Friday, November 26, 2010
and i don't even know his name....
So, this older guy has been living with my family since Monday. I don't know his name. I don't know why he is here or when he is leaving. His name might be Don Melaton, but that's just a guess from what I have heard my family call him. He was introduced as "a friend" by my host mom and as "the dad of a friend" by Izumi. I have gathered that he used to be a "diputado," but is now retired. (I don't actually know what a diputado is, but wordreference.com told me that is a deputy, representative, or member of parliament. I'm going with representative.) I guess that's an important job. I have a really hard time understanding him and he can't understand me, but that's not uncommon with us and the older people we meet. He is also missing a lot of teeth, so that doesn't help things. He seems to be nice though. And he loves to do stuff with family, like take the minivan to go get ice cream cones. He sleeps on an air mattress in the living room. The whole situation is quite comical to me.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Roatan
I wrote this last week (in that same email about life in Honduras) when I was on vacation with my parents, but we didn't have internet access, so this is a little of what we did. We also went ziplining and SWAM WITH DOLPHINS!! I have always wanted to do this, so that was really great. We also took a boat through the mangrove trees that the pirates made so that they could hide out. And we went to this restaurant/bar/I don't really know what to call it, that is only accessible by boat. The owner lives there, but is from the US. He's really laid back and the whole atmosphere of the place was just really chill. I liked it. But here's what I wrote one day on the beach...
Right now, I am on Roatan, one of the Bay Islands (Caribbean), with my parents. It’s a popular tourist place, but we’re staying in this remote place in the middle of the jungle, but also on the beach.. hard to explain exactly. It’s pretty cool, but today it rained all day. It was nice to just relax inside the house, though. Like I’m sure you’re finding, the semester is wearing me out and right about now, the profs are piling on the work, so this week off is wonderful. I’m also speaking in English because I’m with my parents who don’t know Spanish. It’s weird. It took awhile for me to remember it. Even now after a few days, I’m not thinking/speaking solely in English. Also, my spelling and grammar have gone out the window—in both languages. I used to be so good at it in English and now I’m not good in either language. Alas.
We went to another part of the island today. It has better beaches and today is sunny! There is a reef just off shore, so we tried snorkeling. My dad likes it, but I was really claustrophobic. I started to panic so I focused on breathing deeply, but I couldn’t handle it, so I got out of the water. Maybe I’ll try again another day.
This place is beautiful. It’s so nice to get out of Tegus. It’s nice to have clean air. It’s nice that the constant noise isn’t cars and gunshots, but waves and island music. I’m sitting here, covered in salty sand, and I am in awe of the “true blue dream of sky” meeting the deep ocean blues and aqua turquoise sea. It’s breath taking. I see the people bobbing in the water—some snorkeling, some just laughing and enjoying the mix of the sun and the saltwater. There are the sunbathers and the kayakers. And I hear English and Spanish and French and German and it all blends together in this perfect orchestra of sound and it is beautiful. And so I sit; thankful, thought-full. And the thoughts just keep coming. They aren’t bad thoughts, they’re just… big thoughts. And I try to ignore them—as I usually do—but that is not to be. Today, in this place, with the sun shining down on me, they will come, and I won’t stop them.
Right now, I am on Roatan, one of the Bay Islands (Caribbean), with my parents. It’s a popular tourist place, but we’re staying in this remote place in the middle of the jungle, but also on the beach.. hard to explain exactly. It’s pretty cool, but today it rained all day. It was nice to just relax inside the house, though. Like I’m sure you’re finding, the semester is wearing me out and right about now, the profs are piling on the work, so this week off is wonderful. I’m also speaking in English because I’m with my parents who don’t know Spanish. It’s weird. It took awhile for me to remember it. Even now after a few days, I’m not thinking/speaking solely in English. Also, my spelling and grammar have gone out the window—in both languages. I used to be so good at it in English and now I’m not good in either language. Alas.
We went to another part of the island today. It has better beaches and today is sunny! There is a reef just off shore, so we tried snorkeling. My dad likes it, but I was really claustrophobic. I started to panic so I focused on breathing deeply, but I couldn’t handle it, so I got out of the water. Maybe I’ll try again another day.
This place is beautiful. It’s so nice to get out of Tegus. It’s nice to have clean air. It’s nice that the constant noise isn’t cars and gunshots, but waves and island music. I’m sitting here, covered in salty sand, and I am in awe of the “true blue dream of sky” meeting the deep ocean blues and aqua turquoise sea. It’s breath taking. I see the people bobbing in the water—some snorkeling, some just laughing and enjoying the mix of the sun and the saltwater. There are the sunbathers and the kayakers. And I hear English and Spanish and French and German and it all blends together in this perfect orchestra of sound and it is beautiful. And so I sit; thankful, thought-full. And the thoughts just keep coming. They aren’t bad thoughts, they’re just… big thoughts. And I try to ignore them—as I usually do—but that is not to be. Today, in this place, with the sun shining down on me, they will come, and I won’t stop them.
Monday, November 1, 2010
all about honduras
A friend asked me to tell him all about Honduras. This was a project that I knew would take me awhile. I can't just sum up Honduras, no matter how hard I try. When I told him that other people had been asking the same thing, he said that I was welcome to share with them my email to him. So, this is for you if you are wondering all about Honduras...
I live in Tegucigalpa, the capitol. Tegus is in the mountains and is basically like a bowl—the city is in the valley, but goes up the sides too. Apparently it’s the most dangerous airport in the world because there is such a quick descent and the plane needs to stop so fast. But no worries, only the best pilots are allowed to fly in and out of Tegus. The city is big with lots of people. It is never quiet and it’s very dirty. The traffic is terrible. Honduras borders both the Caribbean and the pacific. I haven’t been south, but I guess the beaches are dirty and have dark sand. But up north is like those picture-perfect beaches you see as computer desk tops. Those beaches really are as wonderful as they look. The water is perfectly clear. Even if you’re up to your shoulders, you can still see your feet on the bottom. And where I went, there weren’t even any fish, just jellyfish and sand dollars. I was in a little village called Cusuna. It is literally right on the ocean. The beach was basically outside their backdoors. Cusuna is a very poor village. The homes are literally made of mud, sticks, and straw, and they are only one room—probably the size of a dorm room or smaller. There is no electricity. I’m not sure about running water, but probably not. However, they were so hospitable. Despite the insane heat and dehydration and sunburn and exhaustion, we had a great time learning about the GarÃfuna culture, one ethnic group in Honduras, originally from Africa.
In Tegus, I live by myself with a host family. I have a mom, a dad, and 4 sisters—ages 21, 18, 18, and 11. They are great. Really. They are. They include me as a member of the family. It can be hard, though. The 11-year-old is mean to me, but I just try to ignore that. A lot of times I feel like I do things wrong or that I shouldn’t do, but I don’t actually think that’s the case, in talking to the other students. And if it is true, oh well. It’s fine. I’m doing the best I can. It is hard not having a roommate. I’ve always shared a room—my sister, Laura, fellow camp counselors… So it’s hard to be by myself. I’m glad that I’m not with any of my host sisters. It is nice to have my own space and a place to get away, but it’s still lonely. It’s hard to be alone. But even with my host family, I feel alone. There is a barrier. Not so much the language, but that is part of it. I don’t know exactly what it is. Maybe it’s the culture differences. Maybe it’s the fact that I didn’t grow up in this family. My background is just different. And that’s okay. But through all of this lonesomeness, I’m learning a lot about trust and remembering that God is with me even when I don’t feel him. And that’s something that I have to learn hour by hour. I’m always learning this.
I go to one of the public universities in Tegucigalpa, but I only have other Calvin students in my classes. I do, however, have Honduran profs. That can be very frustrating. The grading system is very different and is against the students. In the class there are 100 points and the student can only lose points, so once you are at 90%, you can’t get any higher than that. It’s hard because we’ve never worked so hard and we’ve never received such bad grades. Yes, the grades will be changed to match our GPA, or so we’ve been told, but it’s still hard to see. I think that I’m okay with the bad grades. I really am doing my best and it’s in my second language, but the scholarship donors are not okay with it. And that is what I struggle with.
The bus system in Tegus is interesting. The buses are old school buses from the US. It only costs the equivalent of 15 cents to take the bus, so that’s really great, but you don’t ever know exactly where the bus stops are. There are no signs. The bus just stops where there are a lot of people. It also takes a long time on the bus. It’s just as long as walking, sometimes longer. And you don’t pay as soon as you get on like in Grand Rapids, but there’s a guy who comes by after the bus starts going again asking for the money. There are also people who are selling things like gum and candy and water and bread who get on the bus to try to sell them and then just gets off at the next stop to try another bus.
The gap between poverty and wealth is enormous in Honduras. There is incredible wealth for a few people, but there is unbelievable poverty for so many people. The thing is, a lot of times you see the million dollar homes next to the mud huts. Literally. Possibly the best example of this would be the huge banana plantations (Dole and Chiquita Banana are based in Honduras). These American companies have taken over this business and the people on the land or the workers are pushed off the land. The banana companies put up fences and these people live between the fences and the roads—in mud huts. How is this okay? It makes me angry. It makes me feel guilty. I didn’t actually do anything. I couldn’t do anything to be born in a middle class family in the US. It’s not my fault that they were born into these impoverished families. But I feel like I can’t do anything to change the situation and that makes me feel guilty, but I’m not sure that “guilty” is the right word. I think that all of my big thoughts and questions come down to this: injustice. I just feel so helpless because I can’t fix everything. I want to fix everything, but I know that that’s not going to happen and so I just want to help, but I don’t know how much of a difference I can make. Maybe it’s enough just to try.
I think that that just about covers it for now. Are there any other things you want to know about? Maybe I’ll think of more… I might have talked about some of this already, so sorry about that.
I live in Tegucigalpa, the capitol. Tegus is in the mountains and is basically like a bowl—the city is in the valley, but goes up the sides too. Apparently it’s the most dangerous airport in the world because there is such a quick descent and the plane needs to stop so fast. But no worries, only the best pilots are allowed to fly in and out of Tegus. The city is big with lots of people. It is never quiet and it’s very dirty. The traffic is terrible. Honduras borders both the Caribbean and the pacific. I haven’t been south, but I guess the beaches are dirty and have dark sand. But up north is like those picture-perfect beaches you see as computer desk tops. Those beaches really are as wonderful as they look. The water is perfectly clear. Even if you’re up to your shoulders, you can still see your feet on the bottom. And where I went, there weren’t even any fish, just jellyfish and sand dollars. I was in a little village called Cusuna. It is literally right on the ocean. The beach was basically outside their backdoors. Cusuna is a very poor village. The homes are literally made of mud, sticks, and straw, and they are only one room—probably the size of a dorm room or smaller. There is no electricity. I’m not sure about running water, but probably not. However, they were so hospitable. Despite the insane heat and dehydration and sunburn and exhaustion, we had a great time learning about the GarÃfuna culture, one ethnic group in Honduras, originally from Africa.
In Tegus, I live by myself with a host family. I have a mom, a dad, and 4 sisters—ages 21, 18, 18, and 11. They are great. Really. They are. They include me as a member of the family. It can be hard, though. The 11-year-old is mean to me, but I just try to ignore that. A lot of times I feel like I do things wrong or that I shouldn’t do, but I don’t actually think that’s the case, in talking to the other students. And if it is true, oh well. It’s fine. I’m doing the best I can. It is hard not having a roommate. I’ve always shared a room—my sister, Laura, fellow camp counselors… So it’s hard to be by myself. I’m glad that I’m not with any of my host sisters. It is nice to have my own space and a place to get away, but it’s still lonely. It’s hard to be alone. But even with my host family, I feel alone. There is a barrier. Not so much the language, but that is part of it. I don’t know exactly what it is. Maybe it’s the culture differences. Maybe it’s the fact that I didn’t grow up in this family. My background is just different. And that’s okay. But through all of this lonesomeness, I’m learning a lot about trust and remembering that God is with me even when I don’t feel him. And that’s something that I have to learn hour by hour. I’m always learning this.
I go to one of the public universities in Tegucigalpa, but I only have other Calvin students in my classes. I do, however, have Honduran profs. That can be very frustrating. The grading system is very different and is against the students. In the class there are 100 points and the student can only lose points, so once you are at 90%, you can’t get any higher than that. It’s hard because we’ve never worked so hard and we’ve never received such bad grades. Yes, the grades will be changed to match our GPA, or so we’ve been told, but it’s still hard to see. I think that I’m okay with the bad grades. I really am doing my best and it’s in my second language, but the scholarship donors are not okay with it. And that is what I struggle with.
The bus system in Tegus is interesting. The buses are old school buses from the US. It only costs the equivalent of 15 cents to take the bus, so that’s really great, but you don’t ever know exactly where the bus stops are. There are no signs. The bus just stops where there are a lot of people. It also takes a long time on the bus. It’s just as long as walking, sometimes longer. And you don’t pay as soon as you get on like in Grand Rapids, but there’s a guy who comes by after the bus starts going again asking for the money. There are also people who are selling things like gum and candy and water and bread who get on the bus to try to sell them and then just gets off at the next stop to try another bus.
The gap between poverty and wealth is enormous in Honduras. There is incredible wealth for a few people, but there is unbelievable poverty for so many people. The thing is, a lot of times you see the million dollar homes next to the mud huts. Literally. Possibly the best example of this would be the huge banana plantations (Dole and Chiquita Banana are based in Honduras). These American companies have taken over this business and the people on the land or the workers are pushed off the land. The banana companies put up fences and these people live between the fences and the roads—in mud huts. How is this okay? It makes me angry. It makes me feel guilty. I didn’t actually do anything. I couldn’t do anything to be born in a middle class family in the US. It’s not my fault that they were born into these impoverished families. But I feel like I can’t do anything to change the situation and that makes me feel guilty, but I’m not sure that “guilty” is the right word. I think that all of my big thoughts and questions come down to this: injustice. I just feel so helpless because I can’t fix everything. I want to fix everything, but I know that that’s not going to happen and so I just want to help, but I don’t know how much of a difference I can make. Maybe it’s enough just to try.
I think that that just about covers it for now. Are there any other things you want to know about? Maybe I’ll think of more… I might have talked about some of this already, so sorry about that.
rural community
This weekend we went to a “rural community.” I don’t know exactly where it was in Honduras because that’s all that was on our syllabus: “rural community.” We left at 7a Friday and were home before 7p Saturday. But those 2 days were packed with things to do. It took about 5 hours to get there in our school bus. A number of us are a little sick, so the ride wasn’t the most fun thing to do, but at least we could try to sleep. Our group is really good at sleeping on the bus… the rides are so quiet almost the whole time! It makes me laugh. We visited agricultural projects and a medical clinic (which consisted of a relatively large house with a medical cabinet and a group of moms with kids 23 months or younger that helped the moms and kids stay healthy by regularly weighing the kids and giving vitamins and things like that. Our hotel was in the middle of nowhere. Literally. We had to take these crazy mountainous roads. They were so steep and there were so many hairpin turns and it was getting dark and it was raining. This is all happening at about 5:30-6pm. Finally, after many attempts, we took our backpacks and hiked the rest of the way up the mountain in the dark and the rain. The hotel was so great. It was like a camp. There were cabins with only 3 beds (with real mattresses) in each room, so it was like a hotel room, but the rooms weren’t all in the same building. It made me really miss camp. It was such a fun place. As we were leaving, we also had to do quite a bit of hiking because the bus couldn’t make it. The bus eventually caught up with us, though, so it all turned out alright. What an adventure.
prayers and minivans.
Last night was a really special night for my host family. They have been praying for a car for 10 years. There are 6 people in the family, but usually 7 because they always have a Calvin student with them, so they really wanted a vehicle that could fit everyone. After 10 years of prayer, they were offered a minivan for $6000. They only have to pay half and the owner will let them keep paying it off in the next 6 months (or something like that). They didn’t quite have enough, but the owner accepted anyway. (and this whole process has been going on for the last couple months.) So as we were all sitting at the table finishing dinner, everyone went to get their savings that were in the house and they put it all on the table. It was truly a family ordeal. They had enough. Then we all held hands and prayed, giving thanks, asking for protection, and putting it all in God’s hands once again. It was really cool for me to be a part of. And now, we have a minivan in our garage. Thanks be to God.
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