i am addicted to rehydration salts

14 June 2009
Howdy, dudes,
Yeah that’s right. Tooootally stickin’ by my guns about that new greeting. You all thought I’d forget. YOU WERE WRONG.

It’s raining like god like the spigot on when he was filling up his pila and then left to go on a bike ride and totally forgot about it…which is something I would never do, by the by. But anyway, it’s raining. Which brings me to a certain interesting Flora and Fauna Fact about Honduras: where’re all them toads at?? ‘kay, that’s a question, not a fact, but still: a week ago, every time it rained, my open doorway turned into a freaking toad Social Mixer…a bunch of toads all standing around awkwardly, girl toads all on one side giggling to each other, boy toads all on the other side, nervously inhaling all the snacks that the Social Committee put out…you know what I mean. Hells of toads, in my house. I would usually lie in my hammock and watch them, because a toad hunting is kind of intense. They focus in on a fallen beetle, left for dead by his comrades (they’re not heartless; they just know how the world works). Then the toad quick-hops over and shlurps him into his mouth. I’ve seen certain toads catch and eat like 7 bugs in 10 minutes. That’s good eatin’, man. But now, it’s raining like the dang dickens and there are NO toads, not even one. What the hell people?

The onset of winter here in the south of Honduras is getting pretty rough…the mountain passes are all snowed in and I heard ‘bout one group of folks tryin’ to make pass…got stranded up near the summit and several of ‘em turned to cannibalism before they could force their way back down the other side. OH WAIT I’M SORRY THAT IS THE DONNOR PARTY OF NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. I always mix that up! Whoopsies. Actually it is just incredibly moist here, with increasing degrees of moist as the days go by. And it’s so damn hot, even my kneecaps sweat. My melon patch continues to explode all the place…I harvesting three cantaloupes today. Melon Day! And my yard just fills up with all kinds of lush, green plants…my landlords came over the other day and set their 12-year-old kid and his machete on ‘em, but I screamed and threw myself on top. NOT MY WEEDS, I screamed. ANYTHING BUT MY WEEDS. They tried to convince me I should machete them all to pieces because snakes will hide in them, but that is ridiculous because we all know where the snakes like to hide (my latrine; see previous blog entry for details). And after six months of living in a damn desert, excuuuuuuse me for delighting in the jungley-goodness that has finally descended upon my abode. The plants are even creeping into my bathroom!! All climbin’ up the walls with their little viney fingers…I’m thrilled. My landlords then decided I should not have to get my feet muddy whilst walking out back to the pila/wash/latrine area, so they paid to a guy to make several shoddy cement walk ways. I liked my yard when it was concrete free, but I guess it ain’t really my house anyways, it doesn’t matter.

Other news…let’s see, Igor is now the laughing stock of all the dogs in Alubarén. Whenever he walks by they all snicker “Jajajaja you weenie, your Owner cut your eggs off!” (The Spanish slang for testicles is eggs, not nuts/balls as we say in English). Then they clutch their own spawn-heavy egg-sacks and make crude gestures at him as he slinks away. Yes, it’s true. I committed the Honduran un-thinkable and had Igor neutered. NO ONE in this country fixes their pets; in fact, I found myself defending my decision about 15 times a day, in the face of great moral dissent. People find it sick and cruel that I am “playing god” by taking away my dog’s manliness—what joy will Igor have in life now that he can’t chase bitches and walk around with a big ‘ol saggy sack? I got really good at my response: “How many strays are there in Alubarén, in Honduras? If we don’t spay and neuter the dogs, they leave all the female dogs pregnant, who have a million baby dogs who are abandoned in the street, and no one loves them, and they are sooo very skinny (at this point I hold up my pinky finger, the Honduran gesture to indicate skinniness), and they have diseases, that they can give to PEOPLE, and then THEY have babies, and it just goes on and on….” Sometimes the person I would be talking to would think about it, and then agree with me. You’re right. We should control the stray dog population that is totally out of control. Sometimes the person would say, Yes, but….poor Igor! (At which point, I am in agreement…poor Igor. I’m sorry I took away your genitals.) And then ONE TIME a dude replied, “Okay, I see your point, but they should just fix the female dogs instead. It’s not fair to take a male’s genitals away!” I was like “dude that is the most sexist thing ever but I gotta bus to catch so see ya later” (it’s true, I did). Anyway, Igor had to spend a terrifying night alone in a crate in the vet’s office, but his stitches are healing up nice and he doesn’t seem to miss a certain familiar weight he used to have dangling between his legs. And now PETA can’t shame us when we come back to the states.

This past week was “Student Week,” a stupid “holiday” in which the kids don’t have to go to school, which is stupid because they barely have school anyway. It should be called “Teacher Week,” because they’re the only ones who want it. Anyway, since all my work is with the kiddies, I also had the week off, which I spent very productively. PSSSYYYCCCHH!! I didn’t really do anything, except hang out with the neighbors and drink lots of coffee. Also, I gave a 30-minute lecture to the folks waiting in the health clinic about the dangers of saturated fats and salt, because everyone and their mom here has high blood pressure. That was Friday morning…around noon, My Pretend-Site-Mate David (the fella who lives about an hour walking-distance from here) came over, and we packed a picnic (aka bought two plates of awful fried chicken and potatoes, plus a two-liter bottle of soda) and headed out to my favorite swimmin’ hole up in the mountains. He stayed the night ‘cause of the big late-afternoon rain storm, so I once again willingly submitted myself to all kinds of neighborhood gossip for the sake of companionship. Unfortunately, I got the ‘ol “2.5 Hour Dysentery,” and totally almost died for the majority of the night. I’d had the sass-gut all week, and it was just as burbly that day as any other, but right about 6:00pm, I basically just started POMB (Peeing Out My Butt, it’s a medical term for when you got craaa-aaazy diarrhea), with just the worst stomach cramps of all time ever. I actually though I was dying. I would come staggering back in and collapse in the hammock, only to spring up three minutes later, sprinting out the door and up the yard as David cries “What, AGAIN?” after me. Finally (after I totally pooped my pants with BLOOD on the way) I just stayed put in there, and sent several instructional text messages about what kind of soup and juice to buy me to David, who was amusing himself in the house by reading some Christopher Moore novel. At about 9:30pm, I was totally empty and feeling better so I had some Victory Soup and Victory Juice and we watched a movie on his computer. Now I’m totally healthy and fine, but with the 2.5 Hour Dysentery a recent memory, and the fact that the water coming out of my pila has become dirt-brown due to who the hell knows what, I’ve decided to start the Hayley Kercher Water Treatment Process, in which I tie an old pair of undies around the faucet to act as a filter (check) and add chlorine to my drinking water (double check). SO I’m feelin’ great! And my water has that great “Fruit of the Looms Found Floating in a Swimming Pool” taste we all know and love.

HEY it’s summer in America! Happy Summer dudes!!
Love,
Hayley