eight fat tamales, three shiny rainbows, one coral snake and a partidge in a pear tree

Mariana making her mom a christmas card...we read If You Take a Mouse to the Movies.

Neil and Enner hard at work. Produce placement!!!

Makin´santa cards.

Posing with newborn ¨Hayley¨

Aida and her two kids...including little Geyli!

just in case you guys were wondering what it might look like if igor and kaiser drank at the same time.

25 December 2009
Merry Christmas, chochachos! It’s about nine o’clock pm on Christmas—my second one in Honduras. Perhaps you guys think it’s sad to be alone on Christmas, typing on an dilapidated laptop, sipping a solitary mug of tea and listening to that one Charlie Brown Christmas song on repeat (you know, the one that’s all slow and goes do-do-doooo, do-dooooo….do-do-dooooo, do-doooooo…if you’ve seen Arrested Development or any Peanuts cartoons then we’re on the same page). But you guys are hellsa wrong cause this ain’t sad at ALL. That’s because today isn’t actually Christmas. Not in Honduras, anyway. Hondurans celebrate Navidad on the 24th, and today, the 25th, seems to be reserved for loafing off your tamale hangover, and, if you’re a man, drinking a butt-load of booze and shooting your gun off all freaking afternoon. Since I’m not a man, I abstained from gettin’ my slant on/shooting the air and instead spent the morning pouring concrete with my landlord Rony (who also refrained from boozing it up), fixing a 6-meter section of fence that wasn’t connected to the ground and had thus become an excellent escape port for Igor and his devious brother Kaiser. Afterwards, I made fresh lemon smoothies for Rony and the two dudes he brought with him to help with the fence. Then I ate a leftover tamale and spent about three hours washing clothes…then I cleaned the house…as well as other assorted proofs that I am a domesticated lady now. Whenever I remembered it was Christmas day, I would feel a little funny and sort of sad I wasn’t with my family, eating breakfast casserole and opening presents in our jammies. But, like I said, it doesn’t count as a lame way to spend the holiday because a) YESTERDAY was Honduran Christmas, and b) what better way to celebrate Jesus’ birthday than scrubbing out your undies in the beating tropical sun? I broke my own personal record and managed to consume EIGHT, count them EIGHT, hulking Honduran tamales yesterday. I know. I am an impressive person. Please, feel free to bask in my amazingness. Throw money and panties at my feet, if you feel the urge. I spent the morning eating tamales and drinking coffee with Nely and the kids, then wandered around the neighborhood, delivering little plates of bastard Rice Crispy Treats…and I say bastard because I used wonky Honduran marshmallows and, in lieu of rice crispies, had to use Frosted Flakes. They turned out very greasy (a little heavy handed with the margarine, I is) and barf colored (the marshmallows were all different colors, which did not result in rainbow magic but instead blended to a gross, zomie-esque gray) but they tasted okay and the neighbors were quite delighted. They have no idea…an American child would have refused to eat them, I reckon. Unless it was a really deprived American child whose parents don’t believe in refined sugar—they’ll take anything they can get.

At each house, I was given a tamale on a plate with a cup of soda or coffee (except for Nelo, my 50-something bachelor neighbor who spends his days leaning in his doorway and frequently dying his hair black…he certainly cannot make tamales). By two o’clock, I was bursting, but onward I marched, stoically packing in the slippery bundles without faltering. Then I headed up the road and did a big lap around town, stopping at a couple special friends’ homes, where I ate MORE tamales, as well as torrejas, which is a hella tasty French-toast-esque dessert typical of Christmastime. I got home by early evening, at which point I had to shower and get dressed up for Christmas church, which I’d been invited to by Nely and Glenda. Four hours later, after countless rounds of singing and clapping, sermons, and little dramatizations of the nativity by the kids, we were released around 11:00pm (I’m not gonna lie, this was super boring and I spent most of the time playing with a little plastic pony Douglas had). Then Nely, the kids and I went to Mirian and Rony’s house (my landlords and Nely’s half-sister), where we sat down to a midnight feast of apples, grapes, oranges, and of course tamales and coffee all around. I finally got home at about 1:00am, though it was hard to sleep due to all the children setting off firecrackers outside (which they do the entire month of December, and without cessation on Christmas day). My body was also struggling to adjust to the extreme gluttony I’d participated in…but one of the nice things about living alone is you can fart as much as you want and no one complains.

This past week was a good one. I met with my pregnant women’s club, and we talked about how to be a good parent, which was fun…it’s hard to delve too deep in 45 minutes, but we talked about behavior management and communication and self-esteem in the child, among other topics, and the ladies participated fairly well, which is always delightful (sometimes they just sit in silence and don’t say a damn word, which is uncomfortable). As I was leaving the health center and walking down the road, Aida, of the women who used to be in the club, approached me with her four-week-old baby girl. We chatted a bit and I ooh-ed and aah-ed her squirmy little squinchy-eyed bundle of joy, and asked her what the baby’s name was. Aida smiled and said, “I named her after you.” She spells it differently (“Geyli,” since the ‘g’ can make the ‘h’ sound in Spanish), but still…I feel so SPECIAL. Fortunately, I had my camera with me, so I took a couple pics of mom and baby (as well as little Geyli’s big brother), and then Aida took one of Big Hayley and Little Geyli together. They live out in one of the aldeas of Alubarén, but we made plans that I’ll go visit them in January so I can meet Aida’s spouse and the rest of her family.

Together with our mediocre librarian, I have opened the library and finally begun my summer reading project. My “Club de Lectores,” or Reader’s Club, is basically a glorified story-hour, but the kids seem to love it and it’s going really well. On Monday mornings, the little guys (four to eight) come from 10-11:30am, and on Wednesday the bigger kids (nine and up) come. For the first half hour, the kids are free to sit and look at the 12-15 books I’ve selected and placed on the tables (I don’t let them browse the book shelves themselves because they just yank out books, look at them for two seconds, and pull out another…plus, this way, I can pick the best books for their ages). It’s awesome, because thanks to Johana, the volunteer who started the library 10 years ago and has continued to send books, the selection for children is pretty good. After half an hour, the kids scootch their chairs in a semi-circle and I read them a story I’ve picked out for the day. Then, using the art supplies donated over the past year by folks back in the states, we do a related art project. The first day, the little kids and I read “Silvester and the Magic Pebble” (in Spanish, obviously). Then they each got a sheet of paper and drew a picture of what they would do if they had a magic pebble. Many of the kids were too young/behind to write their own names, so afterwards we practiced that. On Wednesday, I read the bigger kids “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day” and then the kids had to write a short story about someone having a terrible day and the things that go wrong, complete with illustrations. The next week the little guys read “Lily and Her Purple Plastic Purse,” and then glued cut-outs of Lily and her purse that I’d made previously out of construction paper. For the big kids, I read the first several chapters of “James and the Giant Peach,” and then they drew pictures of Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker. This week, for Christmas, I read each class “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” and “If You Take a Mouse to the Movies,” and then they made little Santa cards for their moms. Seriously fun stuff. I’ve also been pilfering the young-adult section, taking home “Little House on the Prairie” and “Island of the Blue Dolphins,” which are the perfect level for my Spanish. I hope the Ingalls make it through the long Dakota winter!!! Shut up I ain’t nerdy, YOU’RE nerdy. Aren’t you late for your nerd meeting? Nerd.

Found another coral snake in my latrine—my neighbor Dario killed it with a machete. Poor little guy…I feel bad for hiring out his murder but I don’t want to get bitten and totally die. So, I win. In other garden news, my basil patch is growing tremendously well…I have about 20 plants, all over are over a foot tall now. I made my first batch of pesto the other day, to celebrate the best holiday ever, which is December 19th, a festival invented over four years ago by myself and one Matt McCorkle, in which one must eat pesto and watch the 1972 Jamaican classic “The Harder They Come”…I had my dad bring me my copy of the movie when they came to visit. David came over and we ate hella tasty pesto (thanks to the UC Davis olive oil my mom brought me and the parmesan cheese I found in Tegus) and watched the flick. It might seem boastful to say my holiday is the best in the world, but I’ve got the celestial proof if ya’ll don’t believe me. David and I had clamored up the hills behind my house to enjoy the late-afternoon sunshine and kick-off the holiday by watching the sunset. Remember, this is the middle of December—well into our dry season. No more rain, not since the first of November. More over, we had a nasty drought during the wet season. So anyway, David and I are sittin’ up on the hill, looking at the gray clouds in the distance, and commenting on how much we missed the rain. We glance up, and David spies…A RAINBOW. Just smearing its beautiful, wondrous self across that hot Honduran sky. About ten minutes later, upon further contemplation of the sky, I see that our rainbow has become a DOUBLE RAINBOW. Dudes, I AIN’T EVEN KIDDING. We freaked out and I practically peed myself. A double rainbow! During the dry season! Craziness. Then, suddenly, we looked up and noticed a THIRD rainbow stretching across the sky, wider and brighter than out first two. That’s right, people. THREE FREAKING RAINBOWS. Then, the most magical thing of all happened. It began to rain. And not just sprinkle-sprankles. It poured, it dumped, and David and I gleefully slipped and slid our way down the mountain back to my house. When we arrived, we were totally soaked, and it was absolutely amazing. People were talking about the miracle rainstorm for days afterwards, but it wasn’t a miracle…it was just Somebody upstairs sayin’ “Hayley, I dig what you’re doin’.” I feel like God sent me a December 19th holiday card or something.

Because I am the luckiest lady in the world, I am leaving tomorrow for Nicaragua, to celebrate the New Year with my Peace Corps posse. Hell yes and hot damn I am ready for some volcanoes and lakes and swishy-swashy-warm pacific ocean….so you see, even though I am spending Christmas without my family and presents and stockings and pies, my life really isn’t all too rough down here.

Looooooooooove
Hayley

oh how sweet it is to be a first-born

Douglas is uncomfortable that Noel gets to hold his red car, awesome gifts from mom's friends Leetha and Tai.

Alison with her little blue car....Douglas insisted on having two (one for each hand).

DELIGHTED.

Yesica, Noel, Alison, and Douglas with their new loot.

right before he gauged the other one's eye out! or, at least tried to.

this is exactly what i look like when i dance. Dancing Jaguar is my guru.

View of part of the Copan Ruins.

me and the folksies in front of a sepultura.

wendy kercher! also, andy kercher, questioning our crazy guide fidel.

god we're beautiful.

this picture looks hella dark...but it's us on a pier in roatan. maybe it will be brighter on your monitor, viewer.

the loins/womb of which i am the fruit, in the jungle of pico bonito.

dad and i hiked down to the base of this waterfall. this was after i broke my glasses but you CANT EVEN TELL.

mom and i chillin on a buttress root.

so jaunty!!

green jungle snake...on the side of the road.

5 December 2009
Hey, chochachos!
Whoops, guess a month has dang near slipped by since my last post...I’ve been busy basking in parental affection and the like, so I suppose that’s a good excuse as any. I said goodbye to my folks exactly a week ago, who arrived on November 19th. As the date to fetch them at the airport approached, my landlords became increasingly anxious regarding the state of my home, lest the gringo parents judge them negatively for the healthy abundance of cobwebs in all corners of my dwelling, swaying heavily in the breeze, pregnant with dead bugs. “Clean those up!” says my landlady. “But they catch mosquitos!” says I. “Let’s cut your lawn!” says my landlord. “No, I like the green grass!” says I. “Clean up those old plastic soda bottles you leave strewn about like a hillbilly!” says my landlords in unison. “How do you guys know what hillbillies are?” says I. Etc. In the end I did a fair amount of sweeping the dirt outside, and mopped thoroughly inside, and cleaned up the spare car parts I’d let Cletus scatter about our front yard, and called it good. Nely announced she would like nothing more than to accompany me to the airport, as it was probably the only opportunity she would ever have to go there and was dying to see a plane land. So we set off early Thursday morning, first hitting up the market to buy a ton of ingredients for tamales, our planned parental menu. Then we headed to the airport, where we enjoyed ridiculously garnished coffee beverages (sweet heaven do I love me some whipped cream) and waited for the Kercher Parents to make their much awaited arrival. I was waiting for them at the gate with a handmade, meticulously painted sign bearing the name KERCHER, lest they be confused about which sweaty, red-faced wanna-be albino was theirs to claim. Many hugs and smooches were exchanged, and we hopped (after some ado) into our little rental car to head down south to Alubarén. After a 30-second panic that I had somehow guided us onto the wrong freeway (I hadn’t) and a rather unfortunate event at the gas station in which I allowed us to be swindled into filling the crappy Toyota with premium gas and be called names by a mean old lady (she called me a “stuck-up bitch” because I wouldn’t give her any money), we were finally on the open road, the sun low in the sky and the road-side horses plentiful (much to Wendy and Andy’s amazement). After about an hour and a half, we turned off the freeway (escorted by Andy’s diligent turn-signal application) and began a two-hour roller-coaster that I will never again attempt in a tiny sedan. Woefully optimistic about such a car’s abilities to navigate the rocky, steep dirt roads that lead to Alubarén, I foolishly did NOT encourage the parental units to rent a 4x4 or some other vehicle created for such conditions. As such, we spent the rest of the afternoon sloooowly picking our way up and down the hills, as the Little Carola That Could strained and clunked its way toward my pueblo. We did, however, make it one piece, save for a front bumper which detached itself in the journey—which my dad and an eight-year-old skillfully reattached with rusty wire, leaving it literally better than ever (the hubcabs, which were attached with zip-ties, held fast—which was good because I didn’t have any extra zip-ties).

We were met with a small hoard of excited neighbors, the kids throwing themselves around Andy and Wendy’s waists and the adults happily shaking hands and awkwardly trying to kiss the American’s cheeks, which is always hilarious. Nely and her mom had been planning to make us tamales the next day, but due to a family problem which required one of them to speed across the country to sit on an aunt’s sickbed, they decided to make the tamales right then and there. Tamales are an all-day affair, with a multiple-layered process and much prep work. Starting them at 6:30pm is just seven kinds of crazy, yet that is exactly what my selfless neighbors set themselves to do. We trooped into my house and Igor set about Phase One of his masterpiece plan “Worm My Way Into The Old Folks Hearts So They Let Me Live With Them For A Bit”, by dancing and licking and rubbing and gazing lovingly into their faces with his fixing golden eyes. After an evening of chopping potatoes, child-wooing, and skillfully-translated conversations, we trooped up to my house and collapsed in bed. The next day was spent relaxin’ in the ‘ol Tarantula Oven, playin’ baseball with Las Panteras, strolling around the town, and meeting my friends (usually followed by an invitation to sit down and drink some soda). I was in hog heaven combining my two worlds, and I know my folks loved getting to see and experience it all. Plus, it was a huge ego-booster for ‘em…the first thing out of everyone’s mouth after “nice to meet you,” was “Heeli, your parents! They are so young! Your father, so handsome! Your mother, so beautiful!” Seriously. I was starting to get an inferiority complex, they were getting hit on so much…then I realized I am the fruit of the coupling of such attractive people and I felt better about myself. I also learned a new, super-creepy Honduran euphemism for spending time with parents…as I introduced my folks to a neighbor, she winked and said, “Ohhh, Hayley, you’re gonna suck some titty tonight, aren’t you?” Uh…lemme ask my mom, but I wasn’t planning on it, no. I thought maybe just that particular woman was being lewd, but it happened several more times.
“Doña Maria, this is my mom Wendy and my dad Andy.”
“Oh, pleased to meet you both! Hayley, you’re gonna suck some titty tonight, I bet!”
PLEASE, HONDURAS. I myself am a healthy subscriber to coarse and vulgar humor, but I don’t like hearing that phrase coming from old Honduran women’s mouths. I suppose it’s a reference to being united with one’s parents once again, becoming a nursing babe once again…but as they say, once you can buckle your own overalls, you ain’t a suckling infant no more. Anyway. Gross.

That night we celebrated Andy and Wendy’s last night in the ‘lubes by gorging ourselves on tamales and soda and imported left-over Halloween candy. My neighbor Glenda presented mom and dad with a handmade embroidered pillowcase that said something about sweet dreams, and Tina presented them with an embroidered tortilla cloth that Nely had made for them with a basket of fruit and the words “Senor Bendice Esta Casa,” which means “God Bless This House.” We left for vacation the next morning after a group shot with all my neighbors, the kids running (well, walking due to the necessitated low speed) alongside the car and Tina crying. These folks are my family down here, and it was very special for me to be able to blend my two worlds in this way.

We then left reality and traveled into luxery-vacation-land, in which we jet-setted around Honduras, delighting (some of us more than others) in hot-water showers, fancy multi-course meals and comfortable beds with real, non-foam mattresses. Sweet jesus in a juice box, it was awesome. First we went to La Ceiba and spent two days in Pico Bonito National Park. Our beautiful B&B (Casa Cangrejal) was right in the buffer-zone of the protected area, so we ate our breakfast with the birds and the butterflies in the morning before hiking 10 minutes down the road into the jungle. We went on an amazing 5-hour roundtrip hike (with no sandwiches!) up the mountain, carefully avoiding the giant ant freeways and the amazing Blue Morpho butterflies, which are bigger than my face. My parents had never hiked in rain forest before, so it was a thrilling experience for them (and me as well, obviously). The trail was very well maintained and we saw almost no other hikers, which was nice. The middle point of the loop was an 80-meter waterfall, which pours down a rocky wall, covered with moss and leafy plants. Dad and I actually hiked down to the base of the fall, where I promptly sat down under the turbo-shower and only slightly broke my glasses (again). The next day, our jungle-appetites sated, we took the mildly-turbulent ferry across the Caribbean to Roatan, one of the Bay Islands. We stayed in a remarkably un-occupied resort called Fosters, which was located on the prettiest beach on the island. (I say remarkably because everyone knows the average traveler prefers their home-away-from-home to be stocked with mouse poop, grimy bathrooms and shoddy carpentry, and that is PRECISELY what this idyllic little bungalow offered). But, as my grandma says, it’s just a bed—no one goes to vacation on the beach to stay inside all day, reading Middlesex (ahem, Wendy Kercher). Just kidding, the literary habits were kept to a minimum and Wendy spent most of her standing—damn, can that girl stand!—in the turquoise, tranquil waters of the Caribbean, while Andy and I snorkeled till our mouths pickled themselves, gliding over the beautiful coral reefs and occasionally diving down into the deep blue trenches to slap eels and taunt small sharks. Twice, a Carnival cruise ship arrival and dumped like 2,000 people in the island, which is no doubt devastating to the natural environment; through excellent for the business owners. It made for pretty good people-watching, as Wendy and I strolled through the throngs of fat, greased-up Americans with a beer in one hand and a corn-dog in the other, bobbing waist-deep in the sea. They all had to return to the boat by 4pm, though, which left the late-afternoon delightfully solitary. Ugh. The food was also amazing, and I happily devoured my weight in many varieties of shrimp during our stay there (coconut thai shrimp, blue-cheese-and-sun-dried-tomato shrimp, etc). We found one restaurant, Bite on the Beach, so tasty we ate there TWICE, while I alternated between slurping down delicious minty cocktails whose name escapes me and rubbing their freaking INCREDIBLE home-grown lettuce on my cheek, declaring my love before slowly dipping it in olive oil and grinding it to heaven in my mouth.

To finish our family outing, we headed to Copan for two days, to check out the famous Mayan ruins. Andy, forever the recreational learner, had done some reading on the glyphs before our trip, and was able to supplement our guide Fidel, who made up for a shoddy command of English with rambling nonsequitors and a robust quantity-over-quality attitude. Still, it was amazing…the ruins were so much bigger than I imagined and Honduras has done a fair job preserving them. My favorite parts were the giant stadiums with impressive staircases, down which sacrificed heads would tumble during ceremonies; and the ball court. I also really dug on the sculptures, most especially the dancing jaguar, who, if my glyph reading is accurate, and I believe it is, seems to model his style much after mine…it’s amazing what the Mayan culture produced long before the rest of the world had so much as an inkling. We also spent some time poking around in souvenir shops, eating tasty food, drinking tasty wine, and enjoying each other’s company. The next day, we took an early bus to San Pedro Sula, smooched goodbye, and went our separate ways. I moped my way to a fellow volunteer’s house nearby, where I passed the elections (Pepe Lobo, the conservative candidate, won!). Now back in Alubarén, I am passing my time nibbling on the delicacies my loving parents brought for me (hella Swedish fish and chocolates, hells yes) and gearing up for an attempt to instill a love of literature in the Honduran youths.

Mom and Dad, thanks for comin’ to see ‘ol Hayley…it was the highlight of the year. And it’s not just ‘cause you brought my candy, neither. I love you guys.

Adiooooos
Hayley