The Best and Worst Jalons. Or... Pig Urine Smells Terrible

Best

So in this last week I have received my best and worst jalons of my year in country. For those of you who have not been keeping up with the spanglish I use in this blog, a jalon is a hitch-hiked ride. The best one came Friday afternoon when I was on my way to the closest city to me, Santa Rosa, to hang out w some friends and do some shopping. My friend with whom I was supposed to get a ride to the international high way (a two lane road in terrible repair, but still better than every other road in the this country) with at 4 pm (in time to catch the bus that passes at 5:30) didn’t end up getting his act together until 5:20 (not in time to catch said bus). So as it turned out I was left standing on the side of the international highway at 5:50, with little hope of making it to Santa Rosa in a timely manor (the next bus passes at 11:00 pm). So it was as I stood there at the top of a mountain amid freezing winds and heavy fog contemplating my next move that I saw a solitary four door car approaching (as a side note, when one is trying to catch a jalon it is usually best to try to flag pickups, since people rarely offer you rides inside their cars). I figured it was worth a shot and half heartedly flagged it down. By some awesome chance the driver stopped and picked me up, and by another it turned out he was headed most of the way to my destination. Then after chatting it up a bit, I realized that he was actually headed all the way to the north coast and was just looking for a place to spend the night and continue his trip in the morning, and I was able to convince him to continue on to Santa Rosa. To top it off, after driving me all the way to my destination, he refused to accept any money for the ride. Overall a great experience.

Worst

So after that awesome last jalon, a few days later I encountered the very worst jalon of my peace corps life (or really my life in general since I never hitch-hike in the US, really I don’t think any one does any more, since we all assume we will get murdered and robbed, which is interesting that I never have that worry in a country with a murder rate around 50 times that of the US). I was returning to my site after a brief visit to Cucuyagua a town about an hour from my desvio (where my road meets the international high way) and had missed my towns only bus of the day. Thus I was left sitting at the desvio waiting for a jalon back to town (15 kms of mountainous road away). After about 20 mins a flat bed truck passed by loaded with house hold furniture (I think they were moving to Fraternidad) and stopped so I could hop up in the back. With me back there were three men and a pig, which was tied up and at first hidden under a big tarp. I quickly noticed the pig however when it started to get restless and squirm and squeal. This was initially not too bad since one of the guys was holding it down and was able to quiet it after a bit. The real trouble started when it began to rain heavily and they stopped to pull the giant tarp aver all of the contents of the truck, including us. This meant that we were trapped in an enclosed space with stale air and an agitated pig. It was at this moment that the pig decided to make his escape from his bonds and began writhing, screaming (for those who haven’t heard one scream, it is horrible since it sounds much like a person suffering some unimaginable harm), and voiding its bowels and bladder (for those who haven’t smelled pig urine, it is horrible and literally burns your nostrils, especially when you are trapped under a small tarp with it). As if this wasn’t enough, the tarp was full of holes and since we were headed up hill at this point all of the water that entered the truck bed began to pool up at the back where we were sitting, so we were left sitting in a good 3 inches of stagnant pig pee-water. It was at this point that I thought to myself, “wow how could this terrible situation get any worse”, and as if on cue, the tarp began to fill with exhaust fumes from the trucks engine. It seems that when they put up the tarp, they managed to cover the exhaust pipe and thus funnel all of the fumes and carbon monoxide into the tarp. After what seemed like an eternity of fumbling and tugging on the tarp we were able to free ourselves from our watery-pissy-fumy tomb. After said ordeal I decided to just sit up on the back ledge of the truck and take my chances with the rain and the possibility of being bounced off the my perch by a bump in the road, rather than re-enter the previously mentioned hell that existed under the tarp (pretty much the best decision of my life). After a while more bouncing along in the pouring rain I finally reached my destination (I have never been so happy to see Fraternidad). Sadly to top off this terrible ordeal, I returned to find that we didn’t have water and thus I was unable to wash myself till later that night (I truly feel sorry for my coworkers who were forced to sit near my pig pee and diesel fume smelling self).

Greeting Cards

So, I have a friend who currently lives in Atlanta, Georgia, but who used to fly all of the time a few years back for delta. It was during these flights he would turn himself into whatever he wanted to be. My personal favorite was when he pretended to hold a job as a greeting card writer for Hallmark, and while doing so spouted off  spontaneous one liners fit only for those mass produced cards.

Over time, during long flights or while waiting on the tarmac in MKE for the ice pellets to pass, I´ve been tempted to create my own character to pass the time, or just see if I could get away with pretending to be someone i'm not. Why not? The life of a broke 20 something, college kid can only be so interesting, right? However, the next time I fly somewhere I don´t think I´ll feel like I have to create a story to impress the person trapped next to me or just entertain myself. After exactly one year of living in Honduras I love where my life is at. I mean.... I don´t think you can make up some of the stuff that I´ve seen and done over the past year. From taking a "refreshing" midnight swim in the Atlantic during Semana Santa in Trujillo, to riding in the back of pickups with strangers, to having the ability to visit Cayos Cochinos multiple times, life has been incredible. To go from walking into Honduras not even being able to correctly say, "My name is....", to working in another language has been a fantastic experience.

I probably repeated the stories of my time in honduras over a dozen times during the past week, but it's been great to share what I've seen and done with my friends back in the US. I'll try to post some more over the next few weeks as the time presents itself, but i just wanted to say how excited I am to return to honduras and continue the work that I've started over the past year.

In the future, I especially want to talk about the differences I noticed while being back in the United States, but for now it's time for one last hot shower and get a few hours of sleep before taking off for Guatemala to go backpacking. I honestly can't wait to get back to honduras, back to Jutiapa, and back to the life that honestly, at this point, feels the most like home.

"I am going to make it through this year if it kills me..."

I'm coming home from my hardest year
I'm making plans not to make plans while I'm here
And this life has been no holiday, a complicated situation
And it's hard to ignore that it feels like summer all the time 
I'm coming home to the lights and buzz
Streets look the same, still nothing's as it was
I've gotten lost here once before
Inside a good vibration-Andrew McMahon

That was Wisconsin that was yesterday
Now I have nothing that I can keep
Cause every place I go I take another place with me
Love is loves critique-Bon Iver

And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born
Then it's time to go
And define your destination-Death Cab

I guess that’s why I’m here and I can’t come back home
And guess when I heard that when I was back home-Kanye West

Because America shines yes it does 
In between the white lines where I found love 
All alone on a road going nowhere
Going nowhere
At full speed
I have traveled far
And I've seen things that I'd rather not say
But when you're traveling it's better that way
The darker the secret the harder you keep it
But it's no victory
And should the canyons burn 
I'm catching a ride off the coast-Andrew McMahon

The enemy of my enemy, or… Holy crap there’s a snake in my kitchen

So last week I was washing dishes in my kitchen, (and by kitchen I mean side room of my house with dirt floor and a cement water tank) when I heard a rustling on the other side of the room. As you know I have had my share of mouse problems, so I instinctively turned with the intention of trying to stomp on a mouse. When I turned I was confronted with the biggest scaliest mouse ever (well either that or a 3 foot long brown snake). Needless to say I was pretty freaked out and instead of acting fast, I ened up just staring and standing dead still. By the time I thought to grab a two by four and take a swing at it (yeah that’s right, I keep a large board on hand for just such occasions) it had already made its escape down a mouse hole. In retrospect I guess it is for the best that I didn’t kill it, seeing as it isn’t poisonous (according to my biologist friend, though one of my neighbors assures me that is), and it is clearly in there hunting mice (my sworn blood enemies). After giving it some thought I have decided that it is better to keep him around as an ally in my war on the rodents (though I hope this doesn’t back fire, with today’s muja-hasnake becoming tomorrows snake-quida).

Paulito Bunion, or… When a tree falls in a coffee finca it definitely makes a sound.

So last week I engaged in what might possibly be the manliest activity of my life. I helped my friend cut down five pine trees in his coffee finca with just a machete. This basically consists of hitting the tree repeatedly on one side, near the base, until you have knocked off enough small notches of wood to be able to push it over from the undamaged side. This is generally possible once you have cut through slightly more than half of the trunk (which takes roughly 40 mins of aggravated chopping). Even though the Takoma Park hippy in me felt kinda bad about chopping down trees, this was a pretty awesome activity. You get to go to town on a piece of wood with a sharp object and then push a tree over resulting in an awesome thump, its kinda every little boys dream. And I was even able to justify the destruction of local flora by the fact that the trees where old and dying anyway and by strategically knocking them down we were able to prevent them falling on his coffee plants and seriously damaging his livelihood.

ps. I'm going to try something new, and post new short entries more often rather than one huge one every few months

"The Other Exiles"

The brain drain is something we often hear a lot about. It is a fact that many of the best and the brightest of the developing world, the hope and future of these countries, often leave for greener pastures in the United States or Europe because they lack the opportunities they deserve, the security they need, or the rights they are entitled to from their countries of origin. While Honduras is not the epitome of this phenomena, it's pretty close. In other parts of the world the results are dramatic and well documented. For example: 

• Seventy precent of graduates from the Sierra Leone’s College of Medicine and Allied Science have left the country. There reportedly are more Sierra Leonean doctors living in the Chicago area than in all of Sierra Leone. David H. Shinn, “Reversing the Brain Drain in Ethiopia,” Addis Tribune, Dec. 6, 2002
• While twelve percent of Mexico’s labor force lives in the United States, 30 percent of Mexicans with PhDs live in the United States. Mexico reports that 79 percent of the science students it funds to study abroad never return to work in Mexico. Natalia Vitela, “Brain Drain,” Groupo Reforma, February 15, 2002.
• 75 percent of Jamaicans with a higher education live in the U.S. “Outward Bound,” The Economist, September 26, 2002.

More than 20% of Honduran nationals with a university degree live in an OECD country

Crazy stuff, right? While the situation is not as dire here, it's ramification seem more and more evident as my time passes. There are more than a million Hondurans living in "exile", meaning that some 10-15 percent of Hondurans live outside of their native country, while more than 20% of it's nationals with a university degree live in an OECD country. So while the majority of those residing outside the country are likely not professionals, a percentage of them undoubtedly are, and their absence is palpable. A lack of doctors means that entire municipios rely on sporadic medical brigades for care that should be locally provided. The lack of quality engineers entails that the good ones are stretched too thin, or find themselves working for international organizations rather than strengthening and building capacity within the municipalities that really need them. This lack of qualified professionals assists in the perpetuation of the dependency cycle, making Honduras' emergence from the developing world even more difficult.

Unfortunately, it seems that the examples are endless, but it's a logical choice to leave if you're lucky enough to get the correct visa. I think to myself, If I'm an educated and driven Honduran, why do I want to limit my choices and stay in a country where I can't prosper? At some point it is necessary to put the needs of family first. It's not just the educated, however, who are leaving. Honduras' most dedicated and driven laborers often make the arduous journey to the states as well, and as an ironic result ensure the survival of the Honduran economy (remittances baby).

I've had an interesting seat to watch this story unfold. My host family is extremely well-educated, even by American standards. Nearly every member holds an undergraduate or graduate degree in the fields of business, engineering, politics, or agriculture, and their children all receive quality bilingual education. It's amazing how fluid their English is, even when I relax my speech and drop colloquial words they still are able to follow and engage the conversation.

For the most part the family has remained here in Honduras, which I credit as a testament to their family first mentality. While some members do work abroad, most stay to run businesses or manage their fincas, but while they have an indivisible love for Honduras there is a growing sense of frustration in the way things are progressing. While I think the older members of the family are here to stay, it has yet to be seen what many of the 18-25 year olds in the family will decide to do. It is a hard conversation to have, mostly because of pena on my end. See, I know the importance that immigrants play in the American economy, especially professionals. So part of me want's to see them come to the US, and add their skill sets for the benefit of my country, but on the other hand it is also clear the negative impact that this will have on Honduras. So I'm effectively torn.

Anyway, the reason for the topic of this post was an article posted in Honduras Weekly the other day, which by the way I've found to be the best source of English news regarding Honduras. In the article, "The Other Exiles," the return of Honduras' most famous exile, Manual Zelaya, is discussed, but the author points out that while Zelaya might be the most famous, he is by far not the only one who was waiting to come back to the land of baleadas. Here's an excerpt:

"We constantly hear that every Honduran anywhere in the world has the right to return to Honduras without fear, and that Mr. Zelaya is no different. There are more than a million Hondurans living in exile. Some 10-15 percent of Hondurans live outside their native country. Some are very successful doctors, lawyers, engineers, economists, architects, teachers, and entrepreneurs. Many have left because of lack of educational or economic opportunities in Honduras. Many others are blue collar workers, but have made a success of their lives and provide a decent life for their families while regularly sending money to their families back home -- as much as US$2.5 billion per year. 

Perhaps now that the most famous of all the exiles has finally returned to Honduras, the government will have time to come up with solutions to the many serious problems that prevent the other million-plus exiles from flying back. Honduras desperately needs educated and hard working citizens who have had a vision of the world from outside of Honduras, where nothing ever seems to change. Honduras needs more of those citizens who can clearly see that when you keep doing the same thing, you'll keep getting the same results -- something that none of Honduras' governments seem able to comprehend."

http://www.hondurasweekly.com/editorial/3777-the-other-exiles

So where do most Hondurans settle when they arrive in the United States? It's a fair question to ask, because location is often indicative of larger trends.

Top 10 U.S. communities with the most residents born in Honduras are:[4]

1. Wallace, North Carolina 11.6%
2. Magnolia, North Carolina 8.7%
3. Loch Lomond, Florida 6.6%
4. Pleasureville. Kentucky 6.0%
5. Selma, North Carolina 4.8%
6. Morristown, New Jersey 4.5%
7. Miami, Florida 4.5%
8. Chelsea, Massachusetts 4.2%
9. New Brunswick, New Jersey 4.2%
10. West Little River, Florida 3.9%
43. Waukegan, Illinois 2.0%

Like you, I was just as confused by the the fact that Duplin County, North Carolina had such a high percentage of Honduran born residents. A little digging though reveals that Duplin County is an important home to major players of the chicken and meat industries, and that the county has more  hogs than any other county in the United States—2.2 million. If you've eaten processed chicken or beef lately, it's a good bet that it went through one of the factories located in this area, and that it was processed by an immigrant of Central America. Think about that the next time you eat any cheap burger or chicken product. Quick side note, the hypocrisy of some immigration opponents, who claim immigration is killing the United States, is borderline ridiculous. These meat processing jobs are by far some of the most dangerous, unsafe, and difficult jobs in the country, but immigration, and the low-wages these workers receive, allow us to feed--pardon the pun--our addiction to cheap meat and protein. In many ways it is the work of these immigrants that keep our food costs down and our fast food restaurants brimming. While the arguments on both sides of the immigration are intrinsically much more complicated, I just wanted to make that quick point.

So there you have it. Like all stories in Honduras there are two competing narratives. On the one hand, Honduras obviously needs more qualified professionals and dedicated laborers to strengthen it's national economy, but on the other, this is a country that heavily relies on remitances from abroad, and decoupling that aspect of the economy is unfathomable at this point. I know that this post jumped around a lot, but hopefully it's demonstrated another angle regarding immigration from Honduras and the brain drain that is slowly killing this country. 

Ice Cream, Roberto Moses, Carnival y Cervecas de Beliga

So....after some boring posts about Hondu statistics and national news that no one cares about in the US, here is what I've been up to for the past month or so in 4 acts. I'm going to try and keep these posts a little more interesting than my previous ones...

Ice Cream Chronicles: After 2 weeks wih no one running the ice cream shop below my apartment, I started to get a little worried. I mean, where else was I going to get my semi-daily Choco-Banana fix in the oppressive 95 degree heat that lacked wind? Anyway, it turns out that the usual employee, my host aunt, decided to take another job. Leaving Lupe, my host mom/ landlord/ counterpart/ middle-aged woman/ my best friend in site (sad but true), with no one to run the store. So, with little hesitation I offered my services to run the shop until she could find a more permanent solution.

Sarita Ice Cream-The predominant brand in central america

Running an ice cream shop was the last thing that I expected to do here in Honduras. No really it was, I expected to solve Honduras' [insert ridiculous, unsolvable problem here]  before running a damn ice cream shop, but it was not a bad way to spend the week. I got to help out my host family, while still managing to get work done on my other projects. That's not to say that eating ice cream, talking Spanish, eating more ice cream, doing inventory, eating more ice cream wasn't great. I mean, Fucking-Sam-I-Am ain't got shit on how much ice cream I ate that week, to steal a quote. As of now, my younger host brother and a family helper are running the shop full time. There are, however, two things I took away from the experience.

1) Running a shop in Honduras is a lot of work, and scooping ice cream all day is a bitch. stephen you weren't joking.
2) The store does not operate on a very high profit margin. In fact, after reviewing the distributor's prices it becomes pretty clear that the best way to make money in Honduras is not by running your own business, but by being a distributor. For me, this just sheds more light on Honduras' thriving pulperia industry. With such slim profit margins it's pretty amazing that many of these shops stay open as long as they do.

Anyway, i did more than just eat ice cream. Since the shop is located adjacent to the soccer field and park that we're restoring I was able to keep tabs on the progress we were making and the work we were undertaking, which brings me to one of planning's landmark figures....

"Roberto Moses:" We received our SPA grant roughly two weeks ago, and have commenced more of the work necessary to get the park ready by our August deadline, but it seems that every step of the way we're facing challenges brought on by a combination of poor planning and lack of administrative oversight because of the municipality.  After months of questioning everyone in the municipality about funds for this park project, which numerous times I was assured there were, I'm now starting to get the sinking feeling of an inevitable fijese que, la muni no tiene fondos para el proyecto en parque. 

The temporary fence to protect the grass while it's growing. 

Plus, the project is starting to feel somewhat hijacked. For one, the soil that was used to raise the field, which I didn't advocate for, was moved as a favor to a local business owner, but using 3 large municipal dump-trucks and a caterpillar (not sure where those funds came from). Now that the ramifications of raising the field are finally being realized, people are beginning to flake. Problems like where are we going to get 1 manzana worth of grass seed, and an altered hydrology were not thought out before the muni started dumping dirt on the field. plus these actions are absent from my plans and grant application. i only found out about it after returning from a meeting in teguz to find mounds of dirt covering the field. we're definitely making adjustments, but having to correct the muni's actions along the way is difficult and costly.

For example, last week our civil engineer decided to cut down nearly 11 thirty foot tall trees on the south side of the field in order to construct changing rooms without consulting UMA (he apparently has crazy plans for the field, which entail turning the current field into a small stadium (no joke) with raised seating, and a 5 foot tall concrete wall to close the area completely off.) Crazy, Robert Moses-esque plans, but no funds or physical plans to back them up. This was exemplified by the fact that after cutting down the trees, the stumps were left in the ground, and the muni couldn't seem to find the funds to remove them. However, with the need to plant grass within the few weeks, to ensure it doesn't get washed away in the upcoming torrential rains, we used SPA funds to remove the stumps, but with a looming fijese que from the muni, the ability to buy seeds is now in question.

Repairing the south wall, note the chopped up trees in the foreground. There is a "good " fijese que behind this picture as well. The property owner on the other side of the wall promised (verbally) to support the project by buying the 300 bricks we would need. Come the day we have to start work, there are no bricks, just a fijese que and your here so you shouldn't waste your time and just get to work. Lesson learned, always be a dick. get it in writing. 

I noted the other day to another pcv how it's funny that even when things are going well, like when you finally get the grant money you've been waiting for, you can still end up feeling down. That's the case with this project. the pitfalls and challenges are overcoming the excitement of working on it, but on to some less depressing/overwhelming news like,

"Carnival:" On the second to last weekend of May every year a huge festival is held in Ceiba known as the Gran Carnaval Internacional de La Ceiba, or simply Carinvial. The event is in held in honor of Saint Isidore the Laborer, the patron saint of the city. The celebration starts at least one week before the big Saturday parade, which is followed by an all-night party along Avenida San Isidro. Literally all of Saturday and early Sunday morning, San Isdro is packed with people, vendors, food, beer stands, concerts. At times it was easy to forget I was in Honduras, since it felt more like mardi gras or saint patrick's day in chicago. The Zona Viva (Ceiba's typical party area) was just as full, and needless to say just as fun. Although the unrelenting crush of people did become pretty ridiculous along San Isidro after it got dark. Since Ceiba is only a 30 minute trip for me, I decided to shun the hotel room after some confusion about the number of beds, and instead just take the first bus back to site in the morning.

Parade down San Isidro (N. Hagan)

The all nighter went great. I found myself on the side of the highway the next morning at 5 am nursing my headache and a relentless sleepiness with a hot cup of sugary coffee. i was ready to get back to site, crawl into my own bed for a few hours and sleep. i had to give give an english lesson around noon, so sleep was short lived. all in all it was a great time, and one that i'll probably end up doing again next year. I spent way too much on food (we found chili baleadas!), drinks, sunglasses, and more food, but that's what always happens.

Late night carne asada (N. Hagan)

For part of carnival we were joined by 3 belgian backpackers who had stayed the night at my place through Couch Surfing the night before. It was a lot of fun to host these guys as they backpacked through central america, intent on jaloning as much of it as they could. It was funny how the conversations would flow from Spanish, to English, and finally into their native French (which i didn't really understand, despite 4 years of french in high school), and I really enjoyed the fact that our conversations in spanish were often how we communicated as it was our clearest medium. sometimes the conversations got interesting and heated, requiring international phone calls. As did our conversation about.....


Cervecas de Beliga: So one conversation that really got interesting was the debate over whether blue moon could be considered a belgian beer. the main sticking point was that a beer should never have anything put in it, with the exception of Corona and lime of course. the belgians were dumbfounded on two counts. one, they had never heard or this belgian beer, which they prided themselves on, and  secondly putting anything in beer was a travesty. entonces, the phone calls commenced. there were calls to other pcvs in Honduras, friends and realatives back in the states and others. all to find out if blue moon was in fact belgian. at the end of the day wikipedia setteled our debate, stating that it is, "...a Belgian-style witbier brewed by Coors Brewing Company in Golden, Colorado." Damn Europeans always being right. regardless, it was a great first couchsurfing experience.

"Easy to enter, Forced to Leave:" One last thing, but recently it was decided that due to increasing violence all volunteers in the Catacamas area are being forced to leave site and undergo a site change. also, the region around Catacamas has been made officially off limits for volunteers. after almost getting moved my self, I can completely empathize with these volunteers. so, best of luck in your new sites guys. i guess it's true what they say about Olancho, "Olancho es ancho para entrar, y angosto para salir"


Random Stuff: 

• Scar above my eye has gotten a lot better. 
• Im putting off getting my junkyard cat until after my trip to Guatemala. 
• Closing in on the one year mark of my time in Honduras (June 24).