Apologies

I have been remiss in posting about my new life in Honduras, and for this I apologize. I will attempt to provide justification for my absence here.

After the initial novelty and nervousness of living in a third world country dissipated, once school had started, I found it really hard to put my feelings into words. My experiences have been so foreign to me, how could I even begin to convey them to others? But other than that, I was trying to live by the maxim "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all". This is not an entirely fair representation of my life here, by any means. There are some wonderful things about Honduras. But recently, they have been mostly overshadowed by the intense frustrations I've encountered. I debated about writing about my struggles, not wanting to seem ungrateful for this wonderful opportunity I've been given. But this is meant to be about my real life, not life how I would choose it to be. So here it is: my real life in Honduras.

The weather: It is always hot here. Hot and humid, beyond anything I've experienced in the States. Yes, Minneapolis can be hot and sticky. So can Tennessee, where we went this summer. But it's relentless here; the sun seems so much stronger, even the wind is hot. The only relief we get is at night when it pours down rain and turns the gravel roads into streams of dirt. It wasn't so bad at the beginning when I knew the weather wasn't so different back at home, but now, when the leaves are beginning to change and the days are cooling off and instead of going thinking about drinking apple cider wrapped in a sweater, all I want is ice cold water, it's getting harder to appreciate the tropical climate. The green is lovely, but I'm missing the variety of colors autumn at home offers.

The house: Our house is, by Honduran standards, quite luxurious. We have internet, a fully-functioning kitchen, a sort of yard in front and a patio out back with a hammock and washing machine. But the bugs. There are so many bugs. We've sprayed for cockroaches and wood-eating ants. We've had ants in our beds and food, spiders and roaches in the showers, and the flies come in droves. For the first several weeks I woke up every morning with bites from what I hoped were mosquitoes, but had no way of knowing that was the case. I've gotten used to it for the most part, but they still have their moments. Today for instance, I opened a box of macaroni that had been on the shelf for several weeks; when I pulled out the cheese packet it was covered in tiny little ants. Literally covered. I stuck my hand into the noodles and it came out with more swarming insects. Needless to say, that box went into the garbage.

The school: I'm going to try to step carefully here. Some of my frustrations with the school are not the fault of the administration. Some of it comes from the government, some from Honduran culture. But whatever the causes, there has been very little about the school I have really appreciated. The administration is resistant to change, discipline seems lax where it sorely needs to be enforced, bureaucracy and micro-managing are the order of the day, and they expect nearly impossible things considering the resources they provide us with. How, for example, is one meant to teach a two hour chemistry lab every week when the only lab equipment provided is 8 microscopes (and one outlet) and a box of slides? Many of the teachers had to wait several weeks for textbooks to teach from and some of the students still don't have the books they need. The students themselves have proved to be sometimes absolute delights but mostly difficult and resistant to our efforts. Some of the younger ones barely speak or understand English. My students at least know what I'm saying. Whether they choose to listen is another story.

The food: This is a biggie. Even bigger than the school. I knew before I left that I would have to at least try and like beans because of their prevalence in Latin American cuisine. This has proved true, but the larger problem is how much more of their diet revolves around chicken. The first night in town we all went to a restaurant and I had to ask for a salad without chicken because that seemed like the only item on the menu that could be easily adapted to a vegetarian palate. Things have gotten slightly but not significantly better. While I can find peanut butter, which has been a life-saver, there is very little good dairy here. Fruit and vegetables can be found both in the grocery store and from stalls along the street, but they are not always good and the variety is incredibly limited. I cannot count on finding spinach or any leafy green that's not iceberg lettuce. My eyes are never going to have trouble because the carrots here are numerous and gigantic, but my iron levels are another story.      On top of my individual concerns with not eating meat, I have trouble accepting the Honduran diet in general. Everything is overly processed and full of artificial flavoring and sweeteners. Coke bottles are more numerous and just as cheap as water. The candy aisle is twice as big as the produce section in the grocery store. There are restaurants selling fried chicken everywhere you look. The level of obesity here is quite high, especially in kids, because that kind of food is cheap. Coming from a city like Minneapolis, with it's co-ops and farmer's markets, and reams of veggie and vegan friendly options, this is quite a change. I didn't even have this much trouble in Slovakia, because it didn't cost nearly as much to import things. In order to find spinach, oatmeal, and (hallelujah!) veggie burgers last weekend, I had to take a four hour round trip bus ride into San Pedro Sula, then fork over $45 for three plastic bags of groceries. I'm really struggling and am beginning to notice the effects, I think.

Other random things that bother me: None of us, but especially the girls, can go out without being stared or whistled at. It's not considered rude, like it is in the States, but it's still uncomfortable, and makes walking alone through town unappealing. There are chickens and roosters wandering around the streets, the roosters crowing at all hours. We frequently have canine (hopefully) visitors who knock over our trash cans and spread garbage around our yard. This goes along with the heat, but I am always sticky, always dirty. I feel like so much more of an outsider here than anywhere else I've ever been.

Please do not get the wrong impression. I've spent time here complaining about everything I'm frustrated with. This is not my whole life. My hope in writing this is that I will no longer feel like I have to pretend that I absolutely love it here and that everything is perfect, because it's not. Now that I've gotten all this off of my chest hopefully I'll be able to spend more time focusing on the joys of living here, which do exist, as few and far between as they seem sometimes.