BLOG POST CHALLENGE

My laptop battery is less than 2%.

Here goes:

Hi.

I'm heading home in under 48 hours!

I just made that up, I don't actually know the math of this. If I pause to count it out, the computer might die.


Today my 12 graders asked to take a picture with me. Like I was the Gringa Novelty. No, I was the Gringa Novelty.

I asked them to send it to me, but I guess I'm not that much of a novelty.


I'm soopa tired. This guy got arrested for driving soopa drunk.



And avec ça, je dois dire au revoir!!!!!!


JE T'AIME!!!

GROS BISOUS, ANNA VANDERLOO!

bad teacher

Tonight, I hung out with my students.

--you aren't supposed to do that.

I was walking along when two crazy girls spotted me.

"MISS WHYTE! MISS! MISS!" Out of nowhere, Karol and Andrea appeared, decked out in 5-inch heels and sleek outfits.

"Where are you going? You girls look beautiful!"

"We just came from church, and now we're going to Sara's birthday party. You're coming, right? Wendy [Sara's sister] invited you!"

Wendy had invited me, but I had no intention of going. The whole thing felt wrong. Going to your student's birthday party? I was pretty sure Jake had mentioned at some point that this was a huge no-no. Plus I was certain I'd be the only teacher. And an awkward one at that-- especially since only two grades actually like me and the other four shoot daggers from their eyes. But I couldn't explain all of this to these sweet girls.

"I know. I'm sorry, I can't go. But it's really nice of Wendy to invite me!"

The conversation repeated like so ("Come on, Miss! Why not?"/ "Because I can't. I'm just your awkward teacher. It's ok."/ "No, Miss! Come on!") for about three minutes. Then a large SUV pulls up with one of my 10th grade boys behind the wheel. It's Celso, the boy who always tries to hug me.

"Hiiiiii, Miss..." he says with that Cheshire grin of his.

Oh dear.

Now it's Celso's turn. "Come on, Miss, get in! Let's go!" ("It's ok, you can be my girlfriend", he adds later.)

Finally, after much protest, Celso drives off. I still haven't completely convinced Andrea and Karol that I won't be attending, but managed to pinky-promise that I will eat baleadas with them. I continue on my rambling errands and stop by my favorite pastry shop and then the Texaco before heading home. My grand plans for the evening were to commence grading and maybe treat myself to a Butterfinger later.

It was not to be. As I approached the gate, I saw two familiar forms peering in.

"MISS!!!!!!!!!"

I knew I was done for. A deer in headlights. This was not going to end well.

"Miss, we ran away! Look at our shoes! [They were wearing mens' sandals.] We ran away to get you and now you HAVE to come, because Wendy invited you! We came all of this way to find you! So you need to go!"

I swear this argument sounded more convincing when faced with their pleading eyes. I know that the #1 Rule of Teaching is never to become friends with your students-- and that has never been my intention. But these girls were so sweet and I couldn't get over the fact that they'd chased me down to bring me to this party. I've likely been the most crap teacher they have ever (and will ever) have, and yet they still (REALLY) wanted me to come.

Stay tuned to Part II in which you find out whether or not I went...

(which you already know but just tune in anyway, OK?! Stop arguing with me. I am your teacher! Do you want to fight with me? No. Now sit down and do as you're told.)

baa baa black sheep

Classes are being taken away from me left and right as the school crams to prepare for the Christmas program-- which is set to take place next Tuesday.

Not that I'm complaining about not teaching-- trust me, I'm more than eager-- but it is frustrating to try to plan lessons / tests/ anything. They handed out a schedule of which classes would be blocked off-- (mid-week) but surprise!--that schedule has changed again.

This is so ill-fated.

The program itself is being copied completely from last year's Christmas program in Tegucigalpa (the capital city). The DVD plays incessantly during these practice periods, as some teachers work to imitate the dance moves and reproduce it for the students while others sketch costumes. Each grade has their own dance, and the teachers are fanatic about getting every detail right-- are the 6th graders wearing socks or are they barefoot? Are the 11th graders wearing belts?

Not to mention that the actual Bethlehem scenes are completely inaccurate... shepherds walk around in costumes more likely to be featured in an episode of The Flintstones. 

Jesus who?

Their sheep are wearing more. 

My role in all this madness was to go over lines with three students-- Mary, Joseph and Narrator. The first Narrator swapped with another student-- I think they gave me a nonsensical explanation but I've forgotten it now. Anyway, the lines were all in Spanish. It only took me ten minutes to go through each student's lines thrice. But I was given three hours. For three days I counseled them to not rock back and forth as they spoke and to take their lines seriously. They would say, "Yes, Miss!" and rock back and forth. The last day, Joseph was sick and the Narrator informed me that this was not a military school and so he would no longer be following my instructions. 

I handed the lines back to the principal and since then have enjoyed my own personal prep time, which was really all I wanted in the first place.

So, Merry Christmas!

xoxo

Top 3 Musical Videos

1. For the song:

2. For the video:

3. For the song and the video:

Funny that these are all female artists! I used to think I didn't care for female artists. I'm glad I'm over that idea. 

Things I Never Hear a Honduran Say

[I absolutely stole this from the Yahoo! Groups Honduras Living page. Not all apply to me but thought I'd share anyway... hope this doesn't give off too much of an inside joke vibe.]

Maybe we shouldn't stand right here.

Please, you only have one item, go right ahead. 

This seems dangerous. 

Keep the change. 

Hang on for a minute, let me put this in the trash. 

Your tail light is out. 

Unsweetened.  (!!!!!)

Filler'up. 

Sure, we have change. 

See, that only took a minute. 

Maybe we should get this fixed. 

This taxi only seats five. 

No mayo. 

Could you turn that down? 

Just a second, let me finish reading this. 

Now some of my own: 

Can I help you with that? 

Do you want me to speak slower? 

Would you mind if I cut in front? 

You may order just one if you'd like. 

Do you want me to translate that? 

Sorry I bumped you! 

We probably shouldn't leave this person lying on the ground. 

What is the most efficient way to do this? 

One price per group. 

Would you like me to explain what you're supposed to do? 

Let me give you a heads up. 

Would you like a smaller portion?

Here we have some unfried things.

MORE! (Thanks Kirsty! ;) )

You are so skinny!
I hate lard and salt.
Let's walk faster.
Ayy yes meeeees!
Would you like water with your meal?

I love all of the Hondurans that I've gotten to know, so of course this is in no way intended to be offensive. I'm sure they'd have more than a few things to say about me! :P 

I love this

If you're the type of Scrooge that hates Christmas music-- well, move to Honduras. I don't actively seek out Christmas music but I do love hearing this song-- what a cute rendition!

adventures I would have preferred not to have

Nothing intense, but nothing all that fun, either.

(Inside looking out--the view I did not have during this adventure)

My apartment complex.

The day I visited the farm, I actually didn't forget my camera, but when I tried to open my apartment door to get it, I realized I was in trouble. The lock wouldn't budge. This wasn't the first time-- but it was worse than any other time. 

After a few sharp jabs and jiggles I heard a loud click. Ah ha! I thought to my luckless self. I've got it now!

I had indeed got it-- got it stuck. The key would not be extracted. Nor could I turn it. 

Let me repeat... 

I had jammed my key into the lock. 

Nothing screams "burgle me!" louder than a key in a lock! 

What to do?? It was Sunday. Everyone was either in church or in bed, so not surprisingly, the landlady was nowhere to be found. To cut the story short-- I went on my adventure to Farmland and decided to deal with the Key In Lock situation later. 

Much later. 

I hadn't planned to be gone so long, but we didn't return until around 7:30 PM. 

At this point in my pointless story, I want to pause and say that I have no idea what I would have done if Elba hadn't been there. This girl saved my sorry self!

Elba called our landlady, who teleported during the course of the conversation from Tegucigalpa (three hours away) to Juticalpa (half an hour away) and then to a mysterious location an hour away. Elba was rather unimpressed with her evasiveness. 

"It's not the lock, it's the person using the lock!" Landlady quipped.

If only this were true... however, between the SIX of us, all seemed to experience the same user error. Finally Landlady sent over a carpenter. 

Who arrived on a motorcycle and sported a muscle shirt. Also a wedding ring. He was really nice, actually-- but the muscle shirt was of no use as he, too, could not budge this lock. 

Finally Landlady arrived on scene. Unable to budge the lock herself (just in case, you know, the seven previous attempts had been merely circumstantial evidence) she gave the go-ahead to the carpenter to bust down my door. I was picturing something along the lines of a SWAT move and started to back away, anticipating flying cedar chips and dust. 

Instead, a simple screw driver had him in in under a minute. And the next day my lock was replaced. But this is Honduras, and nothing is ever solved simply-- so it took over two hours to get to this point.

Stay tuned for the next installment in this series!

Lately

Last weekend, I visited a farm.

I had no idea what to expect or what to wear. Would I be riding horses? Milking cows? Raking hay? What would I be doing?

Turns out, a lot of this:

I spent a delightful day lounging around, eating food, belting out to Adele and giggling with these beautiful people. I hope I can hang out with these girls more often-- they were so sweet to welcome me into their lives and hang out with a strange gringa for the day. 

I'd forgotten my camera but needn't have worried-- taking pictures was practically all we did. Except I would have liked to take pictures of the lovely house. It was small but spacious-- lovely dark cabinets (hand-made from a nearby village) with cement floors, a wrap-around wide porch and several colorful hammocks. My dream house, in other words. 

We left around 11 and didn't come back 'till 7 at night-- a full, wonderful day. 

hoping you are enjoying similar respites-- 

xoxo,

H

Happy Birthday Fatty!

The birthday party was so fun!

We arrived around 3:30 and stayed past 9. I just loved that evening, so much. Elba's family was so friendly and nice. They didn't all speak English but they all made me feel so welcome.

Mustaches were the theme of the evening and so even our drinking straws had mustaches attached. So hipster over here.

On an unhipster note, "Fatty" (Gordo) is a popular nickname and what the birthday boy's family calls him. Not just as a joke. Really, they call him Fatty. He answers to it. And refers to himself as Fatty, as in "This is Fatty."

We Americans are still boggled by it.

My Fingers Are In A Lime

and this is not the strangest occurrence of the weekend.

(If you look closely, you can see the newly-minted scar on my wrist from making pancakes last week.)

Today was a big day on our social calendar. My roommate, Candra, and I were invited to a birthday party!

Candra was asked to bring guacamole.
I hate guacamole (because I hate avocados). However, I wanted to make myself useful since Candra was doing all the work, so I offered to chop garlic-- something I do enjoy doing.

I ended up having to chop an entire garlic. By the end of it, my fingers hard started smarting. I couldn't figure out what was going on. In my illustrious career of garlic chopping, I had never experienced this before. I turned to google-- but the only home remedy I had available was honey. No help-- my fingers only turned a ten shades more red. In desperation, I read on one site that lime juice counteracted the alkaline of garlic... and sure enough, it was sublime!

heh heh heh.

Well, we're off to the party now!

Au revoir!

blah blah blah

I mean, what do you actually want to know?

Do you want to hear about how the principal decided to observe my class with 8th grade?

And about his theory that the reason the students were acting out was because I was taking too much time explaining grammar concepts that they already knew?

Even though every time I tried to move forward they insisted they "didn't get it?"

And I was following the book?

But he waited this long to tell me that they already knew everything?

Or how about stories of how naughty they are?

How every time I turn to write something on the board they clap and sing "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUU" at the top of their lungs, but no matter how fast I whip around I can't catch whoever it was?

And that when I decided to assign everyone essays as punishment (because likely 13 out of the 15 students were involved), the students rebelled and said it wasn't fair and then the principal agreed it wasn't fair, so as per usual, consequences are never realized?

That one student burst out in frustration while I was trying to quiet the entire class, "MISS! I PAY YOU TO TEACH ME, NOW TEACH!"

And that nothing happened to him?

Or that another student told me point blank "I want to kill you"-- and nothing happened to him either?

Or that three students had terrible attitude with me and slammed their books down and refused to follow instructions-- but when I went to the office they said it was "too late" in the day to give demerits, so now, two days later, they still have not given me the demerits?

Or that the students claim my problem is that I am "not Honduran"?

Nope.

I am not.

I am me. And I am frustrated. But I am looking forward to Thanksgiving!

Half day of school on Friday, no school on Monday and only half a day on Wednesday (with Thanksgiving on Thursday) = one nice looooong weekend!!! Only 4.5 days of teaching! AND TOMORROW IS PAYDAY!

I'm a vlogger!

Introduction:

My channel

hey baby

I don't know what it's like to be a minority in the USA, but I sure know how uncomfortable it is to be a minority in Honduras.

Stares galore.

I like attention. I like to be noticed when I walk in a room. But I do not like to be the center of attention for long-- and living in Honduras, I am one big magnet for eyes.

I saw a man who was albino at a mall in the capital city. We exchanged brief glances and I think he was more surprised to see me than the other way around.

I don't know how to explain how draining, unnerving and uncomfortable it is to be watched everywhere you go. Being introverted doesn't help ease my agitation. I can't walk around the corner to buy a candy bar without hearing whistles and guttural voices calling out "Hey baby" to my backside. I never liked catcalls in the States, but given the violent nature of life here, it makes me even more uneasy to receive so much attention. It is never flattering to be viewed as a sex object. I don't think men anywhere understand this, but certainly not in Honduras.

I'm really not trying to be dramatic. Staying cooped up in my apartment is no life at all, and so of course I do walk around outside. I always leave the apartment eager to enjoy the fresh air, but soon the reality will set in and I begin to walk a little faster, wanting nothing more than to return again.

Walking with the other girls puts me at ease, but this is not a regular occurrence. And so... out I go.

the teddy bear

I've decided something. 

The point of a blog is to blog. 

I need to censor less. 

And write more. 

And maybe what I'm saying is boring, or too wordy (quite likely)-- but, if nothing else, I'd like a written record of my stay here. 

So, the following is actually cut and pasted from an e-mail to my mom-- but still worth sharing here. Perhaps. 




I asked Mr. R today if Elias was actually slow or if he was just acting that way. Mr. R burst out laughing and feigned shock that I was calling a student stupid. Then he said that his parents asked the same question. Elias' dad had sat in his office and said that he was trying to be responsible for his son and had even punished him but his son didn't seem to learn. Someone described him as a "teddy bear" and that seems somewhat of a good description-- when he is not driving me mad with his questions. I will say something like, "Class, please take out your language notebooks." After a few moments I will look over and see Elias has not moved. "Elias, please take out your language notebook." He will nod his head and I'll turn somewhere else, only to look back and see that he hasn't made any effort to get out his notebook. So I will chew him out and he'll ask, "Miss, do we take out our workbooks or notebooks?" This is not even a good example. I can't recall the situation, just my intense annoyance at his questions. With some students (Jose Isaac!) I can tell that they are acting stupid to be annoying-- but with Elias I can't! I would just assume it is that he's slow, except sometimes it will seem like he's doing it on purpose-- like whistling several minutes after I've told the entire class not to. 

Anyway, the new teacher from Nashville (TNTN... I can't remember her actual name) mentioned that it might be a learning disability and I think she's right. Here, they don't test for those things-- and I think maybe not even so much of a learning disability as an actually disability. Today really softened my heart towards him... 

Yesterday I had kicked him and another student, Raul, out of class. Elias had been roughhousing with Raul and Raul got mad and squirted juice at him but it landed all over the floor. (Juice is usually sold in plastic baggies so this was more like a juice missile!) This happened as I was entering the class for the first time and I was certainly not having a food fight. So right away I sent both down to the principal's office. Neither of them are real troublemakers but I just couldn't believe or tolerate Raul's reaction. They had to pick up trash around the school while the rest of the class took a quiz (by the way, a useful punishment! The first time I've seen this. I would also like to send the kids who've given me major attitude to clean toilets! Oh man. Would that ever cure them!) So they missed the quiz. I told them they could take it during lunch today. (Recess is when most kids eat and lunch is when they play soccer. I've also noticed I'm a lot hungrier in the mornings and less so in the afternoon... probably has something to do with getting up at 5:30 most mornings!) They were fine with this yesterday, but today kept pestering me to let them take it during class. (I have two classes with them in the morning.) I asked Mr. R and he said to stand firm and give it to them during lunch. So I told them during lunch it would be-- and if they didn't find me, they would get a 0. Well Raul was right outside my last class before lunch, ready to take the quiz. He seems to take his grades seriously and like I said is not a major troublemaker. He got 100%-- it was a super easy quiz (as all of mine have been). I went to the cafeteria to get some food after that and made eye contact with Elias, but he made no effort to talk to me. I was hungry and in no mood to track him down... I decided it was his choice to not take the quiz and I was going to let him live with it. He had pestered me all that morning to take the quiz at another time-- how could he "forget" so quickly?!

Except I think he really did forget. At the end of the day, I went back to the 8th grade classroom to record Raul's grade. 8th grade still has weekly reports sent home to the parents and so I needed to write down Raul's grade so he could show his parents. While their I met Elias and asked him for his report and told him he was getting a 0. "What?! Miss, Whyyyyyy???" He was very upset about it. "Elias, I told you that if you didn't come find me at lunch to retake the quiz, that you would get a 0. I saw you in the cafeteria." "But Miss, I didn't see you!" "Yes you did, Elias." "No! Miss! I didn't see you!" (I really do believe him now, I wish I had then! Not sure if I did at the time but I think he might just have been spacey...) "Elias, I'm sorry. This is just one grade. Hopefully you'll do better next time." Finally he relinquished his grade sheet and I went about looking for a red pen to record the 0 (grades are color-coded and failing grades are marked in red). Suddenly I became aware that there was sniffling. I looked up, and Elias was sobbing. My heart melted. I went over and half-hugged him/ rubbed his back. He sort of stood there, half letting me hug him, half turning toward the board. "Elias, it's ok. It's just one quiz. If you study hard for the next one, you'll do fine." "No, Miss... my father will kill me." "No, he won't, Elias." Elias just nodded his head in protest and continued crying. I was recalling my conversation with Mr. R earlier about his father and "punishing" Elias and suddenly it all seemed clearer... Elias really wasn't being defiant... he really was just a slow teddy bear. So I crossed out the 0 and wrote "I made a mistake. Please have Elias study for his quiz on Monday." (in English... I am assuming his parents only speak Spanish) and showed Elias what I had done. He nodded his head and tried to control his crying. I would have liked to stay and talk with him some more but both our buses were leaving and I barely got on as it pulled away. 

Anyway, I think I did the right thing. I know it is important to be consistent, but I also think it's important to have compassion/ show grace. And Elias, if he really is slow, deserves a lot of it-- I think the kids like to get him in trouble a lot and he doesn't realize it. I also didn't want to be responsible for any of his punishments-- I don't think beatings are rare here and I sure don't think he deserves one. Even getting sent to the principal yesterday wasn't directly his fault. (Raul was also in tears as we marched down to the office yesterday.) 

PLEASE LEAVE ME FEEDBACK!

I know it seems like such a little thing, but honestly, it means so much to me to know that others are reading this blog. Please let me know you've been here!

HOMEWARD BOUND

Well, in December at least.

It is so premature to be excited about returning home for Christmas, but I am. So. Very. Excited.

Longing to be with my family and people that "get" me.

One of the most difficult things about living in Honduras is that I came completely alone, but another difficulty became the people I'm surrounded by. I wonder what it would have been like if I had not met or lived with the other two Americans. Sometimes I wonder if I would have been happier.

For the most part, I am happy. And these Americans are not bad people (though I consider some of their opinions harmful)-- it just so happens that they are polar opposites from me in many ways, and developing meaningful friendships or mutual understandings has proved difficult.

I'm trying to be as honest as I can without crossing the line into negativity. I hope if they read this some day that they are not upset. I'm sure they have had the same difficulties relating to me. And when you are surrounded by someone twenty-four hours a day, you are bound to find certain aspects of that person like sandpaper.

Though when you are the target of the sandpaper, things start to become suffocating.

This is not forever. This is for only 8 months. Women endure pregnancy for longer. I will just think of this as my Patience Baby, growing deep inside me.

sobriety

I didn't enter Honduras tossing flowers out the airplane window.

Yet it seemed like everyone I talked to before leaving was very concerned for my safety. While I appreciated their concern, I couldn't help but be annoyed that they thought I was so naive. Did I strike people as gullible? Reckless? Green? Why was everyone-- from my El Salvadorian neighbor to my Nicaraguan banker-- telling me to bring pepper spray and to not. trust. anyone. ??

Duh. Didn't they know-- I lived in France! I traveled across Europe! I was a big girl! It wasn't like I didn't know what I was getting into. Sure, I remembered the stories from last summer about the Zetas and decapitated heads left for Mexican police to discover. But that was in Mexico. This was Honduras!


Here are some things I did not know about what I was getting myself into:


Honduras is the "Murder Capital of the World"-- 82 homicides per every 100,000 inhabitants. 

The Peace Corps pulled out of Honduras this year after fifty years of operation in the country because of escalating violence. And I live in the thick of things, literally. 

Catacamas is the largest city in Olancho, the "wild west" of Honduras. When we travel and tell other Hondurans we live in Catacamas, they react in horror. I'm not exaggerating. 

So statistics are one thing. But how about this:

The first week she was here, Candra was walking in the street when someone pulled out a gun and shot dead a man right in front of her in broad daylight. Candra was horrified. People around her kept walking as if nothing happened. 

Last weekend, eight young men were shot and killed while playing soccer. Eight. Teenagers. Killed. Just up the street from my school. 


Yesterday, one of my 7th grade students threw something out the window and it hit someone. Embarrassing, right? More than embarrassing. The guy whipped out his gun and aimed it at the bus. The bus driver sped away as fast as he could and I guess the guy never fired a shot (or at least it missed) but still... I can't even believe it. My student. My pesky, bratty student. 


None of these incidents cause our fellow teachers/ students to bat an eyelash. This is reality to them. Everyday reality. 

It has become my reality, too. I never want to accept it. I never want to become desensitized. And I certainly don't want to die. But life isn't really in my hands, and it sure isn't mine to hold on to. 

how to love the unloveable

Please, if you have any thoughts on this, tell me!


Of all my students-- the crazy ones, the goofy ones, the ones who try to suck up to (= blandish, a new vocab word for the high school students) me and the ones who just could care less whether I appear in class or not-- there is one student who makes me the angriest.

He is in 8th grade. He is not the worst student academically-- not by a long shot. His sister is in my 10th grade class and meshes well with me and the class. But A-- A boils my blood.

His back story (which the principal filled me in on the very first day I entered his office to complain) is indeed awful. The student currently lives with his grandmother. His parents were separated at a young age. While visiting his mother in the USA, his father entered the house, shut A in the closet and murdered his mother. A heard (and likely saw) everything and was forced to witness against his father in court.

Terrible. No child should go through that.

Yet this awful past has been used continually as an excuse for his behavior today.

I am told he only responds to positive encouragement, that I need to praise him instead of yelling at him. But even this suggestion makes me angry. How am I supposed to praise a student who deliberately does everything in his power to disrupt my class?

I know that getting angry with him does not solve anything. I know my anger is wrong, that I should not take his actions personally, that I should be loving this student and finding his good qualities. I know this. But I would rather just be angry with him. It is so much easier and instinctual.






That's all. No "chicken soup for the teacher's soul" conclusion in which I tell you I found a way to incorporate this student in my classroom and now he greets me with apples and hugs. Nope. I am just tired. I feel that I have tried everything. I tried talking to him countless times. Today, I spent my entire morning recess and lunch with this student. I counseled him. I gave him the "real life" speech.
"Real life is much harder than school," I told him. "There are no second chances in life. If you disrespect your boss, you'll be fired."
His response?
"I'm going to be the boss."


And so far, he is. He is monopolizing the class and able to control the situation. And I am a haggard employee, at my wits' end but unable to quit.

jumbled things

I can't stop writing stories in my head, but rarely do they make it to Facebook / e-mail/ blog format. For one thing, I'm scattered already, but for another-- a lot of things I can't say.

I don't feel right publicly explaining some things... and perhaps the majority of those things would be boring anyway. So I write nothing. I am well aware this is not a happy medium. The internet is such a fickle thing-- either what I write might be misinterpreted, or the people I write about might stumble upon this, or a combination of both. And so the safe thing to do is not to do anything.

I can safely tell you that my roommate and I are quite different. We have discovered a few similarities-- we both like onions, for instance. Other than that, a wide divide separates us, encompassing cleanliness, accents, dress, public mannerisms, humor, political affiliations, feminism, life goals, views on women, views on men and dietary preferences.

Overall I have a good job. It doesn't pay well, I don't feel I excel at it, and I'm not sure the kids are even learning anything... but I really have no complaints. I do wish I could talk with the parents (directly) and I wonder if the rebellion and disrespect I fight against is normal and how I should deal with it.

I've got a feeling you light up a lot of rooms with a smile like that.

(lyrics stuck in my head, nothing to do with this post.)

Last weekend we (Carly, Becky, Candra and myself) traveled to Honduras' largest freshwater lake-- Lagos de Yojoa. It was great. The lake was beautiful, although not exactly Lake Michigan... i.e. marshland, not beaches. We teamed up with the rest of England and went canoeing in the lake, where I promptly dropped my sunglasses overboard and drowned Candra's camera in pursuit.

So the weekend had its ups and downs.

I was really impressed with our lodging-- D&D Brewery. They posted this picture yesterday which reminded me of one of my favorite classes at Calvin, led by Professor Warners.

"The earth is for everyone... some have already died, others are still living, but the majority have yet to be born. Protect our environment." 

Definition of sustainability right there, folks.

This weekend we (Candra and I... Becky and Carly are headed to Omoa to have adventures of their own) are headed to La Ceiba to go white-water rafting. I am hoping it won't be too tame (I have heard rumors) because it is $80 if you go for the class III-IV rapids... so $40 (for class I-III) might be all I can afford right now. Consider that this past week I've had to eat on credit at school and only had apples and onions for supper, and you may understand my predicament. Eat or raft... eat or raft... c'est la question, ca!

D'accord... a plus!

(I have been not-so-secretly hoping that I will unlock the hidden link between French and Spanish so that I won't ever really have to put effort into learning Spanish, I just will use my already broken French. Until this time, I've been using the strategy of speaking French anyway, regardless of my audience. Not super successful but then again neither was Rome on its first day of construction!)

la la la

So my 8th graders hate me (and by hate, I mean are likely plotting my demise as we speak) and a 12th grader proposed to me at lunch. Such a range of emotions that I just can't keep up. My favorite grades (they always ask me and I pretend like I don't have favorites. HA!) are 9th and... yeah, probably 9th. I also like 7th minus the bratty girls, and I do like 10th/11th... honestly, I like all grades, MINUS 8th!!!! Ugh.

I'm not making any sense, I know. I haven't gradually built up the suspense over why 8th is awful, but please just accept the fact that they are all mad. I also give them many reasons to dislike me-- especially I think they love being kicked out of the classroom/ yelled at. So now they are on the offensive and seem to make a sport out of how soon they can get me to order them out of the room. Today's record was 4 minutes into class. 6 kids were sent tromping down to the principal. It is quite likely this was a relief for both of us.

the little girl that stole my heart

The students at are school are pretty well off, so for the most part I don't see a lot of poverty around me. 

Except when it comes to dogs. I never considered myself crazy over dogs-- sure, I love my own, but I place value in human life a hundredfold over dogs. 

And yet... it's hard not to look at this little girl (or any of the dogs, really) without compassion. 

Here she is... all twenty-two toes of her. 

She's quite a bit smaller than the other dogs... and I would argue thinner, too, though everything is relative here.

Pleading for food.

Count the toes!

She kept inching closer and closer to me... but never wanted me to get too close. 

So scrawny...

and one last itch before you go... 

self-discoveries

The great thing about my job is that I've discovered teaching is not for me. However the bad thing about my job is that I am, in fact, teaching... for a year.



Poor kids.

chez nous

funny brands

 Eric can hear everything we say. Like talking to your neighbor through tin cans. Only with windows. And as adults.

Our "walk-in closet" (because we can't figure out what else to do with this room!)

bathroom

Our bedroom/ kitchen/ dining room/ lounge... and Eric using the wifi.

Candra cutting fruit and telling me not to take a picture.

Our neighbors airing their dirty laundry.

State-of-the-art powerless open-air washing machine.

more airing of the neighbors' dirty laundry (you're welcome! :P)

The apartment complex from the front. Will show the gate / school later!

Come if you want, get out if you can.

The power is supposedly going out at some point this weekend. I'm hoping it will be tomorrow (rather, I'm hoping not at all!) because I want a shower tonight... and apparently water gets shut off in the process.

Candra says that since I've been here, nothing she warned me about has happened. We hear very few gunshots, the power has only dimmed once, the weather has been tolerably hot, and we have yet to see critters in our apartment (other than an occasional gecko). 

Between hanging out at the "posh" Texaco (complete with air conditioning, couches and an armed guard) and our luxurious apartment-- I'm thinking I got a pretty good deal out of this! 

I'm counting my blessings. On a serious note, Candra saw someone shot-- in broad daylight-- right in front of her, a week after she got here. 

And seeing the emaciated (and abused) dogs around town is heartbreaking. 

My children are a mixed bag. More on them later. 

For now, know that I love y'all! And am thriving in the wilds of Honduras! 

Olancho (the department we are in) is apparently considered the "Texas" of Honduras. Ha ha ha. Of course they sent the Michigan girl here. Candra told me that the motto of Olancho is "Come if you want, get out if you can." Doesn't bode well for us...!!!

when it rains, it pours

The shower is spewing brown muck, so bathing seems rather a moot point.

 Today consisted of

--meeting the director
--meeting (some of) the students
--getting a phone
--setting up a bank account (semi-successful)

and I start teaching tomorrow. Seven different classes tomorrow (13 different classes total, each class occurring about twice a week-- except one = 25.) The curriculum is just as awful as everyone warned me, so that means I'm starting from scratch.

I'm not saying "pity me". I'm saying... real life is hard!

The power is dimming and I think it may soon go out.

so I say, buenas noches!

home

Met Candra, my roommate, and Eric, my neighbor. They both are super nice and I'm looking forward to this year together! Hope they don't get sick of me too quickly. I brought lots of DVDs to distract them.

Went to church with Eric, and boy was that an experience. Lots of clapping, dancing, swaying and shouting. The school's math teacher sat in front of us and translated. He seems so nice, and I'm assured the other teachers are just as great.

Then we were treated to baladeras (am I spelling this right?!) and Eric said they were the second-best he's ever had.

I also am a complete failure at Spanish but folks are very patient with me. At one (low) point I was pointing to a lady and her husband to try and figure out what the word for husband was... I was convinced that "mujer" meant wife but apparently it just means woman. They laughed it off, but I still felt dumb. Basically I am pointing to people and saying "you, Tarzan, me, Jane."

ok, all for now. Have to get up at 5:30 to catch the school bus. And I thought my days on the bus were long over. heh heh heh. of mice and men...

sunday love

Meet Tegucigalpa (the capital): 

 Breakfast at an open-air patio. So lovely! The clouds look darker than they were.

 A jack russel!

and we close with a slow-pan (c'est pout toi, Anna! :P) 

Guess how many times I remember not to throw toilet paper in the toilet?

Never. I never remember.

foreign exchange

Have you ever sensed bugs crawling over you, but when you look you realize it's only a hair or nothing at all?


Except not in Honduras. There really are bugs crawling all over me.


I'm putting up with them as long as they promise not to bite.

at the risk of beating you over the head with the obvious

my middle name is not actually Lee.


I don't want to assume any shared cultural knowledge. If you weren't around in the 60s (like I was), you may have missed the reference my blog title comes from:

I remember my Grampy singing this to me when I was little. And I've loved it ever since-- how many times do you hear "Hannah" pronounced correctly?!

*ok... matter of opinion. whatever. 

nothing to do with Honduras...

...but not sure how easily I'll be able to upload pictures later. Getting my fill now.

These are leftovers on my memory card because my I can't access my stored photos (?!) 

Ruby as a puppy... oh so cute. I know you think you don't like poodles (or dogs!) but that is because you haven't met her. So I'm going to spam you with pictures of her until you relent and admit your adoration! We can be very persistent. 

My baby sister on my grad day... oh man, that was a story and a half. I almost didn't graduate! This was before the crisis began.

My roller derby uniform! ;)

life and this blog are boxes of chocolates. you better like what you get! ha ha! (I'm bossy now.) 

My First Adventure

As soon as I opened my bag, the smell hit me. Nail polish fumes. Could only mean one thing...

An EXPLOSION!

Cleaning up my mess. 

Realizing toilet paper is not supposed to be thrown down the toilet.

 Ah well, welcome to the Coke Side of Life! (and my first Telanovela in the background!)

Seriously... look how huge that bottle is!

Also, regarding the TvNovelas... they would have me believe brown eyes are in the minority. DON'T BE FOOLED! 

and the world spins madly on

I've relented and am playing Ruby's favorite game: Run Around the Coffee Table. Soon my vision rounds out and my feet seem to move without guidance from my head. I worry I'll trip and crash into the table as I begin to waver-- but Ruby continues to charge confidently around just ahead of me. Finally I stop and have to hold on to the table. I look at Ruby and she's not even phased!

I wonder if dogs can get dizzy?

I wonder how soon it will be before I crave simple, effortless moments like these?

Right now I feel like I'm wasting my time-- that I should be do something important, but I don't know what that thing is.

(Well, packing may be one of those things... a blog for another day!)

what's done is done

For better or worse, Honduras here I come!

reticence

I've been finding it really difficult to tell people I'm leaving-- my roller derby team, people I babysit for... it has been such a struggle to write to them. It seems that other times in my life when it was this difficult to make a decision, it was because I internally did not want to make the decision-- and deciding against whatever it was turned out to be the right thing. So I wonder if that is the case this time, too.

What are you afraid of? asks the little voice in my head.

Well....

large bugs
scorpions
tarantulas
dangerous snakes
getting really sick
not being a good teacher
getting fat
hating Honduras
hating the heat
being stranded
getting killed
heights

Hmmm, none of these seem reason enough to stay behind.

Yet, there seems to be something bigger, more vague... lurking in the back of my mind like a dark storm cloud. I can't put my finger on it or call it by name, but I'm afraid of it.

upset stomach

because all of me is upset.

This decision is making me really anxious.

I am pretty sure I'll go... but I can't help but thinking it will be an awful mistake.

I already miss my grandparents and family in Cape Breton.

I'll miss my friends, mentors and all others in between.

I'll miss babysitting for Suzanne and Kathryn and several other wonderful families.

I'll miss little bits of home... the holidays, my puppies, my mom clearing her throat and nagging me to clean my room... no, actually, I will not be missing that! :P

I do worry that things won't be the same.

I worry I'll come back too different-- I won't be able to "fit in" in my city. But maybe this isn't something to worry about-- maybe that is the whole point of going.

just let me blab

By Friday, I have to decide whether or not I'll be heading to Honduras to teach a high school English language arts class for bilingual students. I would be there 'till the end of June, in time to relax for  a summer before heading to grad school in the fall.

Sounds great, except for a few problems.

I haven't even applied to grad school. If I need to take the GRE, I'm screwed. If I absolutely need to take the 2 classes I'm lacking BEFORE starting grad school, I'm also screwed. Unless I could take them over the summer at CC... hmmm, that might be an option!

And do I even for sure want to go to grad school? for social work? to become a therapist? for kids?

So back to Honduras and my problems there...

I don't speak Spanish.
I don't want to get fat. (It's ok to be honest with this blog, right? I worry about eating starchy food all the time... not only does my body resist it via GERD, but I also just don't want to bloat!)
I don't know if the dynamics will be difficult between me and the other 2 teachers already there. A guy and a girl. The girl is really pretty. Maybe they're already in love. How awkward would it be to jump into that?
I read a few blogs/ e-mails from teachers who had worked there. It seems the two guys had a pretty laid- back attitude and did fine, but some of the girls really struggled with their experience. They found their powerlessness to really help frustrating. They found the heat, the school administration, the overwhelming amount of nasty large bugs and machismo also frustrating. Among other things.

But, as my dear mentor Suzanne pointed out,

hannah, i did read more of the blog and noticed that she said, "honduras has changed me for the better" which is remarkable. even in the midst of her frustrations with the administration, bugs, starchy food, she still says it was a great experience for her. anyway, just a little observation. :)