Home Remedies

I wished my remembrance of the tenth anniversary of September 11, 2001 was something more somber and adequate to the horrible tragedy that passed that day.  However, I was passing a normal Sunday here in Honduras.  You know, washing some clothes in the pila, cleaning the house and running around the corner to the pulperia (small neighborhood market) to grab some eggs and rice for lunch. 

As I came back into the yard I saw my dog, Frijoles, and called her to come as per the usual when I get home.  She ran over and immediately fell to my feet whining and crying.  Completely bewildered as to what her problem was I noticed she was keeping her left eye shut.  The eye was very watery and was starting to have some weird discharge gathering.  Due to this event I recently learned how strong I am in my own crisis.  I’m a rock when it comes to helping others out, but seeing Frijoles suffering and upset was killing me and I nearly panicked. 

My first call was to another Peace Corps friend whose dog had died after eating poison.  By this point I’d put some eye drops (yes, the kind for humans) in Frijoles’ eye and brought her inside.  She’d gotten very lethargic and was just lying there whining and had also begun drooling.  When I finally got my friend on the phone I start crying and asked her to tell me the story of what happened when her dog got poisoned, even though I’d heard it multiple times.  That helped to reassure me that Frijoles hadn’t been poisoned.  My friend was with one of her Honduran friends and his advice was to give her milk.  Frijoles simply ignored the milk I put in front of her, which worried me even more, since she usually goes crazy for any “human food”.

My next call was to my stepmom since she’s always had dogs and I figured she’d know what to do.  Luckily she was at home and was able to find information on homeopathic medicine for dogs on the Internet, something I can’t do from home here in Honduras.  At first she’d thought it was possibly parvo or distemper, but Frijoles has been vaccinated against both of those.  With those ruled out and having the information that it was an eye problem the best information was to make a saline solution and flush Frijoles’ eye. 

I set water to boil and then called my friend who had given me Frijoles.  She passed me on to her mom who also suggested a saline solution.  Two for two with the saline solution, so I knew I was on the right track.  My friend’s mom also said I should visit the “vet” (who, as far as I’m aware, hasn’t actually studied veterinary medicine but has dedicated herself to the care of animals) Monday, since naturally everything is closed on Sundays here in Pueblo-ville, Honduras.  I thanked her, finished making the saline solution and flushed Frijoles’ eye.  That was all I could do for the day.

First thing Monday when I checked Frijoles’ eye it was completely covered by a white layer, very much resembling a cataract.  “She’s gone blind in this eye,” I told myself.  Putting her on the leash and taking her to the vet, she confirmed my thought and said, “She’s lost the vision in that eye.”  It made me sad to think my poor Frijoles would live the rest of her life one eyed, but at least she was alive.  The vet gave Frijoles a series of antibiotic shots (which are more common than pills here) and as I took her home I passed by my friend’s house, the one who I’d called the day before.  They looked at the eye and said, “You need to make a solution of urine and honey and put drops of that in her eye.  It worked for Jorge’s dog out in San Marcos.” 

Willing to give it a shot, I started running around town trying to find natural honey and a dropper.  The urine…well, that was another story.  My friend has a two year old kid who is potty training so, I think that’s how we got that ingredient.  I take the honey to my friends and ask if they could also happen to watch Frijoles that night since I was heading into Tegucigalpa to catch the Raiders on Monday Night Football (they won, so it made the trip totally worth it).  They said sure and I took off for the capital. 

Getting home on Tuesday morning I picked Frijoles up along with the new honey/urine solution and the instructions of giving her a few drops twice a day.  In the two and a half weeks since her incident, I think I’ve given Frijoles the drops maybe five times.  However, every time I see my friends and they ask if I’m still giving the drops I tell them I am.  Frijoles eye is also almost back to 100%.  As to what happened no one will ever know.  There is one small white spot on the bottom edge of her iris, but aside from that the white cover is nearly gone.  Maybe it was a bee or wasp sting, maybe she actually ran into something, maybe a toad or tarantula spit some venom at her.  I’ll never now, since it happened in the ten minutes I was gone to the store.  And what’s made it better?  Maybe it was time, but maybe there is something to be said for that home remedy of a urine/honey solution.  I’ll also never know since I didn’t administer the drops according to schedule. 

While the whole thing is full of mystery, I’m just glad my ‘ol dumb girl, Frijoles, is almost back to being perfectly healthy again and her sweet natured self.  Hopefully she learned her lesson to stay away from whatever it was that got her in the first place.  Go figure, I try to take good care of her and something like this happens.  I’m sure I’ve mentioned our saying before, “Honduras always wins.”  It’s true; Honduras has racked up a ton of points against me, but when she starts messing with my dog that’s just not cool.  Not cool at all Honduras!

Frijoles on Monday, Sep. 12 - the day after her incident

Close up of her bad eye looking like she'd lost her vision

Normal eye also Moday, Sep. 12

Frijoles today - Friday, Sep. 30

Close up of her bad eye also today - Friday, Sep. 30.  Almost all better!

On a side note October starts the seven month countdown for finishing my Peace Corps service.  It’s a little crazy to think I’ve got twenty months behind me, but that’s the truth of it.  To anyone who’s been a faithful reader all these twenty months, thanks so much!

Hasta la proxima vez…

What's for Dinner?

What’s for Dinner?

When I was drawing a blank as to what to post for July and August, I decided to document my food for a day and share it with you. Delving into the culture a little more, I also decided to give making flour tortillas from scratch a go. I also documented that process and have pictures to show the process.

Now, what I’m going to share in pictures makes it looks a little more exciting than what I usually eat. I won’t lie – I’m lazy and cooking for one is not frequently on my list of things to do each day. Many times I just have a bowl of cereal (corn flakes, because their cheap and so am I) in the morning and make a pot of rice at lunch that lasts until dinner. (Oh, I know my carb intake is ridiculous…but I take my multivitamin to get some good stuff in me.)

I like to incorporate fruit into my breakfasts. Today I had an apple, a banana and a yogurt. Other times, like in my photo I really love a smoothie. From time to time peanut butter is available in the grocery store and a peanut butter/banana smoothie is so good. Other times peanut butter is scarce, so I’ll substitute yogurt. This is not at all a typical Honduran breakfast and very much what I have brought with my experience from home.

Some of what I put in one of my smoothies - Milk, yogurt, a banana and some ice.  Yummy!

Thanks to my dad for sending me down some Raider stadium cups, I can still rep the team I love!

Lunch and dinner tend to have many of the same components.  I try to incorporate more veggies during the later meals of the day.  Just now for lunch I had some rice, beans and a chicken breast – well most of one, I like to share with my dog and cat.  In the photo is a fairly typical Honduran lunch.  Red beans, scrambled egg, a hunk of semi-dry cheese, mantequilla (which I’ve explained before – it’s like a mixture of sour cream and butter, but with a consistency of a runny sour cream), chicken bologna (my own addition because I try to get additional protein where I can and my grocer didn’t have any decent chicken cuts that week) and tortillas.  Obviously, no meal is complete without a good dousing of hot sauce.  I put it on everything, since I don’t even bother trying to season my food.

Almost a ''plato típico''

And then I tried to make tortillas all by myself.  I had previously assisted my host mom once and she gave me the recipe.  Another time I helped form the tortillas and cook them with a friend here in site.  I figured all that was left was to put the two parts of the process together and try it myself.  My end results were not bad for my first time.  I experimented A LOT with the dough and kept adding flour and vegetable shortening until I got a consistency that seemed somewhat near correct.  The first part of the process is combining the ingredients: flour, water, baking soda, shortening and a pinch of salt.  I did it the true Honduran way and just made room on the countertop to make the dough there.  It’s a little tricky creating the crater of dry ingredients and preventing the water from making a mess once you start the mixing.  After the dough is made, it needs to set for about an hour.  I don’t really know why, but I was told to leave it be.  Once the dough has set for awhile it’s ready to make the tortillas.  Start by balling the dough and then flattening it.  Here some people are good with their hands and are able to do it just by palming the dough, not this girl.  I used the trick taught to me by my host sister.  Use two pieces of plastic and flatten the ball of dough using a plate.  After that the raw tortilla can go on the heat to cook.  Here many people use fogones (wood burning stoves) and the tortilla cooking process is quite fast.  I don’t have a fogón in my house and just used my skillet on the stove.  It took me forever to cook the tortillas, but I finally finished about two hours later.  My end result was a little thicker and bread-i-er than tortillas normally are.  I still give myself a good grade because they tasted good, just with a new texture!

The dry ingredients with the crater made, waiting for the water to be added.  And my pot of beans cooking in the background.

The dough as I mixed it all over my fancy concrete countertop.

Letting it sit for awhile.

Ready to start pulling off chunks to make each tortilla.

So, these got out of order - this is the last step of cooking the tortilla.

Putting the ball of dough between two pieces of plastic to flatten it with a plate.  The plastic prevents sticking.

Ready to cook.

And enjoy!  (I have no vanity and no shame of posting unflattering pictures of myself anymore.  Thank you Honduras!)

And that my friends was a little glimpse into the culinary side of my life here in Honduras.  Thanks for reading!

Hasta la proxima vez…

Since I've been AWOL

I must apologize for my slacker-ness in keeping my blog up to date. As July was ending, there was nothing that seemed worthy of writing about and August seems to be heading for the same fate. None the less, I feel a sense of responsibility to this ridiculous medium and the handful of people who choose to read it. Yet again, I will hit you with the ever popular recap and summary of what’s been going on.

I kicked off July with another trip to Roatan in the Bay Islands, which is one of the most beautiful places in the world. A fellow PCV/really good friend’s family came to visit, rented a house and I got to tag along for the week. The most exciting part was learning how to SCUBA dive and getting my Open Water certification. Not to say I did this all fearlessly. I freaked out during our initial sub-surface practice and could have easily stood up and been out of the water. It proves how powerful an emotion fear is and how it completely takes away your sense of reasoning. Other skills such as removing your mask while underwater, swimming without the mask and pretending your tank is out of air and using a buddy’s air source are scary, yet necessary. Overall, I’m glad I did it and look forward to diving more in the future. Just maybe not off my native Pacific Coast in that cold, murky water… It will never compare with the warm, clear waters here and the tropical reef, which is second only to the Great Barrier of Australia.

Work has been just a lot of charlas in the high school the last two months. One of the teachers and I have been giving a series of classes to the “seniors” about the importance of developing skills which are important in the work place. After finishing with the seniors we started with “sophomores” with the idea that they will have to teach the class to 6th, 7th, and 8th graders next year. That way it’s more sustainable, the main goal of Peace Corps work – I’ll be gone, but the information will perpetuate and benefit more people in the future.

This week is the last week of service for the group that came in ahead of mine, known to us as H15. That will make my group, H16, the most seasoned veterans of Peace Corps service here in Honduras. So many cliché statements come to mind, but the truth is a cliché – I can’t believe it’s gone by so fast! An H15 volunteer who lives near me will be passing many of her belongings on to those of us who will still be here in country for awhile. I’m so excited to be inheriting her double bed! For the last six months I’ve been sleeping on a twin size bed that my landlady is loaning to me. It will be nice to feel like an adult again and not like I’m back in the college dorms.

There was an anecdote of an experience yesterday that I wanted to share. On a more personal level the Peace Corps is humbling experience and I’m frequently reminded to get off my sassy horse. After traveling into the capital, Tegucigalpa, for a dental appointment Monday afternoon, I was told my crown wasn’t in from the lab yet and would have to stay over night (luckily Peace Corps picks up the tab on hotels). Having not brought a change of clothes, I sucked it up, stayed the night and got my dental appointment in the next morning. After the appointment I headed to the part of town where buses bound for my town are. Arriving at 11:45, I learned one bus wouldn’t leave until 1:30. Being very impatient and loathing that bus terminal, I headed to the one around the corner where I was told the mini-bus would be leaving at 12:30. Sweet! I thought I’d scored and was stoked to get back home sooner. Well, time ticked by and 1:00 rolled by, then 1:30. Sure, I was frustrated…but of anything I’ve learned in Honduras it’s that schedules are not to be followed and you better have gallons of patience. As it was approaching 2:00, I was getting angry and imagining how I could tell the office manager how horrible they run their business, how disrespectful they are of people and how I would storm out to take the other company’s bus at 2:30. Trying to keep my cool, I again asked what time the mini-bus would leave, “Pronto, dentro de quince minutos” they told me. Not believing that it would be neither soon, nor within fifteen minutes, I checked the time on my phone – almost 2:30. My anger diminished and I felt like a real fool. The words twelve and two sound very similar in Spanish – doce and dos. The man had told me 2:30 when I first arrived, but I heard 12:30 and created all that anger and resentment myself. Luckily, I hadn’t made a fool of myself by doing any of what I’d conjured up in my mind. It was just another lesson in humility and realizing, for the “umpteenth” time, that things will rarely meet my expectations here and I need to just chill out. To further illustrate the point, the mini-bus got a flat tire on the way back home and we were delayed another half hour. All I could do was laugh at myself and appreciate the lesson that was being taught to me.

Well, with all that in mind – I think I’ve put together a decent post for those of you reading. I appreciate you paying attention to this, thanks mucho!

Hasta la proxima vez…

Reflections on life in the US and Honduras

I’ve been back in Honduras for 16 days since my trip home to the US. In that time I’ve wanted to blog and tell a little about my trip home and compare some of the things between the US and Honduras. Why did I wait so long though? Well, practical reasons such as being busy with work and having to take multiple trips to Tegucigalpa for a root canal. But, also reasons such as having to wait to soak in Honduras again instead of how I felt upon first returning from the US, basically getting used to it again. Thank God this time only took a few days instead of a couple of months like last year when I first got here.

On why I love America…

My trip to the US reminded me of what I love about America: variety and freedom. I know for a fact I’ve mentioned variety before and will preach on it again now, but it’s what makes the US so amazing. From my first moments back on US soil in the Atlanta airport trying to find food to eat I could see the variety all around. The first food I ate was a falafel pita followed by vanilla yogurt with fresh blueberries and strawberries for dessert. Nothing I would ever find outside of Tegucigalpa. Wandering the gates looking at all the destination cities reminded me of how huge the US is and how each different city is unique and has something to show for its culture and history. Skipping ahead to a few days into my trip, shopping for groceries where you can buy it all in one place and every item has its price posted, trips to Target when they were closing in half hour’s time (definitely NOT enough time) and restaurant menus (knowing it’s all available, whereas here in Honduras you will frequently be told a menu item is unavailable). The options made available on a daily basis in the US are truly overwhelming.

When I say freedom, I’m not talking the whole America, “Land of the free, home of the brave stuff.” None of the freedom of religion or speech stuff either – although extremists both liberal and conservative tend to abuse such freedoms. Of course I love all that, but that’s without saying. No, when I say freedom, I mean personal freedom. Freedom to live your life as you choose without other people interfering or judging (ok, they do it, but we don’t care in the US what people think about us). Also, freedom to go and be mobile. In Honduras I am under constant surveillance and scrutiny. Some local people gossip about me, which in the times I’ve been aware of it, has been malicious and fabricated. In the US we call people who try to bring you down “haters” and are told not to pay them any attention. It’s how we live and we do so without shame. I love that in the US everyone is too busy caring about their own life to not care about mine. That’s exactly how it should be.

Obviously, the best part of being home was seeing family and friends. From being accosted by the surprise attack of my best friend as I exited a SFO restroom to sprinting across the Denny’s parking lot to wrap my mom in a huge bear hug after seeing her for the first time in 15 months, the excitement of seeing friends and family was more than words. Having friends want to spend as much time with me as possible while I was in the US was the best feeling ever. It certainly made being at home feel like it was a billion times better than Honduras, instead of just the actual million that it is. Seeing my three- and five-year-old nephews go from being shy and ignoring me to fighting for my attention during a tickle war brought tears of joy to my eyes. I had feared their short memories would have erased me. The way everyone was vying for my time and attention made me feel so loved and wanted after spending time living without any family and great friends who are good people, but still people I can never have a good connection with like my US friends with whom I share native language and culture.

Coming back to Honduras…

While I was in the US I frequently caught myself saying, “When I get home…” referring to Honduras. People would catch it as well and seem to be surprised that I called Honduras home. The truth of the matter is that for the time being, it is my home. This is where I have my own house decorated and furnished (more or less, based on budget restrictions) the way I like it. My work is here. Like I mentioned in previous posts, I know I’m not saving the world and maybe not even changing lives, as I’d hoped, but I am really enjoying the work I have right now. I’ve found my niche here in Guaimaca working with youth and more specifically young girls. This “job” of being a volunteer is the best. It’s like being an entrepreneur with much less stress and responsibilities.

Don’t believe coming back wasn’t one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I have no contract with the Peace Corps. If I choose to end my service today, I could call someone right now and tell them as much. If that were the case I could probably be packed and out of the country within four or five days. However, besides the fact that I’m at a point where I’m really enjoying my work right now, I’ve got a lot of pride and a stubborn streak that won’t permit me to back out on my word of having made a two year commitment to the people of Guaimaca. As we approached the Honduran coast on the flight from Miami to Tegucigalpa and the pilot announced we would be landing within half an hour, my heart started an irregular rhythm and I couldn’t fight the urge to cry. As we circled the mountains and landed in Tegucigalpa I cried like a baby. I’m not entirely sure why. I can hypothesize that it may be because the awesomeness of a great trip back home was officially over and I was heading back to a life where I make so many sacrifices to do a job that sometimes isn’t as appreciated as I wish it were. Walking into the customs hall and standing in the ‘Honduran Nationals’ and ‘Residents’ line where I was checked back into country quicker than all the do-gooder short-term mission trip “gringos” by the customs agent that happens to be my friend’s mom helped me feel good about being back. I called a taxi driver I trust and he took me to the bus station which would lead me back to Guaimaca.

That whole process made me feel a different sense of freedom not like what I feel in the US. I am able to navigate this country and know how to do so safely, because of all the experience I’ve gained from living here for 15 months. That element of routine and familiarity is what made coming back to Honduras feel good. I got back to Guaimaca and fell into the groove that I had left a few weeks before. For the time being this is where I’m supposed to be and it feels right.

And it comes down to this…

My life in Honduras gives me responsibilities never before had in the US. Working with youth and shaping their future for one that will hopefully be different is very rewarding. In comparison with my US work, this is a million times more important. Brewing some coffee or making copies, which I did in my two previous jobs in the US were merely sources of income and didn’t have much importance as it’s something anyone can do. I’m an ambassador to the people of Guaimaca and it falls on me to do the US proud. I do all this work as best I can while teaching and trying to change stereotypes: both of Americans and what the future holds for a Honduran youth.

My trip back to the US was a very romanticized version of what life there is truly like. Friends and family were vying for my attention because I’d been gone for 15 months and will be gone for another 12. Day to day life in the US doesn’t have people clamoring for my time like that. People aren’t always willing to treat me when eating out on a normal basis in the US. Treating the poor Peace Corps Volunteer is something I will only be able to enjoy on that trip home. Being able to sleep in and do whatever you want for two weeks without any obligations is also very unrealistic of what my real life in the US would be like. OK, so sure the US far outshines Honduras for many reasons, but those for my trip home being amazing are highly exaggerated and I realize that if I were to up and leave Honduras, life back in the US would soon get back to the stressful, competitive, rat race that it is.

For the meantime, my home and life is in Honduras. I have work that’s meaningful and important not only to me, but others. My house is mine and I feel at home here. I have friends and work partners that help me navigate the difficulties of the culture and its ups and downs. My two pets are here and they are my babies right now. I have people who come to my front gate selling a bag of roma tomatoes for L. 5 ($0.26) and Couch Surfers from Texas, Poland and Sweden whom I would never meet in Modesto, but sure can in Honduras and share not only about the US, but Honduras as well. There is a friend who is willing to drive 90 km from Tegucigalpa to Guaimaca so that I can help her improve her English and she will help me improve my Spanish. I have the opportunity to travel to some of the world’s most beautiful islands and second largest coral reef to get SCUBA certified. Mayan ruins full of history await my visit and fresh mangoes and avocadoes grow in my backyard. Sure, I have to spend two hours hand washing my clothes each week, I’m lucky on the days I wake up to running water, I can get stuck on a bus for an extra hour because the tire blew out and the one they replaced it with is bald so we travel about 55 mph the whole way back, I always have candles on hand for when the power goes out and my house may or may not flood each time it rains, but this is home now and I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

Hasta la proxima vez...