Hoy Mismo (Today)This morning, like always, I woke to the sound of chickens. In the lot behind my house, my town’s bus cranked away at its engine and eventually started (it usually does). My neighbor Hector, the driver, honked the horn as he drove through town on his way to the bus stop. I had a commitment in a village up the mountain so I got out from under my mosquito net and stepped outside to look at the clouds and mist that cling to the mountains in the morning and remind myself that, yes, I am in the Peace Corps.

After the fresh air and greeting my neighbor, who was likely wondering why the gringo was standing outside in his boxer shorts again, I retreated inside for a shower. No water came from the spigot, and I didn’t feel like a bucket bath, so I decided that since I showered last night (no water yesterday morning either) I was acceptable to be seen in public. I ate cereal and coffee and I packed up my backpack (trail mix, thanks to a care package, my calendar, water bottle, and placenta/baby/hip bones set that I received last week in a training for midwives) put on my hiking boots (thanks grandma!) and set off for Buena Vista which lies about an hour hike up the mountain by a dirt road.I hiked up to the health center, which is run by a lone nurse, because today was the day all the pregnant woman in this area were scheduled for a consultation with the nurse and I wanted to give them a little charla on risk factors during pregnancy and what to do. During the hike, I laughed to myself (this is becoming more and more common) that this was my morning commute and I would trade it any day for sitting in traffic in a car…I arrived, soaking wet with sweat, and waited outside for the nurse who hitchhikes up to the health center.Five pregnant woman showed up (less than I was hoping for but enough to be worth the trip) and I began by asking everyone to say their name, what aldea they live in, how old they are (I included this because one of the pregnant woman was actually a pregnant girl and I was wondering how old she was) and what they ate for dinner last night. Two interesting things came out of this introduction: 1) All of us ate the exact same thing for dinner last night (beans, avocado, tortillas, and cheese) which we all thought was funny, and 2) The pregnant girl was 13 which, at least for me, wasn’t funny. I gave my two cents worth of info and think that it went pretty well. I’m hoping to have a bigger group of preggies to work with here but I’ll just have to wait and let nature, or boredom, take its course…(I was actually told that in the last 2 months 8 women have given birth so that the numbers are a bit down. This helps to explain why the numbers are up in my other group, new mothers who are baby-weighing).I hiked back down to town and passed by the health center to check in and also to ask about a guy who came by my house last night to have me translate a medication box. I digress: I’m sitting on my front patio and this older man who I don’t know called me over to the fence to ask about a medication that he was given by a friend and wanted to take. It turns out, ironically, that the drug was a sample of Tarka, manufactured by my former employer Abbott Laboratories, which is used to treat high blood pressure. I asked the old man if he had high blood pressure and if he had seen the doctor at the health center (we have several drugs to treat hypertension at no cost). His responses were not sure and no. I told him that he should bring the medication to the health center and talk to the doctor because it was dangerous to take medicine without speaking with a doctor but added that should he decide to take it against my advice he should take one pill a day with food... Anyway, he hadn’t come to the health center so I will have to look for him around town.I went back to my house for almuerzo and was interrupted by local high school students who needed help with their English homework (I’m friends with the English teacher who is a guy my age in town and have introduced myself to his classes with a promise to help with their homework if they help me with my Spanish). We sat out on my front porch and went through the work and afterwards chatted about me and them and lucha libre (WWE Wrestling is apparently very popular here...)When they left I could see the dark clouds pushing down into the valley and knew that we were in for an afternoon rain shower (which happens about 5 times a week this time of year). I watched for a bit and then decided to stay in and type a blog since tomorrow I’m heading to Tegus and will have a few days of internet access and can, after 4 months, update my blog!!! So here I sit, listening to the rain on my tin roof and typing away…no complaints.

Six Months in Honduras

Well….many months have passed between blog entries and again I have many excuses…mainly that I don’t have internet in my town and that when I check my email every few weeks I’m just firefighting like 200 emails...excuses aside, I’m sorry…I promise to get better at this and I will try to write with enough frequency so that I can get into more detail about my day to day…now that I’m living alone I have more control over my life so things should be easier…soooo, now that you’ve forgiven me lets talk. I’ve been living in Honduras for 6 months! The good thing about writing every blue moon is that a lot has happened: I’ve finished training and now live in my permanent site in Western Honduras. First, I’ve included blogs that I've written the past months but never posted to backfill a bit about my field based training site, Yarumela, and then on to my more recent happenings…Life in Yarumela: Alby and the Fam

My host family in Yarumela was kind, modest, and very conservative. The family was run by my strong-willed host mother, Albertina. She had a few daughters and grandchildren who were always in and out of the house. My host father and brother were not really a part of my experience (spare a few humorous encounters) due to their being bolos (drunks) and therefore sleeping or resting all the time. Alby was also host mother to four high school students who studied at the local colegio and boarded at her house. Lastly, we had 2 dogs: Rusty who was cute and playful; Popi who was a ferocious street fighter (seriously…at night the dogs in town run around and fight each other…they would come home in the morning all cut up and limping. Another volunteer’s families’ dog died from injuries).Each morning, Alby would wake up around 4 AM to begin preparing breakfast from scratch. First, she would chop wood (outside my door of course) to light the fogon. She would then make the food to start the day. Sometimes she made me delicious pancakes (they are not fluffy like pancakes at home, but are non-risen and rolled up with honey inside…not a bad way to start the day). She would feed everyone and grab a few bites herself. I would head off for language class or training and she would have a break before beginning to prepare lunch.For lunch, all the volunteers returned to eat with their host family. By this time of day the temp was well into the 90’s and hot. I would grab some food and if time permitted go into my room (see sleep chamber), take off all my clothes and lie there for 15 minutes before heading off to the afternoon sessions. Alby would rest again for a bit and then start preparing dinner. She easily spent 80% of her time in the kitchen just making the food for that day. Life for Alby was so repetitive that one day I asked her about what she liked to do or what plans she had coming up or for the future. She told me that she likes to listen to church mass on the radio and has no plans for the future and nothing to look forward to. I had pretty much assumed that, but it hurt to hear it and I never brought it up again.At night, the sun withdrew and the temperature would lower a bit so that it was comfortable to sit around outside on a corner and talk or people watch. Since there was not much to talk about with my host family, we often did the latter. There were 7 volunteers in this tiny town (the “melons”) and we liked to meet-up for some laughs and discussion. This was a source of tension between Alby and I. She liked to have the house locked up and lights out by 8:30 PM which didn’t allow me time to go outside the house after dinner. If I left, she would wait up, nervous that robbers were going to come and attack the house or that I would not be safe. I felt completely safe in Yarumela because there was basically nothing there. If I didn’t get out in time, she would lock me in. After being in charge of my own life for the last 7 years this was a tough pill to swallow. A few nights I sat in my courtyard talking through the gates with friends who didn’t have a curfew…I eventually gained enough trust with Albertina to allow me to close the gate now and again. For example, on Friday nights the volunteers would try to set up a movie to watch after dinner. This meant staying out until about 10 PM. One night, I came back late to an angry Alby who revoked my privileges…Sleep Chamber

My room while living in Yarumela is worth mentioning because I was so uncomfortable that it became humorous. The room was located at the corner of the house right next to the front gate, courtyard, and street. Our house was on the corner of a busy intersection (trucks and cows) and my room was just a foot or two off 2 streets. It was tiny with just enough space for a bed and a dresser. The house had an open-air roof so my host family nailed in a tarp ceiling low enough that I could touch it with my hand. The room had one big, black, steel window facing out towards the street. I was instructed to never open the window because of the huge amount of dust that blew down the street directly at my window from the wind and traffic (there were still big gaps around the window that would allow enough dust in that I had to shake my sheets daily and wipe down everything with exposed surface). The black steel window worked like a radiator to heat up my room and with the low tarp ceiling I felt like I was in a greenhouse. When the temp was 90-something outside, it was hotter in my room. I didn’t like to leave my door open during the day because it faced out to the courtyard and street and everyone outside could look into the room and the little kids would try to go through my stuff…with no air circulation the room would stay hot even at night when the outside temp had cooled down. All this made sleeping difficult. With lights out early and mosquitoes attacking I would be driven into my chamber. I would lie there for hours just sweating and listening to the teenagers playing around outside on the corner a few feet away until I finally dozed off. I would usually wake up a couple hours later literally soaking from sweat and drink a full liter of water. I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep so I would sit there in misery. Eventually, I decided to open up my door and hang my mosquito net over the opening to let the cooler air outside into my room. I could look out and see the people on the street and when a car drove by its lights would shine in my eyes but it worked well enough to allow me to get a few more hours of sleep each night and I was happy. One night, as I was dozing off, I opened my eyes to see a person leaning into my room looking through the mosquito net. I screamed, and the person, my drunken host-dad, turned around and stumbled back into the courtyard. Alby discovered my plan and the next morning told me that I couldn’t sleep with my door open because it wasn’t safe (because of the robbers)…I didn’t get much sleep those 5 weeks so I was really looking forward to heading back to the much cooler Santa Lucia to finish off training…Mango SeasonYarumela is located in one of the bigger valleys of Honduras which allows for hot days and lots of fruit. My host father worked on a farm and brought home two truckloads of mangoes to sell. I therefore had an unlimited supply of big, juicy mangoes…I never appreciated mangoes before living in Yarumela, probably because I never had a really good one. Hondurans are mango experts. There are several types: big, small, sweet, green, long, etc. Sweet mangoes are best served ripe, cut up, with juice dripping everywhere. Green mangoes are cut up into slices and served with a mix of vinegar, hot sauce, salt, and salsa negra (Worcester) to taste. Small mangoes are stringy and are eaten like an apple and you must take a few minutes to suck on the giant seed…Each day during the mango season I ate a few and now I am admittedly hooked. I can’t wait ‘til next years harvest…when I left town, my host mom gave me a big bag full of about 15 mangoes and a pillow. The pillow was underappreciated because I had to carry it with me. But, to Albertina’s credit, I’ve slept with this cotton-swab creation every night for the past 3 months…Chismosos

So myself and six other gringos lived in quaint Yarumela, a city with nothing much to do. Unlike Santa Lucia, where the host families are accustomed to the eccentricities of gringos, we definitely gave the locals something to talk about. This chisme (gossip) spread so fast that we often received information from our host families that we hadn’t even had time to tell each other….What did we eat for breakfast? How much? Who had diarrhea yesterday? Who was wandering around at night? So and so isn’t happy? Someone drank a beer with their family? No way! Most of the chisme was pretty harmless although some was pretty juicy and all of it was interesting (to us and them…haha). It was our first taste of the “Peace Corps Fishbowl” where everyone around you knows everything that you do. My site is just as bad or worse than Yarumela so this is something that I’m definitely going to have to deal with over the next 2 years….Back in Yarumela, one of the activities that we did with our language class was to make a map of the town labeling the points of interest. We were later surprised to hear that some Americans had come to town to assess the land in order to buy the entire town to expand the nearby US Air force Base. I included a picture of the top-secret surveillance crew below.

Fish Soup

Defeat. I could not eat anymore of the fish soup sitting in front of me. The past few days my host mom had hinted that this treat might soon arrive on my plate…just as soon as she could find fresh fish; if not she would use the dried fish from the market. I had seen the dried fish at the market, from a distance because the smell is so pungent I avoid the stands, so I hoped for the former. On my lucky day, the dried fish soup sat before me with the brown pieces of meat clinging to the skeleton of the fish that still had scales on it. As I went in for some broth I was thinking about all the flies that swarm the stands at the market. After a few spoonfuls I was getting sick to my stomach and had to say for the first time in Honduras that I could not eat a dish. I had eaten the grisly meats, the garlic bread for breakfast, the “spaghetti” made with a sauce of mantequilla and ketchup, and countless other interesting dishes. Poor Alby, I think I broke her heart... I should note that she was great cook and the comida tipica in her house is probably the best I’ve had….The Perfect Way to Start A Day

A few days a week I would go for a run in the morning before classes began. A couple miles down a dirt road from Yarumela there are some ancient ruins that I would run to with another PCT. We would go early in the morning so that we could get back and have breakfast and a sponge bath before classes. The mornings were cool and we would catch the sunrise over the mountains and into the valley where we were running. When we reached them, we would climb up top and take a look around the valley. It was always beautiful and reminded me that there I was in Central America standing on top of ruins watching the sunrise…good times. My current site is up in the mountains so running is going to be more difficult…

‘Mella Collie and The Infinite Sadness

Leaving Yarumela was a mixed bag of emotions. The previous 5 weeks with my host family were challenging but ended on a high note. At our despedida (goodbye party), Alby whispered “te quiero mucho” in my ear which I think went to show that after all the little struggles between us we ended on a high note. I think she just gives tough love…after going through so much I must admit I left a piece of me (mostly sweat) in the ‘mellow and I hope to go back to visit and stay with my host family.Long-distance relationshipDear Frank, purveyor of hot sauce. You have changed my life and I will never forget the memories that we’ve shared together. I recall, with fondness, many a pizza, chile, taco, or cracker to which you added flavor and spiced up my life. Our encounters left me sweating on many occasion. I defended you against claims that you weren’t the right hot sauce for me and convinced others of your great qualities. Today I write with a heavy heart. I’ve found another hot sauce. Its name is Don Julio. Now Frank, don’t be down. Its not you, it’s me. I crave you more than ever and wish we could have more gustatory adventures together here in Honduras…. However, the distance is just too much and I have needs that The Don can satisfy. The food here is bland, and it was only a matter of time until I filled this void with some local flavor. I will miss you, Frank. Goodbye.

The Dengue Fever Dance

The day that I left Yarumela I traveled back to Santa Lucia and was walking up a hill towards my house when I was struck with a chill. I thought to myself how my body must have really adjusted to the heat of my previous site. I made it home ate what would be one of my last meals for a week. I met some of the other volunteers out for drink but went home because I was feeling a bit “off”. That night more chills came and I thought that maybe I had the flu. I had no idea that in a week I would be down 2 belt notches and barely be able to get out of bed. The sun was shining brightly the next day at the training center and but I never took off my fleece. In fact, I was so cold I stayed in the sun and was sweating. Some of the other volunteers commented on how blue my lips and fingers were. I stuck to the “a bit off” line and went about my business. That afternoon the whole group met in the conference room for a talk from the country director and it was warm. I came down with a fever that didn’t break until about 4am the next morning. That night at 2am I finally decided that something was seriously wrong and called the 24 hour medical officer line with the following symptoms: nausea, migraine headache, high-fever, sweats, chills, painful bones and joints, sore eyes, and unquenchable thirst. She told me that I likely had dengue and that I should take some Panadol (like Tylenol in Honduras) and see her in the morning. I felt a bit better in the morning since the fever and chills had gone and the panadol was helping with the migraine. The doctor reaffirmed her prediction of classic (nonhemorrhagic) dengue fever and then gave me the bad news. There is no treatment for dengue other then taking panadol and resting and letting it take its course on your body for the next week or so. Each night the fever and chills would strengthen and I could only take panadol, drink lots of water, and rest.The timing couldn’t have been worse because that was our last day of training and I would find out my permanent site placement. The following day my counterpart from site would come to spend the day with me. Then I would go on a visit to my site which included an 8 hour trip on a bus through the mountains. What to do?I decided to try to stick the whole thing out and participated in the activities and traveled out to my site. When I arrived to meet my new host family there, Don A and company, I was seriously sick and told them that I had Dengue Fever. I spent most of my time with them lying on the floor of my room in agony and not eating. From their perspective, they had this gringo in their house who was sick and not eating. Talk about a first impression, huh? We like to laugh about it now because, well, I survived and we now have a great relationship.Having dengue was terrible and by far the worse illness that I've ever had to deal with. Furthermore, it really took its toll on my body and left me bony and weak which took months to recover from. Overall, it enhanced my awareness of my vulnerability here, and in the world in general, and my fear of mosquitoes...

Swearing-InAfter 3 months in country, we got all dressed up (ties for guys, dresses for gals) and took a bus into Tegucigalpa to the U.S. Embassy to be sworn in as official volunteers and begin the 2 years of service countdown. There were a few speeches, some amazing Mexican food, and lots of picture-taking. Afterwards, we were taken to the U.S. Ambassador’s residence to swim, play tennis and volleyball, and just have a good time. A few days later, we were all alone at our sites…below is the Hondu 12 Health group.

A Theory of RelativityIt’s raining and I’m happy: tonight’s rain is tomorrow’s sponge bath! This morning I took a brown-water sponge bath. Oddly, I felt so clean after that I had goose bumps, giggled euphorically, and might have been mistaken for the guy from the zest-fully clean commercial. 3 weeks ago I would not dip my finger in this same water. What happened? Well, to start, I have sponge-bathed 5 times in the last 3 weeks (don’t do the math). This morning, after 3 days without bathing, the dirty water didn’t seem so brown and I rationalized that it would actually leave me cleaner. I had been praying for enough rain so that I could use the run-off from the roof collected in a bucket as I had done for the previous 4 sponge baths (the rain water is clear so you only have to worry about the bugs, leaves, etc which I barely notice. See Pic below). The rain water is a relatively better option but this morning I had no such luck. I remember, back in the day…3 weeks ago, I didn’t want to use the rain water either. After waiting 4 days, for our normal running water to return, the rain water runoff stirred images of natural springs and I gave in. Here in “downtown” San José, we have basic plumbing which allows us luxurious flush toilets and PVC pipe showers when we have the running water. Three weeks ago [this lasted for 2 months total] the water supply to the town was cut off by a broken pipe and now we wait: collecting rainwater and receiving an injection of dirty brown water through the pipes occasionally which we use to fill the pila and every available bucket. I’ve come to see that everything is quite relative. I’ve been noticing these relative trade offs in my life here and lately it’s been entertaining to think about how bit by bit things take on a better light. As I forget the smell of clothes fresh out of the dryer, the comfort of houses without crumbling walls, high speed internet, and the taste of a Culver’s Double Butterburger Deluxe Basket with a strawberry custard malt, I become more satisfied with everything around me here. A brown water scrub leaves my clothes downy-fresh, a cinder block house is luxurious [as I truly feel about my house], only waiting a few minutes to get into my email is fast, and a fresh apple is a guilty pleasure. I know my standards have shifted but trading in my former expectations does not leave me less happy. I have 2 thoughts on this: 1) What would my lifestyle at home look like to the super-rich? 2) Should I be weary of going home to the states for a trip and having to readjust my standards upon return to Honduras?

Afternoon DelitesEven in Honduras, the girl-scout cookie season does not go uncelebrated. Boxes began showing up in care-packages and the discussion of favorite cookies followed. When I announced that my favorites were Caramel Delites, many of the other volunteers, some girl scouts, had never heard of them. When I described the chocolate, coconut, caramel goodness everyone was like “oh yeah, Samoans…” I guess they’re called different things in different regions of the country. Eventually, a box did arrive for me to share. Admittedly, I did enjoy a few “Samoans". But they’ll always be Caramel Delites to me!

Do You Know the Way to San José?There is only one bus to San José, Copán, my new home. It heads to town (a bigger city about an hour away called Santa Rosa) in the morning, and returns in the afternoon. Don’t worry about catching the bus, though, there are more ways to get here…San José is a small town of less than 2,000 people tucked away in a valley in the mountains of Western Honduras. The climate is cooler due to the elevation and the low clouds push their way between the mountains. From here, a few hours can take you across borders to El Salvador or Guatemala. Nine hours will take you back to the capital city of Tegucigalpa which lies on the other side of the mountain range that cuts “The West” off from the rest of Honduras.San José doesn’t have any grocery stores or movie theaters or even internet. There is no market or bank here. There is a park, a soccer field, a police station, schools, a small hardware store, a barber, and one comedor (a restaurant in the owners’ house). There are many pulperias where you can buy snacks, rice, beans, eggs, cheese, or milk. There is a health center with 3 nurses and a doctor and a pharmacy (this is my home base).San José is the capital of the municipality of San José which is similar to a county at home. There are several other smaller towns that make up the municipality and double the population of the municipality to close to 5,000. Many of these other towns, called aldeas, are in the mountains surrounding the valley where I live. Three of the aldeas are big enough to have their own health clinic staffed by a nurse but with no pharmacy. Most of the aldeas are within a few hours walk of San José and the residents must come here to see a doctor and to get medicine or a referral to a hospital. I will spend most of my efforts over the next 22 months in the greater municipality of San José and plan to make frequent visits to the aldeas where there is severe poverty and malnutrition.To get to San José take a bus South from San Pedro Sula (where the biggest airport in Honduras is located) and get off at the desvio (exit) for San José. You will see a dirt road heading up into the mountains and that is the way. From there, you have 2 options to get the 3 miles or so up to town. There is a minivan that makes the trip from the highway exit to the town and the aldeas and back and if you’re lucky it will come to pick you up. If there is no rain, the best option is to catch a jalon (hitchhike). When a truck pulls off the highway make your best puppy-dog eyes and if you’re lucky it will stop. Jump in and hold on tight and enjoy the mountains, forests, and ranches that line the road on the way. After I swore-in, the first time I was heading to my site alone, I caught my first jalon up to town. While riding up through the mountains and holding on to my backpack I remember thinking to myself “Holy shit, I’m in really in the Peace Corps!”…San José is tranquilo and things move at a slow pace. The people are very kind and welcoming and everyone talks about how safe it is here and how Honduras’ gang problem hasn’t traveled here yet. Everyone knows everyone and has extended family within town. Many people here own land in the hillsides surrounding town. Some has been cleared and is used for growing corn or beans or grazing cattle. Some is unkept, called monte, and is a mix of fruit trees and streams and fields and stick fences (during a visit to the monte of my host dad we walked through banana trees, mango trees, cocao trees, avocado trees, plum trees, tamarindo trees, and coffee plants). Higher up on in the surrounding mountains are big coffee farms that make up regional coops. My host dad has a small coffee farm and we drink the coffee here at the house (there is a very tedious preparation process and I’m going to help with the harvest this fall!!!).San José is the kind of place where it is not unusual to see a man riding his horse talking on a cell phone coming back from milking his cows or to see a little old woman walking with a big bucket of corn dough balanced on her head and wearing a shirt that says “Delta Phi Wet T-Shirt Contest 1997”.San José has a center neighborhood that is a few blocks square where there is running water, electricity, and cable TV (about 8 channels in Spanish). Here life can be pretty comfortable. Electricity means television and appliances (like refrigerators) and running water means flush toilets and showers. Walk a few minutes outside of the town center and the housing degrades to mud and straw houses with dirt floors and no plumbing.My host family’s house lies within the town center and is quite comfortable. I have a shower (PVC pipe out of wall) and a flush toilet for the first time in Honduras. There is plenty of room inside and there is a big backyard with a garden and some fruit-bearing trees. My host dad, Don Antonio, is a bit older and has children and grandchildren all over town. Sometimes it seems as if he is related to everyone. He is well known and respected and this helps me out since he introduces me as part of his family which means a lot in a small town like this. My host mom, Daysi, is younger and has two children, Daritza, 10, and Francis, 3. I feel really lucky to be living with this family as we get along really well and I plan to spend a lot of time with them during my tenure here. Don Antonio makes lots of jokes and teaches me about the ways of San José and my host mom teaches me how to cook Catracho (what Honduran’s call themselves) style. I’ve gotten pretty good at beans, tortillas (corn and flour), ticucu’s (tamales), and pupusas (empanadas, or stuffed tortillas).

I see myself falling in love with San José and think that I will be happy here. Here are a few stories from my first months in site.

Meeting the MayorShortly after I arrived, I went to meet the mayor at his office. As I was waiting for a chance to speak with him, more and more people kept showing up until the place was filled. Soon the mayor emerged and the monthly meeting began. After some opening remarks, he introduced me to the town (we had not met) and gave the floor to me to explain what it exactly it was that I was going to do here. Taken off guard, I proceeded to give a short impromptu speech (in Spanish) about Peace Corps and myself and my interests in Public Health. I think it all went pretty well, but I learned that if there is a situation where something like that can happen it, it will.

Matt vs. Wild: BugsA few nights ago I was eating refried beans when I noticed movement below the surface and fished out a big beetle. Last week it was a gecko dropping (easily identifiable by the white tip) in the beans and I just ate around it. One night there were so many winged bugs dropping from the ceiling into our food that we ate by candlelight so as to not attract them above us. By now I’m used to these disturbances during dinner and they don’t bother me the least.Not too long after arriving in Honduras, I was told a Peace Corps joke about the relationship between bugs and volunteers. The joke goes something like this… When a volunteer first arrives and there is a bug in their food he asks for a new plate. After some time in country, the volunteer eats around the bug. By the time you leave, you just eat the bug.Thinking back on this joke, I realize that I have recently ascended into the third stage. It happened like this. A few weeks back I was in a forest in a park with my little sister on a tour. The guide was showing us termite nests in the trees and told us that the locals eat them by sticking their hand into the nest and licking them off. He then added that the tour would not move forward until someone in the group did just that. So, yes, I licked the termites off my hand and spare a few little heads in my teeth it wasn’t all that terrible.Fast forward to present. My house, where I just moved a few weeks ago, is very clean and there are few winged or multi-legged creatures about with one exception: tons of extremely tiny ants. They find a way into anything with a hole, crack or opening. Because of this I try to put all of my food in closed containers or Tupperware. Still, their ability to locate my unprotected food is actually impressive and if it weren’t my precious food, I might strike a grin at their cleverness. Instead, I just eat them.Now don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not actually seeking out the ants as a protein source (I believe that would be stage 4 of the PC joke). Allow me to illustrate the situation with two examples from this week. I had a bag of dried fruit that was sent to me care package style. I must not have sealed the zip lock top completely because, to my dismay, I discovered an ant fiesta in the bag when I opened it yesterday. Now, I could have thrown out the food (which is equivalent to giving the food to the ants) but this is care package dried fruit we’re talking here and it must be eaten (by me). So I just ate the fruit while ignoring the ants. Tonight’s dinner illustrates further. I opened a box of pasta noodles to find tons of ants running around (their size to speed ratio is also something to marvel at). No worries. Cook the pasta. Eat. In hindsight wonder what the ants were doing in pasta…

Football DebutAfter living in town for a few weeks, I was told that there was a fund raising picnic for the high school that I should attend. The main event was a soccer tournament with concessions, music requests, and shout-outs that could be purchased to raise money. Upon arrival, I was notified that I had been put on a team and that I should go home, get my cleats, and get in the battered team uniform. Standing out on the mud field the referee stated that we would be playing full 45 minute halves in the baking sun. As the game progressed I began receiving shout outs over the sound system like “Mete un gol Mateo” and or just chanting “Mateo”. It was all very nice but the pressure was mounting (it seemed like the entire town was present) and I really needed to get one in the net. Finally, late in the second half I put in a header that left the game 3-3 and felt incredibly relieved.Honduran Hairdo

My host dad, Don A, likes guys to be clean cut with short hair. He waited little time in notifying me that I looked like a hippy (one of the few English words that he knows) and offering to take me to the barber. After an hour of meticulous hair cutting the barber insisted on putting gel in my hair and giving me some Latino hair styling. The last thing that he told me as I left his shop was that the Joséfinas (girls from San José) were going to love it. You be the judge…

Matt vs. Wild: Mice

Insects are not the only creatures to have declared war on my well-being. My house was infested by mice. There were mouse holes in all the walls and the mice ran freely about spending, I believe, most of their time in my room (a few times during my 3 month stay I could actually here the squeaks of baby mice in the walls of my room and I found a deserted mouse nest in my running shoes). The problem, again, was food. At night, the mice would come out and search my room for the goods. They would nibble on everything including clothes, papers (I have nibble marks in my maps), plastic…basically anything. All this was going on while I was sleeping in the room and I would wake up if they made too much noise or scurried across my bed. I armed myself with my only weapon, my maglite. I began to sleep with it and when I heard the invaders in my stuff, I would shine the light their way in a feeble attempt to scare them off. One night, the mice had chewed their way into a cardboard box filled with some groceries that I had just bought. That was enough motivation for me to get up and look in the box for the mice. I found nothing until a few weeks later when a terrible stench was coming from the box and I found the mouse squished at the bottom. As if eating my food wasn't enough, they laid droppings in all (no exaggeration) of my stuff and peed everywhere. I was in the middle of forming a plan of vengeance when I moved to my new house. No signs of mice…Yet.

Establishing Credit

One fine day, Don A decided that it was time for me to establish some credit here in town. He walked me over two pulperias and told them that I am his host son and that we have confianza (trust) and they wrote down my name and now I have credit there. This means that I don’t have to carry money around town. When I want to buy some milk or phone credit or whatever they just make a note and every few weeks or so I will stop by and pay off my balance. I love it.

Request for Racy Pictures

Dear Friends, please send pics of scantily clad men and women. Nothing naked but almost-there is perfect (think Maxim, FHM, GQ, Cosmo, etc). I need them for an activity called Chicas Calientes (hot chicks) that I am going to be doing during talks about sexually transmitted infection prevention. I introduce the pics with a brief detail and then the group gets to pick which one’s they would sleep with and we can discuss why they chose who and have a discussion about disease transmission. It’s good fun. Here’s the deal, if you send me a picture you can make up a name and country of origin or short story that I’ll use to introduce him/her to the audience. I can only use about 10 each time so only the best will make the cut. If I have extras I can share with the other volunteers. Help me out!Matt vs. Wild: Mold

While I was living in Yarumela I decided that I would put away half of my clothes and not use them until I wore out the current set. I folded it all up and packed it away for safekeeping. Yeah right.My room in the house with Don A had walls made from dirt so inside was very damp. Also, I had no dresser or closet to hang my clothes on so I left them on an extra couch that was in the room. I woke up one morning about a month and a half later to find my entire room covered in mold. Clothes, bags, ipod, books, shoes, you-name-it. The icing on the cake was when I opened my wallet to find the entire inside covered in mold. First, I didn’t even know that mold could grow on half of this stuff. Second, it really came overnight and was on everything that I own. Now as PCV’s we don’t have a ton of clothes so when mold is eating away at what you have you take it personally. I asked around and found that many other volunteers have some serious mold issues as well and the antidote is washing and lots of sunlight. I began taking my clothes outside every sunny morning to hang on the clothes lines and then rushing home in the early afternoon when the rainstorms came (my host mom saved my on a few occasions by moving my stuff back into my room when I was too far away to get back). I did this for about a month until I moved into my new, dry house. Woohoo. One of the first things I did after moving into my house was wash every single piece of clothing I own and dry it in the sun extensively. My pila is in the front yard on a busy intersection so I was quite a spectacle for the locals (men don’t do laundry here). Once there was about 10 young boys sitting on the curb just watching me scrub away. I asked them to help me and they laughed and took off.

The Talent Show

One Friday night I was told about a talent show that the high school was putting on and asked if I would like to go. When I showed up I was told that I would be one of three honorary judges for the show which would be a singing contest set up like American Idol. I was shown to a seat with my name, a scoring grid, and a glass of water. The scoring grid contained 5 categories and looked a bit serious for me, and for the high school setting but I rolled with it.

The stage was set, the town was present, and the show began. I really enjoyed this night with my town and during the contest I thought to myself that I could have been doing this same thing with high school kids back home and it made me happy to remember how similar we all are while still being so different.There were 15 performances ranging from great to not-so-pleasant but all entertaining. The English teacher at the school had encouraged some of the students to sing a song in English (without a screen) and I was seriously impressed at their nerve while singing in English in front of everyone they knew. One boy sung Bryan Adams’ “Everything I do, I do it for you” in a white, ruffly shirt halfway open before changing into a hip-hop outfit and singing the reggaeton song “Pisando Fuerto” (very explicit) in front of the entire school (I was looking around to see if I was the only one who thought this was a bit weird). To my surprise, he took home second place with the reggaeton song! In the end, I gave away the awards and it was a good time.

Life in an Aldea

Yarumela is hot. It has dirt roads, a few thousand people, and no internet. “Yaru-mellow” doesn’t offer much for the adrenaline junkie: on a Friday night you might gather with your friends and watch a telenovela, walk to the city park, and decide that it’s getting late (9pm) and hurry home to your waiting and concerned family. But…if you are looking for, say, a small town to practice Spanish and learn about public health this may be just the aldea for you! And by you, who I really mean is me. Because this is my town for field based training (6 weeks) and that is a peek into my life here.

To make sure we’re straight, it’s important that you know I like it here. Yes, getting on the internet has been tough (it’s been almost 2 weeks), and each night I enjoy a sweat-bath, but my life is still quite comfortable. I have classes in the nearby town of La Paz which is bigger. Not too far away is Comayagua (80k people) where you can seek out the gringo treasures your heart desires…This town is definitely much closer to what I want for a site placement: small and less well-off but resources are within reach...

So, it’s been like a month and a half since my last blog (sorry!) and in many ways a lot has happened. On the other hand, many things are exactly the same. I’m in a new town…but life is still structured the same way, the food is still comida tipica…So I decided that I’m going to break this blog up into some different thoughts and observations that I’ve made recently that may give you insight into my experience. Almost 3 weeks ago I moved in with my new host family and we’re getting along well. There are a lot more people around this house than what I had in Santa Lucia. My host mom has several daughters and grandchildren. She also cares for some students who live here while studying at the nearby colegio (this is not college: the education system is different here and I’ll explain it some other time once I understand more…the students are 16ish.) The small towns (aldeas) have a different feel and I’m on a pretty tight leash. I have a curfew and get locked inside the house around 9 each night. However, since there’s nothing to do, I’m not really missing anything. One of my new favorite activities is to sit on the corner by my house. We people watch and chat with each other and the local kids and it’s all good. I can’t help but to think back to driving around the states and seeing people sitting on their porch watching traffic and thinking “what are those backwards porch monkeys doing?” So now I’m somewhat of a corner monkey if you will, and it affords me a completely new perspective. In a town like this, you really have to slow down to notice all the life around you. When I first arrived, I looked out through the bus window and the dust and this place looked like a rundown ghost town. Now, down the same streets, I see homes, schools, kids, families, stores, etc. and it looks great. Whole lives are played out here in a place where I thought there was nothing. A little perspective goes a long way…I wonder how many interesting people and places I’ve zipped by back in the states… Yo Soy MateoI am now known as Mateo. Get it? Matt = Mateo in Spanish. Not too difficult. I’ve never been called Mateo and I think of it as more than a literal translation; it is representative of a new persona I will have here. I’ve been asking myself “so who is this Mateo guy, who am I going to be?” So far I know this. First, Mateo is a gringo. This means that I stick out and everyone knows my name. When I walk down the street or sit in my courtyard at night I hear countless times “Hola Mateo”. I know I haven’t met majority of the people but they know of me. Also, different things are important (or not important) in defining me. What I’ve studied or what I’ve done with my life is not of interest to the people who I meet. They don’t ask me what “I do” along with intro’s. Here, to be a gringo is sufficient to qualify for celebrity-status. The local kids stare at me through the gate while I eat or study. When I play soccer they want to be on my team. My dating status is of constant concern to my host mother, sisters, and neighbors. Whether or not I believe in God is of the utmost importance. I’m not sure how to feel about this attention. It’s quite humbling and could be ego-inflating. Feeling bad about yourself? Come to rural Honduras and bask in your own glory for a while. You’ll feel much better…I wonder what’s so interesting about us anyway? We are a bunch of young, green, inexperienced Americans who speak broken Spanish and haven’t done a single thing here! I hope we live up to the hype… Who Needs Wal-Mart?Are you an egg short to make brownies? Do you need some soap for your laundry? In the mood for a snack or popsicle? Need to buy some minutes for your cell phone? Before you jump in the car and head to your friendly neighborhood super center, maybe you should walk a few feet to one of your blocks many pulperias. We don’t have these in the states but they are basically like a convenience store attached to someone’s house. Walk a few feet and get what you need. Simple and functional. Pilas Make the World Go Round!I wish to introduce you to the center of my universe, the “pila”. A pila is basically an open water storage tank made of cement. It has a grated area that you can use for washing and cleaning. The reason why a pila is so important boils down to one word: water. My house has very limited plumbing with running water once a week. During that time we fill our pila with a hose and that is our supply of water (we buy drinking water separate from this at, you guessed it, the pulperia). Over the past few weeks I’ve become quite fond of our pila and I’m proud of how it serves our family with so many functions. Like what? Well, what do you use water for? I wash my hands, face, brush my teeth, and shave at the pila. We do the dishes at the pila. I do my laundry at the pila (I’m getting much better at this by the way) Taking a bath? Draw your water from the pila. Need water to the flush the toilet (see magic toilets…), check…the list goes on. Think about your day today. How would it be different without water? What if you didn’t have running water? What if you had to walk to a river? Water is really important for health and greatly influences standard and style of living. Go and turn on your tap water. It’s ready and waiting.

Magic Toilets

As I mentioned previously, most places here lack running water. You may be wondering how the toilet functions. This is something that I, too, was wondering back in Santa Lucia after the first time that I used one and realized that the handle was decorative. Thoughts? Well, as my host mom so kindly explained to me during an uncomfortable conversation, you just pour water in the head of the toilet and the water flushes...magically. In hindsight, this is common sense (and a bit of physics). Still, it never ceases to amaze me. With a bit of practice you can perfect a personal technique: height, angle, contact point, etc…I invite you to partake in the fun and report back: bring a bucket of water with you next time you visit “the office”. Bypass the boring “domestic” approach and take it to the next level with a splash of water! Azucar y MantaquillaEarly each morning my host mom walks over to the neighbor’s house to buy some milk fresh from the cow’s udder. She heats this up on our fogon (wood burning stove), and this is what we drink. It’s thick and warm and creamy. I usually have it each morning in my coffee and served hot with cereal. This took a while to get accustomed to but I’m beginning to like it. Coffee comes supersaturated with Azucar (sugar). Most food is made with liberal amounts of lard or margarine and then usually fried in oil for good luck. Top it off with mantaquilla (a thick cream) and you’re on your way to comida tipica. I’m curious what my LDL is right now. Over the past few weeks I’ve been able to communicate some of my preferences to my new host mom and can get my coffee straight and less mantaquilla on my food. In general, food is made for everyone and I take it as it comes. I enjoy plates of comida tipica a lot: beans, rice, avocado, a piece of cheese, and a plethora of tortillas. However, on those lucky days when I get it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner I am reminded that for many people, eating is less hedonistic and more pragmatic. Real Live People

Although I know a fair amount about HIV/AIDS: pathology, treatment, general prevalence, the ABCs, etc, I have never worked with real people in this capacity. All people are real, right? Well, of course. What I mean is that it is completely different working with people than it is memorizing stats or discussing the effectiveness of PEPFAR or even talking about working with people. I heard this quote once that illustrates the difference I’m getting at. It went something like “a thousand deaths are a statistic, one death is a tragedy”…one person has a story: a face, a family, a history. It’s impossible to comprehend the impact of a thousand people dying. However, we can feel the pain of one. Now I haven’t seen any deaths or even any people really sick, but what we are talking about seems so much more real when there is a person sitting across from you. I hope that came out right….. My first “real” experience was during a visit to the site of a volunteer who is currently focusing on sexually transmitted infection (STI) prevention. He lives in a big town, and we went to give a workshop to commercial sex workers in this community. We visited them at their place of work which is basically like a strip club with more options. I’m not going to digress, but prostitution is legal here so the club is a legitimate business operation. After some small talk, we did a dinamica (a game that serves a purpose, be it fun, introductions, teaching, testing, etc…we do this A LOT in PC) that tested knowledge of whether certain activities can transmit HIV: kissing, sex, showering, blood transfusion, sharing toothbrush, etc…and discussed the reasons for the correct answers. We followed this up with a condom demonstration. Thinking back to my Sex Ed, I definitely did NOT ever practice putting on a condom or discuss proper usage. Anyway, this was my first time with this type of activity. All went well and our wooden phallus was well protected several times. On the way out I remember thinking to myself “what would my mom think if she knew that I was in a strip club playing with condoms with sex workers?” Well, Mom, I hope you’re proud (love you, miss you)… The next day of my visit was equally interesting. In the morning we met with my hosts’ counterpart (the local agency that PCVs work with) and together we walked over to the hospital where many commercial sex workers were waiting in the hallway to see a gynecologist for the required checkup. This was an opportunity to go through prevention activities with a captive audience and we took advantage. Later in the day, we went to meet a homosexual youth group and did more prevention activities. My site visit was filled with this type of hands on, in your face activity. It took a while to digest but went down well. My most recent experience was during FBT in the nearby town of La Paz where all of the health volunteers prepared a full-morning charla (presentation/chat/lecture/info session/etc) on HIV/AIDS for the local school children. We used interactive activities and games to grab attention while trying to hit home information. It was fun. And, yes, we had the kiddies put condoms on bananas. I thought it was interesting to be doing this activity in such a conservative-minded country when I didn´t do it in school at home. We left with really high spirits and a bit more confidence in Spanish…all in all, the HIV/AIDs prevention campaign is about working with people and I really enjoy that. All the PC volunteers in Honduras receive this training because Honduras has the highest prevalence in Central America…I’m sure to be working more with this during my tenure, but still need to learn about the other initiatives to see where my main interests lie…and the needs in the community that I am placed in. Monsters, Huevos de Pasqua & Alfombras

Easter Week is called Semana Santa here in Honduras. The country pretty much shuts down as people either travel to the beach or stay home and have a religious holiday. There are church events all week long with a lot of participation from the community. My host family and I stayed in Yarumela which was nice because it gave me a few days away from class to explore and relax. One interesting event that occurred early in the week involved “Jews” who were dressed as werewolves or wearing scream masks and were sneaking around the city scaring people. The children were running away screaming and are forever afraid of the “Jews”. This is something that you have to see to believe. It was straight out of Borat. We were in awe.During the week we planned a culture sharing activity between the volunteers and our host families. We all cooked dishes with our families and discussed American and Honduran traditions. My group really wanted to do an Easter Egg activity since no one has heard of that here. None of the stores in the area carry food coloring so we were out of luck….until, being the crafty PCTs that we are, we went to the local pasteleria (cake shop) and got out hands on some! The activity was a hit and made me feel a bit at home. Trying to explain the tradition to the Hondurans made me wonder why we have a giant bunny who goes around hiding painted eggs and is somehow related to a religious day. I did look it up on Wikipedia but am still not satisfied. I’m going to think twice before I judge other cultures’ traditions. On this note of holiday celebrations, am I the only person who has St. Nick fill my stocking the night of Dec 5th? None of the other volunteers are familiar with this tradition. Is it a Midwest thing? Help! The highlight of Easter Week was definitely going to Comayagua to witness the sawdust carpets that are made for the stages of the cross procession. The city is famous for these extravagant alfombras. Local groups work through the night and morning only to have a parade trample them hours later. The pics tell the story the best.

That’s Awkward

Learning a language is interesting and fun if you don’t take yourself too seriously. Here is a list of some awkward things I have said in the past few weeks: “No toque la liquada” = don’t touch the milkshake. I said this to girl students while explaining how to remove a condom. What I should have said was “no toque el liquido” which means don’t touch the liquid.I’ve been trying to reinforce to my host family the foods that I like to eat. Therefore, during breakfast I thought that it was legit to say with tons of enthusiasm “me encanta huevos!”, I love eggs! In Spanish slang, this means “I love balls!” Now the laughter has subsided and I’ve been eating eggs. A win?Today, in Spanish class, I was trying to say “when you have a wet floor...” Cuando tiene un suelo mojado. What I said was “cuando tiene un sueno mojado...” Sueno means dream. More laughs. Enough said. The Battle of the BirdsLast weekend I went to see a cockfight in La Paz with some other volunteers and it was quite an experience. The arena was in the backyard of a house with a practically entire male audience who can bet on the fights. After negotiating a special “first time gringo price”, we entered. The roosters are raised to fight and are beefed up with vitamin mixtures. Just before the fight, a razor blade is put on one of their feet and they get all riled up. Fight on. Squawking. Feathers everywhere. Death of a rooster (actually usually both die). End of fight. Repeat.

We watched several fights to get the gist of it and then took off. Highlights include a trainer to sucked the blood out of the mouth of his rooster(above) and put him back in for another round and a rooster who got sliced open and had its guts exposed. It was interesting and something that I had wanted to see since I lived in Puerto Rico but I’m not sure if I’ll ever go back. I’m not into violence and this didn’t have the artistic aspect that I appreciate from the bullfights in Spain. That’s it for now. I’ve started to receive gift packages and letters so thanks to everyone who has sent something. It really lifts me up to hear from home. Be well!

I’ve been in Honduras for about 10 days and things are great. Only 27 months to go…Just kidding, I’m definitely NOT counting down the days. In fact, it’s just the opposite. I feel happy and at peace and that I am doing exactly what I want to be doing this moment. I haven’t felt this way in quite a while…its liberating. I sleep deep and untroubled (of course the antimalarial medicine and long days should be considered).

When I arrived in Honduras, we were taken straight to a small colonial town in the mountains called Santa Lucia where Peace Corps has its Pre-Service Training Facilities. The town is full of charm: cobblestone roads and small homes built on the numerous hills. There are great vistas towards the nearby capital city of Tegucigalpa (Tegus). Here things are quiet and peaceful although the dogs and roosters are the first ones up around 4am…I have been told that this town lies on the wealthier side as far as Honduras goes.

I have a host mom, dad, 3 sisters, 1 brother, and one niece. We are getting along well and I feel more accepted each day. The food is great. My host mom, Evalinda, is making lots of local dishes and I love it. Much of the comida tipica is similar to Mexican dishes at home. Rice, beans, and tortillas are usually present. For those of you who have ever lived with me, you know that these are some of my favorite foods. Needless to say, I’m well fed…I think that this is helping me to avoid GI issues because I haven’t had any problems yet and many others have. In reality, I know it’s just a matter of time…

My days are packed with training activities and go something like this…

6 AM – Wake up, sponge bath, breakfast.

7 AM – Walk to training center (this involves cobblestone roads and lots of hills)

7:30-4:30 Classes. Each day is a mix of several types of training: safety and security, cultural, language, personal heath, project specific.

After class: Most days I play with the local kids in the street. Usually we play soccer or another game that resembles dodge ball. Sometimes I go down to the soccer field and play with the locals and other gringos…its good fun. Everyone here is “football” crazy. I eat dinner with my fam, and then we usually spend the rest of the evening watching novellas while I work on my homework. I’m in bed relatively early and that’s it.

I’ll be spending one more week here in Santa Lucia before I head to a different town for Field Based Training with the others in my project sector: Health. We are going to a city called La Paz that is supposed to be roasting hot (its cool here in Santa Lucia). I will be living there for 6 weeks and expect that things will be less cozy. We were told that during the last FBT session, the entire Water and Sanitation group got Scabies…

There are 46 trainees total that make up “Hondu 12”. They are split between Business, Health, and Water and Sanitation projects. I already feel like our group has great chemistry and several of the Peace Corps staff have commented on how well we are getting along and how integrated we are. People are from all over the states with many different backgrounds. Most have traveled and studied abroad and fit my idea of “global citizens”…I think that I’m in good company.

Today, my host mom is going to teach me how to do my laundry by hand and how to make tortillas. I plan to spend the afternoon with my verb book (to say my Spanish is rusty is putting it nicely). Tonight I’ll go to the discoteca for a cerveza or two and some dancing.

On Monday, my Spanish class is taking a field trip to a market to Tegucigalpa to go grocery shopping for our host families. I’m excited to finally make it to the big city but have to admit that I’m a bit intimidated as well. Honduras has an extremely high crime rate (for example, practically every Honduran I know has been robbed or assaulted in the past). This morning my host mom was teaching me how to stash little bits of money all over my body just in case…in class we were practicing how to call the police in case we are assaulted. Don’t worry mom, I’ll be fine.

Speaking of money, since joining Peace Corps I have rejoined the work force! My new salary is a tad over $2/day and is more than enough to get by. I am actually saving up my extra cash to buy a cell phone next week (stay tuned). Well, I that’s it for now. I miss everyone at home and hope all is well.

Well, they say the first step is always the hardest and I won't argue. I've been meaning to create this blog ever since I was nominated to serve in the Peace Corps...

I chose to title my blog "Depths" for 3 reasons: 1) Honduras means "depths" in Spanish. 2) I have always had a positive connotation with the word. To me, it induces images of exploring the ocean or the jungle or any other place far from the bore of the ordinary. For example, try this as an opener at your next social gathering "I was returning from the depths of _____ when...". Sounds pretty exciting, huh? Yeah it does...I think it taps into the "one time, when backpacking through Western Europe" effect...try it out and let me know. 3) Depth of character and experience are two things I hope to gain over the next 27 months and part of the reason I joined PC.

I want this blog to serve as a way for me to share my experiences and opinions with friends, family, and the like or whoever else has interest. I created a way for you to keep updated by joining my google group email list (plug your email into the space at the right of the screen). That way, when I make an entry, you will receive an email. My intention is to try to write about once a month (more or less depending on happenings and internet availability) so I won't flood you with email. I think thats it for now, I need to get back to studying and I'll have plenty of time to digress in the near future.