Catracho

Catracho is slang for Honduran. Similar to how Gringo is slang for American.

4/6/2010

Written in Jessie’s journal on: 4/6/2010

Yesterday in hogar, one of our boys ran up to me with blood dripping from his fingers yelling in agony. The other boys were acting strangely, but nonetheless I ran to his aid. I knew something was amiss, but I started helping him anyway and I was asking him what happened when all the other boys busted out laughing. It was real blood, but it was from a nosebleed not a cut. They convinced him to use the opportunity to play a trick on me since they know how I’ll react. They like to pretend they are falling off of high places whenever they get the chance to get a rise out of me. They love to worry me. One thing that really worries me is dealing with blood here because so many of them have HIV. We have to be super careful about not ever coming in contact with it at all.

Yahtzee is the game of the month for April. We have been playing it every night. I had to translate all of the score cards, but they love it! We had a good vacation over semana santa, but it’s nice to be back. They were all so excited the first night we got back. I got hugs from all 23 of them, even those who don’t talk to me that much, and some of them had never hugged me before. That was really refreshing. Sort of a reminder of why we are really here.

The weekend before we left we went camping with all of the boys on the ranch including ours (the girls go separately). Their idea of camping is much different than ours though, but it makes sense because we would need a ton of tents if we did it the American way. We did have several big tents, but not enough so the rest slept in a local school while the tents got pitched on the playground. When I say “in” the school though that is relative because the schools here are open. It is the same where I work. I have a lovely breeze in my classroom, but when the air is still and the sun is hot the heat can be oppressive. We “camped” in a small pretty town by a river where we swam for hours. Once we were there the boys ran free in the town. As soon as we got there the only rule the boys were given was “Don’t steal people’s fruit from the trees”. Tempting it was, too. Orange, tamarindo, sugar cane, mangoes, papayas and other fruits grew all over the little town. The boys steal fruit off of ranch trees when it is still two weeks short of being ripe. Sure enough though, the boys began showing up at “camp” with four/foot sugar canes and their shirts filled with sour, sweet tamarindo. We began to reprimand them, but they pleaded with us, telling us that these things had been given to them “como regalo.” Sure enough, it seems that the small town had been quite captivated by our group of 150 or so orphaned boys. They were all very generous to them while we were there. The pulperias {little convenience stores} opened their doors and allowed them to hang out for hours. Many of the boys who had recently had birthdays had saved their birthday money {they are only given about 200 lempiras, which is about $10) so they could buy treats and snacks while in the town. They don’t get the opportunity to go out and choose what they eat very often, so it was exciting to see their excitement over this freedom. One of the joys of life that you really don’t think about, but it surely is a privilege.

One night, Trip and I were hanging out at a pulperia with 5 of our boys, talking to the owner and half-watching angels and demons in Spanish on TV. We bought them all popsicles and chocolate/covered frozen bananas. Of course, they were all in heaven. All in all, it was a nice trip, despite the discomforts. For example, for all 150 boys, tios and volunteers, we only had one toilet that only flushed from a reserve tank with a bucket. You had to fill the bucket and dump it in. You can imagine how disgusting it was by the end, and the reserve was empty. And of course, there was no showering. There were a monton of stinky boys, but we brought some bars of soap down to the river to lather up. This helped, although it still reeked. They don’t give they boys deodorant here, either, not even the older ones. We were thankful that Stefan gave us a ride home in his truck. We certainly weren’t looking forward to being stuck in a packed bus with them for two hours after all that.

We left early the next morning for Copan in northern Honduras. Por fin tenemos vacacion! We left at 7:30 am and did not arrive until almost 11 pm. The lack of major roads and the bumps and curves and mountains and some of it is not even paved makes what would be a 3hr trip in the US into an all day ordeal here. Oh, the joys of Honduras. Copan is beautiful, though a bit touristy. At this point in our time here though we are ready for some touristy lavishness. We ate pizza for the first time in 3 months! (What is referred to as pizza that is made on the ranch hardly counts, with the popular hard salty Honduran cheese.) Copan is the home to some of the most famous Mayan ruins. They are said to be the most artistic of the Mayan ruins with an abundance of intricately carved statues that have survived. We dedicated two full days to exploring the museum that houses the original pieces, the restored site of the ruins and the nearby residential area ruins.

We stayed with a nice family for the 5 nights that we were there, and they provided us with breakfast in the morning. They were nice clean accommodations with a hot shower and all. It cost us 300 lempiras ($15) a night for both. While we staying there in Copan Trip woke me up one night talking in his sleep. This isn’t really unusual, but this time he was speaking in clear Spanish. I usually can’t understand him when he’s talking in his sleep in English, but his Spanish was clear and correct, actually better than his waking Spanish. Analyze that. Late on the Thursday night before Good Friday many locals gathered in the center to make the beautiful sawdust alfombras (carpets) that cover the streets. They shut down the main street and cover it with 2in of regular sawdust. Then they decorate over that with a variety of colors of dyed sawdust to make intricate designs and images, mostly of Jesus, Honduras and the Virgin Mary. It was something I have long wanted to see from all of the descriptions I have read in my studies of Latin America and Mayan culture. The next night on Good Friday there was a religious procession that marched through the streets carrying large intricately decorated caskets with statues of Mary and Jesus on top. The procession carried on over the carpets destroying step by step their hours of hard work. Afterward the town kids swarmed the carpeted streets and had a sawdust war to be talked about till next year. Trip and I stood on the sidelines for a while laughing, talking and just taking in the madness. It is so interesting to see the influences of Mayan culture that have permeated through into the Catholic faith on one of their most important holidays. The journey home was much easier and enjoyable except that the traffic at the end made us miss the last bus back which forced us to stay in the city.
We were awoken by gunshots outside of our hotel (I would say window, but this dump didn’t afford us a window in our room), which we soon realized were meant to celebrate the beginning of Easter day. The potential aesthetic value of a firework as opposed to just being a loud bang is a concept lost on Hondurans. At religious celebrations on the ranch they set off fireworks in broad daylight just for the sound. Besides their fireworks have very little light emitted. On Father’s day, which is celebrated in March here and is a much bigger deal here than in the US, the religion department decided to set off fireworks at four in the morning outside of our window. I was scared shitless and asked Trip what he thought it was. “It was too loud to have been a gun. It must have been a transformer exploding.” he said. Then we heard their guitars start playing. I guess they aren’t completely irrational because if there is anything that brings people closer to God it has got to be thinking that your about to die. This was yet the beginning. From there they continued for over an hour until every child was crying, adult was angry, dog was barking and the nearby military base was locked and loaded. It was actually a blessing that we didn’t make it back to the ranch on Saturday night because everyone was awakened for a 4-7am mass which means the bombing started at 3am, and that is what is referred to as a ungodly hour. The orphanage was worried about being so close to a military base. Little did anyone consider that it was the military who should be worried. I imagine they refer to Semana Santa as “Hell Week” on the base.

After a week of vacation it was really good to get back to the ranch. Aside from our boys being excited I had a lot more energy to start an new quarter in school. A lot of my students did really well on their exams, so well, in fact, that I was able to retire 4 of them from tutoria entirely. Now I have taken on 4 new students who need it more. I kind of felt bad about retiring them after only one quarter, but that’s how it works here. I felt horrible telling them that they wouldn’t be continuing because they love turtoria, and when I walk the halls at the school I’m showered with students asking me when they get to come. Even from kids who aren’t in turtoria. It’s cute, but it’s getting old. I am pretty much maxed out with 12 students, because each kid gets at least 2hrs each week with me. There are also several kids who are new to the ranch and are way behind so I’ll be putting in extra hours to catch them up. One of my boys was particularly upset when I told him and he continually asks me why he can’t come. I have been working hard planning new activities to keep them focused and make learning fun for them in this next quarter. I also have to put together grades for all of my students and give them to their tios.

The other day I was going to talk to the 2nd grade teacher and my favorite student was in the classroom there. He is the one I wrote about in my last entry. When I got there, as soon as he saw me, he got so excited that he jumped out of his chair, ran out and slid down the hallway until he got to his shoes which he frantically began putting on. Until I had to break it to him that he didn’t have tutoria right now. He was crushed. I felt so bad, but it was the cutest thing. He did really well on his exams as well. The teacher told me that she has seen a real improvement in is work. It has been really gratifying to see some of the results of my work, but there are also some students who really didn’t do well at all. It is frustrating though, because I have already gone over the mistakes on the exam with some of them. They knew the answers, but they got them wrong. I think we need to go over some test-taking skills.

When I was doing study sessions by hogar with all of the kids, not just my students, before the exams. I was surprised by some of the kids. It seemed that there were a lot more that should be in tutoria with me, or maybe they just need better teachers. I had a lot of fun with these study sessions. I was worried about teaching so many kids together after school hours when they are a little rowdier. I was pleasantly surprised, though. A lot of them participated and seemed to enjoy it. Part of this is, I think, because of one of the most worthwhile purchases I’ve made since I’ve been here. I bought a mini white board about the size of two standard sheets of paper side by side and a bunch of markers. The kids love writing on it, and it increases their desire to participate a great deal. At the study sessions, we passed the board around the circle so that everyone could get a chance to do an example problem from each theme on the exam. With the 9-12 year old boys hogar, we sat outside in the grass in a circle for the hour, and it was actually quite pleasant. That is, until one of the boys got up and went behind me up the hill about 5 feet. I didn’t think much of it until I heard the dull dribbling sound characteristic of when one pees in the grass. We all looked up and jumped up quickly to avoid the stream. We were forced to relocate the session. I don’t think the kid even thought about it. He just really had to pee and that was as far as he could get. Plus, I think he chose that particular spot because he wanted to pee on top of a particularly large anthill that was up there. We had a good laugh and moved on.

Hondurans have a uniquely interesting way of pointing at things. They don’t use their hands and fingers but they use their lips instead. They purse them out and point with them in the desired direction. I have even picked up the habit myself. It’s hard not to when you’re around things like that so much. They also do it while they’re talking. Anytime a Honduran is angry or a conversation gets more intense, they start talking in a deeper voice and stick out their lips when they talk. We would call it pouting, though it is usually only kids that pout. Here, everyone does it. I have gone through phases with what I think about this pouting and how I react to it. At first, it was kind of strange and it took time to get used to it. Then for a while I hardly noticed it anymore. Then about two weeks ago I was sitting at dinner in my hogar with about 7 boys and Tia Otilia. We were all just talking when suddenly the conversation got more heated and everyone had something to say. I looked up from my food, looked around me and noticed that there were 5 people talking at once, lips pursed, voices deepened and it hit me all at once. I nearly burst out laughing right there. I had to get up and leave so I could laugh. I don’t know why, but in that moment, it suddenly became hilarious. An endearing kind of hilarious. I’m still in that funny phase, but I’ll probably be doing it myself soon enough.¿