Lost and Found and Waiting Around

It’s not that I don’t have a good sense of direction... It’s that I don’t have a sense of direction at all.  Those of you who know me well know that I’m not exaggerating.  I would get lost walking to the bathroom if the door wasn’t in eyeshot.  (Okay, that was exaggeration... sort of.)

So anyway, here’s my theory: The best way to learn how to get around is to first get lost...

So I decided Saturday morning that I was going to walk to town, wander around and do some shopping, get a little lost, somehow find myself again, and go home.

(Funny side story: When I went to leave, I couldn’t find anyone.  I didn’t want them to worry about me so I pulled out my Spanish/English dictionary and phrasebook—thanks, Em!—and starting painstakingly writing a letter.  Unfortunately I was far too slow, so right as I was about to sneak out, the pastor caught me:

“Where are you going?  (the town)  How?  (...walking)  Why?  (shopping, reading, etc.)  Who’s going with you? (no one)  Are you meeting anyone?  (maybe Lauren)  When are you meeting Lauren?  (I don’t know)  When are you coming home?  (for lunch?)... *long awkward pause* Okay.”

Sound familiar, Papa? :P

PS I took all my effort not to answer “When are you coming home?” with “Depends on how lost I get...”)

Back to the present.  I finally got permission to walk to town.  When I got there, I realized that I’m apparently even an early riser in Honduran standards... So I read in the park for about an hour waiting for the rest of the town to wake up and open some shops!  Besides reading, I also caught myself playing The Tourist Game (AKA “Find a Foreigner” with Libby or “Beetlejuice!” with the Olivers).  Americans being the tourists was an interesting twist to my favorite theme park game, but still entertaining.  (Most were pretty easy to point out, but I never could place the Honduran looking girl who kept walking past with a rolling suitcase in hand...)

Finally, sleepy Copan opened its eyes, and I could put Jane Eyre down and start getting lost... I mean, shopping.   Basically, if you live in Honduras and I know you, I saw you.  God bless this itty bitty town.  I love it.  This even included a girl from the English Bible study I went to, which was nice because she pointed out some good stores to go to for what I needed.  It also included people that apparently knew me even though I didn’t know them...

In the end, I walked around, bought some random things I needed, got lost, backtracked, and eventually found the park again.

Mission accomplished.

***

Tuesday, all the teachers at ABBA threw a surprise party for Grecia and her fiancé, Walter, who are getting married on good old Groundhog’s Day.  (It was originally going to be a bachelorette party, but there’s only one boy teacher besides Walter, and they didn’t think it was very fair for him to have a two person bachelor party...) Since I live with the family, I decided it would be more sneaky (and definitely easier) if I just went home with Lauren that afternoon after school and with her to the party.  So we went a little early to help set up, about 4:30 when the party started at 5.  Other teachers straggled in little by little until we were all hanging around, waiting patiently for the guests of honor... 5:15... 5:30... 5:45... Where are they?!  The story was that Dinorah (hosting the party) needed a wedding invitation for someone who was going out of town very soon, and could you please bring it over now before she leaves?  So when Dinorah called about their whereabouts, Grecia says, “We’re coming!  We just decided that we might as well drop off some other invitations on the way!”  So they had been driving all over Copan handing out invites while the guests devoured the snacks!  :P

Waiting, waiting, waiting, watching the door, and waiting...

 



Finally, we got the surprise them!  We played some games, like Pin the Shoe on the Bride and a Spanish version of Fruitbasket Turnover—which BTDubs, is a much harder game when you don’t know Spanish.  We also got to watch Grecia and Walter do really hilarious things like feed each other spaghetti blindfolded and eat grapes hanging from a rope blindfolded. 

 

One girl pinned the shoe perfectly!

Spaghetti Wars!



Best. Picture. Ever.

Lessons from Honduras:

The best way to learn how to get around is to first get lost.

I have decided that this applies to life to.  When you feel completely and utterly lost, maybe it’s just the prerequisite to finding your way.  Be patient and backtrack if you need to.  :)

Copan Gossip and American Slang

Hey, America!  In my last post, I wrote a ton about the family I'm staying with, so this week, I thought I would tell you a little about Copan Ruinas, the city I'm living in.

First of all, it's a beautiful little town.  As a born-and-raised Florida girl, mountains have never ceased to be amazing to me.  I find them majestic--there's no other accurate description.  My first impression of Copan (which has proven to be fairly accurate) was that it's a small town where everyone seems to know each other (or be related...) but there still seems to be plenty to do.  There's tons of little shops (some Honduran-focused, others touristy), several cafes (including wifi cafes and Mamma Mia, the Italian restaurant), a park (usually bustling with people selling cotton candy, balloons, or souvenirs), and, of course, the Mayan ruins.  My heart was offically won over, however, when I realized that there is an ice cream shop on practically every corner.  And if you can't find an ice cream shop, follow the sound of that tinkling bell!  Oh, Honduras... how did you know my weakness?!

So anyway, I knew it was a small town.  Lauren told me she can't really do anything, buy anything, be anywhere in town without everybody knowing about it and talking about it the next day.  I laughed.  Surely, an exaggeration!  Nope.

A little story:
I have a Tigo modem for my internet, which looks similar to a flashdrive that I stick in my USB port.  To actually put internet on it, you have to go to the store and pay to put money on your account.  Then at home, you can use the money on your account to buy a "package deal" from the Tigo program.

A month's package is 500 limpiras--which is about $25--so I go to the store and ask to put L500 on my account.  Well, the clerk apparently thought I was out of my mind.  "All of it?!" she asked, wondering how much change I was looking for.  "Yes, of course," said I.  The ABBA teacher who was with me (trying to help out the poor American that doesn't understand Honduran money) leaned over a whispered, "I think L100 is enough."  No.  That will only allow me to buy two days worth of internet, and then I'll have to come back to the store again!  So I paid, and, even though I repeatedly told her, "Yes. L500," the clerk still tried to give me change!  Eventually, I got the amount I wanted on my account and went home amused at the experience.

Today, I was telling Lauren my story, still confused as to what the big deal was!  At one point, one of the other teachers starts conversing with Lauren in Spanish, so I wait for them to finish.  And Lauren told me this, "She said that her sister is the clerk at that store.  She called her yesterday after you left saying, 'You'll never believe what just happened!  Some white girl came in and put L500 on her Tigo account!'"  Long story short: Lauren was right.  Now I'm apparently the talk of the town.  Oh well, I have internet.

Last night, I was able to go to an American Bible study in town.  Lauren told me about it, even though she couldn't go, so I went by myself.  It's a small group of Americans (and Canadians, I think?) who work in different schools or organizations around town.  They meet once a week for a pot-luck and study.  I joined them for their prayer and worship night.

You have NO IDEA how nice it was to be able to talk to and worship with people who speak the same language as me and understand my culture.  I know it sounds silly, but it was the slang that did it for me.  Some one said, "Slap me some skin!"  And I felt right at home.  Sometimes, you just miss stupid American slang.  you just can't translate some things...

Anyway, it was wonderful to finally be able to praise God in my own tongue.  There's a comfort in it.  I'm looking forward to joining them every week from now on!

Lessons from Honduras
Something I've noticed: kids are the same EVERYWHERE.  It doesn't matter the language... I love them in any language.

So here's a Gilbert story for you!
(while learning about photosynthesis)
Me: "What kind of food do you think plants make for themselves?  I'll give you a hint!  It's something really good that you wish you could have all the time."  (Sugar, of course, right?)
Gilbert: Baliadas! (a tortilla with refried beans inside)

Yes, Gilbert... plants make baliadas...  :P

The First Fruits and the First Week

Hey, there America!  Sorry  I’ve been off the grid for awhile... I still don’t have my own internet yet.  I’ve been borrowing computers (BTDubs, Spanish keyboards are kinda tricky to get used to...) or hanging out at wifi cafés.  Hopefully, I will get my modem today!

Anyway, Honduras has been treating me well so far (minus the first two days of travel, but I’d rather not relive those in writing...).  The original plan was for me to stay in an apartment close to the school, but when I arrived, the pastor insisted that I live with him and his family.  So I’m living in his daughter Grecia’s old room, which is painted pink with Disney princess wallpaper.  (“That wasn’t for me!” she claimed.  A likely story...)

So the Pastor and his wife Daisy have taken me in as their own.  They introduce me to friends as “mi hija, Melissa,” my daughter.  And they each have their own goal for me.  Pastor wants me to teach him English.  He has already learned “suitcase” and “headache” and walks around the house repeating the words over and over and over again like a broken record with a bad accent.  Daisy’s goal, on the other hand, is to make me fat.  Apparently I eat like a bird, and that will just not do here, no ma’am.

Grecia is fairly fluent in English, so she’s been helping to translate for me.  (This is especially helpful at times when the Pastor introduces me to the congregation and proceeds to tell them all “If you like her, you must speak English, love God, and come to me first!”  It’s nice to know why everyone is laughing...)  The oldest daughter, Maciel, is very sweet and tries to speak to me in Spanish, but even if I could understand the language better, she’s so soft-spoken I can barely hear her!  I barely see the younger brother, Tito, who is the typical teenage boy who locks himself in his room with loud music during the day and disappears with friends in the evenings.

 (From left to right: Tito, his girlfriend, the Pastor, me, Daisy, Grecia, Grecia's fiance Walter, Maciel)

This past Sunday was the first Sunday of the year—La Fiesta de las Primicias.  It’s the day when they celebrate the first fruits of the year, the first provision from God in 2013.  Everyone brings in fruit, vegetables, bread, etc., and they are arranged beautifully in baskets and on tables at the front of the church.  (Later that night I realized my bedside table had gone missing, apparently for this purpose... Still don’t have it back yet.)

(I think this might be my table... It's holding the milk, honey, and wine they poured over the offering of beans.)

Church services are usually about two hours long here (not bad considering Haitian services are between 2 ½ to 3 hours), but this fiesta went on a little bit longer.  I didn’t mind because it was an absolutely beautiful service.  The music is always good, but that night they sang several songs that I knew in English, so I was able to sing along.  A couple of songs also had very easy and repetitive refrains that I caught onto quickly and sang in Spanish.  They also have a special dance group—that Maciel dances with—that I really like.  I was told it’s some sort of mix between Israeli, Honduran, and Mayan dances... something like that.  They are simple but beautiful dances and often use flags, ribbons, or tambourines.  When I couldn’t sing along, I watched the dancers.  These people sure know how to party.

Apparently they don’t do this celebration at Lauren’s church, so I was telling her about it on Saturday.  We joked about what might happen with all the fruit afterward.  “Is there a feast?  Does it get left to rot?  Maybe it’ll all end up at your house, Melissa!”  (Since I live with the pastor.)  But after the service, everyone was free to take as much as they wanted!  I, of course, dove straight for the pineapple.  (BTDubs, all the leftover food did end up at my house... but Daisy cooks for the school, so we used most of it for that.)

And now for my first days of school!  Some people say it’s not much, but after teaching in Haiti, my classroom is paradise!  Tile floor, painted walls, a whiteboard AND markers (often in Haiti, they had chalkboards but never any chalk!), even electricity and fans!  So though you make think it modest, I was quite pleased.  The mess, however, did NOT please me.  My OCD kicked into high geared and started cleaning up the bookshelf that was is complete disarray.  Now everything is labeled and has its place and I can sleep at night again.

My kids are great, all three of them: Gilbert, Jensy, and Aaron.  I only have three because 4^th grade was just added this past fall.  Students can’t just enroll in 4^th either because you have to know a certain amount of Spanish.  In my class: no Spanish allowed!  (Partly because I wouldn’t understand them anyway, but mostly because they’ll learn faster that way.)  The kids have already become very well acquainted with the phrase “look it up!”

Gilbert (Heel-bert) is hilarious in that you’re-driving-me-crazy-stop-getting-up-and-yelling-out-but-you’re-so-funny-I-can’t-be-mad-at-you kind of way.  Today I asked him to finish the math problem on the board and he said, in his think Spanish accent, “Feeneesh ees my secont name!”  He has also started calling the little white boards I made them (computer paper inside a plastic sleeve) their boardsitos, little boards.

Jensy is a sweetheart.  She stands a head taller than any other student in the school, and myself as well.  Much quieter than Gilbert, but when she does speak, she’s almost always dead on.  Aaron is also pretty quiet, unless he’s with Gilbert, whom he apparently feeds off of.  He is my math whiz and artist.  He draws better than any kid I think I’ve ever seen.

Honduras and I will get along just fine because they...

-have a delicious ice cream shop.  (Holy crap.  So good.)

-sell giant jars of Nutella.

-listen to David Crowder Band.  (In Spanish, but no complaining here.)

-have fresh pineapple.

-make nachos out of plantain chips.  (I call them plantachos!)

-allow their teachers to wear jeans to work.

-are wonderful, beautiful people.  :)

Lessons from Honduras

I wish my pictures could do it justice.  The First Fruits service was absolutely beautiful.  All the colors and shapes and sizes and SMELLS of the food—I couldn’t stop staring.  If God put that much time into making the food we eat so beautiful, how much more beautiful are we?

PS Sorry this was unbearably long... I will start posting shorter and more regularly soon!  (I will also try putting pictures up, if I can.  But all my pictures are also on Facebook!)