Water

As I wrote around Christmas-time, I always feel overwhelmed when I got into the city, and can't help comparing my experience with the experiences of my city friends. They, generally, have access to licuados, stores with long pants, fruit markets, chocolate, refrigerators, etc., but there is one main resource where my access is many times greater: water.

My two fellow SALTers have already blogged about their water experiences (Charissa and Elise). For them, as well as the other MCC workers in Tegucigalpa, water use always has to be thought about. The municipal water is only turned on in their neighbourhood a couple of times per month. When the water comes, they fill pilas, tanks and other containers to ensure they have enough water for the next couple of weeks.

In comparison, water has flowed into my house every day since I arrived in La Campa. I can take a shower every day, and water gushes from the showerhead. I am not restricted to a bucket shower (although my showers were cold water until the end of December when the shower water heater arrived, while my friends could heat up the water for their buckets). But now I enjoy a steaming shower every morning, slapping the mosquitos who have made my shower their habitat. I can also wash my clothes and bedding whenever I want. There is always water in the pila for this high consumption process.

Piped water only came to La Campa about 15 years ago. Before that, all water had to come from the river. People would bring laundry down to the river to wash it, and would carry water up the very steep hill to their homes. A few lucky families live right on the river, but the rest live well above it. Thanks to La Campa's proximity to Celaque, the highest mountain in Honduras and a major source of water to western Honduras, there was always water in the river, even in the dry season. And now that the water comes directly to the houses from a spring up the mountain, the water comes to the house 24 hours per day, every day of the year. For this splendid service, my family only has to pay L15 per mont (less than $1)!

Travel, Residency and Strikes

The news came about two weeks ago that our paperwork for becoming residents of Honduras was ready for the next step. I had not been responsible for any of the previous steps, but this one required me (and my fellow yearlings) to travel to the immigration office in Tegucigalpa last week. I thought of my two previous trips to Tegucigalpa, and hoped this trip would only be nine hours like the second trip, and not 20 like the first. Luckily, all the buses were running, and there were no accidents along the way.

I was warmly welcomed to Tegucigalpa by a number of MCCers, who fed me comfort food (cream of tomato soup, baking powder biscuits, and salad full of fresh, unsalted vegetables – what more could I want?)!

On Wednesday we set out for the immigration office, hoping we could negotiate Honduran beaurocracy and that we had everything we needed. It turned out that we were each missing two passport/visa sized photos. So after they s-l-o-w-l-y processed us as far as they could, we set out to get some photos taken. We were successful at the second mall we tried. We made it back to immigration, where they processed us with surprising speed! So, at about 2pm, after 5.5 hours of waiting at immigration and running around for pictures, we became Honduran residents! I now have a temporary paper declaring me a resident of Honduras. The official residency card should come in about a month, I hope.

I spent a couple of extra days in the city, visiting my MCC colleagues, their host families, and their workplaces. It was great to be able to do this. I returned from the city on Sunday in one bus, two rapiditos (16-20 person vans), two pick-up trucks, and one motorcycle. I had arrived in Gracias after the last bus had left for La Campa, so the pick-ups and motorcycle got me the rest of the way home, safe and sound.

My time in Tegucigalpa was complicated by the teachers who are on strike, and who have gathered in the city to protest. Before going anywhere, we tried to confirm where the protests were taking place, so as not to run into them, which could potentially be dangerous. We took more taxis, instead of using buses, to be safer. Now back in La Campa, I went to the school yesterday to see if I would be teaching English to my grade 4 class. Most of the kids were there, but it was only to sweep the schoolyard, get their daily glass of milk, and get more homework. The teachers taught most of last week, despite the strike, but are not teaching for at least the beginning of this week. From my observations, they are handling this quite well. They are holding regular meetings with parents, and are trying to put the students first. But since I could not teach class yesterday or today, does that mean I am striking as well…?

Past, Present and Future

Over my past nearly-seven months as an MCC SALTer, I have been thinking a lot about the past and future, while trying to live in the present. This is not necessarily the best thing, with thoughts diverging with daily life. Several things have happened recently to make me think a bit more about the future: I was accepted to the University of Waterloo to study in the Masters of Environmental Studies program; my family visited, and my sister and I continued scheming of sharing an apartment when I get back; and thirdly, MCC purchased my airplane ticket to return to Akron in July!

At the beginning of my time here, it was too easy to think of the past, and now it's too easy to think about the future. Meanwhile, time is passing incredibly rapidly. Let me give you a few "present" updates:

• I have begun teaching English at the local elementary school. I was rather skeptical about this at first (me... teach?!?!?!?!?!?!?), but I have finished my first classes, and quite enjoyed them. The school director approached my CASM supervisor to ask if I could teach. As my time was/is still remarkably un-busy, I accepted as a way to fill my time. I am teaching students in grades 4, 5, and 6, and as there are 50 of them in total, this is becoming a wonderful way to be more connected in the local community.

• Last week we had four major rainstorms, and it's been thundering ominously for the past two afternoons. We are supposed to be in the midst of the dry season. There should be NO rain. Last year the bean and corn harvests were damaged by unseasonal rain (right now, bean prices are twice what they should be; the poorer farmers in the mountains don't have the ready money to purchase these staples, as they generally rely on their own harvest. There is worry about significant hunger over the next several months.) Unfortunately, this unseasonable rain is an impact of climate change in this region, and will likely continue to be a problem. CASM is trying to figure out what are the appropriate responses and adaptations.

• Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. I went to mass, and the church was packed. I, along with most people, do not receive communion, but everybody was welcomed to receive a cross of ashes on the forehead. I continue to enjoy the sense of community at church through liturgy and song and prayer.

• Last Saturday, as I was cleaning my room, a chicken entered, and decided that her favourite place was under my bed. It took a long time to get her out. Oh the challenges!

Fun Firsts with the Family

Just after I passed the halfway point of my SALT year, my wonderful family decided to come visit for a week. Mom came a bit early to do some MCC visits, and I got to tag along with her until the rest came. Family, for this week, consisted of Mom and Dad, Jennifer and Cynthia.

Although my family has experience travelling in the global South, I persuaded them to experience a number of “firsts.” I restricted them to pack one backpack each, and no more. Then I forbade renting a car for the entire week, and said that buses and taxis would work fine. This caused a bit of consternation for some, but they came ready to experience my experiences.

I have had a number of interesting bus experiences so farm, but luckily the buses all behaved for my family. No chickens, no accidents, and only one vomiting neighbour. The best part was counting the number of passengers on each bus. The two records were about 100 people in a school bus, and 27 people on a 16-person van. I say that the 27 were on the van, not in it, because at the peak, four young men were holding on tight and hanging out the door, flirting with the young women standing just inside. Talk about a captive audience!

A few Spanish words characterized our experiences: tranquila/tranquilo (relax, don’t worry, take a chill pill), pena (embarrassment, particularly on my part, at the activities of tourists), and licuados (fresh fruit milkshakes or smoothies). We were all very tranquilo when the bus was late to arrive in Gracias, making us miss the last bus of the day to La Campa. I won’t list the pena J And as soon as we had access to licuados, we had at least one or two per day.

We visited La Campa first. Unfortunately my family couldn’t experience La Campa in its normally tranquila state, as the town was preparing for the major religious festival the following week. The town was bustling with vendors and visitors. We visited my Honduran families, my supervisor, my church, the cemetery, the river canyon, and a pottery artisan.

We then moved on to Copán Ruinas, site of Mayan ruins dating to the 800s. Our guide at the ruins realized that we were keen on learning as much as possible, and so he taught us the base 20 mathematical system of the Mayans, how to read a few hieroglyphs, and much more. We also explored the town a bit, having licuados, and climbing the impossibly steep roads.

Our final stop was Tela, on the north coast. We took a boat trip out to a national park, the majority of which is only accessible by boat, we swam, we drank licuados, we visited the largest botanical garden in Central America, and we read on the porch enjoying the sea breeze.

Each of the three places we visited was very distinct. Charissa, a fellow SALTer, says that you could be dropped down in one place in Honduras and think you know the country, but as soon as you travel a short distance, the country changes entirely. La Campa is a Lenca town, the Lenca being one of the few remaining indigenous groups in Honduras. It is high in the mountains, and so is colder and characterized by pine forest. Right now it is dry, as there hasn’t been a proper rain since December. Copán Ruinas has the Mayan ruins, of course, but is still surrounded by Mayan communities. It is at a lower elevation, receives much more rain, and so is somewhat green right now. Tela is on the coast, is flat, with tonnes of rain, a Garifuna culture, and is being surrounded by kilometers of palm plantations. About 25 km of the highway approaching the city is lined by palm plantations, with nothing else to break the biological monotony.

This wonderful week flew by much too fast, and saying goodbye was hard, of course. But I received a warm welcome back home in La Campa, and am about ready to dive into my final five months.

Now is the winter of our discontent

I like observing things. Some of the things I have observed lately make me feel sad, uncomfortable or discontented:

It is so easy to identify the mayor’s house in La Campa. It’s the house with the swimming pool (the only one in La Campa) and three gigantic satellite dishes. Recently, the mayor inaugurated several projects, including a housing project. The houses in this project are made of the cheapest materials possible, lack pilas (outdoor water basin, used for everything by everybody) and showers, and seem designed to reduce self respect by the paint and prison numbering system.

I recently spent four days translating for a brigade that was handing out glasses. Through this group, I observed a lot:

• The group worked with evangelical pastors in the surrounding communities. They assumed that the pastors would contact the entire community. Instead, they only contacted their own church members. So anybody outside their church was excluded.

• It is challenging to be the bridge between two cultures. Before entering this four-day experience, I had assumed that being a translator simply meant translating words. But there is more to it than that. I’m not fully entrenched in the Honduran culture nor the US culture, but have rootlets in each. Each has its own perceptions about the other, some of which are spoken, and some of which are unspoken. And I was in between them, trying to bridge the language and cultural gaps, blushing in awkwardness at some of the activities of the gringos.

• I like see myself as different from groups of people who come to give things for two weeks. I’m here for nearly a year, working for a local organization, building up relationships, and recognizing the importance of learning. But really, I’m a gringa myself, in a foreign culture, making cultural mistakes, photographing, barely becoming accustomed to things and then leaving.
  

• However, I do feel offended when I watch fellow foreigners grabbing small children for a photo, just because they are cute. Ditto for grandmothers. They are beautiful people, but what is the point of taking children onto your lap, photographing them, and then releasing them without finding out their names, or becoming somewhat acquainted.
  

• Giving candy out indiscriminately does not help either. Yes, the children will enjoy the candy, but they come to see gringos only as people who hand things out for them to receive. And that makes things more challenging down the road.

I frequently listen to my supervisor talk about all the evils of corruption and backroom agreements that are here in Honduras. In fact, one of CASM’s projects supports transparency commissions, whose duty is to monitor and audit local governments to make sure the money goes where it should. But then I watch my supervisor use connections to get her son into university and to get her daughter a North American sponsor (through a child sponsor program), and use CASM vaccines for her family’s cows.

The president of Honduras, the US ambassador, the head of USAID Honduras, the president of congress, and others visited La Campa on Friday. They inaugurated a USAID project that will bring $82 million into the region over the next five years This short event highlighted many things:

• CASM La Campa wants some of that money, as it is specifically designated to food security, a main focus of our work. So my colleagues wrote a letter to each of the dignitaries, introducing CASM to them. Well and good. But they decided that my fellow international volunteer and I were the best ones to hand the letter to the US ambassador. My nationality didn’t matter; our whiteness did. I’m used to being stared at for being white. I get catcalls regularly. But this made me feel more uncomfortable than these events.

• The Hondurans in the audience stayed well back from the stage, except for when the president arrived. There was a brief surge forward to greet him, and then they all moved back. On the other hand, every white person who lives in the vicinity came and stood at the front, and interacted with the dignitaries. Smiling photos were taken of the Peace Corps volunteers with the US ambassador. I got to meet most of the dignitaries, except the president. There was a distinct white privilege here. Even when people were making speeches, they greeted and thanked the dignitaries first, the Peace Corps volunteers second, and the community members last. Once I realized the invisible barrier, I did my best to move back and stand with the Hondurans, and not with the expats.

I watch, and try to understand, and form conclusions. Who knows if I'm actually right with these observations? There could be things I don't understand. Take them with a grain of salt.

Pictures!

As I am in SPS with a fast internet connection, let me post a number of pictures for you. Enjoy!

Working hard! My colleagues and I putting up chicken wire around our demonstration garden. We were only demonstrating how not to have a garden, especially as the chickens like to eat seeds, ripe strawberries, etc.










A spectacular sunset over La Campa, looking from the office.













Dust.














The Church of San Manuel. This is a church in the neighbouring municipality. It is rumoured to be the oldest in Central America, but also one of the most decorated. I was able to see inside at a different visit, but not take pictures. The inside is stencilled all over with mud-based paints, and the Jesus on the crucifix is black. A gorgeous church.













Part one of the Festival of San Matìas, the patron saint of La Campa. Altar assistants robed in white came from all over the four municipalities to help out, and mass was said outside the church, as we couldn't all fit inside.










My neighbours, granddaughters of my host family, celebrating Haydee's third birthday!













Last Friday the president of Honduras, the US ambassador, the head of USAID Honduras and several other dignitaries came to La Campa to celebrate $82million from USAID that will be coming to the region over the next five years. See my post on discontent for more.









Security was tight-ish for the president's visit. Most noticeable were the soldiers in the bell tower of the church. I think I took more pictures of them than of the president!
















One of the byproducts of coffee production is "aguas mieles" or "honey water." The coffee beans ferment in water for a while, and this water is very acidic and very full of organic matter, promoting bacterial growth. It is a significant form of contamination in the area.









This is a biodigestor, and the coolest one I've seen yet. Beneath the central concrete circle is a large underground chamber. A mixture of manure and water gets put in the biodigestor from the right hand pipe. Bacteria break down the manure, creating biogas (methane, primarily). The gas will leave the central chamber through the small tube which will be connected to a gas stove for cooking. A high quality fertilizer comes out at the far left. Marvelous!




Although we have an inch or two of dust in La Campa, up in the mountains it's a bit damper. The truck slid into the ditch on a clay mud road. We all attached ourselves to ropes and pulled it out!















We visited a group of sugar producers. They used to use wood for their fires as the cooking stoves were really inefficient. Now they just need a bit of wood to start up the fire, and then they can use the crushed sugar cane for the rest. In this picture you can see the cane juice boiling down, and the fire burning brightly below.

To ship or not to ship

(This post was typed on February 1, but not posted until now.)

I have had a four-day adventure in Honduran shipping practices. In order to send 5 pounds of soil in a box to a laboratory in order to be analyzed, it is best not to use the mail, but the shipping company Expreco. They lost my samples the first time I sent them in November, which I previously mentioned. Last Wednesday, the replacement samples arrived from their respective farms, and on Thursday I was all set to send them. Here is what happened:

Day 1: I was dropped off in Gracias by a colleague, who said that the Expreco truck comes down this road around 1pm. As a Canadian, I was expecting a large-ish truck with the name of the company. After waiting for two hours without seeing this expected truck, I left. Naïveté: too high.

Day 2: With fresh info that it is a red pick-up truck, I waited from 10:30 until 2:30, without encountering it. I still expected some kind of identifier; maybe a uniformed man getting out of the truck? Naïveté: still high.

Day 3: There is a bank on the street where the Expreco truck apparently comes, and there are always 3 or 4 guards standing outside it. At 1pm I approached one guard to ask if the truck had come yet. He said no, and affably gave me more information: it is a red Toyota with a single cab. So I asked the driver of each red Toyota with a single cab if they were with Expreco. No luck. At 3 I asked the guard again, who said that Expreco had arrived shortly after 1. Naïveté: middling.

Day 4: My supervisor had to come into Gracias as well today, but first we went together to talk to an acquaintance of hers who has connections to Expreco. He agreed to call me when the truck arrived. Feeling skeptical, I went at 1pm to the location where I had waited the previous three days, to make sure of things. And, lo and behold, there it was! The red Toyota pickup with one cab; no uniform, no identifier. And my contact who was supposed to call me was still on his lunch break. Naïveté: reasonable.

I think I’ve learned a lesson, but I’m not sure what that lesson is. Be patient? Persistent? Don’t have too much pride to loiter on a street corner for 4 hours? (It’s quite odd for a gringa to do that, although pretty normal to see a Honduran man relaxing on the corner.) It’s funny to feel such a sense of victory over sending 3 soil samples to a laboratory, but I guess that’s all part of life here in Honduras.