Friday, November 11, 2011

Fun with regionalisms... or Putting the "Ch" in Chino


The English and Spanish alphabets are generally the same. The only real difference, beyond pronunciation (as Hondurans will tell you, English is difficult because “you don’t pronounce words the way they are written”, and no matter how hard you try to convince them that letters just make different sounds in English than they do in Spanish, they will not back down from this point), is the presence of the letters “ñ”, “ll”, and “ch”. The last two are seen as separate letters from their individual components since they have such strongly different pronunciations, “ll” making the equivalent of a “y” sound, and “ch” making the same sound it does in English (though there is no “sh” or “th” in Spanish, thus “ch” is unique enough to warrant being its own letter, which also leads to Hondurans pronouncing “sh” as “ch”, when speaking English, as in “pencil charpener”, and “th” as “d”, as in “duh” or “dee” rather than “the”).

I bring all of this up, because the other day I was listening to the kindergarten class practice their letters in their classroom, located next to my office (this means that every morning I get to hear them start off the day singing loud songs about Jesus and get reminded why I love the separation of church and state that we (supposedly) have in the US). When they got to “ch” I happened to be listening to the teacher give them examples of words and had to laugh a bit to myself. This is because the examples she gave were “Ch de Chucho” and “Che de Chino”. This is funny because “chucho” is Central American slang for a dog (the actual Spanish word being “perro”), and “chino” is the official word for “chinese”, but is universally applied to any asian person here (thus to talk to a Japanese person they will say “Hola chino” the equivalent of “Hello Chinese”). It just struck me funny that the only two examples that this teacher was giving to her class as part of their Spanish lessons were a local slang word (that actually derives from a Mayan word rather than from Spanish), and a word that is used almost exclusively as a semi-racist slang way of referring to asian people. She apparently could not think of any actual common (and politically correct) Spanish words to use as examples for her students.

After thinking about it though, I realized that there are only a few actual words that start with “ch” (only a single page in my Spanish-English dictionary) but a multitude of local slang words, indigenous place names, and nicknames. Thus it is reasonable that she had difficulty thinking up good common examples of official Spanish words (though there are some easy ones like “chispa”-spark, “chupar”- suck or drink or, “chocar”- crash), seeing as her mind was probably flooded with slang and proper noun examples like “chancho”- a pig, “Choluteca” – a department of Honduras, and “Chepe”, “Chofo”, “Chomo”, “Chungo”, or “Chicho”- all nicknames of people in my town (most of which are super common nicknames, there literally being at least six “Don Chepe”s in my town, and three “Chicho”s).

Friday, November 4, 2011

"Embrace the Chaos"

"It was 1994, and I was ice climbing when I fell into a crevasse and hurt my leg. There was only one way out, so fighting every natural instinct I have, I did the thing I hated the most. I climbed down into the darkness. And when I came back to camp, I went to the person who cut my line and said, "Connie Chung, you saved my life."-Jack Donaghy

Honduras is chaotic. You only have to spend 5 minutes in a cab ripping through downtown Tegucigalpa to discover this. Trying to apply “Westernized management” and international development processes to this chaos is about as effective as placing a stop sign in Comayagüela. It's absolutely ridiculous, but at the same time isn’t that the point of development? To bring order to "chaos"?

As fairly inexperienced development workers we often approach the work we undertake in Honduras by utilizing the strategies that we found successful from our time in university and short lived careers. In reality, here in Honduras even the best-laid plans have a tendency to come undone, or become radically altered. It seems, sometimes, that the chaos is overwhelming.

A few weeks ago at our mid-term medicals in "The Goose" our Programming Officer offered up the phrase, "Embrace the Chaos" to soothe our frustrations about working in Honduras, and give development a new perspective. The phrase automatically reminded me of 30 Rock, which is what happens when you power-watch numerous TV sitcoms. Anyway in a certain episode, Jack Donaghy, gives advice to Liz Lemon telling her to climb down into the darkness, down into the crevasse. It seems that when working abroad you have to do the exact opposite of what your instinct tells you. You have to embrace the chaos.

Over the past few weeks I've really run with this idea of embracing the chaos, and operating more from the seat of my pants than from the plans laid out by my counterparts and I. With that mindset I’ve stopped swimming against the current and begun to accept that the work I do may not be well organized, or achieving synergy, but it’s helping to move this small community forward. So with that, onto what I’ve been doing.

WORK

*I spent a week translating for a group of optometrists working in the community center across from my apartment. They ended up giving over 800 eye exams, and then if necessary a pair of new or lightly used glasses. I usually have problems with groups that just come in donating stuff in such a manner,  since I’ve seen the disruptive effects that these actors can have on the local economy, but with eye glasses I feel it is a different story. It's not like were upsetting the local LensCrafters. In fact, I don't know if I've ever even seen an eye doctor or a glasses shop here in Honduras, outside of the upscale malls of San Pedro and Teguz. Eyeglasses serve to make the workforce more productive and safer, and it felt good to be a part of a productive group. Sadly, poor eye health is nothing unusual in Honduras, but I'm positive we made a difference to the hundreds of people who came to see us. That look of, "Oh my God, I can see." Is absolutely priceless.

*Over 100 pounds of soccer equipment arrived from the organization Sports Gift, which is based out of California. After a labyrinth of shippers and middlemen we were able to get the equipment here, and we are now beginning the process of matching our stockpile of supplies with the needs of the community. Over the past few weeks local soccer teams have been visiting to be fitted for new cleats and uniforms. All of this equipment will be handed out 2 weeks from now when we open the park.

*The municipality must have tripped, fell and landed face first into a giant pile of cash, because a city wide repaving and drainage program has commenced starting with the road that separates the park from the soccer field. I have no idea how the muni has found the money to install a new boulevard, which will be awesome when completed, but I guess I'll take it. After all I'm all about embracing the chaos. Where was this money two months ago when I was begging for Lps. 500/$20 to pay for gasoline to cut the field?
New paving project in the center of town
*To promote the the town’s financial cooperative new publicity campaign, which will end up providing scholarships for local students at nearby orphanage that doubles as a bilingual schools, as well as inject cash into other social programs along the coast. I haven't had many opportunities to help Lupe (my host mom), since the Cooperativa has been running really great this past year. I'm excited to be working with her on this though. 

*We’ve set up a committee to focus on tourism within the municipality, which will hopefully begin to move projects that I’ve been working on in El Cacao forward.This is a project that has stalled because I've spent more time focusing on the park.

It has definitely been a chaotic couple of weeks and it's only going to get busier before Thanksgiving, but as they say, “Embrace the Chaos.”

Featured Content: #57 Talking About Poop

Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like

There exists a subject that would not constitute polite dinner table conversation at home, but that becomes a favourite mealtime topic over which to bond as soon as one enters the magical realm of Expat Aid Workerness. This topic never gets old because it affects each and every EAW at some point. It’s known as gut rot, running stomach, the shits, two bob bits, Montezuma’s revenge, Delhi belly and other fine euphemisms. And EAWs find it to be one of the most interesting topics on earth.

When home, EAWs greet their coworkers with a friendly, “Good morning.” They engage in congenial neighborhood competition over the tidiness of their lawn. But out in the field, everything is different: asking “How is your pooping going?” is a common way to start the day, and bragging rights are earned by descriptions of bowel movements so graphic they would be considered TMI for even an appointment with a gastroenterologist. When the EAW is jetting around the world, communing with local, impoverished people, a spice that doesn’t sit right or a parasite that wreaks havoc is bound to make its way into the EAW’s intestinal tract on an almost daily basis. And that spice or parasite must be discussed—in detail. Because if there is one thing EAWs love more than sharing hints on the best kebab stand in town, it’s talking about their legendary experiences with the after-effects of a meal there.

Nothing says I am a hard core, badass EAW than a good, hard core case of gut rot. Now we are not talking about the kind of ‘upset stomach’ that M & E missions from HQ get when coming for 5 days, after eating salad that wasn’t washed in filtered water. We are talking about the kind that has you bent over double with cramps and limping politely out of coordination meetings hoping to find a WC nearby that 1) has water 2) has a loo roll 3) flushes. EAW scales on which to measure the bad-ass-ness of your latest bout have been created for such situations;  ten being liquid and one being bloody impossible to do anything. A number 5 is a cause for celebration.

Trying to pin point the cause of the problem can provide endless fun, particularly if it was local food. Maybe it was that plastic bag full of batunda, or the chicken kebab from the lady outside the bus station or a dodgy bit of crab in that matapa last night. Discussing the finer points of Cipro (used so often its name gets shortened, like an old friend) verses Amoxicillin and the miraculous properties of Buscopan as an excellent anti spasmodic become the norm. Self medication is particularly welcomed, however even better is being sent to a “regional center of excellence” like Nairobi or Johannesburg for treatment. Ordinary food poisoning is enough to garner some attention if the symptoms were severe enough and the situation extreme enough, but to contract an actual named disease on which to blame the diarrhea is much more of a point of pride. If it can be diagnosed professionally as giardia (bronze) or amoebic dysentery (silver) then this is good, but if it’s so bad that the cause mystifies even the doctors in JBG, and it’s put down to “Africa crud” (gold) then this is even better.

Stories that in normal company would be seen as humiliating are worn as a badge of honor among the EAW community. “Once I almost didn’t make it through customs in Tunis because I kept running out of line to go to the toilet and customs officials thought I was up to suspicious activity” and  “Once an entire compound in an African village watched me shit on their pit latrine and then wipe my ass with my hand” are both totally acceptable dinnertime stories at EAW gatherings.

In no other workplace in the world is it more common to hear about someone’s toilet exploits than it is in an EAW field office. There’s no shame in discussing the hours spent cramped in the bathroom, in fact, the longer an EAW has suffered, the more impressive they become to their colleagues. Levels of field cred can be increased by the way you handle various types of lavatories. There’s your sit down, your squat and aim and then your balance and pray that the square of wood you’re hovering over doesn’t collapse. There are the make shift long drops which seem to attract every fly or buzzing insect in the area, with your only protection from the other members of your team being a UNCHR plastic blue sheet. And then there are the moments on the road from somewhere to somewhere, where you know that the verges could be riddled with AP landmines, and so bang goes the option of privacy behind a bush; you just have to suck it up and deal with going alongside the road, behind the back wheel of your trusty Toyota 13-seater hardtop and hope that a pickup full of locals does not zoom past before you’ve got your trousers up again. (Now you realize why local women prefer skirts!)

Setting aside the pain, discomfort and downright shittines of the situation, a good case of gut rot does have its benefits. Not only does an EAW already have one advantage over their friends at home or HQ colleagues — they are a damn sight more tanned — but a good case of gut rot now and again makes them svelte and even more attractive. Need to drop 7kg? Don’t go to the gym!! Become an EAW and the weight just drops off.

The only bummer about these amazing and exotic stories (aside from the dire intestinal pain and the ruined pairs of underwear) is that EAWs know they can’t use them to impress all their Facebook friends back home. As a status update, “Just shat my pants,” doesn’t have quite the same ring as “Just stepped off a helicopter.”

http://stuffexpataidworkerslike.com/2011/05/18/57-talking-about-poop-2/

Combined posts, by Carly who blogs at Chasing Carly; and tweets @chasingcarly, Katie Seward who blogs at Eating Stuff Everywhere, and UXO.

Visit From the Parents... or Knee Deep in Awesome

Pool at the hotel
So, as a precursor, I feel like my blog posts have been a bit negative of late, and I am going to try to get back on a positive track with this edition. Last weekend my parents flew down to El Salvador and we spent five days hanging out there in the picturesque town of Suchitoto. It was an amazing weekend for a number of reasons, first and foremost being that I had not seen my mother for the last 16 months (since june of 2010). This is by far the longest time I have ever gone without seeing her and it was definitely starting to wear on me (though apparently not as much as it was wearing on her, seeing as she dropped her bags and sprinted across the airport to hug me when I showed up to pick her and my father up). 

Overall the weekend was amazing and full awesome side adventures (like our trip visit to a local illegal chaparo still [chaparo is a kind of local moonshine made from corn], and our visit to the village I worked in with an aid trip 4 years ago]). The highlights however (besides seeing my parents of course), were the sweet hotel we stayed at and the amazing food we ate. While this may make me see shallow (just concentrating on creature comforts), try to imagine how amazing a high priced hotel and good international food would be after 16 months of living on $8 a day in a tiny mud brick house that smells like mold and rats (for those of you without imagination, it is really, really amazing). I ate like a pirate king for 5 days, nothing but delicious food (I had 2 american style steaks, sushi, and even jamon serrano imported from Spain… that’s right expensive imported ham) and top shelf booze (well except for the moonshine, that was some pretty bottom shelf booze [like hobo booze]). Overall it was an spectacular weekend with my parents and my good friends from the states who live in Suchitoto.