students How to teach English to children with games, songs, and English grammar. This project is my best project going to far because it is sustainable. I will keep you all updated on how it continues, but before I close I have just one question for you! DO YOU WANT TO LEARN ENGLISH? I will see you at one, on Wednesday, in the high school!!! While I am just joking about that I really do send you all my love and hugs, Teresa

Adios Amigos

2005-06-04T11:09:00.000-07:00

Steve put his arm out offering it to the swarm of taxi drivers passing by. One took catch, pulled over. "How much to take us to the airport," Steve asked, in Spanish if course. "One hundred Lempiras," the taxi driver replied. "No, very expensive. Sixty," Steve demanded. "Seventy," the man argued. "Sixty," Steve stood firm. "Fine, sixty," the taxi man finally agreed. Our two awesome friends hopped in the back seat of the taxi cab, gifting us with two last firm hugs, a few tears and a gentle, "See you later." In just an hour their flight will take off and they will be headed back to their routine of life in Montreal, Quebec. In just an hour we will be headed on a bus to a town called Moroceli in Honduras. Usually after a vacation ends we find ourselves in the airport as well headed back to our family because home to me is where my family ends. This year it is different, we are headed back to our two bunnies and our little cozy home in a dusty foreign town. really though, it is not so foreign and I do admit that I look forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight. In a strange sort of way it feels like home. It will be interesting to see how the community treats us after being away for two weeks on vacation when very few of them will ever have the opportunity to have a vacation and see even parts of their own country let alone Guatemala or the caribean sea in Belize. I will end with a see you later. I miss you and Love you all. And on a speical note to Cristiane and Didier when you read this, thank you for two wonderful weeks that were so special to us. We will never forget them.

I FOUND NEMO!

2005-06-01T09:19:00.000-07:00

I remember glancing at the bright colored fishies in my sixth grade Biology book. They looked like cartoons out of a Disney movie. Definately my favorite moment of yesterday was going snorkling off the Belizian coast and seeing the bright orange, neon blue, lime green, colored fish and swimming in schools of them in the turquoise Caribean waters. Yes, I finally found Nemo! The Biology book pictures of the Marine fish are now a part of my own memory. I love it!

Destiny´s Secrets

2005-05-27T21:11:00.000-07:00

Imagine walking a cobbled street in a little Guatemalan island called Flores. The moments of the day are Mayan, with images of stone ruins sketched in the scene of jungle forest. This morning, I stared out at the imense forest and stared at it with all my might trying desparately to hang on to the memory, and keep it as a permanent image. But with time it will fade and knowing this makes it even hard to hang on to the beautiful moments of vacation. So with these moments of the morning, roaming the ruins of Tikal we now roam the cobbled streets of the town of Flores, our home for the night. The dark blue haze of water colliding with the green edges of the mountains in the foreground hang to the right and to our left lies the tourist haven of shops, more shops, and restaurants. Then in such a foreign unique scene, all the magic imagery is interupted with an abrupt, "HEH!" The imagery of the scene is fogged in the distance and my focus is on a young man with brown curly hair, a short body with broad shoulders, and I even know his name--Noah Dillard. His place is foreign, in my mind he belongs in a war protest where I last saw him holding a NO WAR sign on the Kalamazoo city block in Michigan. I just stare at him in disbelief. Destiny has it that two neighbors, friends of a peaceful cause, travel the criss cross in a seemingly different world. And suddenly it hits me, the world is so small after all. I shake his hand and give him a hug and we ask the same question simultaneously, "What are you doing here?" The conversation carries us to a cafe for dessert. So here I will paint you the finished painting that I call the Magic of Destiny.
I sit holding hands with the love of my life that I met in highschool math class. To my right, our dearest friends that we met in the bus station in Mexico a year ago when both our backpacks were stolen, and to my left Noah whom we met protesting together against the war in Iraq on the curbside in Kalamazoo. I really enjoyed my cappuccino tonight. Really though, I enjoyed the magic of destiny. On a side note, Tomorrow we are headed to Belize ... Vamos a ver!

HOLA GUATEMALA!

2005-05-23T17:18:00.000-07:00

I have officially escaped. My house on the dusty roadside in Moroceli is now lonely, with only my two bunnies keeping it company. On Saturday morning, we woke at the wee hour of three thirty AM and packed our final socks and underwear, careful not to forget our diplomatic passports and camera in our big backpack. At four thirty, the bus rolled by and stopped briefly for us to hop on. The ride to Tegucigalpa, ugly smelly belly turning dust hole, is two hours long. Needless to say, we stayed only long enough to breath in a bit of the polluted smog and hopped on a bus headed North, West to Copan Ruinas. Seven hours of putter puttering along the road--I had lots of time to read through my lonely planet guide book of Central America. I read about El Salvador, our destination spot and read about how El Salvador has the most deforestation of all the central american countries. I wanted deep jungle forest. I read about how El Salvador is the least visited country by tourists. I wanted tourists. I read about how the El Salvadorians are very hospitable and the off the beaten track tourist is sure to be delighted with the kind atmosphere. I already know the hospitable kind culture. I began to dread our vacation plans. I read about the blue pearly carribean seas in Belize and the wild jungle and ruins in Guatemala and seven hours later as we arrived in Copan, I greeted our Canadian friends with a hug and one simple frase {We need to talk!{ So we talked and for now I find myself in Guatemala in a little cute adorable touristy town called Antigua running out of time on a computer in this small internet cafe. So yes, I am taking a vacation from being a peace corps volunteer and for the next two weeks I am playing the role of the tourist with the big backpack and the camera. As time is escaping, I will relay briefly without the fun detail our travel plans... Tomorrow we are headed to climb a volcano with a guide near Antigua and we will return to Antigua the same day to wine, dine, and enjoy a hot shower in the hotel here ..yeah the hotel actually has a hot shower and a flush toilet.. imagine that! We plan to next visit the Lago de Atitlan...supposedly a beautiful lake and then THursday night off on an overnight long bus ride to Tikal and Flores! Jungle hidden ruins with Howler monkies to wake us up! From Tikal, we plan to head to Belize and the Carribean coast to enjoy the turquoise pealy waters! Our trip will come to its last delight on a river boat trip through Rio Dulce in the jungle before we board a final direct long horrible bus ride all the way back to Tegucigalpa on June third. Our canadian friends are leaving June fourth from Teguicigalpa and we will head back to our bunnies and our cozy little home and bucket shower in Moroceli. Time is out. I send you lots of hugs, kisses, and all my love.. I am loving Guatemala. Pray for me that my bag and camera doesnt get robbed like my previous travel experiences... but even more pray for all my neighbors in Moroceli that are struggling to earn a dime in their bean-corn farms just to live day by day and will most likely never have the experience of staying in a comfortable hotel and eat dinner out at a restaurant. THey need the prayers more than I do. They need Gods help... I will try to take care of the backpack myself. If I loose it, so be it, I have the best thing life could ever give. The love of my life and all the love I could ever desire from all of you. Keep in touch and write us often.

Amistad

2005-05-11T11:34:00.000-07:00

At 12:35 on Monday afternoon, Steve and I eagerly waited in a mob of Hondurans outside of the Tegusigalpa airport trying to sneak glances inside at the passengers arriving off the plane from Miami. "I see him!" Steve shouted, "It has got to be Didier. I see a guy wearing a hat and he has a dark complexion!" Within five minutes our aweomse Canadian friends walked throught the door and greeted us with hugs! Yes, our canadian friends arrived safely and we are so so so happy to host them in our little yellow and red house. Today we are going to catch the next bus to Yuscaran to show them the cute little cobbled streets and a little variety to Honduran atmosphere. I am signing off leaving you in the dark with a lack of many details... but the bus is its way! Adios! frienship is a beautiful thing that distance can never break. All my love, Teresa y Steve

soul warming story

2005-05-08T18:08:00.000-07:00

We have been away from our home for nine months. In these nine months we have learned how to become a different culture, speak a different language day in and day out, hand wash laundry, cut down a bunch of bananas from a high branch using a machete, and teach first graders how to properly brush their teeth. At the same time, we have struggled. It isnt the beans and tortillas, or even the hot climate that is so hard to get used to. It is the lack of those conversations, the hanging out late with our good friends at the bar moments, the dancing the night away at Mr. Wonderfuls bar parties, or the late night card games at Mom and Dad´s house, or the great home cooked dinners at Mom Cavanagh´s house. Its missing our friends and family that makes the struggles. But tomorrow at noon, we wont be missing two of them so much because they will be here!!! Our dear Christiane and Didier from Montreal, Quebec will be on their way on a jet plane tomorrow and we will be exchanging hugs in less than twenty-four hours! Our friendship is a beautiful story of bad turning to good and if you will just spare me your attention a few minutes longer, I will share it with you.
Last May we took a month to escape the day to day work routine for MEXICO! Mexico brought us the beauty of the ruins, the turquoise sea, the open art markets, and oh yeah, the moment of despair when my backpack with our cameras, my diary, and all the film from the previous two weeks of traveling was robbed. I felt ashamed for not being more careful. I felt taken advantage of. I was mad at myself, at Mexico, and at the man that had distracted me by asking for the time. I entered the bus for the next town in tears. Steve comforted me the best he could but could not distract me from our material losses. At a bus stop, a couple of fellow travelers approached us and shared that their backpack was also stolen in the bus station. I suppose it is an old saying that misery loves company. Stolen backpacks sparked a conversation and a connection that kept us traveling together for the remainder of our trip. So Didier and Christiane, I am sorry that our backpacks got stolen, but really maybe I am glad that they got stolen. If not for that, maybe we never would have spoken to one another and maybe we would have never started the beautiful friendship we share. We would have never taken the eleven hour all night drive adventure to visit you in Montreal and we would never have been so excited to see you arriving in the airport tomorrow. Christiane and Didier, it seems unbelievable that you are coming, you are better friends than we could ever have asked for.

Dull

2005-04-30T17:14:00.000-07:00

What do you see when you look out your frontroom window? In the first moments of morning, when your eyes adjust to the reality of another chance at life, another day, what is the scenery that welcomes you? On my spectrum of the world, it is dull. I say dull because all the crisp colors of the buildings, the crisp edges of the hills and white circles of the clouds swimming in blue are dull. The air is suffocated with dust particles, smoke from the field fires, and pollution. No matter how hard I try to focus my eyes to see the beauty of color of nature around me, it is dull. I wish I could reach out my hands to console mother nature, remove all the pollution particles that suffocate her breath of life. So I wake up this morning and I exit through our black metal back door in order to use the toilet that sits behind a cement wall in our yard and right away the dull air greets me.
Just after a breakfast of toast and jelly (we find integral bread in Danli and jelly too), and a good tall cup of coffee, I stand in the back yard over the cement washing tub doing laundry. I marvel at my clean line of clothing drying in the sun. I stand close and see the crisp color of blue in my pair of capris, all the soils pushed out by my scrubbing over the wash board. In a day of walking up and down the gravel dusty roads in Moroceli, they will be coated in a gray film from the dirty air particles.
I would like to tell you my writing is a dramatic over exaggerated view, but really maybe its not dramatic enough. This infectious disease of pollution spreads into the rest of Central America. Today the newspapers anounced that all of the Honduran airports are CLOSED because of low visibility. I cant see the crisp colors out my front door, and the pilots cant see the runway.
Steve teases me and says my rabbits are so harmful. They eat all our cables, cords, furniture... After my little white foo foo bunny attempts to take a bite out of the orange extension cord that connects the fridge, he states, "Rabbit STEW, better to eat the rabbit than to have the rabbit eat the cords." My reply is "We humans are more harmful that my little bunny. Human STEW, better eat the human than have the human toast the world"

Oh, and one more thing before I close. Can you pretty please leave me some comments? I would love to hear from you, your thoughts, your input, and even better little love notes that keep me going :) I am going to go back outside now and coat myself with dust and gray film.

Brush Your Teeth!

2005-04-28T17:07:00.000-07:00

Today is Thursday and I call it Guadalajara day because nearly every Thursday, we travel on our bicycles through the sugarcane plantations, cross the river, and to the small pueblo of Guadalajara to work in a school. Everytime we visit I teach fifth, sixth, and third grade English and Steve teaches fourth and second grade English. We also teach a Como Planear Mi Vida lesson together to fifth and sixth graders. Como Planear Mi Vida translates into English exactly as How to plan my Life and inside the teacher`s manual it has several lessons on self esteem, relationships, sex, aids, drugs, study strategies and values. In my opinion it is a great program developed in Costa Rica with many necessary conversations and activities for youth. Today, however, we left our house with more than our English plans and our teaching manuals. We left armed with eighty toothbrushes and toothpaste packets donated to Peace Corps from Colgate.
After teaching my fifth and sixth graders a lesson in the numbers from one to one hundred in English, I counted out twelve of them in English to volunteer to do a skit and teach the first graders how to brush their teeth. Four of the sixth grade students entered the first grade classroom with me holding white pieces of paper. I told the first graders that the four students holding the white sheets of paper were our TEETH. Then I told them that we were pretending it was in the morning and we were going to eat a few pieces of candy. I asked them who liked candy and of course every first grader raised their hand. On cue of hearing the word CONFITE (candy in Spanish) a student holding a bright pink paper with the word CONFITE written on it entered the room and stood in front of one of our TEETH. I told the students that candy is sweet and has lots of sugar in it and it covers our teeth with a layer of sugar. Next, I told them that it was snack time and we were hungry for charamuscas (little frozen juices in bags that resemble popsicles). Everybody agreed that they loved charamuscas. So on cue, a sixth grader holding a yellow paper with the word CHARAMUSCA written on it entered the classroom and stood in front of another one of our TEETH. I explained once again that charamuscas have lots of sugar in them and that sugar coates our teeth and eats away at them and can ruin them. Then I told them that it was the afternoon and asked if anyone wanted a coca cola to drink. Everyone of course shreaked with enthusiasm. A sixth grader holding a sign reading Coca Cola entered and covered another TOOTH. With all my sweet delights standing in front of the students role playing teeth, I explained that our teeth were now all covered with sugar and were being ruined. I can save our teeth and clean them by brushing them, I explained. I picked up a broom and told them that this was my toothbrush. They all roared with laughter as I brushed the students posing as sweets away and we once again could see our shiney white TEETH! I explained using the broom that we brush the teeth on the sides making little circles, almost like painting and the ones in front with an up and down movement. Next another sixth grader entered and posed as an example and I brushed his teeth in front of everyone demonstrating the proper circular movements on his teeth. Then I gave all the sixth graders toothbrushes and asked if they could do it correctly for the first graders. Finally, each pair of sixth graders took ten first graders outside and helped them brush their teeth using water in buckets from the pila (cement sink). It was an amazing dental moment in history! Seventy children brushing their teeth together in the school yard! Believe me, I took lots of pictures and they will be on their way to your email boxes as soon as I sign my name with love to this entry.
Oh, one more thing-- as you brush your teeth tonight think of me and remember that I love you all and miss you oh so much.
All our love, Teresa and Steve

Daily Life

2005-04-22T10:04:00.000-07:00

Sometimes at any random moment of the day, I stop and I wonder what those that I love and miss so much are doing at that exact moment. If I popped into Kalamazoo, where would I find my Mother at 1:17 p.m. on this Friday afternoon? I imagine her cooking lunch, maybe a tomato soup, or cheese sandwiches. I CAN imagine, because I know the place. I can picture the house, the surroundings because it is my place that I claim as a part of me. However, when you think of me, you can't really imaine with accuracy because Honduras is not a place that you can claim as your own in your experiences. So my challenge becomes complicated as I have to paint an entire picture as acurately as I can with detail for you to picture and become a part of my life still as I live far away in this foreign country. Really though, it is not so foreign and so different because we are all human. With the changes of language, climate, foods, culture--people are still people with the same overwhelming emotions of love, sadness, anger, and happiness.
I feel like the paper before me is immense and my job is to paint it vibrantly and accurately for you. What color should I start with? Should I paint the background scenery first? I'll tell you that each day I wake up in a sweat, baked from the heat. The dust enters through the front screened windows and cakes our floors with a dust icing. The landscape is brown, beige, vacant of greenery. The land, the people, the farms, the cows all thirst for water. There are abandoned donkeys that are too old to haul that roam the streets and wake us up in the middle of the night with their loud screeching roars. Our little house is on the main dirt road leading to the center park of Moroceli. Across the street, a nice pulperia (convenience store awaits with sodas, juices, crackers, and other packaged foods). With all the details painted, the overall landscape is a brown dusty town with donkeys, horses, and cows that randomly walk by.
Now for the foreground, I fill in the detail of my weekly routine. Sunday finds us leisurely hiking, or biking to neighboring villages to explore our surroundings. In my United States culture, if I walked up to a stranger's house and introduced myself kindly asking for a cup of coffee, the owners would most likely tell me to leave and call me a tresspasser. A stranger on the doorstep is percieved as danger and a potential robber. Here, where the women often spend all their time in their homes tending to the children, cooking, cleaning, handwashing laundry (beleive me this takes lots of time), they love visitors. On Sundays on our long hiking adventures, we often visit locals, sipping coffee with too much sugar (people here drink sugar with coffee rather than coffee with sugar). I use my freetime to practice guitar, read lots and lots of books, and crochet. On Sunday evening at seven p.m., I started an English class for the older high school students and they come to teach sixth graders on Wednesday. The problem I had this past week was that only one high school student showed up on Wednesday to teach the sixth grade out of the nine students that come to my Sunday class. On Monday, we wake up around 6:30 or so and eat bananas or have oatmeal for breakfast and then we head to the high school which is only a five minute walk from our new house. The high school is overloaded with students and has about fifty students per teacher. I teach an hour class on how to write articles for newspapers and am trying to get a bimonthly newspaper going to sell to the community written by the high school students. I started this project about three weeks ago. The students all voted on a title for the newspaper, discussed article ideas, and are now writing their rough drafts of their articles in groups of three or four students per group. Steve will work with them this Monday and teach them how to put them into microsoft word on the computer and put them into columns. I will keep you up to date on how this project continues. We walk home for lunch (usually beans, cucumber, tortillas, or spaghetti). Every afternoon, we visit people in their houses, go to the computer center, and try to help out at the art/culture center.
Tuesday we ride our bicycles to a village called Suyate and teach English and computer class. Wedesday, I hang out in the high school assisting various classes with discipline and go to the elementary school at ten to "observe" the group of high schoolers that supposedly agreed to teach the sixth graders English. I will let you know how many come next Wednesday. Thursday is the day to ride our bikes to a village called Guadalajara (about an hour ride on bumpy dirt roads including taking off our shoes to cross a river). There we teach English, and give talks about self esteem, drugs, communication. Friday we usually go to Danli to buy groceries and escape Moroceli. On Saturdays we are helping start a local market in Moroceli where people that have farms nearby in the mountains can come down and sell their produce. Now everybody goes to Danli or Tegucigalpa to buy their fruits and vegetables. I am tired to painting now. I hope I gave you enough detail to paint you a decent picture of our daily life here in Moroceli, Honduras.

The current moment finds us in the Peace Corps office in Tegucigalpa. There is a book exchange here and I am borrowing the books INTO THIN AIR by Jon Krakauer, THE NOTEBOOK by Nicholas Sparks, ANNE OF GREEN GABLES by L.M. Montgomery, STONES FROM THE RIVER by Ursula Hegi, and PRODIGAL SUMMER by Barbara Kingsolver. Any thoughts and recommendations on what to read first? Email me! I love to hear from you. Love and big abrazos, Teresa and Steve too!

Feliz Cumpleanos!

2005-04-15T14:15:00.000-07:00

A birthday of someone you love is not just an ordinary day. It is a day to really celebrate how much you appreciate their being. So April 12 was the birthday of the love of my life. Normally, I would drive him to our favorite Indian Restaurant or Olive Garden, or even better yet to his Mother’s house for a yummy dinner and then we would head to the bar with a bunch of friends to get a little tipsy and maybe dance a bit. However, being in the Peace Corps with no nearby restaurants and Mom’s home cooking far far away, what can I do? A surprise party with the community of course! So for the past couple of weeks, I have been secretly inviting the high school students that we work with, all the nice families that have helped us settle in to Moroceli, and several of the children from our English classes. One of the teachers in the high school helped me make a cake called three milks and horchata to drink with it. Pastel de tres leches (Cake of three milks) is a wet cake. First it is made like a regular cake and then a mixture of condensed, evaporated, and regular milk is added on top and absorbed by the cake. It is a sweet soggy texture, but very yummy and Steve's favorite dessert here in Honduras. Horchata is a very popular drink here made out of ground rice, sugar, cinnamon, and a bit of lemon peels. It actually tastes pretty good. I told Steve that we had a “meeting” at the Art Center at five. Really no such of a meeting existed. Rather, all the people were hidden inside with the cake and horchata drink with their voices ready to shout sorpresa (surprise)!
Two of the other volunteers also called us up and payed us a surprise visit. They of course brought with them a bottle of rum and a bag of plantains to fry. For a birthday dinner, we had red bean soup, plantains fried, and scrambled eggs with peppers and onions. Steve's favorite Honduran meal. Brian, the visiting volunteer made liquados (milk shakes) with bananas, milk, and sugar in our recently purchased blender. To my love, I really hope you enjoyed the celebration of you!

A Dismal View

2005-04-07T16:16:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday we had to travel from our site in Moroceli to Siguatepeque for a training on how to be an emergency zone coordinator. Each department in Honduras is assigned to two volunteers to be in control of emergencies. There are also perks involved such as a few extra vacation days and the use of a cell phone! Wow, imagine that a cell phone in Honduras! So it was on this excursion that I was finishing up with my reading of City of Joy, a sad sad novel about the poverty in Inida while watching the scenery of the shacks and lowlife in Tegucigalpa pass by on the window of the public transportation bus. The shacks cling to the mountain. I tried to see the joy in it, I tried to blurr my vision and make that mountain look somehow beautiful, but all I could see was ugly. A mountian destroyed with deforestation and litter and dirty insect infested shacks. But as my book, City of Joy, suggests maybe the lives in those shacks that see the mountain as their home make the beauty. As the city scape dwindles into a more picturesque nature view, the ugliness still persists. A cloud of smog suffocates the crystal light of the sun, and scars natures beauty with a gray haze. Our earth is now an old woman, with a heavy gray expression on its face, no longer light with youth and gaiety. Sometimes when I look at the world, I am disgusted and other moments when I look into the deep brown eyes of my husband and I see love I see the beauty in it. It all depends on my perspective of vision. I hope your view today is beautiful. Or even if the whole of it is ugly, look for the part in it that feeds the appetite of your heart. Love, Teresa y Steve

Rabbit stew anyone?!

2005-04-04T12:39:00.000-07:00

So you all know about our four children right? We are just one big happy family in our lil house. Well, not quite. We`ve had a rooster, hen, a big boy bunny, and a baby girl bunny. Our original idea was to let the baby girl grow and then let her have a romantic night with the big boy bunny and then we would have baby bunnies! Well our baby girl bunny grew too fast and too much--it appears as though she has grown balls and a pee pee and she is not really a she as we thought. I am just kidding about the stew by the way and still love my baby bunny--just a little disappointed that we arent going to have any little baby bunnies.
Besides our bunny growing balls, our work projects are going fine. Today, we spent the day in the highschool. About a week ago, I met with the Spanish teacher and told him about my idea to start a newspaper in Moroceli. So he gave me a list of his best students and today we had our first meeting! I am always a bit nervous starting new projects as I never really know what I am getting into. The seventeen highschool students entered the classroom dressed nicely in their uniforms and I began with an ice breaker activity. I had each person write down two truths and a lie about themselves. For example, I wrote the following: My favorite color is green, I can play the piano, and I have traveled to Italy. The students need to guess which one is the lie. (For me of course my favorite color is not green!) So with this activity we became aquainted with one another. For our second activtity I had everyone divide in groups of three or four and think of two possible titles for the newspaper. When each group had two titles in mind they came to write them on the board and afterwards we voted on the titles and came up with one final title for our newspaper. The title of our newspaper in Moroceli is........ Lo mejor de mi Tierra (which translates to The Best of My Land) I think it is a pretty creative name and I am proud that at least we took a first step and have a title and a group of enthusiastic writers ready!
One of my other project goals was to teach some of the highschool students English to teach to the elementary students in Moroceli. So for the past week, I told several highschool students and every teacher I could find about a free English class every Sunday night at seven. And this Sunday, I had nine people show up! I taught them several animal names in English and various games to play with children such as acting out the animals and goofy animal songs that I made up. Our first time to teach in schools is next Wednesday and I will be sure to share with you the experiences as they unfold the quilt of my life!
I hope your quilts are unfolding beautifully! I miss you all so so so much and I send you all my love! Teresa and Steve too!

Tiempo, Donde va?¡

2005-03-31T20:02:00.000-08:00

As March sneaks away slyly, and April sneaks up behind me like an unsuspected monster, I wonder where these months have gone?! Maybe time and memories just fly away and vanish, but really I like to think that life is more complex that just time and all its events getting lost in the dust. Maybe the memories that we create float up in bubbles to stay with God so that he can read them and judge our behaviors. Or maybe more clearly, the memories of the past influence us and make the present. So now in these moments that I am spending in Honduras are shaping me, molding me into who I will become in the future. Every little thing and conversation I have and do influences others. If I would not have gone to the highschool at the same precise moment, I might not have discovered the wonderful house we are living in now and we would still be living in darkness without any windows! If my Mom and Dad would not have loved me so much, I might not have the love for others and the longing to help out and I might not be here today. So then all the memories in the past have brought me here and therefore time does not just go away and disappear. The past lives on to make the present and the present will breathe life into the future.
I will share the memories of today with you. And you can take them where you please. We woke up in a hot sweat at six a.m. (the heat never takes a nap and breathes air as hot as fire at us at all hours). I ate a quick bowl of cornflakes mixed with powdered milk and ventured into the already blazing sun to continue my fight against my enemy named the laundry heap. I scrub and scrub all the dust that blows in the thirsty streets. There was no water in the faucet, so I used the water in the "Pila." The pila is a huge tank where we store water reserves. I use one bucket and mix it with laundry soap and swirl the clothes around, my hands are the washing machine. I am careful to splash some of the water on myself to sway off the heat. I refill the bucket a second time to rinse them all and twist all the water out before I hang them to dry. The sun is so strong that even the heavy blue jeans dry in an hour! Steve left on the six thirty a.m. bus to travel to the capital to put funds from the computer center in a bank account. In this way, the computer center can obtain a bank card to pay for telephone minutes over the internet. Finally, Moroceli will offer international calling as many people have family members illegally living in the U.S.A. Everybody has a story to tell about how their brother, son, or husband, cousin, nephew, or sister has snuck safely over the Mexican border to live the rich live in the U.S.A! There is a steriotype here that the United States has lots and lots of money and lots and lots of jobs. There is no escaping the reality that there are better paying jobs in the U.S and even a dishwasher earns much more than the factory work here in the tabaco factories. The tabacco factories are the ONLY work facilities here in Moroceli. So my love left for the capital around six thirty and I stayed behind to finish laundry and then I wrote a long letter to my parents because I miss them soo soo soo much! I tried to mail it today, but without success because there are no stamps available. I will have to wait until next Tuesday. Around nine thirty, I went to check internet email and attempted to write this journal entry, but the power went out and everything got erased! (Yes this is my second time writing this!) I left Moroceli at nine thirty a.m. on by mountain bicylce for the super bumpy rock roads that wind through the sugar cane fields and across the river to the small pueblo of Guadalajara. Today there was a mother´s meeting and the teachers introduced me as the English profesora. The mothers gave me a loud applause and one even invited me to her house afterwards to see her tortillas and her mango tree. She lives in a humble clay house and has a fire stove and a large open space with a few mango trees and chickens. I thanked her kindly and continued my battle against the hot dusty climate of Honduras to make my way back across the river and through the sugar cane fields. The big companies can afford to irrigate the sugar cane fields with the water from the river, but once I pass the sugar cane, everything is dry to the bone and there are only brown spiney plants that poke their way through the tough hardened earth. So I finally arrive at home after my hour bike journey in full sun and I drink too bags of water within ten minutes. Then I sit with the old man named Victor who teaches art classes in the art center that was started by the past volunteer. My little good friend named Migelito sees me and runs to me with a large hug. It makes me feel warm inside and he walks me home to my new house. He cuddles with my bunny and I see the bus come in from Tegucigalpa and I am sooo happy to see the love of my life has arrived from the capital! He brought me a bag of grapes and how yummy they tasted!!! I hope I gave you a little taste of my day...I kept all the grapes to myself!
We are going to peddle our way home soon and will head to spend our Saturday in Danli, seeking chairs and a few more kitchen utencils. We send you lots of abrazos y besos de Honduras!
Love, Teresa and my wonderful husband (Esteban as he calls himself in Spanish)

Casa Nueva

2005-03-30T14:02:00.000-08:00

To all those that we love and miss so much,
It is funny how things work themselves out sometimes. I find that if I am patient enough, things always paint themselves into their own beautiful picture. I struggle to be my own artist, struggle with mixing the colors too much until they make a black glob of frustration. If only I let my life glide with patience, the colors mix together so nicely. I wonder though if it is this way for everybody. What about the poor people that sleep in the streets, or the women who have ten children and stay with their husbands that they know are cheating on them just for the income from the farms? Does life work itself out nicely for them? Do they feel blessed and why is it that I am so lucky? The love of my life offers me the best advice. He tells me to appreciate all that I have and share my happiness with others. He tells me not to think so much, not to try so hard to stretch every detail out of life`s workings and just let it glide and paint itself.

Without windows, our house was gloomy and my thoughts were gloomy and I was feeling more homesick than ever. We met with Profesora Keta who travels everyday from Tegucigalpa to work in the highschool yesterday morning to inquire about her house that is vacant. She said that we were welcome to rent it for 900 lempiras per month. Steve, my patient cool cucumber husband, said we would wait until Friday to move in slowely and peacefully. But God knows my patience level. Let me just tell you that I borrowed a truck and we moved in by ten 0`clock last night. We were out in our dust bowl of a yard hunting for my bunny, Galleta and our hen and rooster at ten 0`clock last night to move them. It is always a funny sight to watch Steve chase the rooster and the hen and watch all three of them flock around the yard. This morning our whole family woke up happy to the sunlight shining through the windows (when I say our whole family I mean our four children too). Our four dumb children are a big boy bunny named Galleta (Cookie in Spanish), a little girl bunny named Rosita (Rose in Spanish), a big fat hen named Bell (Short for beautiful in Spanish), and a loud white rooster named Ogi (short for proud in Spanish).
After fresh oranges and oatmeal for breakfast on our tabletop stove, we walked the now short five minute walk to the highschool. I met with the Spanish teacher and talked to his class about starting a Moroceli newspaper where the students would write the articles in pairs and we would work together to print it out on the computer. The Profesor Jorge gave me a list of his best twelve students. I read the names on the list and told the students that if anybody else was interested they could add themselves to it. I told them that I wanted only people that were willing to work hard and no HARAGONES!!! I now have a list of seventeen students who want to work on writing a newspaper together. I told them we would have our first meeting on Monday at 8:20 a.m. I was brainstorming fun ideas to get them started on the newspaper and I think I have my plan all set for Monday. I am going to have them divide in groups of four or five people and come up with a list of three possible titles for our newspaper per group and then we will vote on the newspaper name. Next, I will have the small groups brainstorm ideas for articles or fun things we can include in a newspaper and we will put all the ideas on a whiteboard. We will then give one article assignment per pair of students. I hope all this works out. I have lots of ideas. It is only a matter of personal confidence and organization strenghts that I need to spin them into reality.
I wish you all the most of every moment. We send you lots of amor, abrazos, y besos, Teresa y Steve

Amor, amor, amor

2005-03-28T15:38:00.000-08:00

Today is one of those days where I think and I wonder too much. I woke up this morning, itched my eyes clean of morning eye boogers and immediately questioned my place in life. I fought the green mosquito netting, and stumbled to begin my conscious battle of the unbearable heat. Clearly this is not my homeland of Michigan where the winds still bring a chill until late April. Here the heat never stops and it only gets worse in April as they say. So what am I doing in this dusty hot country of Honduras? It all stemmed from a conversation over coffee one evening. I sat looking into the deep brown eyes of the love of my life while sipping a sweet chocolate mocha and together we talked the night to its end, sharing dreams, ideas, hopes, building our lives together. In those never ending nights of coffee with just a little bit of sugar, the idea of joining the peace corps stirred and then it was only a distant dream. We filled out papers, wrote essays, read books, but most of the effort to join was the pushing desire to help people. God knows I want to badly to help others in need, to really change something. I feel that life, god, other people, have given me so very much that I never even deserved. I have a wonderful family. I have the opportunity of education. I have real love. I have a best friend and friends that really love me. I have everything that I need. I want to share all that warmth that I have inside me. And so somehow those words over coffee stirred into a reality. On August 16, 2004, I cried my eyes out as I saw my Mother and Father, my sister, my family, my friends just one last time before boarding the airplane. But at the same time, I felt an unexplainable whirl of excitment. I thought to myself...I am going...I dont know where! I am going to live...I dont know where! My job will be...I dont know what! I was just going..and the unknown was so exciting to me! So we were off to Miami to start Peace Corps training for our two years service in Honduras. But the adventures then were a mystery. Now I am well into the novel of my adventures here in Honduras. We survived months of extensive language training, four to six hours a day of classes. We lived with two host families that were absolutely amazing! On November six, we arrived to our site, a little pueblo called Moroceli. And here we are still with such a broad mission---to help the people. The big question is HOW? Well, the people here want to learn English, they want to learn how to use computers. So for the first three months, we offered lots of English and computer classes for all ages. We had a graduation ceremony with diplomas for all our students on the last day of February. My personal problem is that I dont think teaching English is really changing the world. And just like joining the peace corps itself grew from a seed in the mind over coffee, every idea has its seed. And I have so many seeds in my mind now...what can I do? I was thinking on the long bus ride the other day... I am always thinking... But here are some ideas that I will try to impliment in the next couple of weeks. A community newspaper written by the highschool students Nutrition, Health, Sexual education on Aids talks in the highschool gym class Teaching the older highschool students elementary English and having them teach my elementary students. Giving more talks on developing relationships (what do you want in a relationship?) I will see how things go in the coming weeks. We took our first step towards these goals today and we marched our butts in the scorching heat down to the highschool to talk to the directora. We shared with her our ideas of the newspaper and the English classes. The Spanish teacher agreed to form a group of ten students for us and help us with the grammar revision of their articles. We will see where it goes. Our idea of joining peace corps led us here. Maybe one of my corny ideas one day will lead somebody to change. I am lacking the motivation to keep a consistant journal and so today with a fan blowing on my back in the computer center I thought keeping an internet journal might encourage me to write more often--- One more post notice--we are looking for a new house because our current house has no windows and is extremely dreary and HOT! Today the teachers in the highschool showed us one house that MIGHT be up for rent. We absoluetly loved it because it has more windows and four rooms instead of just two, it also has a porch! I will keep you posted. I really miss you and love you all--- Teresa y Steve