Introductions

Looking out the gate of Buena Vista

View of Buena Vista from a ridge behind campus (El Suyutal is on the far left side of the picture)

and a mountain view further up the ridge.

The hallway of the building I am currently staying in and walking out our road toward the village of El Suyutal

The donkey who brays every morning and the toads who don't appreciate it when we water our garden beds

Meshach (white), Abednego (black), and Shadrach

Nina (on left) and Mia; Adam and Eve

To Be or Not to Be (As If It Makes a Difference to Choose)

I do believe that my cheeks and arms and legs are a bit ruddier than they were two weeks ago. And I know for a fact that I understand more Spanish and can produce more than I could on my first nervous night in Tegucigalpa some time ago. But somehow these things make no dint on the hard-coating of Americanism that encases me.
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I hear Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego barking and look up from my lesson plans to see cattle passing by our gate, a Honduran rider behind them. I think of my neighbors in VT, their calloused hands waving hello, and their voices calling their howling pets away from my horse. I think of the inconvenience of those creatures that don't obey and that have followed me home, and then I whistle and call the the boys. But the rider and cattle pass by, and the dogs do not return until the last steer lumbers by.
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In the darkness of the room I do not see the kind senora leaning forward to kiss my cheek and I want to pinch myself for forgetting the custom. I don't generally eat dairy products and I am not very hungry, but I accept the maiz with mantequilla and the yucca that she gives me. "Muy rico," I say, and I mean it, but I don't know if she believes me.
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As I walk through El Suyutal, I feel the eyes surrounding me and when my companion says softly, "Muy rapido, muy rapido," my legs are only too happy to comply. Without noticing, I am soon ahead of her. She chuckles, but in her voice I hear the tightness that I feel in my own throat.
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I ring the bell as I finish preparing "almuerza" for the rest of the team and for the two workmen. This week we have had white rice and beans and tortillas and curry and bread and so my Swiss friend and I have decided to be brave and branch out. She cooked brown rice, and I have just finished making an Asian-style stir-fry with some soy sauce I found in our little kitchen. We have already agreed that we will watch and see if any second helpings get taken, and in a half-hour we are back in the kitchen, giggling, as we look at the scanty remains of the big meal we prepared. At least this went over better than my split-pea and fresh vegetable soup...
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As I finish leading out in the final hymn of our prayer meeting, I move amongst the brothers, wishing them a good night, and then begin helping pick up the chairs. Tonight, like other nights, a brother relieves me of my stack with an almost chiding "Emily..." Well, I say to myself, that may be all the English they know--but then again, haven't I noticed that only the women from Buena Vista ever help to pick up, not the women of the village?
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To be, or not to be? I ask again. Do I continue to visit the ridge for quiet time in the mornings, despite the fact that it would not be good were I to be found out their alone? Do I carry a camera so as to preserce the experiences I encounter and at the same time advertise the fact that I might be a "turista americana?" But then again, it seems that whether I choose to be or not, there is the height, and the pale skin, and the blue eyes to betray me

Simpler Things

I have a blister on my little finger from washing towels. If you had told me about such an occurance a mere nine days ago, I would have chuckled and said such a thing was not possible. But now I know the truth--yesterday's bout with the washboard and our kitchen's thirty-some "toallas" was enough to cure me of my laughter... in one sense. On the other hand, after an afternoon with my body half in the sunshine and half in the cool washing water, I am that much more delighted.

I cannot tell you how many times already I have walked into the room I (will) share with four others after dark and unconsciously begun feeling around for the lightswitch, or thought pleasantly of a warm shower and then scrunched up my face in anticipation of the cold running down my back. But it is only habit that makes me do so. Tonight as I showered, squealing, by lamplight, I found myself chuckling at the unique experience, and chattering about it with my co-teacher Manuela over the thin walls of our abode.

And so time and I march on--I often with either a little green "perrico" or a dishtowel on my shoulder and a garbled Spanish sentence in my mouth, I often thinking of how wasteful I have learned to be, how careless I am, and how ignorant of many things. Perhaps four and some months will teach me somethings. But then I shall only be eager to learn more.

Buena Vista

My arrival at Buena Vista on Monday, my home for the next five months, was a celebration of more than merely seeing the place I have waited so long to see... it was a breath of tranquility after a long and curvy, jouncy and wild ride from Tegucigalpa past bony animals and over pot-holed roads, along with two clutch starts due to battery failure, an empty stomach, and a parched throat from a mere cup-and-a-half of water in some twelve hours.

My journal entry last night said dia quatro at the top of it--so yes, now that I am on my third full day here at the school, I feel as if I can tell a little.

Buena Vista is beautiful indeed and as was told me from the beginning, is set in a little valley surrounded by grand green hills. Yes, of course showers are cold. No, we do not have electricity. Yes, we are on winter vacation until February and I therefore have a little more of a chance at working out the Spanish chatter of the few staff around me before my English classes begin.

It is quiet here, oh so quiet, fifteen minutes away from the bustling little village of El Suyutal, and therefore protected from all but the braying of donkeys and the crowing of roosters from various places around campus. The slower-paced Honduran lifestyle has my eyebrow quizzically angled at one moment and my heart leaping in delight at another... everything is all so new.

This evening five of us trooped out to the village for an evening prayer meeting where I was once again reminded of how American I am. I have taken so much for granted. Here our church is a roof with three walls, a cement-pad floot. But truly, the hearts and hands are so warm, even to a tall white girl who stumbles so badly when asked where she is from that she says, "I am Vermont." And then I have so often taken for granted the kinship of a conversation where every detail is understood, at least in word. This evening I stood in the center of a jolly group of church folks, smiling and nodding at all the appropriate places and catching the general drift...but I must remember that it has only been five days...

Oh, there is so much to say... about new friends, about our dogs and cats and parrots, about lonliness, about mealtimes and cooking, about the rats in the storeroom, about hikes, about lesson plans... But oh, the time is short. Someday too, pictures will be coming, friends.

I continue to be amazed at how God is blessing and how I have the assurance of His strength. Each day I am reminded that I am not here of my own accord, but that He has placed me here, and that it with His power that I will do the task before me. It is enough--or rather, the crowning cap on my joy.