Last week was a very exciting week for us in Honduras! Not only was Mr. Mike in town (three cheers for Mike! Hip, Hip, Hooray!!!), but we had our first parent visitor! And that parent visitor happened to be no one other than my mom! I cannot tell you how wonderful it felt to have my mom down here with me, seeing my classroom, meeting my kids, and conocer-ing a Honduras. (You’ll have to excuse me … at this point we’re all speaking in some sort of twisted Spanish / English dialect that only survives amongst our team of 18 members).
At 12:30 p.m. on Wednesday, October 26th, my mom walked through the porton at the San Jeronimo Bilingual School to cheers and hugs coming from all my little 4th graders. It was such relief to see her arrive safe and in one piece considering her taxi’s car kept dying on her way to the school (welcome to the Hondu!).
Her visit was great – not just for me, but for my students as well. They had been anticipating her visit for weeks, and all of that waiting had finally paid off! As some of you may or may not know, my mom is a photographer, so I asked if she could guest-lecture a class and teach my kids a little somethin-somethin about photography. It was a real treat for my students, who love photographs. She taught them all about good photos, how light can create shadows, and how composition functions within images. She also brought down her camera and got some quality shots at school.
The most exciting and unique experience of my mom’s trip occurred when one of my sweet little boys invited my mom and me over to dinner one night. His mom helped us prepare an authentic Honduran meal made and gave us a crash course in making tortillas! We made and ate dinner by their outdoor chiminea, enjoying our baleadas (the signature meal of Honduras) and the good conversation for hours. My mom doesn’t speak much Spanish, but thankfully I was there to facilitate conversation and correct her on a few things (like when she accidentally said she was married to a 15-year-old … to her credit, however, cincuenta and quince are kind of similar). It was a great evening, and my mom got to see what life is really like in Honduras: the people may not have much, but they have each other – and happiness.
After school was over on Friday, my mom and I headed to La Ceiba for the weekend. There, we stayed in this BEAUTIFUL hotel called La Quinta Real … where we enjoyed hot water (!!!!), air conditioning (!!!!), and meat products (!!!!). I must have taken like 6 showers … I cannot tell you how good RUNNING hot water feels after weeks of taking tepid bucket showers that we have to boil on our stove. I also turned down the A/C to 60 degrees, simply because I could. The quality of food at the place was astounding. I ate sandwiches, meat, shrimp … all the things that are rarities here in the Cof. After 5 months of rice and beans (and I mean that in the most literal way possible). It’s amazing what a change in food can do to your body!
We had planned to go to Cayos Cochinos (these archipelago islands off the coast of Honduras) but the remnants of Hurricane Rina decided to join us on our weekend getaway. Fortunately, however, I qualified for a sweet discount from the hotel since I’m a BECA volunteer. Even though the outdoor was drizzly, we spent the weekend in this incredible suite for a very, VERY, cheap price, enjoying the indoor time just as much as we would have the sunshine. Never fear though – we DID get an afternoon of sunshine in, too.
The one thing about Honduras that I will always remember, even after leaving here, are its sunsets – which, when posited amongst the beautiful Carribbean waters, are nothing short of stunning.
On a more somber note, the day did arrive in which my mom had to leave Honduras. Early last Monday morning, my mom gave 25 last hugs goodbye to my kids who had grown so close to her in just a few days. It was then that I realized that saying goodbye does not get any easier as I get any older. Although these past 5 months have seen some of the greatest moments of my life, it all comes at the cost of being away from my family for yet another year. At 22 years of age, I stood there struggling to keep my “grown-up face” on as I watched everyone give my mom a final despedida. As my mom zipped up her suitcase and prepared to carry it out the door, one of my little girls turned to me, tears welling in her eyes, telling me that my mom’s goodbye reminded her “of when her own mom left for the United States 4 years ago” … at that point I had to excuse myself from the classroom, for the injustice of this little girl’s life had just superseded any sort of sadness I myself might have been experiencing.
Who was I to be sad about my mom leaving to go back to the United States, when so many of my kids have had to say goodbye to one (or both) of their parents at some point in their young lives? Victims of an unjust world, my students have seen their own parents away as they left for the United States, not knowing when, or if, they would see them again.
My break period came right after my mom left, so I had a moment to catch my breath before continuing on with the day. Standing alone in the office, I slowly wiped away my tears, thought of the beautiful little faces in my classroom, and said to myself, “At least I will get to see my mom again.”
