Day of rest

May 29, 2011

Yesterday was a bit of a low. With concerns about bad roads, no electricity, and issues with paper work for the bike, I was kind of freaking out. Going to sleep to the sound of rain last night did not seem to bode well. I word vomited my concerns into an email to Aly and tried to go to sleep.

When I woke up, I had a note from Aly. It reminded me that God’s taking care of me, so I shouldn’t worry about the roads. And she told me to offer it up. Bahahaha. Did anyone else’s mom always tell them that at the most annoying times? It was perfect.

I walked myself to mass and tried to offer it up. I know I’ve said this before, but one of my favorite things about mass is that it always feels like home no matter where you are. I know some people don’t love the formality and tradition of the Catholic Church, but let’s talk about incense for a sec. Mass involves the senses: the beauty of the art and architecture, the sound of the music and scripture, receiving the Eucharist, the smell of the incense. Some smells become tightly entwined into our memories so that when we smell them, the places and events they were associated with come flooding back. With the smell of the incense, memories of home parishes washed over me. Knowing the Eucharist was in the tabernacle made me feel God’s presence. I let my concerns slip away and spent the hour and a half mass letting good memories and peace wash over me.

After mass I relaxed at the hotel room until eleven when Baltazar came to pick me up. When I walked out to the bike the sun was shining. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since we last had a sunny day. It was beautiful. A small patch of brilliant blue sky and sunshine followed us to El Cacao. I soaked it up and spent the ride thinking of the mountains of blessings in my life and being thankful for them. The road was dry and as good as it ever is. When I got to El Cacao, Baltazar pointed me in the direction the church and wandered off to play soccer. There was no one there, so I enjoyed the scenery and took a couple pictures. 

Only about 10 kids ended up showing up. It was, of course, not awesome for the survey, but I actually had time to talk to the kids and parents, so the day was more enjoyable. The last kid had some form of MR. He was about ten and kept blowing kisses. Precious. I made my way back to Teresa and Baltazar’s house without any idea what to do with the rest of my day. I talked to their dad and asked if it would be ok if I just wandered around to houses. As I finished up with the second house Teresa arrived. She whipped things into shape, and I had a line of five or ten more kids to round out the day. We made plans for me to come back the following Saturday, and I’m feeling hopeful that next time the community will actually know that I’m coming.

COW BATH!

Survey-wise it was not that successful of a day, but life-wise it was exactly what I needed: slow paced, beautiful, and complete with human interaction. There were two places on the way back to LE that I wished I could stop and take a picture. In this part of Honduras any story could start with, “As we came up over the hill…” So that’s where these scenes took place. We came up over the hill, and I could see out across a small valley with a lake at the bottom. The hill across the lake was brilliantly backlit by a pale blue sky with patches of cotton-ball clouds. The hill itself was a lush green (one good effect of the rainy season), and on top of the hill three or four trees stood individually silhouetted in sharp contrast. It was breath taking. Around another hill, a farm spread out in the shadow of a thundercloud capped mountain. The violent gray blue of the cloud contrasted the rainbow of greens in the patchwork quilt of crops that spread over the farm. The patches were cut into rectangles by stands of sugar cane swaying nervously in the pre-storm wind. It was alive, and I could fell my sense of adventure returning. 

The rest of the week

And we were off. El Rosario on Thursday, El Cacao on Friday, Rio Grande on Saturday. About 70 surveys in the three days I think. Slowly but steadily I will win this race. I didn’t really know anyone in Rio Grande, but I had stopped at the school on the way to El Cacao and told the children that I would return the next day to survey their teeth. My heart sank as we pulled up Saturday morning. Three small clumps of people were sitting in various patches of shade out in front of the school. Very few people, no open buildings. I fought of the impulse to turn back for La Esperanza and walked up to the only adult I could see. After explaining who I am and what I’m doing (which flowed easily given the number of times that I’ve read out the consent form), the mom told me they were waiting for me and that she could get someone to open the church. I gave my self a pep talk and settled down on a log with a couple of kids. While we waited I started interviewing one of them. It turned out he was thirteen (too old for the survey), but it only takes about 30 seconds to look at a kid’s teeth. That’s all they really want any way, so I looked at his teeth and pulled out the stuffed fish with dentures. The kid was still acting shy, but I could tell he dug the fish. Smiles grew as I told him to show me how to brush.

Mom came back with the keys, and I used the walk to the church to continue my mental pep talk. It actually turned out all right. People steadily trickled in all day, and it was kind of nice to not have a giant line waiting. Around two, I managed to finish up. I know I didn’t survey anywhere near all of the children, but at least today I know I surveyed the ones who cared.

Here’s an interesting bit of information: these communities are orders of magnitude larger than Las Mercedes. Didn’t see that coming. At this point I’m just surveying as many kids as I can find, sorry Dr. What’s Your Face who taught me sampling strategy. Hopefully it works out, but I only have a couple weeks, and I’m doing the best I can. I could write a book of what they didn’t teach me before I left for field research. I think I’ll start now in list form.

1. If you’re going to make a major purchase, buy what the locals buy. Let’s, hypothetically, say you want to buy a vehicle. You notice that everyone in your neighborhood drives a monster truck or a dirt bike. You should buy a monster truck or dirt bike. FB is neither. I’ll elucidate the consequences of this below. 

2. If you are going to survey children, start by getting the list of school kids from all of the communities you are going to. If a list exists in this neighborhood, it will exist in the one you are going to. Even if you also want to survey children younger than school age, start with the school list so you can get an idea of how many kids you are working with. I was totally blindsided by how large most of these communities are.

3. Find a contact person for each community, and give them a list of exactly what you need before you get there. It has been incredibly difficult to convey that I want to see all the kids, even if they don’t have cavities. Why would a doctor need to see a kid that isn’t sick? They also don’t understand why a parent must be present.

I’m sure more things will come to mind as eventually. In the mean time, let’s talk about dirt bikes. The garden-variety Las Mercedes motorcycle (look back at Jaime's bike) is high off the ground so it doesn’t bottom out on the “road.” They have several inches between the fenders and the tires and they have tires for off roading (with thick spikey treads for better traction in mud). When I bought FB, they tried to change out the smooth city tires for the off roading tires. They ended up changing out the back tire, but the fender on the front wheel was too close to the tire, so the new tire wouldn’t fit. I (literally) asked them what the consequences would be of not having an off roading tire on the front wheel. They hemmed and hawed, so I asked if I would be ok if they didn’t change out the front tire. They told me yes, but looking back, there was very little eye contact in that moment. Today (Saturday) I found out why.

Like I said, we finished up in Rio Grande around two. Baltazar and Teresa had taken a few trips between El Cacao (where they live) and Rio Grande over the course of the day. El Cacao is between Rio Grande and La Esperanza, where I am spending the night. The roads had worsened with the days rain, and Baltazar wanted to try a different route. It was the one with pretty valley Gustavo had shown me. That road had seemed much better, so I was all for it. We got about half way between Rio Grande and La Esperanza when Baltazar pulled the bike over. We had been crawling along for several minutes and I had noticed that the road seemed slick under the wheels. I wasn’t sure what was up at first. Baltazar had me walk for a bit, and then I saw it. The front tire was no longer moving. The low fender and grooveless tire were completely defeated by impacted mud. Apparently there is a Honduran song called Mala Suerte (Bad luck). Baltazar started singing it as we looked for a stick to try to clean out the fender. We cleaned. We rolled the bike two feet. We cleaned. We rolled the bike two feet. 

Baltazar scrapes the mud off. Yes that's sun shine... it just never stays around long enough.

This went on for about a quarter mile. I wished I were with and old friend rather than a dude I hardly knew who didn’t really find the situation to be funny. It was so ridiculous it had to be funny. Visions of hitchhiking back to LE and just leaving FB on the side of the road floated through my mind.

Eventually we got to some better … mud… It was all mud, but the rocks were bigger and didn’t clog the fender. As we resumed our journey back to LE, I realized that my relationship with this bike is something like a bad boyfriend. Hear me out. Some women date men who are convenient. They are available, seem interested, kind of attractive, and, hey, what if no one else comes around. I’ve always prided myself on being slightly pickier than that, but apparently not when it comes to motorcycles. It’s like I went on vacation and picked up the first bike I met. It was available, sort of sexy (although if I had met the bike back in the states I wouldn’t have looked twice at it), and hey, what if I couldn’t find another one. The first time I went by the shop it seemed great. It was going to solve all of my problems: I could go anywhere I wanted, on my own schedule, through the tropic forest with the wind in my hair. Then I got the bike home and realized it was kind of fat, beats me up, never wants to work, and gives up when the road gets hard. Unfortunately, I’ve invested a lot in this bike. I’m sticking with it for the sake of the survey. On the bright side, the break up will be quick and painless. I leave for home (where my sweet little civic awaits me), and the bike stays here. On that note: Happy one-month anniversary in Honduras to me. Exactly one month to go. Please let Mala Suerte not be my theme song for the next month.

St. Columbanus of Bobbio (best name ever), patron saint of motorcyclists, Pray for us (thanks Jamie!)

Spanish words for the day:

Lodo: mud

Liso: slick

Hondurans love Bob Marley

May 25, 2011

Guess what the rainy season does for a solar panel... Nothing. Most importantly, it does not charge it. On Wednesday, as I tentatively rejoiced in the FB’s full recovery, the solar panel battery began to beep. The only thing worse than the incessant beeping was when the beeping flat-lined, and the battery shut off. I struggled with the manual for a while turning things off and on at random. Regino poked his head into the battery room, and I explained that the battery wasn’t working. He looked completely unsurprised and said Spanish the equivalent of, “Yeah, we haven’t had any sun.”

It had been an exciting day, so I decided I would write about it on paper, as my computer hadn’t charged after the previous night’s use. I would be posting what I wrote that night, but I intelligently left the journal in Las Mercedes thinking, “My computer will be charged. I won’t need to write in this.” So here we go from memory.

Baltazar’s friend, Jaime, drove out to Las Mercedes Wednesday morning. I learned where the carburetor and the “regulator of the accelerator” are (I assume there is a better English word for this but I don’t know it). With the regulator of the accelerator adjusted, FB fired up and reliably stayed … lit? What’s the English word… eh… you get the picture. 

Jaime holding the carburetor and rocking out to Bob Marley. (Note Jamie's bike behind FB. Come back to that for the next post)

From there we moved on to the problem of the gas leak. Jaime took the carburetor apart and showed me the floaty things and abuja (I have no idea how to translate that but it looks like a thick pin and works like a valve). The gas comes into the carburetor, and the floaty things rise. When the gas gets to a certain level the abuja, which is attached to the floaty things, closes the valve (at least that’s what I got out of the conversation). Apparently the abuja wasn’t closing and gas would just continue flowing in until it came out the manguera (literally “hose,” but this one lets air in). Jaime tried adjusting things for about half an hour before deciding it would be best to just drive back to La Esperanza and replace the abuja. When we got to La Esperanza FB wasn’t leaking gas any more! But you never know with FB so we looked around for a new abuja anyway.

This inadvertently led to a shouting match with the lady I bought the bike from. She had lots of complaints about how I had dealt with the multitude of problems I’ve been having with the bike (it’s under warranty), and Baltazar doesn’t seem to trust her (probably because she was willing to sell me the bike in the first place J). In the end, I tried to smooth things over, and we decided to just head back to Las Mercedes, as FB appeared to be cured anyway.

I was so pumped that I was actually going to get to do my survey the next day that I really wasn’t that upset about the electricity and am willing to overlook the fact that I am putting entirely too much trust in the lady that sold me this bike.

PS. The “La Gringa’s Blogicito” link is awesome. It has everything you ever wanted to know about what’s up in Honduras, particularly if you were lost about what I said about the OEA (OAS in English I think) and the coup.

Spanish words for the day (this one’s for you Charlotte):

“Que pedo?” Honduran for “how are you?” alternately: “What’s the problem?” (I’m not sure I’m gutsy enough to use this since I know pedo means fart, but I was assured it’s what they say…)

Word of the Day: Casi (almost)

May 24, 2011 

Teresa told me her brother, Baltazar, would arrive between 7 and 8 to take me out to El Rosario. I had been able to start the motorcycle easily when I got back on Monday, so I had high hopes that I would finally make some headway on my survey. Eight came and went. At nine I texted Teresa but knew she wouldn’t have phone signal until the afternoon. At nine fifteen I nervously contemplated driving the bike again myself. I promised myself that if he didn’t show up by 10, I would head out on my own. I started a Harry Potter movie to keep my nerves calm and awaited the moment of truth. Thankfully he appeared around 9:30. Poor guy had walked all the way from Rio Grande. Must have taken him a few hours.

We hoped on the bike. He started it up and we went about 5 feet. He shifted gears, and the bike died. I present to you Baltazar (on the bike), Regino (the other guy), and Fat Bastard:

Yes. That is what I have named my bike. Not G rated I realized, but it fits. What was wrong with FB this time? Well, we held down the choke and pressed the starter button as instructed by the shop guy (This had worked yesterday). The engine turned over feebly the first few times and then the battery buzzed with no engine turn over. Dead battery? No problem. You can kick start this bike. Now Baltazar is not as short as most of the people around here, but he might be my height. To get enough leverage, the guy put down the kickstand, balanced on the pedals and started kick starting the bike. Badass, Baltazar. Several minutes later he was sweating and frustrated, while FB pulled his classic move and started pouring gasoline out the side. I rolled my eyes and told Baltazar that FB does this all the time, and the shop guy told me it was normal (although I suspect he is wrong/full of shit).

For the millionth time I was told that I should have brought someone with me to buy the bike. Thank you, Captain Obvious. Don’t worry, my sense of humiliation has been severely punishing me since I spotted this mistake, but again, the pleasure of meeting you and your helpful advice has come too late. Let me clarify that I didn’t say it quite like that, and I am sincerely grateful for all the help Baltazar gave me today. He called a friend who is a mechanic to get him to visit my sick bike. We had to wait until one to see if the guy could come. By one ‘o’clock, in true tropical style, the usual mild afternoon hurricane was in full force. His friend couldn’t come until the morning. As Baltazar brought the bike back in side he tried it one more time. This time the battery light was on. He called his friend back to say it was for sure the battery. I’m sure everyone knows this, but, as it was news to me, guess what? You can start a standard vehicle with a dead battery by rolling it down the hill and starting it while in motion!

 Let me remind you that I live in a village. This is how we get a fat ass motorcycle up a hill in a village:

At one point there were so many boys helping that they tumbled over each other and couldn’t find enough bits of motorcycle for them to all hold on to. Regino would give Baltazar a push and the bike would start rolling.

Are you still wondering why the word of the day is Casi? It’s because we rolled that thing down the hill at least 30 times, and 10% of the time the bike started. All the rest of the time we looked encouragingly at each other and said, “Casi! Casi!” You may have spotted that 10% of 30 is 3. Shouldn’t that have been enough? You have forgotten the name of my bike. That’s not how FB rolls. Each time the bike started, Baltazar would patiently rev the engine for about five minutes trying to recharge the battery. The kids thought the heat blowing out the tail pipe was awesome:

Then the bike would die again despite Baltazar’s careful attention. After the death, the battery would buzz rather than start the engine, and FB would stubbornly pour his little gasoline tears out the side. I passed out a round of lollipops to my pit crew somewhere near the middle of this process. Since girls don’t push bikes around here, I led a clean up crew with the little girls. After making sure everyone put their lollipop rappers in the trash bag, the girls and I wandered around picking up all of the other trash littering our runway. Baltazar finally decided that the engine didn’t sound right when once it started and that the quantity of gas pouring out the side could not possible be normal. The word carburetor was tossed out, and now his friend is coming in the morning. I gave him money to hitch a ride back home. Thank you, God for people like Baltazar. Tomorrow I will do surveys. I can feel it.

In an effort to not to completely waste the day, I challenged the boys to some soccer. Despite the fact that the lawn maintenance team was out in full force:

we had a pretty intense game. Then I bravely/naïvely taught the kids to use my camera. In case the last round of soccer pics wasn’t enough for you, here is some of their handy work:

Oh, and did I mention that the solar power battery at the clinic (aka: my electricity) is on the fritz. Thanks and gig’em.

An American Tourist

May 22, 2011

Mass was interesting today. In the gospel for the day, Jesus says he is “the way, the truth, and the light.” The 8am mass is a children’s mass so the priest was warning against the other paths of the world and warned the children to not get piercings because they are the way of the devil. I tried not to laugh and wondered if the woman next to me had noticed my nose ring.

When I got home from mass and grocery shopping I found Teresa waiting for me. I already mentioned her fabulous news, but beyond that it was nice to have some one to go out to lunch with. She asked me how my week was, and I asked her about her week – I know, not a big deal, but that was the first time I got more than “I cooked” as a response so it felt like a triumph. We also talked a bit about the clinics in the communities. I thought they were all the same, but I guess the clinic in Las Mercedes is actually a big deal because it is supposed to be a place where women can give birth, and there are supposed to be doctors that can handle more than primary care. I guess Rio Grande has a health center rather than a clinic, and they only handle basic primary care? I’m not sure if there is a doctor in Rio Grande or not. San Nicolas has a doctor. They do primary care and at least minor emergencies because I know they can do stitches. As I was thinking about the three clinics I noticed one of these things is not like the other. Rio Grande and San Nicolas have over a hundred families each. Las Mercedes has 20-40. Rio Grande and San Nicolas treat their water, have a store of some sort, and look at least somewhat developed. Las Mercedes not so much. Then I spotted a problem. Where would a doctor live out here? I live in what’s supposed to be the delivery room. When the clinic design was explained to me, there was no place meant to be living quarters for staff. There aren’t exactly rooms for rent around here. I suppose the doctor can drive in from La Esperanza. Hope women around here have their babies at convenient hours.

There’s also the problem of doctors adjusting to life in rural areas. This was a big topic in our Health Systems class. It’s always difficult to attract doctors to rural areas, even in the US. In Honduras they have a civil service year of medical training, so I suppose the government will just send someone whether they like it or not, but they certainly didn’t choose a location that would make it easier on the doctor. As I get to know the communities better, I’m realizing that there is a pretty big difference between rural and urban society here. The closer I get to La Esperanza (the city), the easier it is for me to relate to the people I meet. I assume it would be the same for Honduran doctors since they are generally from the cities. Peers are going to be few and far between for the doctors that are sent here. If Las Mercedes were a good location for the locals, then I’d say the doctors could just suck it up for a year, but I’m not really sure about that either. Like I said, there aren’t that many families in Las Mercedes. Maybe it was chosen as a central location? Who knows. But it’s here, and it’s a nice building.

When I got back to the hotel, I packed and made some phone calls in anticipation of leaving that afternoon. However, when Gustavo showed up he didn’t have his backpack. It turned out that we weren’t so much leaving La Esperanza as leaving the hotel. I had told him that I didn’t leave the hotel on Saturday. I didn’t leave because it was raining, but I wasn’t complaining. I come to La Esperanza because my hotel room has a door and I can use the internet. In most other aspects I prefer Las Mercedes. It’s beautiful, it’s quiet, and no one yells, “What’s up, Mami?” or “Oye, Sexy” in almost recognizable English. In any case, he was there to take me sight seeing, and I appreciated the gesture. First we went to La Gruta, the Marian grotto to Our Lady of Lourdes. 

Gustavo seemed to be under the impression that Mary had appeared at this Grotto, but it pretty clearly said “Our Lady of Lourdes,” so I doubt that. I tried to explain the story, but I get the apparitions mixed up and gave up pretty quickly. There are some worn steps up the hill behind the Grotto and we climbed them for a gorgeous panoramic view of La Esperanza. From there we headed out to a park with waterfalls. If any one wants to go there on next year’s mission trip, you just go to the grotto and take the road on the left at the bottom of the grotto steps. Follow it around the left side of the grotto hill, and it’s maybe a mile down. The small park is designed with the classic combination of beautiful scenery and odd, slightly whimsical plaster statues.

There is a clump of trees over my left shoulder. My hotel is right behind them. I'm standing right above the grotto.

sweet fish thingys

My tour guide, Gustavo. I sort of surprised him with this pic but he still managed to go all asian tourist on me. And a waterfall.

sad, one-armed, eyeless, plaster frog

happy dolphin near a waterfall. 

We hung out in the park for a while and I seized another opportunity to ask a local what he thinks of the country’s political, educational, and health situations. Gustavo seemed to feel like the Honduran people had voted for Porfirio Lobo, but he laughed and explained it was complicated when I asked about the situation with the OEA (who won’t recognize Lobo because he was put in power by a coup) **UP DATE: Since I wrote this, Lobo and Zelaya signed the Cartagena Agreement. Honduras is back in the OEA, and Zelaya is back in the country**.

When the conversation moved to education, he told me that last year the schools were only open for about 120 days of the year. The previous year they had been open for ~80, but that was the year of the coup. He blames the government-affiliated teacher’s union. I don’t know much about American unions, but I think this one is different in that it was appointed by the congress and has some legal authority. For example, it says how may days a year the teachers will work, and that the teachers get paid during strikes. Gustavo also complained about the quality of education. He certainly isn’t the first person to tell me that the curriculum isn’t very good. To be a health promoter, he went to the usual 6 years of primary school, 3 years of preparatory school, and 3 more years for a degree that starts with a B (I think it’s a generic term for an advanced degree, but I can’t pronounce it and therefore can never remember the word).

When we talked about his own job, he said the government is having trouble paying some of its health workers. That seems to be a fairly common problem here. I wouldn’t say I was surprised the government is inconsistent about paying it’s workers, but I was expecting it less in the health field because I know Honduras has a big World Bank loan for vaccinations. Vaccinations are part of his job. I wonder what salary issues will do to the success Honduras has had with its vaccination program. Vamos a ver (we’ll see).

Add these words to your vocab:

Catracho: noun or adjective. Cool/trendy person/Hondureñan

Cheque – ok. It was explained to me that the catrachos like getting their paychecks and this somehow evolved into cheque meaning ok. 

Stars realigning

After a waste of a week a surprise visit from Teresa brought me some awesome news. Teresa is from El Cacao, one of the communities I'll be visiting. She is in nursing school and works at the health center in Rio Grande. Gloria, hence forth known as my angel, has been keeping tabs on me through Teresa. I'm pretty sure it's my angel's fault that Teresa turned up at my hotel today to tell me that her brother, who knows how to drive a motorcycle, is off from work until July and would be happy to drive me around. Hallelujah! Time for some surveys!

I also stopped by the motorcycle shop to talk about my non-starting motorcycle. The shop owner told me there was only supposed to be a tiny amount of oil on the dip stick when you checked it. He also coached me that the choke needed to be pressed when starting the engine. I'll admit that I noticed that Gustavo only pressed the choke sporadically when he was trying to start the engine. My bike does look different from his. Additionally, he told me that the bike can take regular or super gasoline (although super is better). That means I didn't ruin my motorcycle some how with the wrong type of gas!! I'm not sure you can ruin an engine with the wrong type of gas, but when the bike wouldn't start I immediately started envisioning all of the ways I could have destroyed a brand new motorcycle. Cross your fingers that I just need to press the choke and my bike will return to life! And if you're lucky I'll post a pic next week.

Fútbol!

Soccer is kind of a big deal here. Here is a slide show of a game that took place outside the clinic :)

Adelante (moving forward)

May 20, 2011

I went for a run this morning to vent my frustration. Getting 45 surveys done in a week had frustrated me last week. This week I did 10. I can’t even think about it. Instead, I’ve come up with a new game plan. It hinges on the philosophies I’ve been working with since I got here: “You gotta do what you gotta do,” and “We’ll see.”

Here’s the plan: We’ll see where Gustavo goes for the next two weeks and I’ll just go with him if it’s a community on my list. It’s not ideal because I don’t know how many surveys I’ll get done while he works, but he can introduce me to the community, and I assume I’ll get more than 10 surveys done this week following this plan. The “you gotta do what you gotta do” part of the plan is that there are a few communities I can walk to in an hour on the days that Gustavo goes somewhere I don’t need to go. Regino seemed doubtful that I would want to walk so far, but it’s another one of those situations where I’m not really psyched about either option but I like one less than the other. An hour of hiking with a heavy bag on either side of 8 hours of dental exams isn’t ideal, but I want to getmy survey done so… Gustavo also said he would help me practice riding the motorcycle, so we’ll see how that goes. Maybe I can use it when I do the fluoride application or to get out to the farther communities. I’m also toying with the idea of taking a bus out to a community in the morning and just sleeping in the church that night. Then I could move on to the next community by bus in the morning. It wouldn’t be awful as long as I could figure out food and water, and I could probably get rides with Gustavo sometimes. I’m saving that option for the fluoride application weeks.

That’s more or less the plan I pulled together while sweating it out on the mountain roads. I got back to the clinic and prepared to leave for the weekend. I was pretty much packed when some kids showed up. They did the usual “stand in the doorway and stare at me” bit. This always follows the part where they walk right into my room without knocking. This makes changing and going to the bathroom trickier than it ought to be. In the end, I let them draw pictures using my pens and paper. We wrapped up their visit with a modified game of tag. In this version I was always it, and nothing but hysterical giggling happened when I caught someone. Eventually it was 8am and they had to go to school. They’re cute and I’m glad they come by, but I wish I had a door and that they would say why they are there when they arrive. “Let’s play,” or “Can we draw,” would be awesome. This is the herd of cattle that ran by as they were leaving:

Gustavo showed up a couple hours early because a meeting had been canceled, so he flipped through my Clinical Microbiology Made Ridiculously Simple while I secured my belongings from the dogs and did some last minute packing. After my Wednesday driving adventure, riding with Gustavo was fabulous. For one thing, my backpack rested on another bag and wasn’t making my shoulder blades ache. More obviously, he navigates the roads easily so it’s just less stressful to let him drive. We stopped off along the way at a Health Celebration in Rio Grande. He told me it was a party, and there were a lot of people milling around a well-decorated area. The odd thing was that no one was smiling. You hear smiling is the universal language, so it really throws me off when people return my smiles with blank stares. That’s pretty much what I got as we got off his motorcycle. We walked up to the church where a man was speaking passionately to a large crowd about men not beating their wives. Nothing screams “Fiesta!” like a good sermon on spousal abuse. We said “Hi” to Gustavo’s boss and set out again.

I joked about the lack of smiling at the party. He laughed and said it wasn’t a very good party. He went on to explain the structure of a Health Celebration, and apparently it’s much like a mullet. Up front it’s business. At the beginning of the celebration they present to the community the death rates and disease burdens. I suppose the spousal abuse sermon fits with health promotion, and it’s definitely something that needs to be discussed. After that comes the party where they sing and dance. We had just arrived during the business part of the day.

We drove on passed a continual array of beautiful scenery. At one point we were coming to the top of a hill and Gustavo told me to close my eyes. I obliged and he pulled the bike over. When I opened my eyes, we were overlooking a gorgeous valley of patchwork-quilted farmland and grazing cattle. I didn’t tell him I had seen the valley before and tried to look surprised. It really was beautiful. He explained that it is a cooperative farm owed by the people who work the land.

Again we drove on and soon reached La Esperanza. Gustavo dropped me off at Hotel Mina and told me to call if I needed anything. Bonus: I got a new room with more outlets and a desk! And the internet is working this weekend! Now maybe I can get some work done on my thesis…

Gustavo saves the day (alternate title: Que Disastre)

May 19, 2011

It’s never a good sign when you wake up to the smell of gasoline. Apparently the motorcycle had been leaking gasoline all night. There is a tube that comes from the side of the bike and lets air into the engine. I’m sure there’s a name for it, but I’ve only heard the Spanish version. Let’s call it the air hose. I learned about the air hose yesterday. After buying the bike. I went to get gas before heading out of town. After getting the gas, the bike fell over. I picked it up. Gas came out the air hose. I drove the bike back to the shop and asked why gas was coming out of my bike. They told me that’s normal when the bike falls over. The gas stopped coming out, and I went on with life.

This morning, however, it was no longer a few drops coming from the air hose. It was a stream flowing onto the floor which low looked like a small lake or giant puddle. I picked up the air hose to stop the flow, but the flood continued. It was also coming from another unknown location in the side of the bike. Now I was going to have a bike that weighed too much and had no gas. The gas was falling out the left side of the bike, the same side as the kickstand, so I decided to tip it to the right against the wall in the hopes that the tank wouldn’t be completely empty before I could figure out what to do. I mean, seriously, how does a bike spring a leak overnight? I looked at Regino and said, "Que disastre," (What a disaster). He laughed and agreed.

I called Gustavo, but he didn’t answer, so I left a message. Then I tried cleaning up the gasoline. I was sweeping dust over the gas to soak it up when Oscar wandered by. I asked him if he knew anything about motorcycles. He said not really but we found a little switch thing that said fuel on the side of the engine. I remembered Carlos playing with it before driving up the hill so we decided to switch it to the off position. The stream from the air hose seemed to slow down, but it still leaked. I thanked him, and he went back to school. At about 10 I heard another motorcycle stop in front of the clinic. Gustavo had come to help me out. But first, he made me look him in the eyes and tell him if I was hurt. I’m glad he asked that first because my frustration with the motorcycle would otherwise have put me in danger of bursting into tears in front of a near stranger. This question, however, made me feel indignant. Of course I was fine - I’m a fourth year medical student. I would know if I were seriously injured. I said something along those lines, but he stared me down, so I showed him the bruises and scrapes on my legs and told him that was it.

I guess that satisfied him because he laughed and told me I should have let him come with me to get the bike. Apparently I had miss translated that offer. I thought he was just saying I could go out to the communities with him. (I realize that also sounds like a good option, but it takes me an hour to do 4 surveys. I really thought that having my own transportation would be better because he doesn’t stay in the communities long enough for me to finish.) Whatever. This just added to my raging internal battle between knowing that I desperately need help and hating to ask for it.

An advanced inspection of my motorcycle began. Well yes, the gas was supposed to come out the side after the bike fell over. Maybe turning the fuel switch had been helpful, but in any case he let the gasoline drain into a bowl until it stopped of it’s own accord. This really only took a few minutes. Then he tried to start the bike. Did it start? No. Brand new bike. Did not start. He gave the bike a pretty good once over and discovered that there was almost no oil in it. Hah. Really? Why not? Also I suspect that I may have put the wrong fuel type in it… Still haven’t mentioned that… Ayyyyyyy. His final verdict was that it is a beautiful bike but the bike is sick. He has a friend who knows more about motorcycles that he will have come look at it. The only up side was that Gustavo is going into La Esperanza tomorrow and can give me a ride.

My Rocinante

May 18, 2011

Let me preemptively say that I am perfectly safe and only have a few commemorative scratches and bruises from the following adventure. If any of you are familiar with Don Quixote and/or Motorcycle diaries, you probably guessed - I now have a motorcycle.

I was warned repeatedly that a motorcycle was probably a bad idea. I also knew it was a bad idea because I’ve seen motorcycle accident victims in the ED. I kind of hate motorcycles in general. Unfortunately, out here in the middle of nowhere there aren’t a lot of transportation options. Knowing almost nothing about motorcycles, I decided that my primary shopping criteria would be that it was relatively new (because I don’t know how to fix a motorcycle) and available (there aren’t a lot of motorcycle dealers out here). Of course I tried to get along without one the first two weeks. Between miscommunications and other obligations I was only able to collect 45 surveys last week. Frustrated, I decided the time had come to make a real effort at finding a motorcycle. I wandered down a new route between the market and my hotel in La Esperanza and happened upon a shop with two motorcycles for sale. Clearly this was fate, right? As soon as I started looking for a motorcycle shop, there one was.

The motorcycles were bigger than the one I had practiced on before I left, but I though that might make them more stable and didn’t think much about it. The people were nice – I had been afraid they would ridicule me or something (although I’ve never had a salesmen ridicule me before). We talked about price and licenses and paying in cash. I told them I would think about it and return. I had the money. I know I’m capable of learning to ride a motorcycle. Here was a motorcycle. Perfect.

I had to return today to get it because the bank isn’t open on Sundays. The police station gave me a permit to drive a motorcycle without a license for free in about 20 minutes (totally unexpected bonus). Then the shop changed out one of the tires for one that is more suited to the dirt roads, and the owner’s brother took me out to a dirt road to practice riding. When I got on the bike, I nearly tipped over. This should have been my first clue, but no one has ever accused me of being too perceptive, and I was focusing on learning to start the thing. After about half an hour I was able to get the thing going without stalling. Yeah, it took half an hour, but I’m stubborn, and the guy dealt with me because I was a customer. He drove it back to the shop for me, we took care of the paper work, and I was off. Sort of.

My limited experience with standard cars taught me that up hill is a difficult starting point. And so it was. As I headed out of town I stalled a few times trying to shift gears on particularly steep hills. As I stood restarting the engine, I fell over… Really the bike fell over and took me with it. I thought about going back, but, like I said, I’m stubborn, and there were kids with teeth that needed attention. I sat on that hill until I got the bike up it. But this was the first time I began to be concerned. When the bike fell over I really had to strain to lift it. I felt like one of those weight lifters maxing out at the bench press. And when it tipped on a downward gradient I don’t know what I would have done without the neighbor guy who helped me pick it up. This concerned me because I don’t like to be vulnerable like that. Not being able to lift the bike is a problem.

(Insert calming scenic picture)

Once I was off again I just kept the bike in a low gear and made my way back to Las Mercedes going 20-25km/hr. I had no more problems until I got to the hill leading to the clinic. The bike stalled a gain. I tipped over again. I managed to get the bike back up, exhausted and sore. A guy driving down the road asked me if I needed help. His name was Carlos and he seemed nice so I asked him if he knew how to drive motorcycles. He said yes so I had him drive the bike up the hill to the clinic while I followed on foot. He also fell over as he was starting the bike. Cue sense of impending doom.

He got the motorcycle back to the clinic. By this point I had selected a less whimsical name for my motorcycle, but I won't state it here. I suspected that this was trouble, but I decided to shower to clear my mind. The water was out. What a perfect cherry on an awesome afternoon. There was enough water pressure to get some water in the sink, so I navy showered and lay down in my hammock. I spent the rest of the night thinking out my options. I was sure I’d be too sore to lift the bike tomorrow. I talked with Regino, and we decided I would stay in Las Mercedes the next day and do surveys in the afternoon. I had been sure the motorcycle would help me get the surveys done faster, but now most of the week was gone, and prospects didn’t look good. I always try to learn from my mistakes. I’ll be thinking about how I could have done this differently for a while. Sorry I don’t have a picture of it, but it felt wrong to take a picture on a bike that may have been an abysmal mistake.

How to chlorinate your community water

May 17 part B

Speaking of water chlorination, Gustavo took me to see him teach a community to chlorinate their water today. He told me that he would come at 10 to go out to Rio Colorado. At 11:30 or 12 he arrived at the clinic and apologized for being late. A little girl had come to the clinic in San Nicolas needing stitches in her leg and he hadn’t been able to get away. I watched carefully as he drove us down the hill on his motorcycle. We went slowly and the motorcycle handled the grooves and potholes much more smoothly than I had anticipated.

Along theway Gustavo explained to me that a child had recently died in Rio Colorado. The Ministry of Health had looked into her death and determined that it was, at least in part, due to water contamination. A water group was formed in the community, and that group chose water chlorination as the intervention they wanted to invest in to improve water quality and protect their children. The more I hear about the water projects in the community, the more complicated I think it would be to try to intervene as an outsider. There is already a lot going on in this area and it would be difficult to navigate without doing more harm than good.

When we got to Rio Colorado, Gregorio, a nurse from San Nicolas, and a group of volunteer health workers from Rio Colorado were giving out vaccines and weighing children. The Ministry of Health has a program that provides the vaccinesand gives out food staples like maize, beans, milk, rice, and sugar to families with malnourished children. Gregorio told me that they come out to the communities about once amonth to do the vaccinations and weigh children. I also talked with one of the volunteer health workers. She said that she and the health workers would help me get the kids together for the survey and that they would love to learn how to apply the varnish – already a successful trip!

Gustavo and a couple of other health volunteers then led me straight up the side of a hill to a deeply rutted road. Gustavo explained that the road was too bad for the motorcycle. Having just braved the washed-out road that passes between Las Mercedes and the main road on motorcycle, this meant something. We began to hike. Parts of the trail reminded me of the dried out limestone riverbeds of central Texas. Other parts reminded me of the rust colored rock formations of Moab.

(this doesn't really do it justice)

Inboth cases the road was littered with small canyons rather than potholes. About half an hour later, we were all puffing as we made it to the top of the mountain. We stopped to pick up the hypochlorite powder (theysay hipocloro, so I’m not sure what it is exactly – Ideas, Jamie?) and to acquire a few more students. These men from the community then lead us to the tank (tanque). The tank was pretty large and had a smaller holding area at the top for the chloride solution. Gustavo helped me across the log bridge onto the tank and began his teaching session.

The tank The bridge

Before he showed them the steps, he started by talking with them about why the chlorination was important. He reminded the men that they were doing this for the children. He also showed them the report from the water quality test. The report had a coloredpicture of a bacterial culture plate with growth. He explained to the men that this was fecal bacteria that had contaminated their water and gave the men a copy of the report to share with the water group. Although he and the doctor in San Nicolas had told me that open defecation is an issue in theses communities, he very tactfully allowed that it might have been animal feces contamination when talking to the community members.

He then taught them the process of chlorinating the water. First, they calculated how many gallons flow into the tank per minute by measuring how long it took for the water flowing into the tank to fill a 5gallon bucket. Gustavo told the men that the flow would change depending on the amount of rain, so they needed to measure the flow every time they refilled the chloride tank. Gustavo had a chart for the community that told them how many pounds of hypochlorite they needed to put in the holding tank based on the flow. Then they measured the area of the chloride tank and used a second chart to determine how many drops (gotas) of solution should pass from the chloride tank into the water tank per minute. He showed them how to mix the water with the hypochlorite and they filled the chloride tank.

Finally, they adjusted the number of drops per minute until the right amount of chloride was being added to the water. He had the community members complete each step rather than doing it himself. I’m not sure if it was clearly conveyed that the chloride tank had to be filled to the height they measured to ensure that the right concentration of chloride entered the water, but over all I thought Gustavo did a really good job of teaching them. Before we left, he reviewed all of the steps of chlorination and had the community members repeat them back.

As we hiked back down the hill, Gustavo remarked that the road would be horrible if it rained. I suppose that cursed us because about ten minutes later a massive drop of water hit my arm as clouds began to darken the sky. These drops were the size of grapes, but they began slowly. When we reached the main road the drops where still sparse enough that you could almost dodge them, so Gustavo and I decided to try to make it back to Las Mercedes. As we started down the road the sky opened up. The grape sized drops stung my face and arms, but it was refreshing after the long hike. I had been kicking myself for not bringing a water bottle, but now I was swallowing rainwater unavoidably. I squinted into the rain and tried to duck behind Gustavo. He steered us expertly back to the clinic, picking his way through the tiny rivulets that were forming on the washed out road up to Las Mercedes. When we got back to the clinic, I brought out towels and preemptively apologized for my coffee making skills while Gustavo waited for the storm to let up.

As we sat shivering with our towels and coffee we started talking about soccer. Motagua, the team from Tegucigalpa just won the national cup. The game was actually in La Esperanza last Sunday and I’m really disappointed that I didn’t know it was happening – I could have gone L. We moved on to a wide range of subjects – health care in the communities, what it’s like to be so far from home, work, family. I was surprised at how little trouble I had with the Spanish. I suppose I’m getting better. It only took me two weeks to not struggle with a normal conversation and finally make a friend. Now if I can just make the motorcycle thing work out tomorrow I could actually make some progress with my survey.

The global health worker's constant question

May 17, 2011 part A

Warning, I'm about to spend the rest of this post in philosophical musings, but first: my store in La Esperanza (with the actual Kendra of La Esperanza),

and a delicious pastry by the central park fountain:

My year of global health classes has left me with more questions than answers about development and aid work. I now find myself constantly asking, “What’s the exit strategy?” and “Is that sustainable?” which often leaves me feeling pessimistic about projects. Even when it comes to my own research project I feel like I’m perhaps not going about this the right way. I chose this project because it seemed like what the kids need the most – better dental health. I’ve had two conversations with Regino since then that have made me think there are other things they need more.

The first conversation was about the water supply. As far as I can tell, about 5 of the communities in the co-op have piped water. These communities also sometimes chlorinate the water. They have this option because the water comes from a single source – a spring or river-fed tank somewhere up the mountain. The water that comes to the tank may or may not be contaminated year round, but contamination is generally worse during the rainy season in May and June. Regino tells me that if the water is chlorinated this prevents the contamination from causing diarrhea. That’s great, but some of the communities cannot afford the chlorination. The Ministry of Health or the co-op helps to arrange chloride delivery, but they don’t pay for it. It costs 2,400Lempira to pay for a container of the chlorination solution that lasts 18 months. That’s about $130 for a container or $7 per month for the whole community. Regino told me that there are 20 families with piped water. At about $0.35 per family per month, Las Mercedes still can’t afford it (please for give the excess of math here). I assume they cannot afford it because of the upfront cost. I know for a fact that families in the community spend more than that on candy every month.

Just thought I'd show you the candy since it's part of my survey: bombones, confites, chicle, and a mix of chicle and confite

(lollipop, hard candy, gum, and hard candy covered gum)

I think this maybe a more pressing issue to the community because when I talk to Regino about the possibility of fluoridating the water his face tells me that chlorination is a higher priority to him. There are some questions to be asked here particularly when addressing the overall problem of diarrhea. What is the incidence of diarrhea and how bad is the problem really? Who has piped water? How often is that water contaminated? If they don’t have piped water, where do they get their water (wells, river)? And do they boil it? Who has latrines? If they don’t have a latrine, where do they go to the bathroom? How prevalent is handwashing?

I saw the local community health worker collecting water samples so I know that the Ministry of Health regularly tests the water for contamination. There is a clinic in San Nicolas where information on the incidence of diarrhea could be collected. At least some of the communities are already collecting money monthly to pay for the water system. El Cacao residents pay 20Lempira (~$1) per month for piped water, and I think that includes chlorination (a resident of El Cacao told me their water is always chlorinated). It would be beneficial to the community and a good project to find out what the water and sanitation needs are in these communities and to help organize a way for the communities to collect the money to finance water chlorination.

Another major priority that isn’t being addressed came up in an awkward conversation last night. I have not been very successful at arranging to go out to the communities to do my surveys. It’s been a combination of me not being assertive enough about needing to go, the language barrier, and the fact that Regino has actual work to do beyond chauffeuring me around to the communities. I realized last week that if I wanted to get everything done in time I would need my own transportation. I think I’ve figured out how to go about buying a motorcycle in La Esperanza and I’m going tomorrow to do it. Last night I was talking to Regino about my schedule, and he asked me how much the motorcycle cost. I hadn’t been intending to tell him, but since he asked point blank I wasn’t going to lie. He was polite about it, but I could see a strained look on his face. Then I realized that it would cost a third of that to put his daughter through her next year of school. He had asked the medical team in April about the possibility of paying for her continued education because he does not have the money.

Oscar, the teacher in Las Mercedes, laughed when I asked him if any of the kids from Las Mercedes went on to 7^th grade in La Esperanza. It just costs too much between tuition and room and board. I asked Gustavo, the community health worker if students from other communities in the co-op went to school in La Esperanza, but he said only some of the students from San Nicolas are able to afford it. San Nicolas has a school that goes to 8^th grade, and some of the fathers from the town are working the US and sending money home. He estimated that it costs about 15,000 Lempira to pay for school, supplies, and room and board for a year of school. That’s about $800.

Filomena reading fairy tales on my iPad. She does this pretty much every night after finishing her homework.

Apart from once again reminding me what a spoiled brat of an American I am, this encounter also pricked at one of the issues that has been bothering me with regard to working in Global Health. It has occurred to me that, while it may be admirable to want to do medical mission work, the ultimate solution is to have local health workers. There will never be a nurse or doctor from Las Mercedes if they cannot move beyond the 6^th grade. Although it would take some thought to decide how they should be awarded, scholarships would probably be a very good investment in this community.

Coffee and surveys

May 13, 2011

My kitchen turned into something resembling a coffee shop most nights this week, although I’m the only one who drinks coffee at night. Filomena is here, of course, but other local kids have been stopping by. I sit at my table with my computer and Willie Nelson or ZZ Top playing in the background, while the kids (Filomena, her brother - Santo Juel, Ernesto, Erlin, etc.) sit at another table playing cards or reading the Spanish children’s stories I downloaded to my iPad. I tried to buy actual children’s books in La Esperanza but so far all I can find is religious books and really low level story books. I found Hans Christian Anderson’s fairy tales in Spanish on amazon.com and Filomena has been blowing through them.

I appreciate having them around. Otherwise the three nights I spent revising my survey software would have been kind of lonely and depressing. I’m using a cool program called FileMaker Pro (yes, I said cool – I’m a nerd). It’s database software that has an iPad version, so I can just use the iPad in the field. The iPad has been great. It’s light, has a long battery life, and, in an otterbox, it’s way more durable (and sanitizable) than my computer. My original survey design worked, but I spent the last few nights learning how to use auto-complete commands to fill in questions based on previous responses. It worked really well today and made things go much faster than Wednesday.

I needed the surveys to go a little faster. In Las Mercedes, I spent five or six hours on 17 surveys. Today I spent five hours on 30 surveys. Unfortunately, there were still 15-20 kids that I hadn’t seen when the truck came to get me. It just takes longer when I have to go house to house. It’s less exhausting in some ways because I get a break between families, but I’m realizing that I might need two days per community. It’s also a problem that I can’t stay in the communities as long as I want. I would have stayed today until I saw all of the children, and I probably could have done it before dinner-time. I suppose I should have been more persistent about collecting surveys these last two weeks. Now I’m going to really have to squeeze things in if I want to spend the last two weeks passing out dental hygiene supplies. I guess I’ll look around some more this weekend for a motorcycle. If I could just stay in the communities a little longer I could do a community per day… but it still doesn’t seem worth it to go back to Tegucigalpa.

I suppose the other answer is to spend less time on educating, or not see all of the kids. I don’t like either of those choices. I have a stuffed fish with teeth that helps me educate the kids. Dr. Keels, a dentist in Durham who has been working with me, gave it to me. She has tons of similar stuffed animals at her pediatric dentistry office. The fish has a matching oversized toothbrush. Most of the kids love the fish, but some of the younger ones look terrorized when I take a large fish with a full smile out of my bag. The fish is a puppet so I make the fish open its mouth and coach the kids on their brushing technique. I usually wrap things up by making the fish bite at the kid, which always gets a good reaction. Most of the kids tell me they brush their teeth, but they still have what looks like a few days of food on their teeth. I think the education part is pretty crucial, and if I don’t do it I feel like I’m taking their time without giving much back.

I feel similarly about seeing all of the kids, especially if they know I saw most of the rest of the kids in the community. I know part of the benefit of the survey is just giving them the attention, and it seems unfair if some of the kids are seen and others aren’t. It also causes some sampling problems for my survey if I don’t see everyone and my sample isn’t random. I suppose in the end I will either see them all or run out of time. I will at least do my best to see them all.

Meeting the Madres

May 11, 2011

Today was the first day I spent doing surveys since I returned. Oscar the teacher worked overtime on Monday for the Mother’s Day extravaganza so he and the students had Wednesday off. Filomena obligingly used her day off to guide me around the neighborhood. We travel to five or six houses up the mountain in Las Mercedes to do the surveys. It was much slower going than when the mission was in town. At the mission I just sat in the outer room of the clinic and saw children as they left the medical team. This new method of survey collecting involved a 10minute vertical hike between houses, but it is gorgeous out here.

I really enjoyed going to the houses. It was nice to meet the mothers of the children I’ve been playing with. I think they appreciated that I bothered to come out to their homes. One of my favorite moms is the mother of two of the boys I’ve played soccer with. She is a spunky looking woman who was wearing a faded lime green trucker cap. She thought I was hilarious, but for once it was because I was cracking jokes rather than whatever it is about my person that inspires uncontrollable giggles in the teenage girls.

The boys told me they didn’t brush their teeth because it didn’t feel like it. I feigned shock and told then that they better brush their teeth or their mother would tell me they hadn’t and I wouldn’t let them use my soccer ball. Maybe you had to be there, but mom and I thought it was hilarious. She probably isn’t much older then me, and she handed me two pataste on the way out the door. With bare åhands. These things are like squash shaped cactus leaves. Their half-inch long spikes stabbed my hands, but I appreciated the gesture and tried to look like I wasn’t in pain as I put them in my bag. The next day the boys showed up looking for the soccer ball with the coffee spots scrubbed off their teeth.

Seeing the mothers at home was yet another confirmation to me that they work hard, and their work is under appreciated. In my survey I always ask what their mothers do for work. If the mother doesn’t work in the field, the respondent (mother, child, or father) almost invariably shakes their heads no and says they cook or that they work at home. I always tell them that what their mother does is work. It’s not that I don’t cook at home, but at home I cook what I’m going to eat for dinner once a week and then eat that all week. Breakfast and lunch are usually something from the refrigerator that has to do with milk, lunch meat, etc. None of these strategies work if you don’t have a refrigerator. Even if I apply the “post-slumber party cold pizza method” where I disregard the fact that my food has been sitting out, I still have to cook pretty much every day. Beans take forever, laundry is tricky in the rainy season, and there is really just no way to keep the floors clean with four kids tracking in the mud. They work hard.

I know there were a lot of very persistent and passionate women who brought about the elevation of women’s rights in the US, but I now realize that the dissemination of the microwave and the refrigerator probably provided the conditions necessary for the movement to succeed. As I work my way through medical school and think about what my family might look like someday, I’ve realized that the woman’s role in our society hasn’t changed so much as expanded. Not that I’m complaining - I want to be a doctor, and I want to be a mom who does all of usual mommy things (well maybe I could do without dishes and laundry). However, when I think about the usual “mommy things,” modern conveniences are key. What if there were no dishwasher or washing machine, no microwave or refrigerator, no vacuum cleaner or restaurants?

Día de la madre

May 9, 2011, Continued

When Regino and I got back to Las Mercedeswe were just in time for the Dia de la Madre celebration (Mother’s Day). I’ll add pictures to this when I get back to La Esperanza.

First, they paraded the Honduran flag into the community center and sang the national anthem. Then they said what I think was the national prayer. After the prayer, the games, dancing and singing began.

They kicked things off by inviting 4 mothers to the front and giving them each a toothpick. The teacher, who was master of ceremonies, instructed the mothers to put the toothpicks in their mouths and use them to pass a ring down the line without using their hands. The crowd went wild, and the mothers exchanged timid looks of surprise. It took a few tries for the first pair to pass the ring, but they eventually passed it down the row to howls of laughter and applause.

After this opening act, there were a series of dances and song from different age groups. Here’s a summary in pictures.

sleepy dance

mom song

preschoolers singing the elbow part of the "point to different parts of your body" song

action shot of the stamping foot song

shake your booty song

The fathers weren’t off the hook. Near the end of the show five dads were brought forward and given a balloon. The first dad was given a balloon to hold between his knees. They were instructed to dance to the music while passing the balloon down the row without using their hands. Theywere great sports, dancing wildly and passing the balloon back and forth until the music stopped.

Finally, the school aged children all came up and sang a song to the mothers. That ended the program, but not the celebration. The boys went out to the field to play some soccer while the smaller children and I played duck, duck, wolf (pato, pato, lobo). It’s the same as duck, duck, goose, except when the wolf catches the duck he or she pretends to eat the duck which is much more entertaining. I recall being a very conservative duck as a child. I would already be half way around the circle and back to my seat before I had even finished saying goose. These kids prefer to milk being the duck for all it’s worth. They run off across the field like a two person game of tag before returning to their seats by sliding into home base. You can also have two or three ducks at once.

pato running from lobo

I'm going to pretend like this is a precious "good-bye" pic to end the post, but really it's the best shot I could get of the monster attack faces I mentioned a few posts back :)