Are You SERIOUS?!

I just read an article on the internet about "over-protective" parents. Let me just mention that I felt (and still a little bit feel) like my parents leaned toward being over-protective. But wow...

In the United States, there are SO MANY RIDICULOUS rules regarding the safety of YOUR OWN children! And it keeps getting worse and worse. I remember seing a 10 year old girl in a car seat a few years ago... because she didn't weigh over 60 pounds (or however much the weight limit is for not using a car seat). Is it because some gringo kids weight 60 pounds when they're 3 years old or what? I think I would've been 12 and still in a car seat if those rules had been in effect in the late 80's and early 90's... I think I was like 5 when we got rid of my car seat, at the was ridiculously old in 1986!

I remember talking with a friend who raised her little girls here in Queretaro for the first couple years of their lives. Then they moved to suburbia USA. My friend could not believe all the lame safety tips her pediatrician gave on their first visit... ALL cabinet doors should be tied shut (for obvious reasons if you store chemicals in reach of a child, but the cabinet with rubbermaid containers?? Give me a break.) Children shouldn't be left alone in the car while you enter the store until (in one survey I saw) their 16 years old! Wow, I think I stayed in the car alone when I was 6... Can't walk 3 blocks to the store alone until you're 15!! I did that around age 10... My mom had me in what would now be considered illegal child-labor: I went to pick beans and strawberries for an hour or two to earn money when I was 10 or 12. That's child abuse now. I just think it's a good responsible money-earning way to pass time during summer vacation. I remember baby-sitting for an 9 year old who lived in a small town, and I asked him if he wanted to go with me to pick up a pizza. He said no, so I left him home by himself for half an hour while I went, and he was outside playing basketball when I got back. I didn't think anything of it! And I know his parents would either.

I just can't believe some of the stupid things that are rules in the United States now regarding child safety. Makes my parents look like they didn't care about me, and back in the day people thought they were way over-protective. MY kids are going to have the same freedoms that I did when I was little (ok, keep neighborhood crime in mind for taking decisions on what the can and can't do alone). In one of the articles I read, junior high kids were scared to use the stove because they didn't want to get burned, or were scared to walk 3 blocks to the store alone! Move to Mexico, you can ride the subway in Mexico City alone when you're 7 or so... I've seen that happen (no worries, that's even too extreme for me!) Junior high kids here are playing outside with no adult supervision until midnight. And these are the kids who have parents that care about them! Kids need to have a little freedom too!!

To Honduras and Back... Mexican Style

I went to Honduras last Christmas, the first time I'd been there since having lived in Mexico. I have LOVED Honduras from the moment I first set foot there, until the present, and will continue to love it... But I definitely noticed A LOT of contrast between going to Honduras as a Gringa, and going as a Mexican...

Things that NEVER frustrated me in Honduras before began to frustrate me. I couldn't find tomatillos (green small tomatoes) for the life of me, which took away all options for me making anything with green sauce. (This is unacceptable for a mexican cook!) I wanted 1 kilo of chicken breast, but they sold it by the pound, so that meant I had no idea how much chicken breast I really wanted. I made a typical mexican dish with pieces of chicke, carrot, and potato cooked in a tomato sauce. I adde THREE round pieces of those pickled jalapeño peppers the the entire meal - which was to serve about 5 people. Now, these are those jalapeño pieces that normal people eat on pizza and nachos. I can pop several of them into my mouth and chew quite happily. I blended in THREE of these with my tomato sauce... I tasted it and apologized to my family for the lack of flavor in the meal. They tasted it and said it was spicy enough to clear sinuses. Hijole. Going to the small store down the road was an experience in how NOT to do etiquette in Mexico... Franklin and I went to a small store to buy cokes. This store is surprisinly NOT owned by a relative of his, and he's not friends with the owners. We walked up to the store window and no one was there, but the store was open. Now, in QRO when this happens, I stick my head in the window and say "Buenas tardes!" in a kind of loud voice. If they don't come I say it louder (this means "good afternoon.") Fran pounded his hand up and down on the window frame and YELLED "Vendame!" (SERVE US!!!!!!!!) I was horrified and wanted to shrink away but apparently it's okay...

However, there are still MANY things about Honduras that I REALLY miss in QRO. For example, discounts. I personally know two bus drivers in Tegus. I wouldn't actually consider them to be my friends, but I know them. I don't ever have to pay to ride on either of those busses, and they're busses that go past my house frequently. I go to a certain internet business to use the phone to call USA for 2 Lempira per minute. (The cheapest you can call the US from an internet phone in QRO?? 3 pesos per minute - like 6 Lempira, or 30 cents of dollar! And I only know of like 3 places in the whole city where you can do that!!) The flamboyantly gay owner of the shop gives me a discount and I pay 1.50 Lempira per minute to use the phone, and half price for internet. This may have something to do with the fact that he knows my brothers and thinks they're cute... It's a discount none the less.
I know my neighbors in Honduras. I have spent a total of maybe four months there, but I know almost all my neighbors. I can walk a through our whole neighborhood without having one man whistle or yell at me (happens on 20-basis in QRO). This is because everyone knows which family I belong too. Most of the guys my age in the neighborhood are either friends with my brothers, or our cousins, so they just don't bother me. I also get lots of offers for rides to my house when coming home from down the hill. Paty, Claudia, Delmer, Carlos, Luis, they'll all let me pile into their vehicles to get me home. I live in a block of 70 town-houses in QRO. My house is physically connected to four other homes. Do I know these neighbors? Well, I think the man of the family to the left of us is named Luis, but I'm not sure... And... well... that's it. That's all the people I know out of the 70 hooked-together homes in my mexican neighborhood. Oh, I go to the same store a few times a week, and the man in the store refers to me behind my back as "la guerita gringa" (the blonde gringa), and I refer to him as "Peje," because he looks like the presidential candidate with that nickname. I've been going to this store for a year and a half, don't have any idea what El Peje's real name is, nor have I ever received a discount...

But then, I get strange looks for "talking mexican" in Honduras. I asked a waiter for a "popote" (straw, in mexican spanish) in Tegus, and got a weird look. Hmmm, I remember that happening when I first moved to QRO and asked a waiter there for a "pajilla" (straw, in honduran spanish). The phrase "no manches" (no way!) is such a part of my daily vocabulary that I would be really rich if I got 1 Lempira for every time I use it... What does it mean in Honduras? That you're a Mexican. NO ONE says it there, it is exclusively used when people try to talk like mexicans! I got back into the habit that I had broken in Mexico of sayin "pucha" for "shoot." Perfectly acceptable among young people in Honduras, it sounds like a really bad word in Mexico, and also is a vulgar term for something you don't even want to know. For "pucha," I've learned to say "chin," which is a shortened bad word in Mexico, but the word isn't as bad in Honduras, in fact, my honduran brothers tell me to "ch****te" and it means "knock it off" or "get outta here." If I used that term in Mexico I'd be banished from my house!

I don't know if it's better to tell Hondurans that I'm from Mexico or from the US. If I say I'm from the US, they talk to me in "dumbed down" spanish, and I actually speak and understand spanish quite well, so that's exteremely frustrating to me. However, the general populus of Tegus has some respect for gringos. If I say I'm from Mexico, I get a sneer and the person usually quits talking with me anymore than is necesary. Mexicans aren't looked upon highly by Hondurans, and it is of no fault of us Queretanos, but more likely of the Chapanecos on the Mexico-Guatemala border, that give the bad impression for Mexicans to Central Americans.

I still long for a good pupusa with chismol and repollo, red beans from Church's Chicken, requezon, torrejas, and baleadas from Honduras. I miss my family, the best neighbors in the whole world (Fonsecas!!!!!!!!), an incredible sense of family, benefits because of who you know, and the un-stressfulness of life.
However, I live in Mexico, and therefore I must not pretend to be a Honduran. God has changed my lifestyle and the things I love to reflect where He has put me. In Honduras, I longed to have mole, green enchiladas (that are SPICY!!), gorditas, elotes, and in general, food with actual flavor in it. I missed my church, I missed being able to go to the Centro by myself without having to worry about getting robbed or worse. I missed having running water in the kitchen sink. I actually HAVE told nosey taxi drivers that I'm from Honduras when they ask! But I live in Mexico for now, so I appreciate my mexican-ness. But I also appreciate the honduran-ness that I have stored away for the moment. I can bring that out on my trips there, or if God ever has us move to Honduras! I Love having three cultures!

Normal. Then and Now

I've realized the past few days that "normal" is COMPLETELY different for every person in every place and circumstance. I know that is totally NOT profound, but bear with me here...

NORMAL for Jessica - Salem, OR USA, circa 2005:
Wake up at 4:30am, eat bread, and go to work.
Eat Pasta Roni about 5 times a week for lunch.
Drive EVERYWHERE that I ever needed to go.
Eat at a semi-cheap restaurant whenever I felt like it (semi-cheap = $6 or less for a meal).
Drink 2-3 Diet Cokes per day.
Watch TV everyday, and tape the shows that come on too late to stay up for.
Go to church on Sundays, and wear a dress every sunday morning (or nice pants).

NORMAL for Jessica - Queretaro, QRO MEXICO, circa 2007:
Wake up at 7:30am and think to myself how rediculously early that is.
Eat granola with yogurt every morning for breakfast.
Walk approximately 4 miles a day, and take a bus to get anywhere that's further than about 2 miles away.
Save up money to go to my favorite restaurant "Bisquets" to order my favorite meals (Chilaquiles or green enchiladas) for between $2.50 and $3.
Hide the fact that I drink a Coca Light almost daily.
Pull out my 5-inch TV to watch the "De 6 a 9" news show maybe once a week.
Go to church everyday except monday, making sure to wear icky clothes on saturdays for cleaning, and jeans on sundays because it's cold.

NORMAL for Jessica - Tegucigalpa, FM HONDURAS, circa ALWAYS:
Wake up at 8am and help with cleaning the living room and kitchen.
Eat red beans (yum!!!) for at least one meal a day.
Walk to friends' homes. Take the bus to the mall. Ask to borrow the car now and then.
Treat the family to a "nice meal" at Pizza Hut.
Drink "Mega Big Cola" for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Watch ER, Gilmore Girls, Friends, and CSI Miami everyday.
Go to church on sundays (in a dress) and tuesdays (in whatever).

NORMAL for Jessica - Redding, CA USA, circa 2002:
Wake up at 7:30 to pull on clothes, grab a bowl of cereal and dart off to class.
Groan about the cafeteria food.
Drive everywhere I ever need to go, including if I need to take something heavy across campus.
Eat at In N Out Burger as often as possible.
Have 1 or 2 Caffine free Diet Cokes every evening.
Watch CSI on thurdays when roommate is working.
Go to church on sundays. Only.

So, as you can see, there are some similarities between my "normals." But A LOT of big differences too. Especially between the Salem and Queretaro "normals." I am definitely set in many things about the QRO "normal" now, that I hope I won't ever stray from. Like walking everywhere, only eating at cheap restaurants, limiting my Coke intake, etc. I noticed the time I went to Oregon after several months in QRO, there were a few things that really really really irritated me. Like the fact that people blow money on whatever stupid little thing they feel like having at the moment. Or that most people are completely anal about other people showing up 2 minutes late to things. Or that people will drive to the end of the block to get their mail instead of walking 300 feet. Or that people eat 5 times more than what they could eat to just be "full." I have a BIG appetite compared to my friends here in Mexico, but most gringos could eat circles around me. I am "on-time" compared to most of my mexican friends, but people would get angry at me for "always being late" in the States. I spend more money on useless things (like Coca Light or churros) than most of my friends here, but would be considered very frugal in Oregon.

I think I don't really have a culture anymore, well, not one that is recognizable to any one large group of people. I'm obviously not Mexican, but I'm sure not middle-class United States either. I guess I am the only person who thinks that I'm normal. And I like my new normal. Even though I doubt it will be the same for long!

The Last Laugh

It was the summer of 2002, after my Junior year of college, that I went to Brazil. That was the trip I took with Joann, Ben, Ruth, and Orvic from Simpson. We went with New Tribes Mission, through a program that put us on a team with eleven other high school and college age students, a middle aged married man, and Dave and Laura, our leaders who had at one time been missionaries to the Katuquina tribe near Cruzeiro do Sul, Acre.

The nineteen of us met in Sanford, Florida with two other mission teams, one to Eastern Brazil, and one to Bolivia. In Sanford, all three teams had a time of training before leaving for our trips. It was during this time that it became evident to all that our team would be fast friends.

My team spent three weeks in Cruzeiro, living at a mission house for tribal missionaries. We did a lot of work projects such as putting in a sidewalk in the yard, painting the inside and outside of the house, building a drainage ditch, re-tiling a roof, and starting work on repairing a septic system. Since we were all working in the same yard, we got to know each other quite well. We enjoyed spending time talking and playing games together in the sala, going to Baby Lu’s geladaria, and shopping in downtown Cruzeiro.

One night, the guys from our group were all invited over to the house of a single missionary man for dinner and a movie. Well, us girls weren’t going to be left out of this, so we went for pizza and ice cream at Napoleon’s. When we returned, the guys were still gone, and what was there to do without them? J Someone, I’m not really clear on this but I think it was Dana, had the idea that we should dye the guys’ underwear. Even Laura and Stephanie, the missionary wife who lived at the mission house, agreed! All we could find was grape Kool-Aid, but hey, you use what you got, hey?! So the Canadians gathered all the guys’ underwear, clean and dirty, and we stuck them in the extremely concentrated Kool-Aid mix. And we drew on them too. Things like “scrum-diddly-umptious,” and “Juicy bogger boy.” It was great. The guys came home and we all went to bed. Dana and Gwennie got up at five the next morning (Sunday) and hung them all up on the empty clothes line.

The next morning, we all started getting ready for church, and, oh, oops! The guys can’t find any underwear! J We got them good. They had pink underwear with drawings and sayings on them for most of the rest of the trip! We kept expecting them to get us back ‘cuz, man, that was a pretty good prank! But the end of the three weeks in Cruzeiro came, and the “Simpson Five” sadly said goodbye to the rest of the group as they flew out of Manaus toward Florida, without ever paying us back!

During the first week at PuraQue, we received an email from Dave explaining how there was a “random” water fight in which Matt “somehow” found a hose and doused the girls from our team. This happened on their last night in Florida. Hmm, well they did do a little payback, me Ruth and Joann just never got the brunt of it!

Sad to say, I never forgot that the three of us were still deserving of payback, and I’d never put anything past Ben and Orvie. I first thought of this one night when we were all having dinner at the Palm’s. The guys (Ben, Orvic, Evan, Adam, Jim, Barry, and Dave) all went to go watch a movie afterwards while us three girls stayed and talked with Cindy and the girls (laughing at the picture of Ev dressed up like a deer). We left for our home, the middle dorm, around 10:30, about an hour after the lights went out. We forgot flashlights, so we made our way back to our house in the dark. As we passed the dinning hall, where the TV usually is, we happened to notice that there was no TV going in there. The guys had a battery for the TV that should last for a good two hours.

We got to the front door of our house, we started talking about how the guys could be inside in the dark waiting to jump out and scare us. It would be our much deserved payback you know! So we walked through the door and the front sala, clinging with death grips onto each other. We made it to a candle without getting attacked, so we went to bed paranoid that scaring us in the dark would be hideously funny to the guys, and a likely event.

With the underwear prank forgotten, the last week at PuraQue rolled around. We had another dinner at Palm’s, then watched a movie. After the movie ended, I went back to hang all the laundry before the lights went out. Ben and Orvic came over to get their cameras and Bible which were left on the table in our house. And Orvie decided to use the bathroom while there. There’s a shocker, they always poo’d at our house, that way they didn’t have to empty their honey pot!

I finished the laundry and the lights went out soon afterwards. Joann and I were brushing our teeth in the bathroom by candlelight. I had to pee, so I opened the lid of the toilet (which is usually not down, but Orvic was the last to use it so, whatever), and peed. As I flushed, there was just enough light from the candle across the room to see that there was something in the toilet. I only peed! What’s that? Worst case scenario ran through my head, and I figured it must be a sewer rat that crawled through the pipes. We took a closer look at it with a flashlight, and it was a big old toad! Orvie had put it there!! We tried to flush it again so we didn’t have to pull it out of the toilet, but it swam hard enough that it wouldn’t go down. So we pulled it out of the toilet and brought it to the guys’ house, but they were smart and had the door locked. Okay, so we got some payback.

The next day, I came in after playing volleyball and wanted to take a shower. Ruth was trying to take one, but the shower wasn’t working. I said I’d have a look at it. The first thing I noticed was that the whole bathroom stunk like major garlic. I took off the shower head, and lo and behold, there was a bunch of smooshed garlic in the faucet! Ben had put it there while using the bathroom during breakfast.

And the next day, Joann had garlic in her toothpaste. Both guys swore up and down that they didn’t do it, which I believe ‘cuz they’d fess up to something like that. So we never knew who did that.

On the morning we left PuraQue, we were trying to get rid of all our leftover food. There was conveniently a left over onion. We chopped that up and stuck it in Ben’s backpack. He found a few pieces of it while unloading our stuff at the vila. The rest was found by the customs lady in Manaus, which was our intention. It would have turned out bad though, had the Hartman’s not been there. Mike translated to the customs lady as she had us pull everything out of our bags and unwrap the Christmas presents for various missionaries’ relatives in the States. He explained about the onions in Ben’s bag, and she luckily thought it was funny.

We found out two days later just how bad the onions had been. I asked Ben why he was still wearing the same clothes that he’d changed into upon getting off the airplane in Miami, and he said “I can’t wear anything else, ALL my other clothes reek like onions!”

So, we kind of got the last laugh, although I'm not sure that the onions were payback enough for both frog and garlic! hahaha!

The whole mission team group in Florida before going to Brasil

(Oringinally written by Jessica - October 2003, about July and August 2002)

John's Hand - As told to me by Cindy, Elise, Rachel, and Grace

On the fourth of July 2001 the missionaries at PuraQueQuara missionary kid school outside of Manaus, Amazonas, Brazil were celebrating the holiday. It was nighttime, after the generator had shut off for the night, and the firework celebration was over. Some of the older kids were still lighting of some firecrackers on the soccer field. Among them were, John, 16, Adam, 13, and Brandt, 17. John had “made” a new firework in a plastic guaraná bottle. He was going to set off and show the others what it would do.

John lit the explosive, swung it back behind his head to get up the force to chuck it, and it blew up. Adam and Brandt immediately knew something was wrong. There were several other smaller kids outside who heard the explosion, and Adam’s dad, Jim, and Brandt’s dad (John’s brother), Dan, were near the soccer field. They all heard John yelling, “AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!! My hand!!! My hand!!!!” Jim and Dan came running to see what had happened. John’s hand had been totally blown off by the firecracker.

Immediately, Jim ran to haul a speed boat down to the Amazon. Adam and John’s sister, Kim, went to go tell everyone what was going on. Dan grabbed a hold of John’s arm to try to cut off the blood flow to his hand. John was loaded onto the boat with Dan, and Mark (a man who takes care of most of the medical stuff at PuraQue) and rushed Manaus.

Now, it takes ten minutes, at the very least, by speedboat to get to the nearest road leading into Manaus. Once there, it is about another half hour or longer van ride to where the hospital is.

Back at PuraQue, everyone was very worried about John. Would he bleed to death before he made it to the hospital?

Now, this story was told to me by Jim and Adam’s family, so I only heard what went on in their house after the incident. The family stayed up late talking about and praying for John. They were so traumatized about what happened to John, and were worried that they might lose part of the PuraQue family. Jim and Adam weren’t able to sleep at all that night, the images of John’s hand left terrible memories in their minds.

After a while, it was found out that John would live, but he would not longer have a right hand. But God had protected him. If the firecracker would have exploded while it was directly next to John’s head, he may have died. Once the speedboat got him to the roads, there was a taxi waiting there for him, and took him to a brand new hospital that was much closer than the regular hospital. If the people wouldn’t have thought and acted as fast as they did, John may have died. Dan thought quick to cut off the blood flow to the hand. When they got to the hospital, Dan’s hand was stuck on John’s arm from holding it so tight for such a long time.

When I met John, he was a senior in high school at PuraQue. He doesn’t have a right hand, but he can do just about everything he could do before the accident. He goes hunting, plays salão (futbolito), volleyball, and Frisbee golf, goes swimming, and participates in many other activities that high school boys do. Absolutely amazing that things turned out as they did!!

Originally told to Jessica August 2002. Written by Jessica September 2002.

I Say Banano, You Say Minimo - A Day in the Life at Honduran Youth Camp (part 2)

When everyone had arrived at camp, we had an orientation in the meeting hall, then on to dinner. For some reason that is still beyond my grasp, the two lines that the cooks had set up ended up being one line for guys and one line for girls, even though everyone was getting the same food, and there was no rule that it had to be gender separate, it was like all the campers automatically felt that that was how it should be… I still don’t get it…

Next was the culto, or chapel service. We had a funny skit, then worship led by Los Robles, then El Redentor skit by Germania. At this point, my brain was so overworked with Spanish, that I honestly don’t remember much about the sermon – sad, I know. But I remember it was good, I think it was Jeffry Gomez that night who was the speaker.

Later, like maybe 9:30ish, it was time for the big all-camp game event. All the camp leaders (13 of us) hid outside in the dark in the forest or around camp. Whoever got found would get a “penetencia” in front of all the campers. I didn’t know if it was just me, or if it really was kind of spooky to think about hiding in the pitch blackness of a cloudy night in the ponderosa forest behind the camp. Well, it wasn’t just me – Katy had the same thought about spookiness. So we decided to hide together.

We found a rock wall in the midst of some super-tall grass, out of view of any of the camp buildings. So we squatted down beside the wall, with the grass taller than our heads. We heard lots of campers yelling, laughing, and running around with flashlights. After several minutes, two guys walked our way and were shining their flashlights around. We thought for sure they’d seen us, so Katy whispered to me, “We should jump out and yell. It would freak them out.” So I quietly counted to three, and we jumped up and screamed. It did freak the guys out, then they explained that they hadn’t seen us! So we had to go get penetecias.

After about 15 or 20 minutes, all the campers and leaders came back to the meeting hall. Five gringas had been caught – all of us but Teagen – plus Luisa, Yvonne, Belinda, and Ingrid. Samuel, Nestor and Maresa hid well enough to not be found!

The penetencia was this: the leaders had thought up some crazy concoctions to do as a penetencia (punishment). The campers got to choose a number and we would get the corresponding penetencia to that number. Michelle went first. She got a baleada made on her head. For some reason, when I pictured making food items on someone’s head, I imagined people simply dumping the cheese, butter, and beans on the head, and cracking the egg over it. No. Cheese, butter, beans, and egg, all smeared in her long blonde hair and smooshed into her scalp. I think the perpetrators (Vivi and Zenia) took all Michelle’s hair and got every ingredient on everything that was sticking out of the garbage sack! What a sight! We got to wear garbage sacks and goggles though, so that was good.

I was next. They picked “banano liquado” for me. I was relieved, as I knew what all the penetencias were, and that one wasn’t too bad in comparison. Danny and Mario smeared the banana – yes, it was squished into every hair follicle on my head, or so it felt – on my head, then poured milk on me – which successfully made its way inside the garbage sack, through my shirt and into my pants. Sugar was next, and let me tell you, it was sticky running through my clothing! Ice was last. It made the same trail down me as the milk, but went down the front too!

Next came Katy. She got Guacamole’d. Avocado, onion, and butter all over. Luisa got the cake, which was the one I really didn’t want – egg, flour, water and sugar made a stinky kindergarten paste that successfully glued Luisa’s hair into a matted mess on her head. Marlia got “pelucaria” – an entire extra-grande jar of hair gel, and a can of hair spray. Her hair was molded into a nice sculpture. Jess got “chicken lays an egg” – she had to bok like a chicken and sit on an egg. Then David and Emil, who were running the show, threw an egg at her head, making sure it dribbled all into her hair. Ingrid was last, with the tied-for-worst-penetencia-in-my-opinion – the hamburger. No meat, just ketchup, mayonnaise and mustard in every hair. Yuck. And we didn’t have time to nail Belinda and Yvonne, but they were glad.


After taking pictures and running around the meeting hall getting as much stickiness and grodiness as possible on David, Nestor, and Emil, we hit the showers. Luisa and I were in adjoining, no-sirve-el-calentador, showers. We were laughing so hard trying to get the banana/sugar/milk, and flour/egg out of our hair. We both found ingredients in our hair even Sunday, after the camp

I slept well that Friday night!!

Written 15 August 2005, about 27 June 2003

I Say Banano, You Say Minimo - A Day in the Life at Honduran Youth Camp (part 1)

Friday, June 27, 2003

“Jessi!! Hey, we’re here!” I hear Marlia and Teagen call to me from the living room.

“I’m in the back!” I yell as I finish putting the last of the clothes on the clothes line.

As I enter the living room, Katy and Jessica come through the front door.

After spending the morning making a banner for the youth camp, watching TV, and eating Abuela’s little beef patties, Michelle shows up at my house after lunch to hurry us off to Betel. We load all our stuff into the truck and pile on as many camp supplies as will fit with the backpacks and band instruments. Since it looks like it may rain, we go back to Michelle’s house to get a big tarp, then Marlia sits in the back for the 45 minute drive to hold the tarp in place.

As we arrive in the wooded campground that is Betel, we are greeted by a rather large group of young people from Comayagua. They had been there for quite a while already. Michelle talked with the camp owner, handed me a wad of keys and left for Tegus once again. Marlia handled the money and I did name tags and sign-ups for workshops the next day for the Comayagua group. Katy worked on finishing the banner, and Jessica and Teagen showed the girls to their room. I took the boys to theirs.

Soon, people from Copan and La Esperanza showed up. About the time we got them checked in and their bags dropped off in their rooms, a girl from Comayagua comes up to me with a worried look on her face, telling me that her friend broke her ankle. I look around to tell “the person in charge” so they can take care of it. Hmm, I guess that would be me… So I went to the room where broken-ankle-girl was laying down, fully expecting to see her foot bent in some weird position, attached to the leg only by skin, or something awful like that… Worst-case-scenario goes through my head as we approach the room – I’ll need to keep her still until I can find the person who owns the truck that I saw parked at camp, if they aren’t there, I’ll have to drive, and I’m sure it’s a stick-shift, so this will be bad; but hopefully she can endure the pain until Michelle gets back and can take her to the hospital…

So I see the girl lying on a bed, dried tears on her face, and another girl looking at the bare foot… a foot that is not discolored, nor is it in any kind of contorted position. I looked at the ankle, and, although I’m not a doctor, I’m pretty sure that what happened is that when she was playing basketball, she got one of those all-of-a-sudden twists in her ankle – the kind that feels fine in one minute if you just keep walking on it. I gave her one Ibuprofen and a bag of ice from the kitchen, hoping she wouldn’t know that I thought it was lame to have to lie down because of that kind of ankle twist. (I think from now on, I will take “smarties” candy unwrapped and stored in a pill bottle to Honduran youth events, as this was only the first of many times that I was asked for pain relievers by people who really didn’t need them… I’m all about placebos)

After quite a while, the youth group from Guanaja showed up. In getting name tags and workshop assignments ready for them, I realized that not everyone could read and write, which wouldn’t have been too bad as far as the workshops were concerned – I was easily able to just tell them the names of the workshops and they would pick which one they wanted to go to, but me writing their names was a whole different story. Many had names which I was not familiar with, so I felt dumb not knowing how to write the names, and I think they felt weird that I didn’t know how to spell or say their names…

Just at that point of sad frustration, TWO buses from Tegus showed up. Luisa hopped off one bus, came over to me, and immediately saw my dilemma, coming to me rescue. Marlia was pretty backed up in the payment area, and there were a bajillion people trying to get name tags, and all the people from one church wanted to go to the same taller… It was a bit hectic for a while as two gringas were trying to figure out finances, teams, and talleres in a foreign language. God bless Luisa and Ingrid who came to the rescue.

On to sleeping arrangements for the entire population of Baptist young people from Tegucigalpa… I had set my sheet and backpack on a bed in the largest girls’ room. It had gotten moved around a bit in the shuffle of things, and ended up in the small back room with all the other gringas’ things. I had wanted to stay by other girls so I could get to know them, but oh well.

Enter the girls from Germania (my church). “There’s no more beds left!” “I don’t want to stay with people I don’t know!” “We’re going to have to sleep on the floor!” “I’d rather just stand up all night than that!” “Yessica! No one left any beds for us!”

“Well, that’s what those mattresses in the other room are for – we don’t have enough beds, but there are enough mattresses for everyone to have one,” I said.

“We don’t want to sleep on the floor though!”

“Really? I’m going to be staying out here on a mattress, and I’m pretty sure Luisa is too…” I shot Luisa a pleading look. “Yes, I’m staying here too,” she piped in.

“Oh. So all the girls from Germania can stay in this room on the mattresses. We can have like a slumber party!!” An optimistic Germaniana piped in. Wow, I was a bit surprised that all that worked out into a good thing. A slumber party it would be.

The Germanianas slumber party

More to come tomorrow... or later!