The Birth of a Boy

Tia Rosa was only twelve when she became the substitute mother of my dad. According to her, the events that lead to that point were foreseeable. The relationship between my grandparents was rocky from the start. They were mistaken if they thought that having a baby would bring them together. They realized this fallacy way before his actual birth. Their final separation was punctuated by my dad's birth; who they had a hard time developing any semblance of a relationship. Migration did not help matters or maybe movement was only a byproduct of people falling away of each other's reluctance for forgiveness, but in the end they tried.
My grandparents were both from the valley of Otoro (Jurla). Their meeting was not at a church or on a warm summer day, but at a bar in town despised for its ill repute. My grandmother worked at the bar and fondly remembered by many old timers in town who frequented the place. Juan Turcios (mentioned before) was one of them, but an example of a life turned around from addiction. He had turned to God years before my meeting him and spoke of those times regretfully. He had metioned how my grandmother was liked by many in his circle back then because pretty young women working in bars were uncommon and despised by the mostly Catholic community. She was brave to be seen there and worse to work there. You can see this culture wherever you go in Honduras. Hand picked pretty young women usually front banks, restaurants, maquiladoras, bars or superstores. It is common knowledge that older woman are discriminated. It becomes really difficult for them to find a job in tourism, garment and retail industries which churn the Honduran economy. I know that we can relate with some of this in the US, but there is no apologizing or hiding it here -its in your face (non sequitor).

My grandfather was a notorious skirt chaser. He was not known for being a hard worker but someone always after quick money. Daughters were warned to stay away from him - he only meant trouble. Somehow my grandmother did not get the memo and fell for him. Nobody approved their engagement and in an attempt to prove the town wrong a three-day marriage fest was organized. This is the first thing people remembered when they recalled my grandparents. A three day marriage party never seen in town before nor later.
"A celebration of drunkeness, loud music, and lots of food," said Tia Rosa.
"They were trying to prove something, which did not work because the relationship only lasted for six months," she continued.
My grandparents brief marriage stint was marked by many threats of separation. He complained that she could not cook or keep a house clean and she complained that he never brought money home to buy food. One day he asked her to pick up all her belongings and dragged her to her family's home. My great grandmother met them at her home where he said "here is your daughter, I have no use of her!" My dad was born after their separation.
Many witnessed this fiasco and it was not difficult for my grandmother to obtain a divorce - an uncommon separation in those days (out of an average of 20 annual marriages only 2 divorced in those times according to a local historian). Both of them knew that a baby was on its way and probably feared its coming more and more. My dad was born in a small adobe house (next to where I stayed during my initial visit to Otoro). Tia Rosa said that my grandfather never came around during my dad's childhood and that my grandmother had a habit of picking jobs that took her out of town leaving my dad in her care.
"At least she tried," Tia said. "He only came once when your dad was thought dead, his recovery was a miracle. After that he disappeared."

Throughtout the years that followed. My father did small errands for his dad, saw his mom once in a while and by the time he was sixteen took to the road. He came back to Otoro once in a while and slowly distanced himself away. I cannot blame him, the place probably only brought bad memories. My Tia Rosa always thought of him and once in a while people would tell of unexpected encounters. One day Otoro was proud for my dad. A picture appeared in national news. The first page of a newspaper showed him rescuing a nurse during the 1969 soccer war between Honduras and El Salvador.
We visited my grandad once and he came to see us in Choloma once. I only remember seeing my grandmother once when she was visiting from Australia. She lives there now and there is little communication with her. Tia Rosa said that my grandad felt guilty for all that happened. He changed and became a hardworking landowner. According to Tia he came often to sip coffee with her. In the end he did not have a real family but took care of a forgotten boy like his son.

Mari's Loss

Mari Tosta Medina (5th oldest "cousin" of mine) has felt the loss of her dad more than anyone else. Out of her eleven sibblings, she is the only one that works "la finca" (small farm). Throughout the years, Hernan Tosta Medina will hire workers to help on the 8 manzanas, but really relied on Mari to oversee its care. The two worked hand in hand planting, sowing, and mantaining the 14 acres. No one felt the effects of his love for the bottle more than Mari. His drinking habbits gradually took him away from farmwork until completely losing touch with the land he had inherited from his dad. His drinking became uncontrollable throughout the years and finally took him to the grave at the age of 73.
As she showed me around the farm, she continuously apologized for the unkept aspect of things. Vegetation had engulfed cash crops, zampopos (big ants that can carry you away in your sleep) were stripping the leaves away from many trees, cows were breaking in and eating their corn, and stagnant water was creating mosquitos. She explained that her dad had done a better job at keeping the place clean and productive. She doubted that the help she currently hires was doing what they were being paid to do. On top of things, because of recent criminal reports, Tia Rosa had limited her trips to the farm which lies in the outskirts of Otoro. She did not like the idea of a single woman catching rides from strangers to travel back and forth from the milpa. After her father's death, her daily trips ceased abruptly and are now limited to random days when her younger brother is around with the family's truck. She misses the daily work at the farm, and it bothers her to think that things are only getting worse.
That afternoon, as she led me around the makeshift fence of the farm, she pointed out the trees that lined the perimeter. She explained that it had taken her a span of 25 years to plant all the trees that now lined their territory. From the apparent age and sizes of the trees it was easy to see from where she had started.
I followed her closely as she walked nimbly from one corner of the milpa to another. She knew every inch of the land. She could have been blindfolded and would have still made her way around. I felt awkward at her brusqueness as she used her knife to cut things appart and then tossed these to me. Things were dirty and mostly crawling with ants. Some I tasted and some I hid in my backpack. She offered me a little bit of everything that was in our way as we scurried along. A little bit of sugar cane, a guayaba, nance fruit, oranges and weird stuff that looked like avocados that had grown hairs. She pointed at things that were not easily served such as corn husks, coffee beans and overhanging plantains. She also made me drink from a water fountain that poured from the earth out of nowhere. I of course hesistated at this final offering as I have done at any water source here in Honduras but did at her insistence and did not regret it. The water was whitish in color, cold and very tasty. It tasted like someone had poured a bucketful of sugar in the water - very sweet.

She asked about the States in a way one does when seeking affirmation on a set opinion. She of course confirmed through me that immigrating to the States was never a good idea and had never occured to her because one will certainly miss all this greenery we were currently sorrounded by. I agreed with her and confirmed her notions that fresh clean air, pitch black starry skies, and green virgin lands were disappearing and if not scarce as in the case of starry nights. I tried to boast about California's agricultural capacities to which she did not reply until later at night during dinner time. She did not speak about it but gave me a slice of pineapple and after expressing that this was the sweetest pineapple I've had in a long time, she asked "can California do that?" No response to that on my part, point made on her behalf. The case is that no one can argue with someone that offers you the fruit of their labor and land and its ten times better than something being chemically produced for mass consumption.
Mari is the only one out of my 12 "cousins" that was given a piece of the milpa. Her dad and Tia Rosa had confirmed in writing before his dying that the farm not be apportioned amongst everyone, but that Mari be the only one given one of the best located acres in the farm. My other cousins say that when Mari was barred from going alone to the farm she had exclaimed "you are ripping my heart appart!"
In defiance and as if to avoid daily disappointment she moved to Tegucigalpa and only comes to Otoro when the family truck is available. As was the case that afternoon when she showed me around. She mentioned that Tegus is not an ideal location for her to be, with all the smog and cramped space and that she spends most of her time watching tv at her brother's house. She misses the farm a lot. The piece of land that her dad had worked with her company most of his life until his death last year. It's because of this that out of everyone of the Tostas, Mari feels the loss of her dad the most.

Sins of our Fathers

"I heard you arrived."
"Yes Aunt. I got here a month ago."
"When are you coming to visit me?"
"School is starting next week, I'm a little tied up right now. Give me two weeks and I'll be in Rio Lindo."
"The Manzanarez have a habit of forgetting their family. You are not like them are you? I figured you guys were completely gone from the face of the earth."
"No ma'am, I'm certainly different. I'm the one calling aren't I?"
"That's right."

That was in August. It's now November, and I still had not made it to Rio Lindo to see Aunt Elsa. Maybe that's why I almost bit my tongue back then.

Desertion

"Tia" Rosa had obviously been waiting for me. I was guided by a "cousin" to where she sat. There were a couple of chairs in the middle of the patio area that they called their living room. This looked like where they did their tv watching and guest entertaining. I was told that people in Otoro will come out in hordes to greet a fellow family member that was coming from the States. Yes, they were there in the back waiting, but first I was going to be lectured by my Aunt. She was meticulously rocking her armchair back and forth and carefully eyeing me as I came in and introduced. There was a big picture of a man in the anteroom, but I supposed that he was no longer around and Tia Rosa was now in command of her family and this current situation. This was a woman that I did not know existed until I had to come to Honduras. My dad had mentioned that maybe I should get in touch with a lady in Honduras where I could stay once I got to Otoro. He had given me her phone number which I did not use until I was in Tegucigalpa. Through our brief conversations I had gathered that she was a serious woman short on words, the kind that say a lot with very little and when joked caught you off guard because you never expected it. Our first conversation was no small talk and divulged in our relationship. Eventhough she was not my real Aunt, in agreement and by her request I was to call her "Aunt" from then on . She had motioned for me to sit in front of her and was diving in.

"I feel abandoned by your father," she had begun.

I was not expecting this!

"I took care of him like my own son since I was just a girl."

"Twelve!" she punctuated.

"Then one one day when he had just turned sixteen he just got up, left, and never really came back. Just stopped by once in a while as he distanced himself more and more until completely disappearing."

I began wondering if I was being welcomed or was about to be told why I was being turned away. It seemed to me that this was not a conversation to be had between my Aunt and I.

"Tia," I began, trying to defend myself and instantly felt queazy using the family term. "I'm in Otoro because I want to learn about my roots. I feel that there are many things that I don't know that I should, and after here I'm leaving for San Pedro Sula to do the same with my Mom's side of the family." She quickly gathered that I was putting whatever regrets she had on my Dad and that I was feeling unwelcomed.

"Sure, this is not about you but about your Dad. But he called me last week after decades of no communication and now expects me to host his son. Put yourself in my shoes and see how that sounds."

What a welcome! I thought. I was fidgeting and sweating in my chair, and it was not because of the 120% humidity that blanketed the air. My body language said it all. I was seating at the edge of the chair and held a stance that said "I want out of here."

"Let's calm down," she said. "It's just something that I had to say."

"I know that you are tired from your trip. This room on the right will be yours. It was where your father was born. You came to the right place to learn about your family."

As she said this, she signaled to those waiting on the side to come along. I still had mixed feelings about this place where I was suppose to stay. I felt like I'd just been rebuked in front of everyone and it was now time to put that aside and get to know them. I could not put in order or remember everyone that was introduced. When I was alone in my small room, I took a piece of paper and began to draft a family tree. If I wanted to get to know my family history, I will have to learn their's first. They seemed to be a large family of about twelve. Mostly women and only two men. This was a strange situation, I did not know If should be angry at my dad or at my Tia for ambushing me. Or if I should just make up an excuse that will get me out of here. In any case, she seemed to be the type of woman that will not keep any secrets and will not hesitate to tell me everything about my Grandfather.

Dirt to Uncover

"You should tuck in your shirt," he said. "People might think that you are hiding something." Juan Turcios had a slow way of talking, and knew that he had my attention and will slowly roast me before giving me what I wanted.

I had already learned to wear my shirts tucked, but I did not expect to follow this nuisance on a school bus. In Honduras, every important store, bank, or business is well guarded. If a guy has his shirt sticking out he is searched and followed inside the building. Talk about high pressure shopping!

"Ramon Manzanarez was my grandfather," I said after verifying it through a series of questions that revealed this relationship. "Tell me more about him."

"He lived in Coclan for almost 40 years," he said. "He gave me jobs in his milpa where I helped grow corn, and when we were done with corn we planted beans and followed this cycle throughout the year."

Don Turcios was easily in his sixties. A man that probably worked the fields from a very young age. His face was wrinkled and cracked by years of sun exposure and his long sleeve shirt stained through and through by sweat and dirt.
"He was a good boss and paid reasonably," he continued. "He made his living through his crops which we took to Otoro on Tuesdays to sell at the weekly market."

"Did he have any family?" I probed.

"No," he said. "Not what I would call a real family," he explained.

"As far as I know he always had company at home."
"What kind?" I asked.
"Look," he said. "I'm Christian, and I always see the best in people. There is more to your grandfather but you will not hear it from me."

"All I can say is that there was always someone in his life."

He was being reluctant to say more and so I focused the conversation on my side of the family. "Did he ever mentioned that he had family in the States?" I continued.

"Never." he replied. The feeling was mutual on the other end I thought.
"But then again, I was not that close to him, " he said.

"The closest to a son he had was Pucho who was left under your grandfather's care by his mom. The understanding was that she was to come back for him, but never did. So he cared for him like a son."

He then proceeded to tell me about my grandad's later years. He told me that as my grandfather grew older they could not keep up with the crop cycle and so had decided to sell his milpa.
"He must have made a lot of money from it," he said. "There was probably no need for him to work after he sold the eight manzanas of milpa. But he was not the kind to remain idle and so acquired an easy job with Otoro's municipality and was the central park's caretaker until the day he died."

"I was told that he died quietly in his sleep from a heart attack. The lawyer that rented out a room to him found him lying on his bed. Someone had come from the municipality asking for him after he had not reported to work that morning."
"Considering the size of Otoro and Coclan, his funeral was well attended . Almost three hundred people came. He had become a money lender in his last years and was probably owed by many, but was always forgiving and never really behind anybody for owing him. Everybody loved him and knew him by Moncho or Monchito."

After a long pause he said the following, "There is more to your grandfather, but I will not get into details. Search for other people that knew him better. Ask for Monchito and not Ramon, I don't think anyone remembers him by that name."

I would have been disappointed if all that was needed to know about my grandfather was what Juan Turcios had offered. But I had not expected to uncover too much dirt about him.
We had arrive at a crossroads before Otoro which was Juan Turcio's stop. We said goodbye.

(I have been to Otoro's two burying grounds twice, and have yet to find my grandfather's tomb. So I still do not know the precise date of his death.)

30 minutes to Otoro

I met Juan Turcios on one of my trips to Otoro. I was traveling on a chicken bus (I don't know why they are called that, I'm yet to see a chicken in one of these buses) from Siguatepeque. On my previous rides, I'd noticed that people that did not want to share a seat, sat at the aisle end of the seats sending the message that the whole seat was taken. I always sit next to the window on these seats to look at the view as we move from central Honduras through green pine mountains and then down the humid valley where Otoro lies. So I did not notice when he sat next to me at one of the stops in between. He had gotten on in Coclan which lies just at the top of the mountain range that we have to go through.

On my very first ride to Otoro, I remember thinking while we were going through Coclan that we had arrived to Otoro. My misconception had its root from an early childhood memory where my family had visited my grandfather. We stayed somewhere similar to Coclan and so when I heard of Otoro, I had always imagined it on mountain tops somewhere in Honduras. I was extremely disappointed that Otoro was not at the top of these mountains - the view is magnificent! Panic took over my disappointment as we went down the mountain to Otoro. I had to ask the conductor twice to let me know when we were arriving to Otoro.
Juan Turcios had slid next to me quietly. By his gear, machete and water bottle in hand, I knew that he had been working in a milpa somewhere . His nervous dirty hand tap on his right knee of indicated willingness to speak. I made eye contact which he eagerly awaited. I was not surprised by what he said next: " You are not from around here are you?" "No" I replied. He was not satisfied by my short answer. My leaving an empty space next to my seat only indicated that I had wanted company and conversation down the mountain, so I was confusing him. "To La Esperanza?" he pushed ahead. "No, to Otoro" was my short answer again trying to dismiss him to watch the valley below that had suddenly appeared through the window. My last answer only fueled his curiosity. No one goes to Otoro unless they have family members I thought to myself, so I was prepared for the next line of questioning. "Who are you going to visit?" he asked. " The Tosta family" I replied offhandedly. "Oh, yes I know them very well," he noted and then said "But you don't look like a Tosta." I regretfully had to give up the view watching here, he had me cornered. "No, I'm a Manzanarez" I said. "Ah, yes. That's who you look like," he said in a very slow thoughtful manner. "I was a very good friend to a Manzanarez, his name was Ramon." He did not only had me cornered now but had completely captivated my attention. Forget the wonderful view I thought, he had just said that he knew my grandfather.

There are places in Honduras that feel forgotten. Otoro is one of them. It is a bustling town within itself but far away slower than any other town or city. It sits alone in a valley one hour away south from Siguatepeque (far enough in Honduras) and another hour away north of La Esperanza. To many it's only a middle point from here or there, and not worth the time. A mere inconvenience if your bus has to go through it. Streets are of dirt (except around central park) and adobe houses still abound. Modern houses, those made up of cement blocks, have been built behind old adobe fronts which still stand in testament of heritage. Some of these old adobe houses are caving in and crumbling, eaten away by seasonal weather which perennially works to erase the town's history. On my arrival to Honduras, I had many options of where to stay. I was attracted to Otoro because that was where my father was from and I had every intent on learning about my paternal side of the family. A history that I felt was never really explained to me. I knew that my grandfather had died two years ago, and when I learned this I could only shrug my shoulder and go "Okay, so?" It was someone who I did not know much about, and who not much was said about. It was like a stranger had died, and I did not care about him. This had not bothered me then, but had continually bugged me after. I knew that my reaction should be different and if not then explained. And so my unresolved emotion had driven me to Otoro.

Juan Turcios had my attention, and there were only about thirty minutes left to Otoro....

Finally settling down

I've moved from my location near school. I'm now situated in central Siguatepeque. I decided to move after a few complications and considerations, and in the end opted for a central busy location. Most things are a walking distance from here. There is a very popular grocery store nearby that closes until nine PM, it offers breakfast, lunch and dinner. I use to eat these three courses there once but no longer need to. I have added a small electric stove to my growing collection of necessary items. I cook beans on a weekly basis (these only need daily boiling to keep them going). I don't have a refrigerator, so everything I buy is in small doses. A quarter pound of sour cream, quarter pound of bathtub cheese, small packages of condiments (for beans cooking), one apple or other fruit a day, small packages of tortillas, an unhealthy snack, and five-gallons containers of drinking water every now and then.
Refrigeration was an issue. Whenever I had extra cheese or sourcream, I'll put these in small plastic bags and sink them to the bottom of my clothes washing water tank. Most residences here come equipped with cement water tanks where washing is done (see pic). Siguatepeque is known for its cool weather. The whole country of Honduras might be at 120 degree swealtering humid heat on a given day, while we enjoy very cool 70 degrees weather here. So if there is one thing that's cold - it's water. My water thank made for a great coolant, but things began getting into my sourcream and bathtub cheese. So I bought a small cooler and now buy small bags of ice to keep things cold when necessary. I don't have to compete with mosquito larvae anymore.
I will never get use to cold showers. I tried. In the end I bought a bucket which I fill every morning before going to work and leave it in the sun to warm. Problem solved. Ahhhh...warm showers at night. Warm water is a luxury here, so are washing machines and dryers. Internet connection is another luxury, one which I now have. So I will be writing more often.
September was a patriotic month. We were asked to sing Hondura's national anthem every morning before beginning our 7AM classes. I did not know my country's national anthem and so had to learn it on the go. I now know two of the eight verses, good enough for most patriotic ocassions. We marched on independence day (9/15) through Siguatepeque's main streets. It was a personal moment of pride for me. I always wondered what it would be to live among one's fellow countryfolk and here I am, learning the national symbols, anthem, heroes and marching on Independence Day.
Teaching was challengin at first, but I have adapted to the schedule and expectations. We mostly use US based books and have found myself reading about Pasadena's Rose Parade in my reading classes. Of course, this only makes me think of home and how I long to get back. At the same time, as I become attached to these kids, I can only wonder if I'm defrauding them since I might just leave before the school year is over. I will have to deal with that when the time comes.

Living in Siguatepeque

I´m currently living in Siguatepeque. It´s a town (city for Hondurans) between Tegucigalpa and San Pedro. Very convenient if I ever need to go either direction. I can also travel back to Jesus de Otoro, which is only one hour away from here. I´m currently a week into teaching. Kids are great here. Teachers are greately respected by all (students and society). Whenever you say you are a teacher, people look up to you. Classes are kept small on purpose. The most I´ve had in a class is 16. I´m teaching 6, 7, 8 and 9th grade. Everytime classes start, I´m greeted with a good morning or afternoon and when they leave most will come up and give good comments that encourage.
I had to say goodbye to my family in Jesus de Otoro because travelling between there and Sigua would has been a torture. Chicken buses are not convenient and tend to run late. On my first days that I tried travelling from Otoro to work, one bus broke down and another was raided by traffic cops. I arrived late to work on both instances. I now live a five minute walk from school. I rent a house that goes for 2000Lp and hope to find someone from the school to split the rent. So its a big house and I don´t have much yet. The landlady kindly loaned me a bed, a coffee maker, two plates, a fork and spoon and a small plastic round table with four accompanying chairs. Little by little things are being added, and soon I will have much needed things.
Yesterday, a white and brown kitten came by my backyard. He seemed lost and disoriented. So we played and I gave him something to eat. Because of safety reasons, I tend to do my shopping during the day, I needed to buy beans and so I had to dismiss him before nightfall. Maybe he will come by tonight.
I have a lot to blog about. So expect a couple of stories about my relatives in Otoro. One is from my cousin who loves agriculture but family tradition and loss has left her living in the city of Tegucigalpa, and the other is about my grandfather who died about two years ago and who I did not get to know but do so now through others....

Here is a flower from Siguatepeque. Its a sunflower (girasol). It reminds us that its the same sun that rises and sets over all of us wherever we are...thanks for your comments...

Teaching in Honduras

I knew that I needed a job to best use my time here in Honduras. A job makes you meet new people, go places, and of course get paid. So while travelling in Tegus, I ripped out a job announcement to teach at a bilingual school in Siguatepeque. Today, I have the job with increasing responsibilities of a full time teacher. I do not have a home room or a classroom, but work in a supportive role for other teachers. I will be teaching 6th grade spelling, 7th grade reading, 7th grade science, and 8th grade english. The school staffs about thirty teachers, assigns aids to those teaching and educates about 400 students. Ratio is said to be at 20 or less for each teacher, and there are not stringent California Standardized evaluations. While I imagine that California State teachers will be coming back to staff cuts, and school closure discussions in late August, here we discuss how to better serve students and how to team up as teachers.
I travel between Siguatepeque (Sigua) and Otoro everyday. Its only a 20 mile trip, but its 20 miles in Honduras. The trip is a little over an hour by bus, and then another 5 minutes by taxi. Chicken buses tend to be unreliable (I´ve yet to see a chicken in these buses). Last week, my morning commute was disrupted by mechanical problems, so we had to get out and wait for another bus halfway to work. This morning, our bus was raided by Honduran police. They had two people in mind, so when ten of them boarded our bus fully armed and weapons out at my stop, they went straight to the back and apprehended them. The bus was stopped and searched but I did not stick around because I was already late for work...again. I travelled on the same bus on the way home and was told by the driver and conductor that they were still in shock by what happened. I really need to stay in Sigua.
So I went appartment hunting after work today. Found one for 950Lp ($47), but did not like its neighborhood or set up. Found another for 2,100 ($110) which I really like because of its central location and safety features, but will have to wait to hear from the appartment manager as he struggles with its current tenant. Interestingly, this appartment is next to a gun store where, according to the manager, guns are constantly tested.
As I continue living here in Honduras, my fear for crime dwindles. I expected this to happen, since its exactly what happens to most newcomers that move into inner cities in the United States. Men with guns everywhere no longer concern me. I am friendlier with taxi drivers. I speak freely with other bus travellers and no longer feel alien in my sorroundings. I continue to be on alert everywhere I go but with much less paranoia.

The Latest

Hi Mish:
All is well. The interview(s) have been prosperous. The name of the bilingual school where I´m going to work is Alba in Siguatepeque. I will start my first work day tomorrow at 8am. Because I´m not a licensed teacher neither here or there (apparently you - a certified teacher can be hired here), I was being considered for an opening as a technology assistant at first. On my second interview, I was being considered for the job they advertised as a Library teacher, and now I have a hybrid job as a technology/library assistant. The pay is whooping 5,000 Lempiras!!!!!! ( only about $250) a month. My cousins say to expect more and that I should ask tomorrow before signing a contract. I´m only glad to actually start a routine and do something similar to what I was doing before coming here. You will love Siguatepeque when you visit during Christmas ;) I only want the job just because it´s in Siguatepeque. We went by it on our way between San Pedro Sula and Tegus. The weather is great, rolling mountains and a healthy level of criminal activity. I´m considering renting an appartment there, but will wait before planting the idea to my cousins, they will definitely be against it. I just have to prove to them that I´m now grown up and should be let go free into the Honduran world. They´ve been very nice, caring and protective.
I´ve been on pulperia duty all this time and have learned the prices of different products. Kids are funny, here they call me "Miissssterr OK," because of my tendency of saying OK after taking care of them at the store. Apparently everyone says "Cheque" and not OK. People say that they wouldn´t doubt that I was Honduran by looks, but that my spanish sounds strange and not Honduran. I found this funny because in California, I was told that my spanish was Honduran but that I looked Mexican or Filipino.
At first, I was disappointed that I would not get to watch the Olympics. I´m now used to the idea and only follow highlight reports in the newspapers here. It looks like China is giving USA a run for the lead in medals count. Similarly I´ve began to distance myself from the idea of watching usual shows we watched at home. I missed them at first, but dont need them anymore. I only miss the Daily Show with John Stewart. I definitely will miss the political campaing and its elections this November. Everyone here sees Obama as the one that should take it.
I´m in the process of getting my Honduran ID which will give me the right to select a runner- up for the presidency in November. I still don´t get the parties (Nacional and Liberal) but, I´m asking around and will not fall for the reasoning that one is better because its blue and so is the Honduran flag.
Speaking of United States in the news here, last week´s report of the killing of a Honduran in Texas was the rage. The Honduran (Chi) was given the capital sentence for killing someone in a robbery in 2001. As you know, Honduras does not have a capital punishment and so killing one of its citizens in this manner is seen as not respecting this country´s penal and cultural system. After his much publicized death, a general statement was made that all Americans in Honduras be on the alert and to not wander out in the big cities. Gangs in prisons, threatened to kill any American in custody (prisoners are all thrown in a mix here and left to wander in their prisons). My cousins were a little excited about this and supported the idea. I had to tell them a little bit about American penal system, and that I thought that capital punishment be abolished because of many mistakes made where many innocent people have been killed.
Another clarification that I find myself making over and over is that not all Americans are blond, blue eyed and white. I think that this misconception comes from United States media televised here where lead actors, newscasters, politicians, soldiers tend to be blue eyed, blond and white. Also, Americans that tend to visit these parts of Honduras as tourists, ministers, aid workers etc., tend to be blue eyed, white and blond. Everyone else that does not fit this description is not a "Gringo."
I made that mistake when I first arrived in the US. At first I thought that I was going to see only Gringos everywhere. To my surprise, months will pass before I saw a Gringo in the hood (Hello Larry). Everyone spoke like a Gringo but looked Mexican or Black, and I expected that Blacks speak like those at home (Belize), but they never did. So, I can understand when people here make that same mistake, but at the same time clarify that Americans come in many colors and cultures. I don´t think that they have accepted my explanations, so for the moment blue-eyed, blond and white Gringos are dammed around these parts. However, as this news dies down this sentiment quickly dissipates.
My cousins tend to be very open with me about their opinions and I find that reassuring because its where real conversations occur. I´m reminded over and over that these are people that have stayed behind while a lot of their family members (including us) and friends have left in pursuit of the American dream. They have witnessed the disintegration of families as moms and dads disappear leaving kids behind. Or lovers forgetting about their sweethearts once they establish themselves in the States. They tend to have a distaste for what is American and what comes from it. They tend to be pro Chaves, pro Alba (Bolivian Trade agreement) and Viva Che!! Its fun beeing with them, because in the end when a love one sends something from capitalist Pennsylvannia or LA, everyone gets excited and happy. Maybe they are glad that someone is thinking about them.
I`m only rambling now Mish. I`m still trying to get used to spanish keyboards, and slow internet speeds. Give Jag a big fat rub, and lets see how I can get those National Geographies donated to Alba here...
Remember that we are one hour ahead, so its ok to call at 10PM (your time)...lets save the 300 for internet for later or for a nice appartment in Siguatepeque. Rent only goes for 750Lp a month ($40)....
P.S. Who won in Last Comic Standing. Let me guess - her?

LA TIMES July 22, 2008

Immigration law means a borderline existence for U.S. wife of Mexican

http://www.latimes.com/news/local/immigration/la-me-greencard22-2008jul22,0,707254.story


Los Angeles Times

By Anna Gorman, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
July 22, 2008

Stuck in Tijuana traffic, Heather Suarez fixes her strawberry blond hair, applies her makeup and listens to country music on the car radio. This morning, she sings along.

Life ain't always beautiful You think you're on your way And it's just a dead end road at the end of the day. But the struggles make you wise And happiness has its own way of takin' its sweet time.

For Heather, 29, every day is a struggle. The native of rural Kentucky didn't know how drastically her life would change after she fell in love and married Evaristo Suarez, an illegal immigrant.

The couple assumed that Evaristo, 30, would be eligible for a green card once they got married and that they would raise their family near her hometown. But because he had crossed into the United States illegally more than once, he was denied a visa and must wait 10 years before reapplying to return legally.

So six months ago, Heather and their three young children moved from Kentucky to Tijuana to reunite with Evaristo, who had been living in Mexico since being denied his visa in 2006.

"Even though everybody said all these bad things about Tijuana, Tijuana was my dream to have my family back together again," she said.

But now, Heather said, 2016 seems a long time away.

During her two-hour commute across the border to work in San Diego, she passes women selling pan dulce and tamales. She smells the exhaust seeping through the windows. She checks the radio traffic report. But her thoughts always return to the family's decision to live south of the border. Was it the best choice for her children?

She fears the escalating drug wars and violence in Tijuana -- the kidnappings, slayings and shootouts. She wonders about the quality of education her children will receive in Mexican schools. She thinks about whether her family will have enough money to pay for rent, food and gas.

"Our lives have been completely flipped upside down," Heather said. "I am still torn, kind of living in limbo, not really knowing what is the right thing to do for my kids. I want them to be with their father, of course, but I want them to have a good education too."

It is "painfully common" for illegal immigrants to think they are going back to Mexico for a quick trip to get a visa but then realize they are stuck there for 10 years, said San Diego immigration attorney Kathrin Mautino. Sometimes, she said, they will cross illegally again and risk being caught and facing even harsher penalties.

But if immigrants want to follow the law, families -- often including U.S. spouses and children -- are left with two difficult choices: Live apart or move to Mexico. Mautino said she knows of a few U.S. citizen spouses who have made the same decision as Heather Suarez, but more choose not to move because of concerns about safety, education, medical care or finances.

"If they want to do things right under the law as it exists today, this is what they have to do," Mautino said. "If they do sneak back into the country and they are successful, they are sentenced to life in the shadows."

Heather and Evaristo met in Kentucky through a friend years ago. At the time, she spoke little Spanish and he spoke little English. Using a Spanish-English dictionary to help them communicate, he told her about growing up on a ranch in Mexico with eight siblings. She told him about her childhood, much of it clouded by an alcoholic father.

"I felt such a strong connection with him," she said. "He genuinely wanted to take care of me."

On Christmas Eve 2002, Evaristo asked Heather's parents for her hand. They married early the next year.

At first, Evaristo didn't want his wife to petition for his green card because he didn't want her family to think he was marrying her for immigration papers. But she insisted, saying that she wanted him to be able to earn better wages and more respect.

"I wanted it to be easier for him," she said. "I didn't want him to have to struggle and feel that he didn't have rights."

Once she learned they would have to travel to Ciudad Juarez for Evaristo's visa interview, she spent months planning and preparing. She consulted attorneys and researched what paperwork they would need. She packed a black rolling suitcase full of documents -- wedding photos, rent receipts, tax returns and letters of support.

Heather thought they would have to prove only that their marriage was legitimate.

"We can pass that easy, flying colors," she said. "Apparently that was not the case."

When the couple arrived at the consulate on June 1, 2006, Heather was turned away at the door and told to wait across the street with their children. She got scared. She overheard other spouses talk about cases being denied.

When Evaristo finally emerged, he was in a daze.

"I didn't get it," he said, handing her a paper with two check marks showing that his visa had been denied. "Why?" she asked, stunned.

Because U.S. immigration records showed that he had illegally entered the country more than once, he was ineligible. He would have to wait 10 years before he could apply to reenter.

Back at the hotel, Heather collapsed on the floor in tears.

"They were taking my whole life, all my dreams, right there," she said. "All we wanted to do was to make it right and to come out of hiding. . . . It is like we are being punished for doing the right thing."

The morning after, the couple made a plan. Evaristo would take a bus to his parents' house in Sinaloa and find construction work. Heather would drive home to Kentucky with the children and return to her accounting job. Both would try to find a workable solution.

Heather wrote letters to members of Congress, to President Bush, to Oprah Winfrey, pleading for help. She talked to attorneys. She chatted online with women in similar situations. No one gave her any reason to hope.

So she changed her strategy. They each would save money and build a small concrete house on his parents' land in Sinaloa and they would live there together.

Heather bought a van and packed her and her children's lives in the back: clothes, toys, microwave, television, computer, air conditioner. On her way, she hit a blizzard, the car overheated and the engine failed. Heather spent the rest of her savings, $2,200, on another car, and they drove into Mexico.

"We were back together," she said. "I had done what I needed to do. We were on our way."

Evaristo was thrilled to see his wife and children again, but he felt guilty. He fled Mexico when he was 16 to search for a better life. Now, his U.S.-born children would be living in poverty and attending Mexican schools.

"They are going to live the same life I lived," he said. "What opportunities are they going to have?"

While in Sinaloa, Evaristo earned about $90 a week working in construction, enough to buy food, milk and diapers but not much else. Heather washed their clothes on a washboard and helped her in-laws around the ranch with the chickens and the cleaning. But a few months later, Evaristo's job ended. He couldn't find more work, so he headed to Chihuahua to follow a lead on another job.

Heather didn't want to stay in Sinaloa without her husband, so reluctantly she drove back to Kentucky with the children. She moved in with her sister and got her accounting job back. She started saving again, this time for an attorney.

But it didn't help.

"Things are starting to sink in . . . that the bar is for 10 years and that there is nothing that can be done about it," she said.

That was when she and Evaristo decided to move to Tijuana. It was their chance, she believed, to be together while they looked for another solution. They all met there in November. By January, Heather was working in accounting at Petco in San Diego. Evaristo looked for work too, but it paid much less. They didn't have child care so they decided Evaristo would watch the children and take the oldest, Nicolas, to school.

Having worked all his life, Evaristo said he feels bad that Heather is supporting the family. He is embarrassed what neighbors must think of him when he is at the grocery store or the park during the day. "She's my wife. They're my babies," he said. "I want to take care of them the best I can. . . . I feel like I am not doing my job."



A few minutes after 5 on a Tuesday night, Heather walked out of the sleek Petco building in San Diego and climbed into her 1994 Oldsmobile.

"I'm just going to stop and get some gas," she said to her husband over a two-way radio. "I love you and I'll see you in a little bit."

More than an hour and a half later, Heather crossed back into Tijuana, walked up the concrete steps into her apartment past a clothesline of drying laundry and greeted her children one by one. Sadie, 4, and Diego, 3, were watching a SpongeBob cartoon in Spanish. Nicolas, 9, was crouching over his math book.

"Did you do your homework?" Heather asked Nicolas.

"I don't have school tomorrow," he said. "I don't have school till June."

"That is the first I'm hearing of it," she said to Evaristo.

Evaristo told his wife that Nicolas' classes were canceled for the rest of the week. The teacher sent home a note, but it didn't give a clear explanation. Heather doesn't understand how a school can just close for three days or why her son attends classes only four hours a day.

Heather wants Nicolas and his siblings to attend school in San Diego, but she can't establish residency there to get him enrolled. And they can't afford two households on just her income.

After dinner, the family walked down the street to a small park surrounded by a chain-link fence. Sadie shrieked when Heather, still wearing her nice slacks and high heels, pushed her on a rusty swing. Nicolas later raced his siblings across the playground.

In the sandbox, Diego made a pile of sand. "I'm making a castle," he said proudly to his mother.

When the family first arrived in Tijuana, they looked for apartments in nearby neighborhoods, including one where 13 people were killed in a shootout in April.

They settled on a $300-per-month place in east Tijuana, and until Heather found work, they slept on makeshift mattresses made of clothes. Their landlord gave them a refrigerator, a stove and a table. They recently bought a TV, but they don't turn on the news while the children are awake.

They rarely venture into central Tijuana, limiting their outings to the playground and the local Wal-Mart.

"I'm worried for their safety, for my safety, even for my husband's safety," Heather said.

Here, just a block from their apartment, Heather said she feels comfortable -- at least until night. That's when the sirens start and fear sets in.

Just after 8 p.m., Heather noticed the sunlight fading.

"It's time to go. Come on, it's getting dark," she said, as the family walked home.

Pictures from Jesus de Otoro

Taking advantage of good connection to upload pics:

Loros (Parrots) Macaws

Furries (Gatos)

Pulperia Duty

* 19 Lempiras (Lp) for $1(USD)

Picture Translation:
1 lb of sugar = 7Lp (35 cents US)
1 lb of beans = 15 Lp (75 cents)
1lb of rice = 12 Lp (60 cents)
1lb of spaguetti = 12Lp

I´m currently on pulperia (grocery store) duty. A little kid tried to take advantage of my ignorance of Honduran prices. He asked for one egg and I didn´t know the price and so I asked him. He answered ¨Un Lempira.¨ I double checked out back and was told that one egg went for 3Lp. The kid acted surprised and said he had to double check with mom. He came back and willingly gave up the money. I had a constant line of kids buying candy on another day. It turned out that I was selling sweets for half price and word had gotten around.
This pulperia is not too big, so I will quickly learn its products and prices. People here are not too impatient and wait as I run back and forth asking for prices. I make sure that they dont´t yell out !!VENDAME¡¡ I´m sure that they miss it.
My first job when I arrived in the US (96) was as a grocery store clerk. This was a high pressure job for me because I knew zero of what I was selling. I had to quickly learn about food stamps, credit cards, checks and the monetary system. I didn`t know what a pacifier was, or zig-zag paper for example. I was completely lost in the produce department. I didn´t know the different types of apples, tomatoes, lettuce or potatoes. Belize only carried one of each and apples were Christmas time luxury (I still relate apples with Christmas). Just picture the long frustrated lines that will form at my register as I struggle to name and price different items. Looking back, I think that this was a great way to begin immersing in the United States. It is also a good way to start learning about Honduras.

!! VENDAME" (Sell me something)

!!VÉNDAME!! (Sell me something), is the daily call at the house where I´m staying. My cousins have stores at both ends of the layout, my room lies in between. My cousin on the right runs a pulperia (small grocery store) and my cousin on the left runs a small office supplies store. Both spend time talking or eating in the back outdoors kitchen. Customers yell out !!VENDAME!! whenever they seek service and no one is at their respective posts.
At first, I thought that service was demanded immediately. I wanted to help and relayed the message. My cousins took their time to finish whatever they were doing and then took care of their customers. This happened a few times before I learned that customers were used to waiting. They have patience to stand there and yell for minutes.
Kids make a game of it. They sing it or shout it out in different voices. Adults bang the iron door as they shout out the command. Come to think of it, it´s more a request for attention than a command. I´m getting use to their incessant calls for service and have began ignoring them. I figured that if the store owners did not rush to people´s call, then why should I?
I take it that since I come from a high preassure environment where everyone is always on the go, and where customer service is something immediate, I expect similar behavior here. It´s not so. Jesus de Otoro is much, much slower. The pace of life here is a crawl in comparison to LA. People take their time for everything, and so understand when others make them wait. I´m usually frustrated with bank service here, which can be a long time, but I have to tell myself to be patient.

P.S. Internet connection is also slow, it may have nothing to do with culture but with
old computers and slow connections....it takes me an hour to upload my youtube
videos which you can watch on this page...

You can Never go home

CHOLOMA

If there is a place I should remember in Honduras it´s Choloma. This is where I spent most of my childhood. On our way to Puerto Cortes I asked my aunt to take me there. When we arrived, we could not figure out the complicated hilly streets that lead to the house where my family lived, and so had to see the house from a distance. It seemed like one of the best in the area with a potential great view of the valley below where we stood. My memories of the place were equally remote. I do remember watching snakes loose their grip on the hillside and go tumbling down. I remember following my big sister to a school below, and walking next to a big river and over the bridge where we currently stood. The town is now heavily populated and vibrant caused by maquiladoras (garment factories) built in the sorrounding areas. The river is a small trickle filled with dirty sewage water. We did not say much, and after a couple of minutes of silence drove on.

Heart of Honduras

I am currently in Jesus de Otoro. If you look at a map of Honduras, just point to the middle and you are very close. It´s high ground. I really like it here just because I can now move around freely. Something very funny happened to us: we ended up disliking the city we were told we would love (San Pedro Sula) and really liking Tegucigalpa where we hoped not to go back. We were actually grinning from ear to ear when we came back to Tegus. The heat is swealtering in San Pedro, its like beeing in a dry sauna, and nightly gun shots to top it all. My aunt said that the vultures would indicate where the bodies were. Misha and I probably lost a few pounds by just sitting around in the heat and then gained them again by inhaling white dust (not exactly what your are thinking) that makes up the busy street infront of my aunt´s house. I not only liked Tegus because of its cool weather but because I can now find my way around there. I promised my dad´s family to stop by in Otoro and so here I am. It´s a very small town with cobble stone streets. Everybody seems to know each other- very quaint.

I said good-by to my love yesterday. Very sad. We have never been apart for what we are scheduled for, I hope to find a job soon to make time fly. The country seems to be in a state of learning english and so english teachers are needed.....

Brief Travel Log

July 24: Left Tegucigalpa for San Pedro Sula

July 24 to 28: Stayed in San Pedro Sula and visited Puerto Cortes.

July 29: Came back to Tegucigalpa to see my love go home. Bittersweet return to the Capital. Will explain later.

July 29: Arrived in Jesus de Otoro (middle of Honduras).....

Will write about my trip later...

Leaving Tegucigalpa

Today we leave Tegucigalpa (Tegus). The first city I saw in Honduras. We were only here for immigration formalities, and now that we are finished we leave for San Pedro Sula. Tegus has left a lasting impression. Our business was mostly at the embassy so that is where I met most people. It`s not easy to get a US visa here. Of course, all of us have high hopes of leaving the country. I remember many leaving the embassy with disappointment. I was told that you pay one hundred dollars to get an appointment, not an easy thing for your normal Honduran. You can try again if denied, but will have to pay again and wait for six months or a year.
I noticed many wearing United States clothing as we walked the city or visited points of interest. What I mean by this is a lot of people wore LA Dodgers baseball caps or t-shirts, actually more sportswear from the east (NY), Disneyland shirts, Lakers, or other American specific brands. It is as if many are already in the United States by proxy. Not all want to go to the US. Like the taxi driver who had lived in the US legally, and could go back anytime but choses not to because he sees no possibility of a normal life there. Or my cousin (university student) who got a visa after a hunch to just show up and apply for one but has not used it. It can also be that many have relatives in the US and they send them things that are location specific which they wear. But you can certainly see the American connection.
Speaking of United States` influence, you can find any American restaurants and fast food here. I was not ready for this. There is BK, KFC, DKD, Mickey D`s, Churchies, Subway, and the list goes on and on. According to good information there was once an IN n OUT here!! I find this hard to believe. But you name it and you have it here. I visited two malls that were exact replicas of some back home.
Going around the city was exciting. I reminded myself of my cat who is very eager to go outside but once outside freezes in surprise of being outside and then rushes back inside our house. And he does this over and over. Yeah, that`s how it was. You become braver and braver. I began by not wanting to leave the hotel but eager to visit the city. Then I walked out to the street infront of the hotel, then a block and rushed back. Taxis got me far away from the hotel, but I went from the hotel door to into a taxi and out at to the door at the other location. No real street walking for me, at least not until my cousins arrived. They took me places. Erick, Danny and Fer were great guides. Fer was street wise, Danny gave us the political scoop of things and Erick drove us to places of interest he thought we could not miss while here in Tegus. Out of all drivers that took us places here, he was the best. Here you have to show your intentions and demand attention as you drive around and everybody knew when we were coming. Even San Pedranos told me that they would never drive in this capital.
I`m just rambling now. We are leaving for San Pedro soon. Tegus I will certainly see you again, thanks for the baptismal by fire....

Tegucigalpa Pics

Tegus Central Park

Fer y Erick - good people

Banda Cristiana y Luisito

Estatua de Morazan y la Catedral en el Parque Central

Casa en el parque Nacional y el El Picacho

US Embassy Interview

Possible Interview question: What do you like most about your wife? How about the patience to wait more than seven hours at a lobby where we were the first ones to come in and the last ones to get out. Better yet, wait six years to get where we are now. Or, the bravery of not crying after being told that her spouse is staying behind in Honduras for six to eight months. The love to stick by her husband as life gives them a curveball and the usual path of graduating-finding a job-getting married-and having kids is interrupted by asking for her husband in a foreing country. The faithfullness of seeing this process till the end, or the self control to not scream from the top of a mountain in frustration as we are given one more task.... All in all its her caring and gentleness that attracted me to her in the first place....

P.S. Lets just say that we overprepared, the interview itself lasted about five minutes where we asked most of the questions The interviewer was very nice and made every effort to make us feel comfortable. The next step is submitting a waiver that will allow me to go back home. We have to go to the office of the Department Homeland Security here in Tegucigalpa to finish this process..We`ll be heading out to San Pedro Sula very soon....

This is the Day

Today is the day, its what we are here for. We are leaving to the US Embassy very soon, and so wish us the best. Michele and I roamed the city yesterday and will post pics later. But today is all about the interview. We have done all we can to prepare and expect to be ready. Thanks for your prayers and words of encouragement.

Valle de Angeles

Misha finally arrived yesterday and I was able to meet my cousins here in Tegucigalpa. So I went from being locked up in the hotel to finally seeing a lot of Tegucigalpa. They have been taking me many places including their neighborhoods. Ever seen City of God? It`s something like that. They took me to Valle de Angeles. The pic above is the central church in the small town. We have many plans for today....

Ever since I had left Honduras at a young age, I had always wondered what it would be to live among my own countryfolk. Every now and then when I met someone from Honduras in California, we were so glad to talk and it was like we had known each other for a long time. So in coming to Honduras I was very eager to meet people. I was ready to go outside for a walk, take pictures here and there etc. Unfortunately I`ve been told by everybody to be careful in Tegucigalpa. I`ve been told that crime has been rampant and so to avoid walking anywhere. So my first two days in the Honduran capital have been spent cooped up in the hotel. Besides running around in taxis I have not seen much of the city or its people, but more of its traffic. Streets are small and winding (the capital is located among rolling hills and mountains), cars are mostly asian ( a lot of mitsubishis). Interestingly what has captured my attention has been the amount of overhead electrical wires. They are many electrical or telecommunication wires running that it seems that some poles could topple under their weight. They seem heavy and never-ending. Buildings that have some type of value (hotels, stores, banks) have armed guards posted outside. These guys are ARMED. They carry shotguns or assault weapons and swing them out in the open. I guess they do this to intimidate and to throw off anybody with bad ideas. Again, all of this is what I see in passing as I pass by in taxis. There is much you miss as you fly by. I can`t wait till my cousins come over. I get to go places with them...

So I am finally here. 12 hours and a half of travel. First of all, after the cancellation of my flight last night, they did not give me proper tickets so I had to explain myself everytime at security checkpoints, immigration, flight boarding etc. So a trip with one stop turned out to be a trip with three stops. From LAX to Guatemala City to San Salvador and then Tegucigalpa. I enjoyed being in the Guatemala airport mostly. It was recently built and everybody was proud of it. I waited for four hours and so had time to look around. Right infront of the airport was Guatemala City, and (unfortunately I did not learn this until after take off) right behind it you could see a big mountain that looked like a volcano. I will have to find out its name. I met a few people while travelling. There was Doctor Alex who was returning to Honduras from Cuba. I met him on my way to Tegucigalpa from El Salvador. I asked about Cuba and he was more than willing to share his experiences with me. He is finishing his doctorate and will practice in Panama shortly. I also met Jeff who was coming from Australia and landing in Guatemala City to teach Guatemalans on proper care of horses and cattle. So, I am finally here in Tegucigalpa. Its too late to see much so I cannot give any impressions yet. The view is great from the hotel. I will have to see tomorrow what is infront of me

Travelling to Honduras

I will be travelling soon to Honduras. I was seven when we left for Belize, so I don't remember much. Just cows, walking over a bridge and a few scenes here and there probably impressed upon me by my parents and sisters. I remember other things and places we visited mostly in the north (Puerto Cortes) while on our way to Belize. To tell you the truth, I rather be in Belize than in Honduras if given the choice. But the official statement is " a wait of three to six months." I want to keep you posted of my travel to Honduras. I will be interesting, since I find myself searching sites about Honduras as any tourist might. I plan to take pictures as I go along and visit old acquaintances.