I have almost been home for a week. And yet I still feel like an alien here. My head, my heart, and my thoughts are not here and what may make me physically comfortable seems to do nothing to ease the emotional and mental awkwardness I feel. What an unnerving feeling it is to feel as though you are the only one that feels out of place in what should be the most comfortable place for you: your home, your city, your country.
I expected some transition issues. I dont do well with change. It scares me and overwhelms me but this is unreal. Everything I feel and see and hear just doesnt seem real. It doesnt seem real that I can actually hug my mum and dad before I go to sleep. It doesnt seem real that I can take a long, long hot shower and brush my teeth with running water. It doesnt seem real that I live in a house at least quadruple the size of many I spent so much time in last year. It doesnt seem real that I have said gooddbye. It doesnt feel real that my year is done.
I seem to have resorted to denial in some ways. If I dont think about it, it doesnt hurt as much. If I dont have to talk about it, I can kind of ignore it. And so if you are reading this and you have called me or sent me a message and I havent responded t o it, it is because of this. When I have to talk about Honduras, Talanga, or any of the people that I love so dearly there, the reality sets in and it becomes a little unmanageable. Denial and numbness have to a certain extent taken over and when the pangs of recognition and emotion somehow break through, it does become real.
It is real and it is painful but if it was anything but this I would be more upset.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Noe and the note
Just a short story that makes me smile.
One of the little boys in our street kids group stopped coming about a month ago. His name was Noe and though one of the most mischievous, he was also one of the most lovable. He was fascinated by so many things and had the most brilliant personality. One day when we were coloring in the park, he walked up to me with half a moustache drawn on his face and grinned the biggest smile at me and asked if he could glue something and proceeded to dry and glue his paper to the pillar.
When Tyler and I asked where he was, one of the other boys specifically told us that he had gone to the Dipsa (the gas station at the entrance of Talanga) and was never coming back. In my head, I though that Noe might have had a fight with one of the boys and so had left saying this. Another boy added that Noe thought we didn’t like him and didn’t care that he wasn’t there. Hearing this, we wrote him a note on a yellow piece of paper telling him that we loved him, missed him, and hoped to see him soon. I also jokingly asked if he was lost.
A couple of weeks later, I was at one of our weekly community Bible study meetings. The meeting had yet to start (ten minutes after the hour and still waiting) and one of the ladies had just arrived at the house. She looked over at me and said ‘oh you are Alice aren’t you?’ Well, yes I am. She proceeded to ask me if I had written a letter to Noe. I kinda smiled and said yes and she explained to me that she teaches down in the community near the entrance of Talanga and that she had bumped into Noe down there. She said he had showed her his letter and told her to tell me that he wasn’t lost, but had moved down to a different house near the Dipsa gas station.
The next week, I was leaving my classroom at school and who did I see in the school court yard? Noe! With a big smile, he gave me a great big hug and explained to me that he had to move from his old house because the roof had started to fall in and it wasn’t safe to live there anymore. He was now living in a different house but still going to the same school. He also told me that he didn’t have permission to go so far from home for Domingos Divertidos but that if I wanted to go pick him up at the gas station I could.
Taking a taxi to a nearby town, I saw Noe at the gas station. Since we were passing through I didn’t get a chance to talk to him, but I hope that soon I can start going there to pick him up for Domingos Divertidos.
One of the little boys in our street kids group stopped coming about a month ago. His name was Noe and though one of the most mischievous, he was also one of the most lovable. He was fascinated by so many things and had the most brilliant personality. One day when we were coloring in the park, he walked up to me with half a moustache drawn on his face and grinned the biggest smile at me and asked if he could glue something and proceeded to dry and glue his paper to the pillar.
When Tyler and I asked where he was, one of the other boys specifically told us that he had gone to the Dipsa (the gas station at the entrance of Talanga) and was never coming back. In my head, I though that Noe might have had a fight with one of the boys and so had left saying this. Another boy added that Noe thought we didn’t like him and didn’t care that he wasn’t there. Hearing this, we wrote him a note on a yellow piece of paper telling him that we loved him, missed him, and hoped to see him soon. I also jokingly asked if he was lost.
A couple of weeks later, I was at one of our weekly community Bible study meetings. The meeting had yet to start (ten minutes after the hour and still waiting) and one of the ladies had just arrived at the house. She looked over at me and said ‘oh you are Alice aren’t you?’ Well, yes I am. She proceeded to ask me if I had written a letter to Noe. I kinda smiled and said yes and she explained to me that she teaches down in the community near the entrance of Talanga and that she had bumped into Noe down there. She said he had showed her his letter and told her to tell me that he wasn’t lost, but had moved down to a different house near the Dipsa gas station.
The next week, I was leaving my classroom at school and who did I see in the school court yard? Noe! With a big smile, he gave me a great big hug and explained to me that he had to move from his old house because the roof had started to fall in and it wasn’t safe to live there anymore. He was now living in a different house but still going to the same school. He also told me that he didn’t have permission to go so far from home for Domingos Divertidos but that if I wanted to go pick him up at the gas station I could.
Taking a taxi to a nearby town, I saw Noe at the gas station. Since we were passing through I didn’t get a chance to talk to him, but I hope that soon I can start going there to pick him up for Domingos Divertidos.
No words needed
A couple of Sundays ago, I was just starting my weekly sick visits with three Eucharistic ministers from the Church. We visit two houses that are mere minutes from both my house and the Church and so this morning activity is generally pretty short. I recently changed the group I went with because the previous lady made me feel as though I was delivering drive thru communion and NASCAR driving my way through the Our Father and Hail Mary wasn’t the way I wanted to start Sunday mornings. Now, I spend an hour or so visiting two houses and this certain Sunday experienced something beautifully human with no words necessary.
Our first house is just one block from the Church and is the home of Dona Evalina. She is an elderly woman with a very bad leg that prevents her from leaving her house frequently. But, she is an old crinkly lady and so of course I love her. She has beautiful soft wrinkled hands and gives some of the biggest, warmest hugs in Talanga. When we enter the house, there are always chairs set up around an altar for me, the Eucharistic ministers and Dona Evalina and then behind us on the other side of the room are two couches. After we had finished delivering communion and praying, we sat down for coffee and cake and were joined by two of the children of the house. One named David is a co-radio member with me and so jokes and playfulness started and then with David was another boy named Dennis Francisco. So imagine this if you can, I am seated in a semi circle around the altar with the three older minister ladies and Dona Evalina and David and Dennis are seated behind us on one of the couches. Well, as conversation bloomed between the older ladies, my focus switched to David and Dennis. Dennis is deaf and so instead of the loud, joking banter than usually occurs between two nine or ten year olds, a just as vivid conversation was taking place in actions. Some story about driving was reenacted with an imaginary steering wheel and the emotion filled face of Dennis depicted the urgency of needing to stop the car suddenly. And then the story continued with some punches being thrown and even maybe a kiss I think. I caught his eyes as he was reliving his story for David and he grinned at me and then pointing at David did the finger swirling beside the head to universally signify crazy. But, his face is captivating. With no words to describe feelings, his face is the canvas with which he shares his feelings. Every emotion is exaggerated and so a happy face is a smile that lights up his whole face and reaches literally from ear to ear and a sad face is a frown with a bottom lip that pokes out. He is beautifully expressive and has no need for words.
Our second house takes us to Cassie, a 13 year old girl who had meningitis, and now is unable to walk. Her brain stopped developing at a young age and now she does not speak and spends most of her time on the floor or forced into a wheel chair. She hates being in the wheel chair, but when we come to give her the Eucharist, she is always in it. The only thing that comforts her is the presence of her aunt by her side and usually holding her hand and with her arm around her. This Sunday, nothing was different except that instead of being put in a corner in her wheel chair with nowhere to go to, she was on the other side of the circle in a space in which she could move back and forth in the wheelchair. During the prayers, she wheeled back and forth being very wary as to where I was. When we go to the Our Father, she wheeled forward as I walked towards her and then we held hands and prayed. Afterwards, my hand was tightly held by her and she pulled my arms towards and laid her head against my arm. We stayed like that for a minute or maybe less, but it was probably one of the highs of my day. With no words, she gently made me feel significant. She made me feel comforting and included. She didn’t need words to make me feel that way.
And so on this one Sunday morning, two children showed me the beauty of actions that don’t need to be explained by words. So many times, we as adults or young people believe that actions speak louder than words but always feel the need to explain our actions just in case they are misinterpreted or just to make sure that people understand. But maybe these words shouldn’t be necessary if the actions are speaking clearly enough by themselves.
Our first house is just one block from the Church and is the home of Dona Evalina. She is an elderly woman with a very bad leg that prevents her from leaving her house frequently. But, she is an old crinkly lady and so of course I love her. She has beautiful soft wrinkled hands and gives some of the biggest, warmest hugs in Talanga. When we enter the house, there are always chairs set up around an altar for me, the Eucharistic ministers and Dona Evalina and then behind us on the other side of the room are two couches. After we had finished delivering communion and praying, we sat down for coffee and cake and were joined by two of the children of the house. One named David is a co-radio member with me and so jokes and playfulness started and then with David was another boy named Dennis Francisco. So imagine this if you can, I am seated in a semi circle around the altar with the three older minister ladies and Dona Evalina and David and Dennis are seated behind us on one of the couches. Well, as conversation bloomed between the older ladies, my focus switched to David and Dennis. Dennis is deaf and so instead of the loud, joking banter than usually occurs between two nine or ten year olds, a just as vivid conversation was taking place in actions. Some story about driving was reenacted with an imaginary steering wheel and the emotion filled face of Dennis depicted the urgency of needing to stop the car suddenly. And then the story continued with some punches being thrown and even maybe a kiss I think. I caught his eyes as he was reliving his story for David and he grinned at me and then pointing at David did the finger swirling beside the head to universally signify crazy. But, his face is captivating. With no words to describe feelings, his face is the canvas with which he shares his feelings. Every emotion is exaggerated and so a happy face is a smile that lights up his whole face and reaches literally from ear to ear and a sad face is a frown with a bottom lip that pokes out. He is beautifully expressive and has no need for words.
Our second house takes us to Cassie, a 13 year old girl who had meningitis, and now is unable to walk. Her brain stopped developing at a young age and now she does not speak and spends most of her time on the floor or forced into a wheel chair. She hates being in the wheel chair, but when we come to give her the Eucharist, she is always in it. The only thing that comforts her is the presence of her aunt by her side and usually holding her hand and with her arm around her. This Sunday, nothing was different except that instead of being put in a corner in her wheel chair with nowhere to go to, she was on the other side of the circle in a space in which she could move back and forth in the wheelchair. During the prayers, she wheeled back and forth being very wary as to where I was. When we go to the Our Father, she wheeled forward as I walked towards her and then we held hands and prayed. Afterwards, my hand was tightly held by her and she pulled my arms towards and laid her head against my arm. We stayed like that for a minute or maybe less, but it was probably one of the highs of my day. With no words, she gently made me feel significant. She made me feel comforting and included. She didn’t need words to make me feel that way.
And so on this one Sunday morning, two children showed me the beauty of actions that don’t need to be explained by words. So many times, we as adults or young people believe that actions speak louder than words but always feel the need to explain our actions just in case they are misinterpreted or just to make sure that people understand. But maybe these words shouldn’t be necessary if the actions are speaking clearly enough by themselves.
I will never truly understand
I will never truly understand.
As the days trickle by and I become more and more accustomed to life in Honduras, much of it has become normal. I don’t think twice about checking to see if there is enough water in the bathroom to flush and it is second nature to put the toilet paper in the trash can. I greet people with a kiss on the cheek and I know to duck my head when a truck comes plowing by throwing clouds of dust in my direction. Yes, I have adapted to the ways of life here and yes, I now know how to act, how to behave, and how to live a little like a Honduran. But, maybe this is where it ends.
Just a couple of weeks ago, we were driving to Terrero Colorado (one of the villages in which we work) and I was riding with Julio, a Honduran friend. Julio is one of the leaders of one of the youth groups in the Church. He works in construction and painting and has a beautiful family of three children. We were on the first day of what would be a two day painting project of the Church with a group from Elms College and I was driving with Julio sitting shotgun. The conversation turned to the things that I didn’t expect to find or was surprised by in Honduras. I explained to him that any expectations that had come with me to Honduras had been forgotten and replaced with the actual reality of Honduras. We moved on to other conversations but were interrupted by a little shriek from me as I slowed down to lets a couple of chickens cross the road. Julio joked that I should just run them over and take them to lunch for us. I grimaced and seeing my discomfort, he continued to joke about the horrible method of killing a chicken by holding its head and spinning it around by its neck until it dies. My grimacing grew and I think some disgusted faces were made. He then chimed in saying, “Well, when you are hungry and poor, you have to do some things that aren’t pleasant.” In an attempt to justify my faces and remarks, I quickly said, “No I understand,” but before I could finish my sentence, he quickly cut me off and said “No you don’t understand. You have never been hungry or poor enough to have to kill a chicken with your hands.” He put me in my place and he was completely right.
No matter how much I try to tell myself that I have come to live a Honduran life, there are some things that I will never truly understand. I have never really been hungry. I have never had to ride a bike miles to school and I have never had to struggle to stay in school. I have never been in a situation where money was a real problem. I have never experienced the death of a relative or a loved one from reasons or causes that could be easily cured in other parts of the world. I have never lived a life where I wake with the sun to go to work and then return home as darkness falls knowing that each day will repeat in the same way. I have never experienced poverty as my life.
And so with seven months of life here, Julio is right. I don’t understand what it is like to be so hungry and with no other options than to kill a chicken with my hands and I probably never will. And so I wonder what I do understand about the people here. I may have had my struggles in different areas in my life but can they truly compare to their struggles and do my experiences grant me any ability to relate? I don’t know.
As the days trickle by and I become more and more accustomed to life in Honduras, much of it has become normal. I don’t think twice about checking to see if there is enough water in the bathroom to flush and it is second nature to put the toilet paper in the trash can. I greet people with a kiss on the cheek and I know to duck my head when a truck comes plowing by throwing clouds of dust in my direction. Yes, I have adapted to the ways of life here and yes, I now know how to act, how to behave, and how to live a little like a Honduran. But, maybe this is where it ends.
Just a couple of weeks ago, we were driving to Terrero Colorado (one of the villages in which we work) and I was riding with Julio, a Honduran friend. Julio is one of the leaders of one of the youth groups in the Church. He works in construction and painting and has a beautiful family of three children. We were on the first day of what would be a two day painting project of the Church with a group from Elms College and I was driving with Julio sitting shotgun. The conversation turned to the things that I didn’t expect to find or was surprised by in Honduras. I explained to him that any expectations that had come with me to Honduras had been forgotten and replaced with the actual reality of Honduras. We moved on to other conversations but were interrupted by a little shriek from me as I slowed down to lets a couple of chickens cross the road. Julio joked that I should just run them over and take them to lunch for us. I grimaced and seeing my discomfort, he continued to joke about the horrible method of killing a chicken by holding its head and spinning it around by its neck until it dies. My grimacing grew and I think some disgusted faces were made. He then chimed in saying, “Well, when you are hungry and poor, you have to do some things that aren’t pleasant.” In an attempt to justify my faces and remarks, I quickly said, “No I understand,” but before I could finish my sentence, he quickly cut me off and said “No you don’t understand. You have never been hungry or poor enough to have to kill a chicken with your hands.” He put me in my place and he was completely right.
No matter how much I try to tell myself that I have come to live a Honduran life, there are some things that I will never truly understand. I have never really been hungry. I have never had to ride a bike miles to school and I have never had to struggle to stay in school. I have never been in a situation where money was a real problem. I have never experienced the death of a relative or a loved one from reasons or causes that could be easily cured in other parts of the world. I have never lived a life where I wake with the sun to go to work and then return home as darkness falls knowing that each day will repeat in the same way. I have never experienced poverty as my life.
And so with seven months of life here, Julio is right. I don’t understand what it is like to be so hungry and with no other options than to kill a chicken with my hands and I probably never will. And so I wonder what I do understand about the people here. I may have had my struggles in different areas in my life but can they truly compare to their struggles and do my experiences grant me any ability to relate? I don’t know.
I miss.....
I miss carpet.
I miss the Penguin’s Dixie Chicken sandwiches.
I miss listening to the radio in the car.
I miss sleeping in without consequences or guilt.
I miss Saturday morning cartoons.
I miss Mum’s cooking.
I miss flushing a toilet without throwing water down it.
I miss warm, soft laundry freshly from the dryer.
I miss clean feet.
I miss late night food runs.
I miss having a mess of friends mere minutes from my dorm room.
I miss my body pillow.
I miss wearing heels.
I miss warm steamy showers than can last up to 30 minutes.
I miss having a social life.
I miss spring fever.
I miss being in driving distance from home.
I miss swinging and talking on the swing bench at Queens.
I miss chocolate pretzels.
I miss the Penguin’s Dixie Chicken sandwiches.
I miss listening to the radio in the car.
I miss sleeping in without consequences or guilt.
I miss Saturday morning cartoons.
I miss Mum’s cooking.
I miss flushing a toilet without throwing water down it.
I miss warm, soft laundry freshly from the dryer.
I miss clean feet.
I miss late night food runs.
I miss having a mess of friends mere minutes from my dorm room.
I miss my body pillow.
I miss wearing heels.
I miss warm steamy showers than can last up to 30 minutes.
I miss having a social life.
I miss spring fever.
I miss being in driving distance from home.
I miss swinging and talking on the swing bench at Queens.
I miss chocolate pretzels.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
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