Tale of Two Stitches

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

I think those words describe the Peace Corps experience. Or at least I'm told. The highest highs and the lowest lows. I think those are just Dickens' words rephrased.

All kinds of things happen during Peace Corps, just like would happen during any given two years of your typical American life. They also include a few other experiences that typically don't happen in the States. Now, while many people receive stitches back home, I never did. Never a broken bone, never a stitch. You can't really say I'm not the adventurous type, I mean you are talking to a Peace Corps Volunteer... which leads me to recounting the glorious tale of my first two stitches. I'll spare you the graphic photos I had to send to the Medical Officer. But if you really want to see, I posted one on facebook a few days ago.

Honestly, I wish there was a really crazy story that involved machetes, wild rabid animals (don't worry, I'm vaccinated), and me rescuing several small children from a burning building. But it doesn't. The story starts at the high school here in town. It was "student day" which means no classes, games, food, and general tomfoolery. The teachers keep trying to get me to play the games, because they (and I) think if I play, all the girls will want to participate, too. I'm resisting for most of the games, enjoying just watching people do the three-legged race (which I think was a first for most of them).

Then comes the gunny-sack race.

There are six sacks, and they've managed to finagle 5 volunteers so far. They don't seem to be moving on, so I volunteer to take up the sixth, and smallest, gunny-sack to the applause of the students. The gunny sack reaches about mid-thigh, meaning I definitely have to be leaning forward to grab onto it. We line up on the raceway (read: gravel-dirt road). We race down to the end of the track, and prepare to turn around. Turn executed properly. I managed to kick a hole through my sack and was left with my foot hanging out. I spun the sack to get my both of my feet back in the bag. We take off back towards the start and a guy falls in front of me. I don't think I even tripped on him, I was just focused on tactically avoiding the obstacle and down I went. I got back up and finished the race, noting the obvious scratches on my hand. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the fact that there aren't very many nerve endings in your knee, or that there were thirty-something high school girls watching me, but I didn't really notice my knee.

At first, anyway.

I noticed I tore a hole in my jeans, which I remember hurting more than the physical pain. We're in short supply of malls that sell Levi's down here. Then through the hole in my jeans I could see the blood. And the gaping hole where my knee usually is! Some lucky rock had managed to puncture my skin and whatever else was in the way, trying to get to me knee-cap. Probably that same lucky rock that ripped a hole in my jeans. We spent some time in the back of the school trying to clean up my bloody mess with cotton balls, hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, and tiny bandaids (that part was unsuccessful). A few people scoured the town to find some gauze pads only to return empty handed. They kept telling me to wait, they were still looking, etc. I finally told them I had a med kit with gauze pads and all kinds of other magical items back at the house if they would just let me leave. I stumble the two blocks back to the house, do a good cleanup job and tape on some gauze. At this point I just needed to lay down and take it easy.

I left.

I had made this commitment to the missionary group that was here to attempt some interpretation. I remember how difficult it is when people are saying all sorts of good things about you, thanking you, maybe crying and you have no idea. So I stumble back a few blocks to the church and head up to the front, now embarrassingly in shorts and flip-flops in an attempt not to irritate the wound. Interpreting is as hard or harder than it sounds, but luckily I had a friend there to help with the English-to-Spanish parts (i.e. most of it). One of the missionaries came up towards the end and mentioned to me that I might be bleeding. I look down my leg to find the evidence. They then discover my current situation and wounded status. Fortunately one of them tells me the cut looks deep enough to require stitches. They offered to help with the needles and thread they had (and no trained professionals). As sweet as that was, I resisted and got the number for the doctor in town since it was after-hours at the clinic. I explained it was sort of an emergency and she agreed to come to the clinic and help me out.

This is ugly.

She said it several times as I was staring at the ceiling trying to breathe as she poured rubbing alcohol over the open wound and dug around checking for bone shrapnel. All clear. I don't think I'll need an X-ray. She puts in the two stitches, patches it up with gauze and tells me to take it easy for a while. Minimal to no walking for a few days, some antibiotics and anti-inflammatories, and after a week we'll take out the stitches. I headed over to my friend's house to get some movies for the long weekend in bed.

The whole ordeal wasn't even that bad, it's just not very fun not being able to walk and being stuck in bed all weekend. Seems to be healing well and I'm able to sleep again, so now we just wait. And for all those people that think "third-world" medicine is crazy and unsanitary and are surprised they didn't just amputate my leg... it's not that bad. And the best part, the trip to the clinic after-hours and the two stitches totals a whopping 50¢, which Peace Corps would even reimburse. I can only imagine how much this ordeal would cost in the States, all for a small aquarium, comfy stools, and unused needles (just kidding!).


Well, if you feel bad for me, feel free to take this opportunity and send me a package. I'm not picky, but I really like chocolate and it's impossible to find here. You can find my address at the right.


Meanwhile, I'm so glad I could finally get back to work today...


Location: In the Cooperative.
Status: Meeting with the supervisory board. Going on 6 (now 7) straight hours with a short lunch break.
Current topic of conversation: Why the associates don't come to meetings...

Status Update

Ritmo de Cambio (Rhythm of Change): Slow...

I looked at the calendar today. Thursday is month 2 in site. Almost month 5 in Honduras.
Only 22 left.

I'm in the process of looking for a house. Hoping to make the move in August, but right now the only houses available are tiny little cement-block shacks. 2 bedroom, 1 bath, 1 living room/kitchen, outdoor pila, possibly a yard. Bedroom size is 2.8m x 2.8m. There is a slim possibility that another house is opening up, it's going to be somewhat of a political exercise to get it, so all prayers are welcome. My friends' house I was planning on moving into isn't going to be available for rent probably until next year sometime.

Work with the Cooperative has slowed down drastically. Slower pace, fewer meetings. We're trying to set up an overall accounting system. Our Excel workbook of credit accounts is up and running. They decided giving loans isn't as fun when people don't pay you back, so now the only thing on credit is fertilizer and old accounts. Considering that food prices have gone up, specifically corn and beans, the Cooperative is interested now in buying food stores to sell to the associates as another way to earn money and provide a service to the associates. At first, I thought it might be corn and beans to plant, but I have confirmed that it is for consumption. I'm still not sure how I feel about this or how it's going to work. The Cooperative has been focused on buying and exporting coffee, now we'll add to the resume importing and selling food stores.

Peace Corps inside update: Honduras is getting rid of the business project after I'm done. They will be combining it with another program into something called "Food Security," which will start February 2012. I guess now this makes sense given the current circumstances in Subirana.

I'm working with the Elementary school primarily helping with computer classes. Though Subirana is a tiny rural site, they have about 15 computers at the elementary school and another 12 at the high school. I've narrowed the work down to the 'advanced' classes - 7th, 8th, and 9th grade. The computer lab is only about 2 years old, so most of the kids are still very new to computers. We're not writing algorithms to compute an Excel database yet, but we're learning the basics. Actually, I had to go back and review the function of the mouse and check that everyone's left and other left were in order so we could click together. We're on track mostly now and I'm splitting the classes with the teacher. First half: theory, second half: practice.

For all of my resisting to help teach English, I actually jumped in with the 9th grade class to read some material with my lovely nondescript American accent. I force them to practice reading out loud. I've discovered most of them can read and write well enough, but they have the hardest time speaking or pronouncing any of it. Most of the people, in fact, will tell me they would love to learn English, but they are all too afraid or shy to even say one word. I told most of the students if they wanted to practice English with me, then they could talk to me, but I'm not really one for teaching it.

Work at the high school is pretty slow. I try to show up a few times a week, but most of what I do is chat with the teachers while they're not in class. I guess you could say I'm building relationships, but it feels more like wasting time. Nonetheless, I keep showing up to discuss plans or ideas of projects to start - we'll call it 'being available.' I did happen to be available when they invited me on their field trip to Omoa on the North Coast! I'll let you know how that goes when I get back (hopefully with nice pictures).

One of the guys in town invited me (read: tricked me) to help out with a kids' soccer team. There's about 25 kids in two teams between the ages of 10 and 14. I show up a few times and I'm now the official "trainer". I just add that to my stack of titles (along with people calling me "Profe"). This job entails leading exercises and kicking their butts for an hour or so a few times a week. It's a really good excuse to do some exercise and get to know the kids. (I find it's easier to run laps and do jumping jacks when 25 kids are copying you!). And I'm working in a secret project of cleaning up the soccer field by hand, you know, to teach them discipline and team work!


Bonus material:
I finally had enough internet to upload this video from our garden day of training.

Other Gringos

Last Monday I saw a bunch of white people in my town.

I had heard rumors that the Methodist church brought in groups every so often, but my initial reaction was almost defensive of my position as sole gringo in Subirana. However, I decided it would be rude not to introduce myself and there’s a possibility we could work together in the future. As I was approaching their group seated on the sidewalk, a bolo (drunk) carrying a machete (arma blanca) came wandering straight for us. He had just wandered off from the colegio a little earlier, but I was surprised to see him wandering up a street opposite the school. The normal advice in this situation is to run away. But I had to do something to save my American soon-to-be friends. Fortunately enough, this guy was only mildly drunk which means I could actually understand most of what he was saying and he had an inkling of rationale left in his brain. I intercepted him from shaking everyone’s hand and asked him where he was going and attempted to usher him in that direction. He stopped me to let me know that he was a Christian and a tranquil drunk. Oh, OK, great? I told him he was scaring everybody by walking around with a machete and they didn’t know he was a Christian and a tranquil drunk, so he should put it away or get rid of it. At this point you have to realize that the other Americans don’t speak a word of Spanish and have no idea what I’m saying to this guy. The only thing they see is the bolo squatting down to lay his machete on the ground and lift up his hands in semi-surrender to show he means no harm. I think that’s the reason they invited me, Bolo Master, to dinner. The drunk made a good point: you can’t just drop your machete on the ground and walk away. So he eventually asked me for money before walking off with his machete towards the park where all the children were playing… Don’t worry. I stopped him and told him to go another direction.

Status: Threat mitigated. Dinner acquired.

It was nice to have a taste of America for a week. I was able to share a couple meals and sit in on some processing sessions as many of them recounted the first day arriving here, which for many was the first time out of the States. Others were so overwhelmed by the day-to-day events they forgot what happened the first day. In either case, they were experiences and feelings that, though I used to share them, now contrasted to my own. I’ve become more accustomed to the cold showers – I don’t shiver or seize up. And bucket baths… been there, done that, still do it on occasion (just to take me back). The garbage everywhere, it starts to become a blind spot. The “extreme poverty” doesn’t seem very extreme.

The question it left me asking is this: What is normal?

Normal is the thing that makes us comfortable in our environment. Adapting is what makes us human. But are there things we shouldn’t adapt to? Are there some norms I shouldn’t change? Wouldn’t it be great if I had some profound insight to share with you regarding these questions? All I have are questions. I’ve already set myself up to throw my previous definition of ‘normal’ out the window, but talking with some other Americans who have a fresh perspective on my town makes me reconsider what I should label as ‘normal’ and what still shouldn’t be normal.

What’s normal for you?

My First Hot Shower

Day 123:

Today I had my first hot shower in Honduras. Turns out there is at least one working electroducha in this country, and it's in Siguatepeque. The water was really hot, not just warm, and it felt good. But honestly, I must be losing my mind; it's not really all it's cracked up to be. I'm not sure if I would pay money for a hot shower. No, take that back. I'm not sure I would pay very much money for one. But ask me again when the offer's on the table and we'll see. Time to start a new streak of cold showers.

Roadtrippin' Honduras

I was going to title this entry My First Hot Shower, but as you can see it’s not. Once again, my hopes for a hot shower were in vain, but this isn’t just a tale about dashed dreams for warm water, nor is it about anything particularly spectacular. It’s just another day in Honduras filled with memorable moments. However, this tale happens to hold a few more of those moments than others. Allow me to recount to you the story...

The first sign it was going to be a long day was when I received a wakeup call at 6:30 am asking where I was…

Wait, I’m getting a little ahead of myself. First of all, the Gold Cup for soccer is happening right now (mostly in Houston, I believe). The U.S.A. lost to Panama a couple weeks ago, but had another chance Wednesday night in the semi-finals to play them again. With about 15 minutes left on the clock, the U.S. team scored the first and only goal with an assist from Donovan, one of our well-known World Cup players. Final score: USA – 1; Panama – 0. The U.S.A. team will move on to the finals against Mexico this Saturday. Unfortunately, Honduras lost to Mexico in overtime during the following game, which means it’s going to be hard to find a crowd to watch the U.S. v. Mexico game with me.

So, while watching this game with my coworkers, we were discussing our travel plans for the following day. We were headed out to investigate some coffee processing plants in the department of Comayagua. Now, it’s not exactly close, but we were planning a day trip. We weren’t sure if we were going to go by bus or car; and if by car, which car. I left after the first game to head to another friend’s house and they said they would message me with the details so I would know when to wake up. This leads me to my wakeup call where I left off.

You know when someone calls you and wakes you up and you try to sound like you’ve been awake all morning and you’re trying to pretend like you know what’s going on? Yeah, it’s like that – in Spanish. I run in to take a quick shower. Of course, there’s no water, but luckily I remembered to fill the bucket last time. So I take my quick bucket bath (I don’t think anyone takes particularly long bucket baths, so it seems redundant to say quick, but nonetheless), I throw on some clothes and rush out the door to meet my counterpart at the cooperative. We get into the farm truck and head for San Pedro Sula to meet up with our guide to the fincas. How to describe the truck… well, it’s great if you want to drive 10 mph to your farm that’s 20 minutes away and it’s a dirt road with lots of pot holes and no traffic. However, if you want to drive to Honduras’ economic capital and biggest city, you’re probably better off taking something more suitable for traffic and parallel parking. It’s a rather large vehicle, there’s two-and-a-half seats for three grown men, the windows don’t roll up, 5^th gear doesn’t work, the engine doesn’t heat up and the brakes overheat. Plus, there’s no emergency brake, and did I mention it’s a manual? Onward and upward! Note to self: need to give a charla on investment, maintenance, and depreciation of assets.

Long story shorter, we get to San Pedro and meet up with a guy from the coffee machine fabrication center. He’s going to take us (in his much newer SUV w/ AC) to look at some coffee processing equipment they’ve installed so we can see the machines in action. We just bought one of these machines for the cooperative and it’s in the process of being installed along with a solar-powered (solar panel) coffee dryer, the first of its kind in Honduras! We’re just one step away from having the machine that turns coffee directly into 500-Lempira bills. But I think we’re close. I’ll try to get an entry up that explains the entire coffee process for those of you who are interested. You’ve heard coffee companies saying “from the tree to the cup”? I’ll even tell you how it gets on the tree!

So now we’re five grown men in four-and-a-half seats, but we have AC, and our driver is now a guy from the city who knows how to use 5^th gear. (I can now check off my list driving over 100mph in Honduras). We head out to the biggest lake in Honduras, Lago de Yojoa (no translation), which lies at the intersection between 3 departments: Cortés, Comayagua, and Santa Barbara. Lots of driving is involved, and now we’re mostly navigating mountainous dirt roads through beautiful coffee fincas and forest. We drove through the protected area around the lake and the road ended right at the water. And on the other side, you can see the road continuing. Fortunately, there were ferries waiting to take us across. We took ‘Miss Pamela’ for a 15-minute ride to the other side where we continued our driving, but not before snapping some gorgeous shots of the lake. And honestly, after zipping through traffic on the freeway, driving across the lake on a ferry, and climbing these pot-hole-filled dirt road switchbacks, I feel like I was in an SUV commercial.

We drive around to look at roughly the same machine at three or four different fincas, and all the coffee farmers seem to love their investment. It does what it’s supposed to do and it does it well. So we’re feeling good about our recent investment, and the guy were with from the fabrication plant is a standup guy who really knows these farmers and knows the other kinds of equipment people are trying to sell them. Some of the companies are from Costa Rica or Colombia, or wherever. And what makes this an even better investment for the cooperative is that these guys are in Honduras, so not only is the assistance always there for us, but we’ve also made an investment in the Honduran economy.

OK, this basically takes all day and it’s raining and dark by the time we start our 3-hour trip back to San Pedro Sula. I didn’t mention all the bouncing that took place in the mountain due to the pot-holes, fallen tree limbs, and whatever else was lying in the middle of the road because it seems normal now, but there was a particular bounce that really slammed the chassis down. It left a slight dent in the tire at the time, which turned out to be a fatal event for that tire. We lost said tire about 8:00 pm on the side of the highway. Luckily nothing terrible happened, it just went flat and we pulled over. And now I can check off changing a flat tire at night on the side of the highway in the middle of Honduras… in the rain.

We get back to San Pedro safe and sound and at the last minute decide we’re too tired to make the other 3-hour drive back to Subirana, so we stay the night in a hotel. This is where I was lured in to thinking I would get my first hot shower here. I went straight to bed dreaming about what that shower would feel like in the morning. One of the other guys got up before me and took the first shower – a good 20 minutes. I was in the bathroom as soon as he got out and went for the shower. There were 2 handles, this was a good sign; one for hot, one for cold. I turned the hot-looking handle and water came out. Hmm… it’s not that hot, room temperature at best. Maybe they mixed ‘em up. I try the other. OK, that water is definitely colder. I cranked the other one back on and was just thankful for the nice pressure I had. I thought about asking the other guy if he had hot water for his shower, but then decided I didn’t really want to know. Breakfast and several hours later, I finally made it back home and now I’m taking the rest of the day sitting on a comfortable bed, not sharing with anyone, and it’s not being driven up a pot-hole-ridden incline!

And in other news, I’ll be starting the World Map project soon with the 7^th, 8^th, and 9^th graders; a 3m x 6m mural on the front of the elementary school. Should be great.

Meanwhile, I hope you all enjoy the pictures. And don’t forget, I always love hearing from you through comments, emails, letters, packages, whatever. Enjoy your paved roads, and be sure to check your tires.

Taking a Break

In case it hasn’t been clear thus far, Honduran culture is different from American culture. Part of my job as a PCV is to share those differences with you all, just as I share bits of American culture with the people here. The cultural differences I’ve alluded to (or haven’t yet) regarding work are true, especially in a small town. Being on time, working hard, keeping company time and personal time separate, and taking breaks are all included in these differences. This point on keeping company time and personal time separate works both ways. I’m currently listening to my office compañero telling a story about being at church or playing soccer on a Sunday and being asked to come in to the office to do some paperwork. By the way, they do work Monday through Saturday in this office.

Now you can know all of this information before entering a different culture and then spend nearly three months learning about these differences and even experiencing them to a degree, but culture has this way of ingraining itself into you. You may want to change these aspects; you may even need to change them, but for some reason it doesn’t make a difference.

In reading through some Peace Corps material about culture before arriving in Honduras, the distinction between culture and personality was made. A person must first understand the culture of a people before being able to appreciate the individual differences that make them individuals within a culture. That is to say, if you understand the overarching cultural norms, you can begin to distinguish what makes someone an individual apart from those norms. There are more finite levels as well; including family culture that distinguishes a person in addition to the community culture. And understanding a culture takes time. Understanding a person takes a lifetime. And understanding myself…?

This last week was Student Week, whatever the heck that’s supposed to mean. I think the subtitle is Spring Break #2. I was thinking about the last time I had a vacation. Even though I’ve been moving around and seeing cool things and having lots of free time, that doesn’t exactly constitute a vacation for me. I realized I haven’t really had a vacation in a long while, at least since I started training. Granted, we’ve had days off, but like I said, it’s just not the same. So no school, and I need to get reset my perspective. It’s good to do that every so often so you can come back and appreciate what you have. So I called up a friend on the North Coast and took a couple days to spend relaxing on the beach. There was also some work involved, and though I don’t want to further perpetuate the Cuerpo de Paseo (Traveling Corps), I think it’s important to explore and understand the different parts of Honduras. But here I am, even now defending my free time! My American work ethic constantly hounds me for any time spent unproductively. This is the part that is so difficult to change.

I’ve been here a month to the day and the question nags at me: What have you done? I’m not sure how to answer myself. I think maybe it’s best that I don’t. But rather that I take a deep breath, let down my defensive instinct, and revel in taking a break. One of the reasons I love being here is the relaxed culture. I hope it grows on me more and that guilt will fade away. Things happen slower in this culture, and I really have accomplished quite a bit as far as integrating into a community, developing a routine, understanding a community’s needs and desires.

I’m recalling a sermon I once heard, talking about our time off as a well-deserved reward vs. a starting point. Are we striving through the week to “earn” ourselves the weekend, or do we operate out of a place of rest through which we can move forward with the week? I think that’s an important question for every person.

So, American culture, I know you’re there waiting to ask us what we’ve accomplished, threatening to bring guilt if our answer is insufficient. 

Well, I don’t have an answer for you. I’m at the beach.

Back to Basics

Titles are a popular thing in Honduran culture; Profe, Doctor(a), Ingeniero(a), Pastor, etc. Now it might be that they really respect one’s position or that remembering their title is easier than remembering their name. I think in the States is seen as arrogant or superficial to introduce yourself with your title when you first meet someone, and even then you would only call the teacher ‘Teacher’ when it was your teacher. In Honduras, having a University degree bestows you with the title Licensiado(a). It’s not very popular to call someone Licensiado, but technically this would be my title here, so I probably should be introducing myself as such. Fortunately for me, my host dad is quick to introduce me as Licensiado en Finanza. This keeps people from thinking I’m just a vagabond or hippie, however it presents another problem. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t feel like a 4-year degree made me an expert in any given financial topic. In fact, accounting was a large part of my degree and I’ve always tried to avoid it. Key word: tried.

I might just be the only one technically “qualified” to work in finance in Subirana, so it’s back to the basics for me. My current project is automating the coffee cooperative’s accounting system. Automating is easy when it’s already correct. But what fun would that be? I’m finding even the basic accounting I can recall is coming back to me, though slightly jumbled. Now the Latin culture may bend the definition of punctuality and the importance of time, but in finance it makes a huge difference. Let’s talk for a minute about timing of payments.

If you make a payment on your car loan, it’s pretty important that the financing company document that date on time, and not say, 6 months after the fact. Why? Because you don’t want to be paying interest on that old, larger amount, you’d rather be paying interest on the new smaller amount (or no interest at all!). Well, the math does seem to get a bit more complicated as you start to talk about timing issues. Currently, our one and only formula is as follows:

Principal * Interest * Time (days)

                   360

The way the accounting is set up now is very basic, and easy. It’s easy to automate something like this, but with Excel we want to know more information in order to make formulas that work for every contingency. It’s got me second-guessing myself about accounting, but we’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. And in the meanwhile, I’ve got to pretend like I learned something with my finance degree. Next post, I’ll get a little more technical about how accounting works in Honduras. I'm gonna go brush up on the accounting I tried not to learn all those years.

Licensiado Adán signing off. You stay classy, U.S.A.