two of my best buddies here, Lisbeth and Jennifer. We do a lot of monkey-bar action together. Lisbeth is my neighbor, the daugher of Elia, so she and I hang out almost every day.
a very typical birthday scene, from one of the thousands of birthday parties ive been too since ive arrived (im not sure if its because im liked or because they think i will bring bars of gold as birthday presents). Poor strawberry shortcake, as you can see, no longer has any legs.
like all piñata breakings, the kids dive in, elbowing and shoving to get the crappy candy...often with the blindfolded kid still swinging away. to date, ive yet to see tears or blood, which is rather miraculous.
posing dramatically on the ¨hammock bridge" over the river. note that i am modeling my sexy 5th-grade-teacher blouse.
little saul, looking innocent. dont let him fool you.
VIVA OBAMA! please note the sexy teacher blouse.
Here is little Carlita, my sister, gamely trying on all my baseball equipment at once.13 November 2008
Hey, chochachos! So recently my dad asked me for the definition of chochacho, and I realized there are many of you out there who, fluent Spanish speakers or not, may not know what chochacho means. It is a word that derives from the ancient King Chochacho, more commonly known as “the Incan Fun God.” He didn’t do a whole bunch of typical god stuff, he just liked to hang around with his buddies and fool around. For a more thorough history, please peruse www.achewood.com.
So this week was both crazy and lame in many respects. Crazy in that I actually had real work to do, lame in that that meant less time for playing on the monkey bars in the park, swimming in the river, climbing trees, and hours of sitting in hammocks or plastic chairs and chewing the breeze (mmmnaum-naum-naum-naum). Next week, on the 19th, is the International Day of the Prevention of Child Abuse, and if it’s one thing child-themed NGO’s do well in Honduras, it’s celebrate international days of stuff. Serious, from the banners to the youth-involved skits to the kindergarteners holding signs that say “we have rights,” they’ve got this stuff down to an ART. So, with my counterpart Fondo Cristiano, I’ve been busy as the dickens all well getting ready. I recruited high school kids to be in the play, grade school kids to draw pictures of child abuse (nothing moves your heart more than child art about serious subjects), and the preschool kids to hold signs. Two other girls who work with Fondo designed the giant banner, and I’ve been helping cut out and glue down letters and stuff. Doing stuff like this made me realize how much easier it is to do artsy projects in the states…we had to hand-draw every letter to make stencils, then cut each one out, we had to tape pieces of paper to the giant board to make the white background…since we don’t have printers or anything, EVERYTHING is done by hand. It’s just the olden times, when kids in pioneer schools in the 1800s were cutting out letters to spell “Dia Internacional de Prevencion y Lucha Contra la Violencia en la Ninez y la Juventud” and glue them next to pictures of crying children.
As such, not a whole else is new. I went to paint with Saul on Monday, like I always do, but they weren’t there—apparently they were off visiting Norlin in Tegus. I was bummed, but I used the extra time to hang out with my buddy Dona Marta and eat oranges, so it was all good. I like the oranges here, but I am just biding my time until MANGO SEASON begins…not until April, I’ve heard, but everywhere you look here there is a mango tree, just waiting to fill my mouth with the delicious. So I am 7 kinds of excited.
Recently, I foolishly bought a ridiculously expensive mattress (for when I live on my own), and I was once again reminded that I am a dumbass with money and should not be trusted. But the mattress is big and pretty, so whatever. Plus it’s made of foam, so if it floods here, I am totally safe (foam floats, yes?). Today I walked to Reitoca, the next municipality over. Even though the sun was hells of boiling, the walk was really nice…under my umbrella, walking along the dusty, pebbly road, sandwiched between green mountains and purple flowers dulled with dust and heat…chickens all hidin’ in the bushes, iguana-like lizards called garrobos warming themselves on rocks, cows flickin’ their ears at me as they munch on said dusty flowers, orange-bellied birdies doin’ this whistley thing that makes me think of the Jungles episode of Planet Earth…it’s all very beautiful. Though I can’t believe how dry and brown it’s getting…it no longer feels very jungley here. Just freakin’ hot. But everyone calls out to me as I walk down the road, and more often than not, when I pass someone, he or she will stop, grasp me hand, and wish me a very happy day. I just love the LOVE in this country. And the generosity to strangers. On the way back, some little kid came running out of his house. “My mom says come here!” he shouted at me. I turned around and let myself in their little gate, to find two elderly folks sitting on the porch. The old woman says, “So, you like squash right??” and even though I’d just eaten like 500 fried chickens I said yes, and they sat me down on the chair next to them. Soon I was handed about a plate with a chunk of squash the size of my face, dark green pulp sprinkled with sugar. A glass of frosty coke was placed at my side, and the little boys giggled at me and sat in the hammock near by. Their grandparents were named Dora and Gregorio, and we chatted for almost three hours…including typical topics such as: Are all gringos blonde like you? Why don’t you have babies yet? Are there poor people in the states? Obama is an Indian, right? Do you guys have mountains in the states? Are there deer? Do you have chickens? What are houses like over there? Are there rivers? The boys played marbles and pogs, and two of them promised to be on my baseball team. Once the sun was lower in the sky, I excused myself and they made me promise to come back. Stuff like this—strangers inviting a random person walking down the road to come eat some squash—would never happen in the states, and it’s one of the reasons I love life here so much. I don’t even really like squash, to tell you the truth.
Oh heavens, it’s 10:00pm. Way past my bedtime. Before I go, a quick summary of the crazy dreams I had last night (yes, all of these were last night):
I was riding bikes with my buddies Harrison and Max in my neighborhood in California, and Barack and Michelle Obama walked by. I stammered, “I love you!” and then spent about half an hour strolling with Michelle while she confided in me that she wishes she wasn’t in the spotlight so much and just wants some alone time to relax. I told her I understood.
I was at the movie theatre, and when I went out it was the ocean everywhere. I body-surfed home and it was freaking awesome.
I went to hang out with Caitlin Grogan and John Pappas, two college friends, and when I got to their apartment they were both wearing their bathing suits. “It’s bathing suit time!” they informed me. Which was convenient, cause I just SO HAPPENED TO HAVE MINE ON TOO!!!
Paz,
Hayley
Hey, chochachos! So recently my dad asked me for the definition of chochacho, and I realized there are many of you out there who, fluent Spanish speakers or not, may not know what chochacho means. It is a word that derives from the ancient King Chochacho, more commonly known as “the Incan Fun God.” He didn’t do a whole bunch of typical god stuff, he just liked to hang around with his buddies and fool around. For a more thorough history, please peruse www.achewood.com.
So this week was both crazy and lame in many respects. Crazy in that I actually had real work to do, lame in that that meant less time for playing on the monkey bars in the park, swimming in the river, climbing trees, and hours of sitting in hammocks or plastic chairs and chewing the breeze (mmmnaum-naum-naum-naum). Next week, on the 19th, is the International Day of the Prevention of Child Abuse, and if it’s one thing child-themed NGO’s do well in Honduras, it’s celebrate international days of stuff. Serious, from the banners to the youth-involved skits to the kindergarteners holding signs that say “we have rights,” they’ve got this stuff down to an ART. So, with my counterpart Fondo Cristiano, I’ve been busy as the dickens all well getting ready. I recruited high school kids to be in the play, grade school kids to draw pictures of child abuse (nothing moves your heart more than child art about serious subjects), and the preschool kids to hold signs. Two other girls who work with Fondo designed the giant banner, and I’ve been helping cut out and glue down letters and stuff. Doing stuff like this made me realize how much easier it is to do artsy projects in the states…we had to hand-draw every letter to make stencils, then cut each one out, we had to tape pieces of paper to the giant board to make the white background…since we don’t have printers or anything, EVERYTHING is done by hand. It’s just the olden times, when kids in pioneer schools in the 1800s were cutting out letters to spell “Dia Internacional de Prevencion y Lucha Contra la Violencia en la Ninez y la Juventud” and glue them next to pictures of crying children.
As such, not a whole else is new. I went to paint with Saul on Monday, like I always do, but they weren’t there—apparently they were off visiting Norlin in Tegus. I was bummed, but I used the extra time to hang out with my buddy Dona Marta and eat oranges, so it was all good. I like the oranges here, but I am just biding my time until MANGO SEASON begins…not until April, I’ve heard, but everywhere you look here there is a mango tree, just waiting to fill my mouth with the delicious. So I am 7 kinds of excited.
Recently, I foolishly bought a ridiculously expensive mattress (for when I live on my own), and I was once again reminded that I am a dumbass with money and should not be trusted. But the mattress is big and pretty, so whatever. Plus it’s made of foam, so if it floods here, I am totally safe (foam floats, yes?). Today I walked to Reitoca, the next municipality over. Even though the sun was hells of boiling, the walk was really nice…under my umbrella, walking along the dusty, pebbly road, sandwiched between green mountains and purple flowers dulled with dust and heat…chickens all hidin’ in the bushes, iguana-like lizards called garrobos warming themselves on rocks, cows flickin’ their ears at me as they munch on said dusty flowers, orange-bellied birdies doin’ this whistley thing that makes me think of the Jungles episode of Planet Earth…it’s all very beautiful. Though I can’t believe how dry and brown it’s getting…it no longer feels very jungley here. Just freakin’ hot. But everyone calls out to me as I walk down the road, and more often than not, when I pass someone, he or she will stop, grasp me hand, and wish me a very happy day. I just love the LOVE in this country. And the generosity to strangers. On the way back, some little kid came running out of his house. “My mom says come here!” he shouted at me. I turned around and let myself in their little gate, to find two elderly folks sitting on the porch. The old woman says, “So, you like squash right??” and even though I’d just eaten like 500 fried chickens I said yes, and they sat me down on the chair next to them. Soon I was handed about a plate with a chunk of squash the size of my face, dark green pulp sprinkled with sugar. A glass of frosty coke was placed at my side, and the little boys giggled at me and sat in the hammock near by. Their grandparents were named Dora and Gregorio, and we chatted for almost three hours…including typical topics such as: Are all gringos blonde like you? Why don’t you have babies yet? Are there poor people in the states? Obama is an Indian, right? Do you guys have mountains in the states? Are there deer? Do you have chickens? What are houses like over there? Are there rivers? The boys played marbles and pogs, and two of them promised to be on my baseball team. Once the sun was lower in the sky, I excused myself and they made me promise to come back. Stuff like this—strangers inviting a random person walking down the road to come eat some squash—would never happen in the states, and it’s one of the reasons I love life here so much. I don’t even really like squash, to tell you the truth.
Oh heavens, it’s 10:00pm. Way past my bedtime. Before I go, a quick summary of the crazy dreams I had last night (yes, all of these were last night):
I was riding bikes with my buddies Harrison and Max in my neighborhood in California, and Barack and Michelle Obama walked by. I stammered, “I love you!” and then spent about half an hour strolling with Michelle while she confided in me that she wishes she wasn’t in the spotlight so much and just wants some alone time to relax. I told her I understood.
I was at the movie theatre, and when I went out it was the ocean everywhere. I body-surfed home and it was freaking awesome.
I went to hang out with Caitlin Grogan and John Pappas, two college friends, and when I got to their apartment they were both wearing their bathing suits. “It’s bathing suit time!” they informed me. Which was convenient, cause I just SO HAPPENED TO HAVE MINE ON TOO!!!
Paz,
Hayley
3 comments:
Hayley, my friend, it is ALWAYS bathing suit time.
I too had an Obama dream recently. However, it was gloomily overshadowed by a nightmare involving Teddy Roosevelt, his personal team of wild animals and a vendetta against me for slamming the Republican party one too many times.
Hey there, lovely cousin!
My sincere apologies for not commenting on your last month of blog posts, but I've been somewhat super busy with 3:45 am - 7 pm days all last month, Obama craziness in Chicago around the election, and then a hurried sprint out to southern Cali for my next externship, which I love to death and am scared to death I will not get a permanent job at when I graduate. I MUST work here and do my residency in Encino. Or I will die.
I've actually written a couple hand-written letters for you, and they're in an addressed envelope, and have been traveling around with me for a month, because I haven't had time to stop by a post office and find out how much postage is to Honduras! I'll figure it out soon, I promise. And then you shall receive the most random batch of snail mail EVER.
Love you muchly, and I promise to be a better commenter from now on! :-) Hugs and kisses!
So I had to post another comment wishing you a TOTALLY ROCKING HONDURANIZED THANKSGIVING!! Much love, and we missed you like a fat kid misses cake at dinner tonight.
:-) Loves you muchly...
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