Science Fair

I have to apologize deeply for my absence from the blogosphere recently. It's been a very intense several months and writing about it for public viewing was the last thing on my mind. Now that Spring Break is upon us, I think I'm ready to get back into an outwardly focused mindset.

     Today was the science fair, an annual event at Lake Yojoa. It involves the entire school, from preschool up through high school. Each class is divided into groups of 4 or 5 and told to choose a project, venture a hypothesis, test/build, gather results and then create a presentation to be given in both English and Spanish. Each division (Preschool/Kindergarten, Lower Elementary, Upper Elementary, and High School) is awarded a first, second, and third prize for group projects and two individual awards for best speaker. This is a very big deal.
     It is such a big deal in fact, that the students have been focused on very little else for the last week, if not longer. I got a regular day of class in on Monday, but starting on Tuesday, the pressure against having class and instead being given time to work became almost irresistible. And honestly, it's been such a long two months, two months without a day off school, two months of heat, emotional turmoil, and frustration, that I didn't put up much of a fight.

     However, even those most strongly in favor of having work time were rarely using the time to actually work. Another recent development in the high school is an obsession with chess- I didn't think anything could occupy their attention as thoroughly as a football game could, but these chess matches seem to have come close. So when given instructions to get some part of their assignment done, more often than not a select few would actually work but the rest would settle into seats, heads propped on their hands, eyes focused on the miniature battleground in front of them. Those who have not succumbed to the strategic beauty of the game kicked a soccer ball around. Apart from two or three dedicated groups, very little work got done in these class periods.
     As the week went on and my lessons became increasingly hard to teach and the day of the science fair loomed closer, I got more and more frustrated with their behavior. On Wednesday, I came back after my lunch break to supervise and found several of my students throwing a large cake knife at a makeshift target they had set up with a chair and the seats of two desks that had long since been dismantled. The now-ever-ubiquitous chess matches were going on, and one group was lounging on the porch like they had nothing left to do when in fact they didn't even have a project yet.
     I left school that day so incredibly frustrated I could barely see straight. They had made me so angry and disappointed me so strongly that I dreaded coming into school the next day. I had had enough of their attitude, their utter disregard for authority, and their complete lack of motivation.
     Thursday was a little better; I helped with some translations into English and learned more scientific Spanish than I ever thought I would. I felt like I, and many of the students, had accomplished something, which is more than I could say for any of the previous days and I was ready to face the science fair without tearing my hair out.

     I had planned on spending the day wandering around, chatting with students, and watching some presentations. However, one of the 1st-3rd grade judges didn't show up so I was recruited to serve as a judge, my students being old enough not to need my presence at their own judging. This, by the way, resulted in a disappointing lack of photos; I wanted many more than the couple general shots I got. So I spent the day more productively than I had anticipated, although I missed out on most of what I had wanted to see: the 'hard' work of my students.
     As judging came to a close and I was able to talk to my kids and ask how their presentations went, I was impressed by what they were able to tell me. Talking to the English teacher who judged them was even more encouraging, he said they had done very well by and large and that I should be proud.
     And I was. Unlike the other teachers, I knew that some of my kids were going to win. I teach all of high school and they were in a category of their own so it was really just a matter of which groups would take home the prizes. Even so, my chest was absolutely bursting with pride as they called my kids up onto the stage. I wasn't even surprised because I had seen the judge's results sheet. And when an underdog group won it all, seeing the complete shock and delight on their faces made me grin so hard.

This past week has been an encapsulation of my time here. I've struggled with my kids, I've nagged at them, gotten frustrated, and never wanted to see their faces again. But I also laughed with them, encouraged them, pushed them, and helped them. And in the end, I wouldn't have it any other way (maybe that's not completely true; I wouldn't mind a little bit more cooperation). Because all the nonsense they put me through makes days like today so much more special. I told each and every one of them that I was proud of the work they had done, and I meant every word.

That feeling is what I'm going to miss most about teaching, whenever my teaching career ends.

Home for the Holidays

     One of my new year's resolutions is to be better at keeping up with this blog. Not only does it allow me to update those of you who are willing to put up with my ramblings, but writing for an audience (however limited it may be) helps me to process things in a way that very little else does.

     As most of you know, I went home over our two week Christmas break. I needed to go not only for practical reasons like medications, but also to reset my brain. My first four months in Honduras were such a roller coaster it was hard to separate myself from that experience. Going home allowed me to get away from everything related to life here: the kids, the climate, the cat-calls, the other teachers, the diet, the firecrackers local kids set off right in front of our house because they think our startled shrieks are funny. As much as I've grown to appreciate most aspects of life here (cat-calls and firecrackers being the notable exceptions) I needed some distance if I was going to continue living here.
     It worked like a charm. Two weeks at home, with my parents, sisters, best friends, real food, and snow was exactly what I needed. It was comfortable. I've been many things in Honduras, but really 100% comfortable was rarely one of them. I loved knowing where I was, where I belonged, and realizing that none of that was ever going to change. In some sense, my life in Minneapolis will always be there for me. Businesses may come and go, friends may move away, but Minneapolis will stay the same. As I've said before, I will always consider Minnesota home. I have roots there that go too deep for anywhere else to hold that distinction.

 However, I don't belong at home. For those two weeks, yes. Any longer than that? No. As much as I love the communities and groups of people that make Minnesota home, they're not what I need right now. I don't need comfort; I need challenges. I need to push myself forward, to move beyond the 18-year-old I was when I did belong in Minneapolis. The woman I've grown into needs more adventure, more uncertainty, more spontaneity.
     Having recently turned 25, people have been teasing me about having a quarter life crisis. 25 seems like such a significant number, placing me firmly in the adult world. 25 is when you're supposed to have your life figured out, to have a job you plan to continue for many years, to have a car, maybe even have a significant other with whom you're beginning to think about the rest of your lives. I don't have any of that. And that's ok. My 18-year-old self who got anxious at the mere thought of any of her plans falling apart and not knowing which direction she was headed would not have been able to say the same thing.

     So even though I don't know where I'll be a year from now, or even 7 months from now, doesn't really bother me. I'm not worried about a quarter-life crisis, because the life I've chosen to live is constant chaos: moving around the world, meeting new people, building new relationships. Crisis mode never ends; it's just a very different kind of crisis. Not everyone could live this life. Not everyone wants this kind of life. I get that. But as much as I sometimes wish otherwise, this is the life that I want. I want to find things out as I go, to take one step at a time and not worry too much about what is coming next. When I find something that makes me want to stop living this life, I will consider building another home for myself, and putting down roots somewhere new. I just haven't felt that yet and I don't think I'm ready for it.
    Maybe that's why, as the plane took off and the lights of Minneapolis disappeared behind me, my face broke into an irresistible grin and I nearly laughed out loud.

Return Ticket

I started writing this blog post a month ago and then forgot about it. So here are my thoughts about why I've decided to stay in Honduras from the day after I made that decision and from a month later.

12 November, 2014
Yesterday I bought a plane ticket home for Christmas, with a return trip. If I've spoken to you at all since I moved to Honduras, you know that this hasn't been the easiest experience for me. I've been frustrated, angry, and physically unhealthy. If you had offered me a Get Out of Honduras Free card at any point in the last 2 months, I would have taken it with very little hesitation. The food situation was bad, yes, but it was more than that. I didn't want to try to make it work, so my efforts to improve my diet were half-hearted at best.


But then something started to change. About two weeks ago, the student's antics stopped bothering me so much. It's not that their behavior actually improved much, but I was better able to deal with it. I accepted the kids for who they were instead of who I wanted them to be. And they're awesome kids, even if they're not awesome students. That alone made a huge difference.

I started working on my plans for next quarter and realized I wanted to be here. I want to be here for the 9^th grade “Romeo and Juliet” unit, to do “The Raven” with grade 10. We had a parade last Friday, and I want to be here for all these other ridiculous events.


I realized I want to be here. I don't want to leave these kids. They're frustrating and annoying and make me want to tear my hair out. But they're also funny, unbelievably caring, and heartbreakingly sweet. I've built relationships with them that I'm proud of, and I'm not willing to give them up.


So I'm staying. After two weeks at home for the holidays and returning loaded down with multi-vitamins, iron supplements, and protein bars, I'm coming back to Honduras, hopefully to finish out the year. There are no guarantees in life, so I cannot promise I will actually make it through June. But this time, I know I want to. I know what I'm getting into, I know what will be asked of me, and I know I have the desire to do everything in my power to make it work.


11 December, 2014
In the month since I decided to stay, I have only felt better about my decision. Leaving for good would be the hardest thing in the world right now. I'm more than ready for a break, to have two weeks at home to refresh myself and feel really healthy, but I'm not ready to say goodbye. Here's why.


One of the biggest frustrations I've faced here is the complete apathy most students have to their school work. Those who know they're smart and can squeak by with minimum effort do so. Those who feel like they're falling behind or are confused about the material give up. If something is hard, they just don't do it. They do this because they know they will get moved up to the next grade regardless of their actual abilities; that's how things work here. These attitudes obviously make them hard to teach. If they don't want to listen, they won't. If they don't want to do the work, they won't. They just give up.


I came here to teach English. And English is important. But what's more important than English is teaching these kids how to be good, responsible people. Since I'm in the high school, I'm preparing them for university in the relatively near future. And if I gave up, what kind of message would that send to them? If I said “This is too hard, I don't like it. I'm leaving.” I would be doing exactly the same thing that frustrates me so much about them. I've been telling them for months to try harder, to ask for help, to just do the work even when they don't like it, trusting that eventually good habits will be built and the work will become easier. In some ways, the students are to me what their homework is to them.


I don't want to be the kind of person who has to say “Do what I say, not what I do.” I'm a walk the walk kind of person, so I'm staying to do just that. I'm staying because these kids deserve more than a teacher who gives up, they deserve a teacher who is willing to fight for them, with them, and yes, against them sometimes, in order to get them to be their best.



And ultimately, I'm staying because I have grown to love them.

No Words

     As you all may have noticed, I've been struggling with keeping up this blog. Whenever I would sit down to write something, the words just wouldn't come, and I hate forcing myself to write something I don't feel. And since I'm not in school anymore, I don't have to.
     But I was thinking about this the other day, as I was randomly looking through my photos of the past year, in Prague, Bratislava, Italy, and the other random places I ended up while living in Europe. I have massive numbers of pictures from all those places. I have very few pictures of Honduras, even fewer of Pena Blanca. That, combined with my reluctance to write about my experiences led to a revelation of sorts:

I feel no desire to document my life here. For whatever reason, the impulse I've always had to write things down, to share experiences, to record memories for myself, has left me since getting to Honduras. It just doesn't exist.

     Partially, this comes from my constant discomfort in any public location in town. On our weekend trip to Tela, a beach town full (or at least, more full) of tourists, I didn't have any reservations about taking out my camera. But here in Pena, where I already stand out like a sore thumb, I try to avoid drawing any more attention to myself than absolutely necessary.
     But it's more than that. Something is holding me back from fully allowing myself to let go and commit to this country. I've now been here almost two months, and all my clothes are still in a pile in my suitcase. My earrings are strewn around my top shelf instead of in the earring picture frame Sonja made me. Whenever I've tried to fix one of these problems, I've given up after about a minute because it just didn't feel right.
     I was so excited to come here before I left. I was excited to experience a new culture, a new part of the world. But with all the complications of school, bugs, social life, and primarily diet, I'm being pulled under, away from excitement and towards exhaustion.
     I do want to be here. I want to follow through on my commitment to the kids, I don't want to feel like I'm giving up again, and leaving another opportunity because I couldn't make it work. However, if all of that is going to come at the expense of my physical, mental, and emotional health, it's not going to be worth it.
     It's not over yet. Nothing has been decided. But it is on my mind. This place just doesn't feel like a home in the way Prague or even Bratislava did. I don't feel a connection to the people, the history, the culture like I did in Europe. On top of it all, I'm basically living off veggies and pasta and whatever beans I can manage to force myself to eat. I haven't felt healthy since getting here. For all these reasons, and others which will remain unpublished, the possibility of leaving before June has been discussed.
     I have so much to give, so much to offer the world. In my current situation, I don't have the physical or emotional energy required to make this venture a success. If things don't get better (and I'm still hoping they will), I think it would be better for everyone involved if I found a different opportunity.

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.

La Cascada Pulhapanzak

 On our first weekend after starting school Nick, knowing we sorely needed some stress relief, brought us to the Pulhapanzak waterfall, one of the 30 natural wonders of Honduras, at least according to the sign. He had told us to wear bathing suits and good walking shoes, and asked if everyone was all right jumping into the river from a ledge, but not much else about what we were going to be doing. After we had all clambered out of the back of his pick-up truck, we walked along the river above the falls and watched some zip liners soar over our heads. We waded across a shallow dam, killing time before the guide for our waterfall tour showed up. It was a perfectly idyllic place, with campsites and cabins for rent, smack dab in the middle of the jungle. We didn't have any idea what was in store for us, but I at least was excited.


We slowly made our way down to the falls themselves, and once there it was absolutely stupendous. The falls are about 140 meters high and because we're in the middle of the rainy season right now, they were thundering over the rocks and spraying water high into the air. I basked in the mist; despite living near a lake, the amount of water I encounter on a daily basis is not enough for my taste. Soon, out guide came to get us. He unlocked a gate at the end of the observation platform and we filed through.
      Edging along the bank, with the river rushing by about 10 feet below us, anticipation was running high. Soon we had to jump into a pool. I had expected to be at least a little nervous, but when it came time for me to take the leap, I was completely fine. Not a nerve in sight. The pool was deep and the current stronger than I was expecting, but everyone made it across ok. Slowly, in single file, we made our way to the foot of the waterfall, ducking under ledges and paddling across pools.
     Our final destination was a cave a little ways up the waterfall itself. Lord knows how anyone found this hollowed out rock under the rushing water, but they did, and getting there was an exhilarating experience. The last little leg involved a relatively steep slope, a single cable with a rubber grip, and lots and lots of water. Climbing up this incline, you could literally see nothing but water, and it was so hard to keep your eyes open that it was even hard to see that. With pounds of water crashing down on your head, and your only hand hold the narrow cable on the left, you had to put blind faith in your feet and trust that they were going to find solid places to stand.
     I have no idea how far up the waterfall we went. It probably wasn't that high. We rested in an alcove before shimmying down one last ledge then squirming through a narrow opening into the cave. Honestly, it was a little underwhelming. It was just a cave, and a small one at that. The attraction of this tour is definitely the journey, not the destination.
     Climbing back down the waterfall was only slightly easier for knowing what was in store. The inability to see was more nerve-wracking going down than up, and the leap into the pool even higher. It was so much fun. No company in the entire United States would allow you to do what we did that day, but it was absolutely incredible.

First Impressions: Honduras

     Honduras is a country unlike any I have ever been in. This was initially made clear to me before we had even landed. As we began our descent, there was bright blue ocean water on one side of the plane and tree-covered mountains on the other. As we came closer to the ground, shacks with tin roofs and large plantations started coming into view. The airport was small, but equipped with a dearth of armed guards and full customs inspections upon both entry and departure. We (the two other girls who had flown from Minneapolis with me) spent our first few hours in the country sitting next to a Wendy's in the San Pedro Airport waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. Once they had, we loaded our huge amount of luggage into a truck and piled into two vans for the hour and a half long drive up to Pena Blanca.
     Along the way we passed banana, sugar, and coffee plantations, all green and growing. But as the van careened around corners without regard for lane lines and narrowly avoided head on collisions while trying to pass a slow(er) moving vehicle on a two lane road we also saw innumerable shacks, stocked with a random assortments of items, sold desperately by people who have no other source of income.
     We passed the lake, the only lake in Honduras, with it's glistening water and drove further up into the mountains wreathed with low floating clouds before coming to the town itself. We received differing population estimates from the driver and assistant principal, but there seems to be about 10.000 people living in this community. Half the streets are paved, the rest are what could diplomatically be called gravel. The buildings are nearly hidden behind signs and more kiosks, but what you can see of them is ramshackled and crumbling. Most of the houses are basically open to the world with only a fence between the street and the living room. But all of this, the gravel, the shacks, the tacky Coca-Cola signs, are surrounded by some of the most beautiful scenery I've ever seen. The mountains rise up on all sides, cloaked in clouds. The view from our patio is spectacular.
     Our house is luxurious compared to the average Honduran's. The girls live in a duplex with a shared backyard, four in one side, 6 in the other. We have a small patio with a hammock out back, a washing machine, 5 bathrooms, and 2 kitchens (although one is currently infested with cockroaches) with basic small appliances. The floors are tiled, and the walls all painted bright yellow and green. We've killed loads of roaches so far which was initially accompanied by loud shrieks, although I suppose we'll get used to them fairly quickly.
     We went up to the school today for the first time, but there's enough to say about that to warrant it's own post, so this is all I'll say on the topic: I got exactly the teaching assignment I was hoping for.
     Here's my first impression of Honduras: it's a country that needs a lot of love. There were piles of trash along the road, some of them taller than me. There are men lying alongside the road, passed out drunk at 5pm. We can't drink the water, and need to buy it in water cooler size jugs across the alleyway from our front door. With all the misery in the world, Honduras is a country that is often overlooked because it's problems perhaps aren't as dramatic as an Ebola outbreak. But it also seems to be a country that has so much to give, and seeing the potential wasted in the way it is now is heartbreaking.
     In all honestly, my initial reaction to our way of life for the next 10 months was apprehension; it's going to be far from the easiness of living in the States. But learning to appreciate a different way of life is part of the reason I wanted to come in the first place. I'm still nervous, but eager to learn.