The month of September in Honduras is one big blur of parades, pageantry, gallentry, and formality. There are four days of parading just for the kids, several more for the military, workers, etc. At school, we practiced for two or more hours a day, which felt like pulling teeth. But the actual march was fun enough to make up for the agony.
The directors of my school come up last minute ideas for how the teachers should dress, and then I realize at the last minute that I don´t have the clothes or shoes or ties that I need. A bit of spontaneity exists in all we do. I learned this week that I don´t know how to tie a tie, and that dressing up all the time is simply frustrating. The tie thing is a bit silly since I´ve tied knots that I literally hang my life on. But people here take outward appearances quite seriously, and I´m adjusting without complaint. (But c´mon, black shoes!?)
I was in two marches; in the second, I was a leader of 20 some kids, yelling commands in Spanglish.
Speaking of yelling, in my second week of class, I strained my vocal chords pretty bad. I would leave class hoarse from trying to keep control. My voice turned really deep and gravely, like car speakers that rattle and hum because they´ve been blown out. One might say they warbled. This was discouraging, to say the least. I´m learning, always learning, that there are better ways of doing this job. I can´t stretch my vocal chords like rubber bands, and I can´t solve all of my problems in class by yelling. It´s hard to balance with 24 kids (and only six of them girls...do the math) between standing my ground, and being a control freak.
The directors of my school come up last minute ideas for how the teachers should dress, and then I realize at the last minute that I don´t have the clothes or shoes or ties that I need. A bit of spontaneity exists in all we do. I learned this week that I don´t know how to tie a tie, and that dressing up all the time is simply frustrating. The tie thing is a bit silly since I´ve tied knots that I literally hang my life on. But people here take outward appearances quite seriously, and I´m adjusting without complaint. (But c´mon, black shoes!?)
I was in two marches; in the second, I was a leader of 20 some kids, yelling commands in Spanglish.
Speaking of yelling, in my second week of class, I strained my vocal chords pretty bad. I would leave class hoarse from trying to keep control. My voice turned really deep and gravely, like car speakers that rattle and hum because they´ve been blown out. One might say they warbled. This was discouraging, to say the least. I´m learning, always learning, that there are better ways of doing this job. I can´t stretch my vocal chords like rubber bands, and I can´t solve all of my problems in class by yelling. It´s hard to balance with 24 kids (and only six of them girls...do the math) between standing my ground, and being a control freak.
The kids call me Mister. Or even worse, meeeeeeeeester. Actually, it´s like sir, so I´ve gotten used to it.
There´s one American teacher that´s been in Honduras for 30+ years as a missionary. She and her husband came here through the Baptist Missionary Board. At first, she scared me a bit. She´s got a little bit of the scary old lady teacher in her. Also, I have an idea that missionaries, especially those from earlier generations, are cut from a rather abrasive cloth. But this lady and her husband have proved me wrong at almost every turn. They are unaggressive, graceful, and care about much more than converting everyone to their church. It´s good to get your preconceived notions shot down.
I started roasting coffee this week. I borrowed a popcorn popper, and bought green beans on the street. If caffeine were an illegal drug, I´d be in possession of several pounds of contraband. My first roasts were okay, but a little too light. Also, I found about fifteen arabica bushes in my backyard, so in a month or so I´ll be picking, drying, roasting, and imbibing.
I met a retired American couple through a friend, and they are officially the grumpiest people in the country. They hate Honduras, and dislike Hondureños. For some reason, I keep going back to their house. My friend Megan describes visiting them as "a scab that you just can´t stop picking". Well said. They´re here because they get a sweeeeeet house for about $250 a month. So I visit, they let me pick huge grapefruit, tangerines, and oranges. And then I chat with them for a while, sometimes up to two hours. It´s really kind of fun. Grumpy people have sweet spots, you just have to look a bit harder.
Meeting people has been an experience for me. Americans are rare, and for the first week I didn´t think they existed. But over the past few days, I´ve encountered a few. It´s a bold move, making friends here. I have to approach people on the street and start a conversation, something like "Omigosh! Are you from America!?" Well, maybe less enthusiastic. But there are some really interesting people here, and I´m getting to know several of them. Many are teachers, there are a few peace corps volunteers, and grumpy retirees, of course.
One last exciting bit of news. It rains almost every night...sometimes it comes hard and fast. A week ago, I was on my front steps in the rain, but not getting too wet. There were bright flashes in the distance, which were quite impressive in the dark. I guess the storm moved quickly, because I saw a huge flash, and simultaneous boom. The sound was disorienting, and the lightning felt like an industrial firework had exploded next to me. In fact, I thought that´s what happened at first. I had this moment of sheer panic, where I was running to the house and gasping for air. And someone was whimpering...but we´ll just say it was Bravo.
There´s one American teacher that´s been in Honduras for 30+ years as a missionary. She and her husband came here through the Baptist Missionary Board. At first, she scared me a bit. She´s got a little bit of the scary old lady teacher in her. Also, I have an idea that missionaries, especially those from earlier generations, are cut from a rather abrasive cloth. But this lady and her husband have proved me wrong at almost every turn. They are unaggressive, graceful, and care about much more than converting everyone to their church. It´s good to get your preconceived notions shot down.
I started roasting coffee this week. I borrowed a popcorn popper, and bought green beans on the street. If caffeine were an illegal drug, I´d be in possession of several pounds of contraband. My first roasts were okay, but a little too light. Also, I found about fifteen arabica bushes in my backyard, so in a month or so I´ll be picking, drying, roasting, and imbibing.
I met a retired American couple through a friend, and they are officially the grumpiest people in the country. They hate Honduras, and dislike Hondureños. For some reason, I keep going back to their house. My friend Megan describes visiting them as "a scab that you just can´t stop picking". Well said. They´re here because they get a sweeeeeet house for about $250 a month. So I visit, they let me pick huge grapefruit, tangerines, and oranges. And then I chat with them for a while, sometimes up to two hours. It´s really kind of fun. Grumpy people have sweet spots, you just have to look a bit harder.
Meeting people has been an experience for me. Americans are rare, and for the first week I didn´t think they existed. But over the past few days, I´ve encountered a few. It´s a bold move, making friends here. I have to approach people on the street and start a conversation, something like "Omigosh! Are you from America!?" Well, maybe less enthusiastic. But there are some really interesting people here, and I´m getting to know several of them. Many are teachers, there are a few peace corps volunteers, and grumpy retirees, of course.
One last exciting bit of news. It rains almost every night...sometimes it comes hard and fast. A week ago, I was on my front steps in the rain, but not getting too wet. There were bright flashes in the distance, which were quite impressive in the dark. I guess the storm moved quickly, because I saw a huge flash, and simultaneous boom. The sound was disorienting, and the lightning felt like an industrial firework had exploded next to me. In fact, I thought that´s what happened at first. I had this moment of sheer panic, where I was running to the house and gasping for air. And someone was whimpering...but we´ll just say it was Bravo.
