I love experiencing new cultures. It has always been so interesting to me to see how other groups of people interact, what their traditions are, and why they live in the ways they do. Cultures have always been beautiful, different, and something almost exotic. And in many ways, I feel this about the Honduran culture. I admire the beauty of how dedicated the Hondurans are to their faith. I marvel at the traditions of floats, 4am Novenas, and morning Birthday serenades. But there are also many parts of the culture that drive me nuts. Yes, this is coming from a foreigner that doesn’t understand the culture, the tradition, courtesy or interactions between people and yes, I am probably missing a little bit of acculturation, but some parts of the culture I just do not seem to be able to adapt to.
I have never been that punctual of a person—never. But the people of Honduras put this into a new respect. We were warned of this before we came and I didn’t really think it would be a big deal. I was actually kind of excited because I’m almost always late in the States and hated feeling so rushed all the time. Well, I don’t whether I have gone to the other extreme of always wanting to be early, but time is so fluid here. Meetings that are supposed to start at 6 maybe get started at 6:30. A couple of weeks ago, we went to a meeting that was supposed to start a 5 and didn’t even move into the meeting room until 6:05. It just gets under my skin. To me, it’s a general disrespect of people’s time, but in this culture, there is just no rush. Every week, Catechism starts at 2—but I can never start class because at 2, I only have about 3 of 28 children present and so maybe we start at 2:30 on a good day. And then the professors in charge do not turn up until this time either. And this general lack of regard of time then in turn makes you late for other events. Last week, we went to go cut down palms for a lady at the Church and told her we had to be back by 1. At 1, we were at her house finishing lunch she had cooked for her. I hate making people wait and I hate feeling irresponsible, but maybe I need to realize that these people are probably not waiting but expecting me in a little bit. In my mission statement, I wrote that I want to follow the rhythm of the Honduran people and this I am struggling with.
I also have never been a person that sincerely values their privacy. But, I have had to re-evaluate that here. Our house is surrounded by a wall that has about five metal decorated windows and at least once a day, I feel like someone is looking through them or calling out to us through them. We have a front garage door looking thing and because it doesn’t go together very well, you can see our front door from it and so everybody can tell if we are home or not. And if people knock and we don’t answer and they see the door open, they will continue knocking until we answer. Kids will knock for hours until we answer. Our trash that sits outside of our house has already been rummaged through by visitors asking why we were throwing this out or if they could have this empty container. And the whole time, I just wanted to scream it’s our trash! And when people come over, they have no reservations about going through boxes or looking at anything we have laying out. And the whole time, I just want to tell them to butt out, to give us our time and our space and to let us be—but our privacy is non-existent here and time off is rare.
I have never liked asking for stuff, but here no reservations exist. When there is something that someone wants, they just come out and ask. And this is something that we as a team have been floundering in. Just the other day, we were working outside to organize something and a lady from the Church knocked on the door to ask if she could have two pieces of wood that were sitting outside our house. She had seen them through the crack in the garage door and came strolling in to ask for them. People ask us for rides left and right because we have a car and have no reservations in asking. It’s almost like it’s expected. And there is no thought that they might be taking advantage of us. And half of me feels as though these people must have no reservations about asking because they are in need and that lessens it slightly—but at the same time, I miss the culturally etiquette and sometimes even false politeness before asking for something. Maybe due to the language, but normal questions are never asked, but statements are used instead. For instance, “Drive me to Agua Blanca?” as opposed to “Can you drive me to Agua Blanca.” People are unbelievable in what they will ask you to do here without batting an eyelash.
This all sounds so negative, but one of the biggest frustrations is just not being able to understand why people act in this way or not being acculturated enough that this doesn’t bother me anymore. But, in all sincerity, I do not think that in the space of a year I will be able to shed all of my cultural norms, values, and standards of politeness and respect to completely adapt to Honduras. To a certain extent, yes, I can become more used to a more laid back, less structured fluid time schedule and actually enjoy taking my time in life as opposed to rushing through it. And maybe by being pushed to a less private life, I will form stronger relationships and gain a more deeper meaning for my trash..haha. And maybe people always asking for stuff is my perfect opportunity to give. But, only with time and patience will these cultural frustrations stop being difficulties and start being simply another way to live life.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Cutting the Power
So I’ve always thought that cutting the power was a strange saying. Especially in the South, people tend to say cut the lights and its never made sense to me. Well, let me tell you a little ditty that gives a whole new meaning to this saying.
Once a month, we get a knock on our door at an unknown time and an unknown date and an electric company worker comes to read the meter and give us an electric bill. If you are not in the house when he comes, well then you have to wait till next month. The electric bill itself looks like a receipt and gives you the total of how much you owe and then some strange address that tells the general location of your house. Our receipt says that we are close to the evangelical church.
Well, our receipt arrived on Monday—but with a busy day ahead of us, we opted to pay it on Tuesday. Paying the receipt is another adventure. Instead of just putting a check in the mail or bringing it to the electric company, you have to bring a check to the bank and wait in a line with the rest of Talanga who also received their power bills that same week. Last month, we waited for about an hour and a half in the line. Needless to say, it’s not an easy process. On Tuesday, luckily, one of our friends was already waiting in line and told us she would pay it for us.
And now about 5 o’clock in the afternoon rolls around and everyone makes their way home from Terrero and Tegucigalpa and we have no lights and a note in the door saying our power has been cut. It was cold and getting dark so we called our life line Fatima who told us to call the power company. Since the address that I mentioned earlier is sort of vague, the boys took it in turns standing on the corner outside our house looking for a passing electric company truck. After about an hour or so, the worker arrived and asked where the power had been cut. Confused, we told him we weren’t exactly sure and so he looked up to the power pole outside our house and pointed to two wires that had obviously been cut. Now I’m not using cut figuratively. Someone (apparently from a company in Tegus) had come along with a pair of scissors and cut the wires. Telling us that he needed a long ladder, he left to return later to somehow sort of tie the wires back together and restore light to our humble abode.
In conversations with many people across Talanga, countless houses lost power with us and very few seemed to understand why the power company was being quite so strict. But, now we know to pay our electric bill on the same day and why people use the saying ‘cut the power.’
Once a month, we get a knock on our door at an unknown time and an unknown date and an electric company worker comes to read the meter and give us an electric bill. If you are not in the house when he comes, well then you have to wait till next month. The electric bill itself looks like a receipt and gives you the total of how much you owe and then some strange address that tells the general location of your house. Our receipt says that we are close to the evangelical church.
Well, our receipt arrived on Monday—but with a busy day ahead of us, we opted to pay it on Tuesday. Paying the receipt is another adventure. Instead of just putting a check in the mail or bringing it to the electric company, you have to bring a check to the bank and wait in a line with the rest of Talanga who also received their power bills that same week. Last month, we waited for about an hour and a half in the line. Needless to say, it’s not an easy process. On Tuesday, luckily, one of our friends was already waiting in line and told us she would pay it for us.
And now about 5 o’clock in the afternoon rolls around and everyone makes their way home from Terrero and Tegucigalpa and we have no lights and a note in the door saying our power has been cut. It was cold and getting dark so we called our life line Fatima who told us to call the power company. Since the address that I mentioned earlier is sort of vague, the boys took it in turns standing on the corner outside our house looking for a passing electric company truck. After about an hour or so, the worker arrived and asked where the power had been cut. Confused, we told him we weren’t exactly sure and so he looked up to the power pole outside our house and pointed to two wires that had obviously been cut. Now I’m not using cut figuratively. Someone (apparently from a company in Tegus) had come along with a pair of scissors and cut the wires. Telling us that he needed a long ladder, he left to return later to somehow sort of tie the wires back together and restore light to our humble abode.
In conversations with many people across Talanga, countless houses lost power with us and very few seemed to understand why the power company was being quite so strict. But, now we know to pay our electric bill on the same day and why people use the saying ‘cut the power.’
Oh Critters....
Animals in Honduras are a little different from those in the United States—in fact, I’ve never had an experience at home that would make me scream to the high Heavens and make me wish that I never had to experience the close, proximity of animals ever again. But, in the space of two days, I had two encounters with horrendous creatures that almost brought me to tears, made me scream and shriek like a little girl, and made me realize just how important my personal bubble is when it comes to yucky creatures.
Let’s begin with a Thursday night in the park. Amy and I had decided to go watch a little futbolito (a 5 on 5 game of soccer played on a b-ball court with a small ball). Seated in the front row with Chiki, one of our friends here, we finished watching the first game and then were distracted by crowds of kids gathering in the corner beside us. Chiki explained to us that the other team about to play were the Possums and that in this corner were two starving, ugly possums. They were painted with blue and white stripes like the jerseys of their team and were on leashes like dogs. At the mere sight of them, I felt my stomach turn and shuddered. With them situated a couple of feet away, I was managing—but then the two owners decided it would be fun to literally either drag or swing them beside the crowd. Every time they pulled this stunt, Amy and I both screamed and freaked out. Noticing our fear, the two owners thought it would be especially funny to come over. They waited until the first goal and then before I knew it, this ugly, disgusting possum was being waved right in front us. I screamed and huddled as closely to Amy as I could. With my head shoved behind Amy, screaming as loud as I could, and heart beating out of control, I felt the horrendous creature on my back. It was at that point where I think I almost peed my pants. Side note: For those of you who don’t know this strange fact about me, I hate ferrets with a serious passion and the similarities between possums and ferrets are way too many. I didn’t want to swat at it and get bitten, but obviously I didn’t want it on my back. Thank God, at this point Chiki stood up to come to our defense and the awful critter left my back. Let’s just say it took a while for me to calm down. I wanted to leave but that would have meant that they would have won. And so when the next goal came quickly after, Chiki understood the severity of the matter and I huddled behind him as he stood up and told the guy to back up. Chiki is only about my height but they listened to him. After the second encounter, a little boy sitting behind me told me I could sit beside him and his dad told me they didn’t bite. Further away, I was safe from the possums and when the next goal came, an orange fight made our perfect exit.
A struggled night of sleep trying not to think about possums led to a groggy morning of school and then mopping. With an interruption from one of my Catechism students and host sister, Nohelia and I started chatting and then I realized I needed my copy of curriculum for next week. As I searched for the piece of paper, a pretty large brown spider was uncovered and I actually wasn’t too taken back. Spiders seemed like nothing compared to the possums. So I went to swat it off my bed and as I hit it, about a billion little spiders erupted from the momma spider. Billion might be a slight exaggeration, but I shouted out many choice exclamations as I saw the bottom end of my blanket scattered with miniature spiders. The big one would have been fine, but the idea of tiny spiders crawling on the blanket that I sleep with gave me the eeby jeebys. With as much force, I grabbed my blanket and went storming to the back yard cursing the country and looking for a big tub to drown all the little eight legged creatures that had any idea of making a home in my blanket. I then proceeded to spray Raid around every corner of my bed frame and pray to God that no more spiders would get near my bed.
Yuck, yuck, yuck
Let’s begin with a Thursday night in the park. Amy and I had decided to go watch a little futbolito (a 5 on 5 game of soccer played on a b-ball court with a small ball). Seated in the front row with Chiki, one of our friends here, we finished watching the first game and then were distracted by crowds of kids gathering in the corner beside us. Chiki explained to us that the other team about to play were the Possums and that in this corner were two starving, ugly possums. They were painted with blue and white stripes like the jerseys of their team and were on leashes like dogs. At the mere sight of them, I felt my stomach turn and shuddered. With them situated a couple of feet away, I was managing—but then the two owners decided it would be fun to literally either drag or swing them beside the crowd. Every time they pulled this stunt, Amy and I both screamed and freaked out. Noticing our fear, the two owners thought it would be especially funny to come over. They waited until the first goal and then before I knew it, this ugly, disgusting possum was being waved right in front us. I screamed and huddled as closely to Amy as I could. With my head shoved behind Amy, screaming as loud as I could, and heart beating out of control, I felt the horrendous creature on my back. It was at that point where I think I almost peed my pants. Side note: For those of you who don’t know this strange fact about me, I hate ferrets with a serious passion and the similarities between possums and ferrets are way too many. I didn’t want to swat at it and get bitten, but obviously I didn’t want it on my back. Thank God, at this point Chiki stood up to come to our defense and the awful critter left my back. Let’s just say it took a while for me to calm down. I wanted to leave but that would have meant that they would have won. And so when the next goal came quickly after, Chiki understood the severity of the matter and I huddled behind him as he stood up and told the guy to back up. Chiki is only about my height but they listened to him. After the second encounter, a little boy sitting behind me told me I could sit beside him and his dad told me they didn’t bite. Further away, I was safe from the possums and when the next goal came, an orange fight made our perfect exit.
A struggled night of sleep trying not to think about possums led to a groggy morning of school and then mopping. With an interruption from one of my Catechism students and host sister, Nohelia and I started chatting and then I realized I needed my copy of curriculum for next week. As I searched for the piece of paper, a pretty large brown spider was uncovered and I actually wasn’t too taken back. Spiders seemed like nothing compared to the possums. So I went to swat it off my bed and as I hit it, about a billion little spiders erupted from the momma spider. Billion might be a slight exaggeration, but I shouted out many choice exclamations as I saw the bottom end of my blanket scattered with miniature spiders. The big one would have been fine, but the idea of tiny spiders crawling on the blanket that I sleep with gave me the eeby jeebys. With as much force, I grabbed my blanket and went storming to the back yard cursing the country and looking for a big tub to drown all the little eight legged creatures that had any idea of making a home in my blanket. I then proceeded to spray Raid around every corner of my bed frame and pray to God that no more spiders would get near my bed.
Yuck, yuck, yuck
My Mission Statement
I am governed by a faith that does not allow me to merely say ‘I believe,’ but a faith that compels me to live, serve, and befriend the crucified of today. It is faith that fills me with a true sense of joy and purpose that allows me to realize that who I am is secondary to what I am doing and who I am serving.
I am supported and embraced by the loving encouragement that is my family—the best team I’ve ever belonged to. Despite countless miles between our hearts, may I be ever present to the gifts of laughter, respect, and imperfect, but perfect love that define my family and thus me.
I am driven by the hope of transformation and the beauty of loving over doing. In the intricacies of God’s plan, I am challenged and confirmed by knowing that I am a part—and that I have been given gifts to share in building of the body of Christ.
I am founded in the rich heritage and tradition of our Catholic faith—in the curiosity to learn and understand more—but also to listen—and in the importance and value of relationships.
I am dedicated to following the rhythm of the people of Honduras and allowing myself to be molded, challenged and reborn in this new land. In modeling my ability to learn on that of a child, I look to nurture a listening heart and to daily make frequent acts of love for God. In every encounter, may I seek the face of Christ and truly reverence each person as a gift in my journey. May I live in the present-never taking for granted the obstacles and joys of sacrifice and simplicity. And may I learn to be patient in my shortcomings and lifted up by the warmth of hope.
I am sustained by the undeniable presence of the Holy Spirit working in my life. With God before me, Jesus beside me, and the Holy Spirit within me, I left myself fall into the arms of God.
I am supported and embraced by the loving encouragement that is my family—the best team I’ve ever belonged to. Despite countless miles between our hearts, may I be ever present to the gifts of laughter, respect, and imperfect, but perfect love that define my family and thus me.
I am driven by the hope of transformation and the beauty of loving over doing. In the intricacies of God’s plan, I am challenged and confirmed by knowing that I am a part—and that I have been given gifts to share in building of the body of Christ.
I am founded in the rich heritage and tradition of our Catholic faith—in the curiosity to learn and understand more—but also to listen—and in the importance and value of relationships.
I am dedicated to following the rhythm of the people of Honduras and allowing myself to be molded, challenged and reborn in this new land. In modeling my ability to learn on that of a child, I look to nurture a listening heart and to daily make frequent acts of love for God. In every encounter, may I seek the face of Christ and truly reverence each person as a gift in my journey. May I live in the present-never taking for granted the obstacles and joys of sacrifice and simplicity. And may I learn to be patient in my shortcomings and lifted up by the warmth of hope.
I am sustained by the undeniable presence of the Holy Spirit working in my life. With God before me, Jesus beside me, and the Holy Spirit within me, I left myself fall into the arms of God.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Thursday, November 1, 2007
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