Life is good?

The large and lush property where Kate and I live is supposedly being sold (supposedly because Hondurans are more capricious than I am) to Don Saul, an ex judge of Corquin who will, supposedly, be moving in with his new, pregnant, nineteen year old wife. Before they confiscate our beloved place, he has to rebuild part of a wall in our backyard made out of hefty rocks that collapsed a few months ago so that the bank will approve the loan that he’s asking for. Yesterday that endeavor began and this morning it ensued. My reason for this banal introduction is as a precursor to the following: as Kate, Byron (Kate’s Honduran boyfriend), and I were sitting around the table drinking coffee and eating carrot bread I noticed that Don Saul was standing back, arms crossed, while watching his two workers mix water and dirt to make mud to use as an adhesive for the rocks. I asked Byron “? Por que solo esta parado allí mirando y no ayuda?” (Why is he just standing there, not helping?) To me, it seemed like a waste of time; if he didn’t want to work he could have left, he’s the boss. To which Byron replied, “ Es que si el se va ellos dejaran de trabajar o trabajaran mas despacio”. (If he leaves they’ll work slower or stop working). Lo and behold, a few minutes later Don Saul bid us a farewell and went on his way. Literally one minute later one of the workers came down and told us he’d be right back and hastily left. At that moment Byron made a prediction, “Va ir a comprar guaro”. The trabajador (worker) wasted absolutely no time in taking advantage of the lack of vigilance and came back bearing a bottle of guaro at nine in the morning. Guaro is a form of aguardiente, or moonshine, made from sugar cane, none discriminately enjoyed by alcoholics for its strong alcohol content and comfortable price. It seems that letting one’s guard down when The Man isn’t hovering about is a universal trait, at least a western hemispheric one. Perhaps an innate quality we are born with, thus, should never feel guilty about. Ultimately, and inebriated, the workers labored on and the wall is almost completed. It is now lunch time and they have left to eat and, probably, to drink their wages away at one of the local cantinas. Work hard and play hard…

In more optimistic missive, earlier this week I went to Portrerillos, an “aldea” of Corquin, with the maternal clinic in order to service women and children who often have difficulties coming down the mountain to see a doctor due to house work, picking coffee (‘tis coffee season), or are just too sick and tired to bother. I accompanied Gladys, a nurse born and raised in Portrerillos, and Dr. Jackie, an Iowan that has lived in Honduras for the past 15 years. We set up at the local elementary school and soon realized that none of the villagers were aware of our presence; therefore, Gladys and I took it upon ourselves to walk house to house to inform the community of our medical purpose. Unlike the paranoid U.S, every single house we went to had their doors wide open so all we would do was yell “Buenas!” and walk in. We rarely encountered any men around, as they were probably out in the farms, and the women were always quick to offer us something to eat or drink. It’s a good thing for my figure that I don’t visit Portrerillos with much frequency or I would become a bloated balloon by the end of my service. It’s difficult to tell people that you don’t want anything they’re offering because they’ll feel badly, like you’re “despreciando” their food and hospitality. It is easier for me in my site, Corquin, because I know the community better and they know my habits better and they know that when I refuse to eat or drink something it’s not because I’m ungrateful, rather because I’ve already eaten or will probably eat soon. Needless to say, in Portrerillos that day I overate: a sweet corn tamale, two corn tortillas with red beans, pitos (a long, bright red seed that grows on trees that induces sleep due to its opium effect, although I’ve not once felt anything from eating them; just another of many Honduran “creencias”, myths) a chunk of soft, milky cheese called quajada, a boiled potato, two slices of ham fried in butter, hot chocolate, and a banana flavored soft drink. Eventually, Gladys and I had to refuse the generous nature of the Honduran peasants, which led to us having to take things to eat later. I came down from the mountain that day with a pound of quajada, a pound of requeson (which is similar to ricotta cheese), a pound of freshly ground coffee, and more pitos. I was offered spaghetti but simply had to refuse, pointing to my swollen belly. This action of selflessly giving to others is such a reoccurrence everywhere in this country that it has become a custom. What is it that evokes this giving nature in poor people; karma perhaps?

So there’s this group of about five young children, mostly boys, who always come to sit outside my front door. They’re content to just sit there and watch me as I read, clean, or type away on my computer. Sometimes I invite them in but usually they just hang out on my front stoop. Having studied psychology I realize that I have manipulated a behavioral change in them. Observe: these children used to come by a few times a week usually due to curiosity; “What are the gringas doing right now? Let’s go find out”. Whenever they came by Kate and I were intrigued at how entertained they were simply sitting and observing us. They must be bored, we’d fathom. In reality we are like the exotic polar bears in the zoo, well not quite so dangerous, more like the outgoing dolphins everyone knows and loves but rarely gets to encounter. Hence, we experience what is known as the “fishbowl effect” virtually everywhere we go. People will stop mid-stride, or mid-conversation, and blatantly stare as we pass by. Or, if our front doors are open, and they usually are, people, mostly children, will do the same thing. Here’s where the psychology comes into play. Apparently we have been rewarding this behavior with the children by giving them treats every single time they drop by to stare. At first I didn’t realize this, thinking we were giving them treats because we felt awful about how bored they must be that they have to come sit in front of our doors to overcome the unbearable monotony of being young children. Then it hit me. Since Kate and I also experience a rather large amount of boredom due to the monotony of being PCVs we tend to bake, a lot, and often we receive packages full of goodies that the both of us can’t consume due to health issues (obesity) so we are constantly giving away food, usually sweets. Sweets like brownies, fudge, chocolate covered banana chips, and banana bread that are not common eats around these parts.
Incidentally, the children now come by daily, and it’s very rare the occasion that we don’t have something lying around to reward them with for remembering to come by to stare at the wild gringas. Frankly, at first it was annoying but now we use this to our advantage. Sometimes Kate and I are feeling so lazy (or in the middle of a Grey’s Anatomy marathon) that the idea of stepping outside to walk a block to the nearest pulperia (corner store) to buy eggs, sugar, or a Tigo cell phone card sounds unbearable so we’ll leave the door open and, inevitably, the children will come by. Then, not with the slightest feeling of guilt, we will send them to run errands for us and upon their return we’ve got a handful of chocolate malt balls waiting for them. Life is good!