man i got the swamp-ass on my throat

Henri, my second-best pitcher.

Enner, my first-best pitcher.

Las Panteras de Alubaren!

On the bus ride over (before their souls were crushed by defeat)

well if that aint a rooster in a windowsill

mouth-themed art.

little guys coloring their mouths.

view from the path on the way to the school...alubaren is waaaay down there in the valley.

the third grade penpals! with their charming yet grossly incompetent teacher.

Igor and Kaiser, sopping wet after a trip to the swimmin hole.

leapin in!! dont break your face!

noel and his nature-made waterslide.

is douglas peering at us over those shades because he's cool...or because they're super-perscription and his eyes are aching?? child torture for photo ops is a large part of what peace corps volunteers do in the field.

three generations of amazing women (dona anita, chepa, and maricela). all great friends of mine.

27 March 2010

Hey, chochachos! So my buddy Patrick got this awesome purple-camouflage t-shirt, which, being too small for him, was bequeathed to me. It reads “BUTT SWEAT AND TEARS,” which is 1) hilarious and 2) entirely accurate of my current situation. I’m not actually crying (though I did weep slightly last night watching “Milk” on ‘ol laptoppy) but I got swamp-ass like you wouldn’t even BELIEVE. Seriously. Honduras is all like “oo, you likes the heet, si? I geef you MORE!!” and totally throwing the lever to the “Butt Sweat 24-7” level of solar radiation. Anyway. I just thought you guys might like to hear about that.

I also have swamp ass on my throat. Little weird blisters that pop and sting—right in the creases of my neck fat, formed from the slight inclination of the head as a result from reading in the hammock. March and April are the hottest time of year in the south of Honduras, as everyone gazes ruefully at hazy blue horizon, waiting for the rain clouds that won’t appear until mid-May (save for a freak rain shower that fell a couple weeks ago and rained out baseball practice! Delicious). All the plants have transformed into brittle, leafless skeletons and the dust is everywhere, coating all surfaces in a nice gritty filth. The cicadas drone incessantly and the toads hide in my latrine, looking for the Moist. Poor Igor just lies on the floor and pants frantically, though he is a warm-weather dog through and through and does much better here than I’m sure he’ll do in the states (the dope shivers with cold whenever we go to Tegucigalpa). The water shortage continues, though I really can’t complain because I have my whole pila to myself and most people have to share it with mom, dad, grandpa, grandma, kids, aunts, uncles…everyone in the house. So I let Nely come over and wash clothes and take baths all the time. Sometimes, I just lie down in my underpants and let Igor lick me clean…dog saliva is antibacterial, you know. The only good thing about the dry season here is the mangos are beginning to ripen, so I can switch from crunching on sour green ones (still tasty) to slurping down delicious sticky orange awesomeness. Also, “jocotes” are in season now, also known as “plums,” (ciruelas) though they do not resemble North American plums in any way (they’re like little round balls of sweetish flesh, about the size of a walnut, with a huge pit). Maranones are ripe now, which I have plenty of in my backyard. They taste like 100 gallons of butt sweat, though, so I give them all away. Fun fact—the nut on top of the fruit is where cashews come from! SCIENCE. Anyway, bitch bitch moan moan I’m hot and such, but it ain’t so bad cause 1) I borrowed the fan from the library, which has no electricity anyway, and 2) the swimmin’ holes still have water, so goin’ on adventures is always fun. Last week, Nely and the kids and I (plus Igor) hiked for about an hour and a half to get to these amazing pools that are SO deep…you can jump off rocky boulders above and never touch the bottom. Plus, there is a shallow pool where the kids can splash around. We brought little bean tamales and it was delightful.

Work is goin’ awesome. The little penpal project I started up with the third-graders is adorable—they sent letters back and forth with an incredibly smart first grade bilingual classroom in Minnesota, taught by a former Honduran Peace Corps volunteer, Anne. It’s kind of sad, because the kids in Minnesota are a) 6 and 7 years old and b) learning Spanish for the first time, and their letters are still better written than my third graders. But the kids get a kick out of it, and draw great pictures to accompany their letters (which I send off in a manila envelope). So far we’re only written twice, once introducing ourselves and talking about favorites and hobbies, and this past week, where the kids wrote about Semana Santa (Holy Week), which is exactly like American spring break, except instead of teenagers making bad decisions, it’s chock-full of Jesus, excursions to the nearest water source for swimming, and the consumption of fish-cake soup. The little letters explained as such. It’s funny, though, because the third-graders all write little adult-ish phrases in the letters, like beginning with a “Hello, dear friend, allow me to hope that you are currently blessed with fine health and your family as well” (though totally botched spelling-wise) and “may the tiny baby-God bless you today and always.” Those Spanish-immersion blondies in Minnesota are gonna be like “que????” Their letters are pretty funny too, though damn impressive—they throw the “le” and “se” around like it’s their job and their spelling is excellent. My favorite one was from a kid who wrote (in Spanish) “I’m so happy you are my new friend. I used to not have any friends, but now I have exactly 101 and you are one of them. You are my best friend in the whole world and I love you so much.” I want to meet this 6-year-old with so much love.

Aside from that, I’m hiking up mountains twice a week to visit two aldea schools for my oral hygiene project, totally yellin’ at ‘em about cavities and such. The kids are little angels and always so eager to participate—it’s adorable. This week, we colored pictures of the mouth and learned to identify all the different components. It’s a damn good thing I’m a Scientist. In my village journeys, I’ve been able to form a closer friendship with a woman named Aida and her family, including little baby Geyly, who is now four-months old. Every Wednesday, on my way down the mountain after Colgate, I stop at their bright-green, open-air house and have lunch with her. Or rather, she puts a huge plate of beans and rice and tortillas in front of me and watches me eat it, concerned with my “tiny waist” and lack of boobs (seriously!). In addition to little “Hayley,” she has a four-year-old son named Esteven who has the raddest bowl-cut ever. He likes to show me his blocks that his dad made for him, and is also a fan of watching me stuff my face with food. I’m also friends with Aida’s sister, Xiomara, and her husband, Marlon. They’re newlyweds and have decided to stay childless for the first couple years, which is very rare in Honduran culture. They’re in the middle of building a house (made of mud-and-straw bricks), and are sleeping in the half of it that has a roof while they finish the rest. They’re all really wonderful people and I’m delighted to have some real friends outside of Alubarén proper. It’s like Burrito Tuesday all over again (this thing my friends and I did in high school than involved eating burritos on Tuesday), only instead of burritos it’s beans and rice and tortillas, and instead of Tuesday it’s Wednesday.

Baseball season is, thank tiny-baby-God, finally almost nearing an end. We had our last “friendly scrimmage” today, in Reitoca. I’ve spent the past month convincing parents to let their kids play, despite the fact that no one wants their kid to be on a losing team, and did much damage to my “we’re improving everyday!” argument when Reitoca took us to school in the mini-van of Pain today, beating us 4-0 (our most painful loss yet). We took the bus over early this morning, all sweaty-eyed and bushy-tailed, dressed to the nines in our sassy golden get-up. The game started out all right, and we came very close to scoring runs several times (bases loaded, with my best batters at the plate…) but never managed to get a point. Meanwhile, Reitoca was playing just as crappily, with just one point to our zero. Then, in the fourth inning, with two kids on base, their best batter slammed a ball into outer-space and won them three additional points with his fancy homerun. After we lost, my kids didn’t seem too disappointed—we’re used to being losers now—and instead ran around giggling and hamming it up for the camera, while I took individual shots of them posing in front out our team flag, one knee up and one knee down, with their hand on a bat, just like the cheesy pictures we take in American little league. The parents were pissed, though, and much berating was going on until I finally lost it and yelled at them (the parents) that if they couldn’t support the kids positively then they shouldn’t come to the games (a message that needed to be said, but I shouldn’t have lost my temper, because know they’ll all talk smack about me behind my back). Anyway. We bused it home, I laid in the hammock and stuffed my face with avocado, tomatoes and basil salad (all local grown, chumps) and drank chai iced tea (thanks mom and dad!) with my new best friend, Fanny the Fan (I’m all like, Hey, Fanny, do you like tarantulas? And she’s all “Noo-oo-oo” while shaking her head slowly to-and-fro). Anyway, just three more weeks until the “championship” on April 17 (though it will be essentially the same thing as a scrimmage since Peace Corps has no money in the baseball program for trophies, trips to Tegus, or anything of that sort) and baseball will have ended until next year, at which point the next sucker volunteer can have ‘em. I should have formed a “hangin’ out in the swimmin’ hole” team.

Hella bedtimes, folks…I gotta rest up for my Semana Santa adventures, which are beginning soon and involve salt water and hammocks. MYSTERIOUS!!

Love,

Hayley