Why I Hate Honduran National Exams

1)The proctor assumes I am not an equal to the Honduran teachers.

2)She only brings 16 tests for our 19 children, so we just don’t test 3 of them.

3)Some of the kids get parts of the reading test (text, questions, multiple choice options) read to them. Sort of defeats the purpose of a reading test.

4)Even when you set the expectations very clearly, the kids still shout out the answers. They don’t stop until you totally lose your patience and yell at them.

5)The kids ask you if their answers are correct no matter how many times you tell them you can’t say because it’s a test.

6)My students are so dependent. They ask questions when the directions have already been given and refuse to simply put their own common sense to work.

7)They get help when they don’t understand (or don’t want to try to understand) – but not from me, mind you. I’m all about helping when I’m teaching, but an assessment is supposed to measure what a child can do on his or her own. On these tests, they were given clues and had questions explained to them. After all the rules for WASL and MSP, I just couldn’t deal with it.

8)I have to suck it up because this is not my country and this is not my culture. There are some things I cannot change.

I just don’t understand the complete lack of logical and reasoning amongst my students. And I don’t know how they end up that way. Montessori teaches them to be independent; they work at their own level and choose their own activities. I am grateful for the fact that the tests were easy and that our expectations in the classroom and what the students are doing are above the national level. But I would love to get some more of the constructivist philosophy into the classroom, and I think Montessori is conducive to that. I’ve been talking to Momo, and we think I’m going to move up to second grade next year (in February – the school year is different here) because the group is so difficult. But we’d also like to start a gifted and talented program; a few days a week, I’d be pulling out kids for enrichment, and that’s really exciting to me. I can’t change the way a whole country thinks about education, nor do I think that’s my place, but I can maybe help a small group of children to be more analytical thinkers. We’ll see.

Birthdays Pilares-Style

Every Saturday morning of my work weekend, I join my girls in some kind of work around the Ranch. God bless Tía Delmy because she understands my loathing for chapearing (using a machete to cut down grass) and has pretty much said I never have to do it again. At worst, I have to rake the chopped monte. Fortunately, yesterday I went with 4 of my girls to the kitchen to make bread. This involves putting ridiculous amounts of fattening ingredients into the mother of all KitchenAid mixers and attempting to prevent your girls from losing their fingers. Also mandatory are mini-flour fights and making fun of your volunteer for not knowing how to make perfectly round balls of dough. But the best part is what we do with the leftover dough. Yesterday was María Girón’s birthday, so I fashioned a bread-cake out of dough (a pizza-like circle with her first initial in the middle and little pelotas all around the edges). I also made a little house, hearts, and a kitty face. Deysi made a little man whose arm and head were later secretly eaten by two culprits who shall remain nameless (ahem, Kimmie and Saravia). We then put our 14 trays of rolls and one tray of treats (doused liberally with sugar) into a huge ancient oven that looks like something out of an old Welsh village (she said from experience). I came back from mass early to celebrate with my bread-making friends and the birthday girl. Ensue hilarity. We made fresco with two kinds of Zuko (Honduran KoolAid) and all drank out of the same used Pepsi bottle (small wonder we all get sick, huh?) and took lots of photos and videos with my camera (I wish I could upload them from here, but you’ll have to wait until January – we made a special one for you, Mom). My tía was so tickled with how well it had gone that she wants me to do it every time we have panadería duty. We worked really fast and even the girls who complain about it had a good time. She even told me I could leave early because I’d worked so hard that day. Nice! I didn’t leave early, naturally, as that would be out of character for me. But it was nice to be appreciated for something that really didn’t feel like work at all.

Apologies for the Blog Lull…or Blull (teehee)…

but I have recently been afflicted with a heinous trifecta of sinusitis, bronchitis, and flu. I’ve been feeling badly since Sunday, but it wasn’t until I spent the feriado (day off) Tuesday in bed and then vomited after getting ready for school on Wednesday, that I finally decided to go to the clinic. I got nebulized and am now on a ridiculous amount of medication (which may help to explain why I find things like “blull” so very funny). I hate being sick here because 1)it’s really boring and leaves me alone to do too much thinking and 2)I feel doubly guilty for missing both school and hogar. So upon realizing that I would not be able to fulfill my responsibilities, I was immediately attacked with ANTs (Automatic Negative Thoughts – thank you, Mom). I kept worrying about how lazy people would think I was and what an awful evaluation they’d be giving me. And I felt exceptionally bad because it was my hogar’s saint’s day, and I was supposed to make a cake. I had a lot of good pep talks from home and was reminded that I am a volunteer for heaven’s sake and that I would feel much worse if I got all the kids sick. That was able to tide me over until I got ahold of Mom to talk some sense into me and deal appropriately with my neuroses. Turns out I worried for nothing and that there is something about people being really nice to you that allows you to stop freaking out enough to actually get better: from Bryan refusing to let me do kitchen duty to my girls bringing me a box a food from the special dinner to Marie making me tea and meticulously picking the seeds out of my watermelon to Kenia being incredibly understanding to the doctor Merlin telling me I simply could not work for two days or more if needed (and I could be provided with a note) to volunteer nurse Laura buying and then making me chicken noodle soup to Tía Mirna telling me to take another day due to the “clima” to my boss’s husband telling me I look terrible and to go back to bed. Well, maybe not actually that last one. I felt well enough to go to work today and at least fake it. Hopefully, I’m on the mend!

Top Ten Reasons I Love My Hogar

10)My tías. One of them wants to go visit Comayagua with me, and the other is taking me to her dad's sugarcane plantation. I'll be the first volunteer she's ever taken.

9)Going to rosario together. It's really lovely, actually.

8)They share their food with me. When I first arrived, they were all understandably concerned with my weight. It's been their goal to fatten me up, and they take really good care of me.

7)Teaching them English. Sheila can now say, "Goodnight. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite."

6)They are all mostly in the sewing taller, and they happily fix things for me. Those in belleza braid my hair.

5)I feel perfectly comfortable lending them things(nail polish, flat iron, etc.) because I know they will take care of them. They are so grateful that they make me want to do special things for them.

4)I never have to seek out company. I feel welcome and completely at home.

3)They confide in me about school, boyfriends, and their families.

2)They want me to stay. My tía says they're going to go to the airport to keep me from going. Saravia wants to introduce me to her cousin on Día de Visitas so I can fall in love, marry him, and stay in Honduras forever.

1)They give the best hugs and say the sweetest things. "Andas muy bonita." "Sueña con los angelitos." "Te quiero mucho."

Vos

I have a confession. I love being vosed. If you’ve studied Spanish, you know that there are two forms of addressing a person, each with its own verb conjugation: tú and usted. In Honduras, Ud. is used almost exclusively. Vos is WAY more informal than even tú. So far, I have learned the conjugations for the present, past, and imperative. The kids use tú with me a lot because it seems to fit our relationship better, and they’ve had experience with other volunteers using that form. At school, I require them to use Ud. The people who use vos with me thus far include my co-teacher Kenia, the girl I’m closest with in hogar, and my año familiar and university friends. Some volunteers consider it disrespectful, but for me it means I’m “in” with that person. And I'm sorry, but when you're rolling on the floor laughing after doing an impression of one of your students or telling embarrassing stories about bodily functions (fun for all ages), you just have to use vos. Plus, it just sounds better sometimes. ¡Apuráte! ¡Vení! ¡Decíme! Yep, nothing I love more than a good vosing.

Dude for a Day

Sunday was my day off, and as I was walking to lunch with the boys (read: volunteers of the male persuasion), they asked me if I would like to go “exploring” on this 2000 acre ranch that we call home. To everyone’s surprise (myself included), I acquiesced. Our goal was to find a waterfall “the back way.” Little did I know this would involve vigorous (by my standards) climbing, getting slashed by a thorny bush (chicks dig scars), hacking my way through Honduran forests, and losing my footing and my bearings multiple times. Even though they admitted to me that they weren’t sure exactly how we were getting there, I felt safe and was able to appreciate the adventure. I quite enjoyed being regaled with movie quotes and the boys’ impressions: everything from Monty Python (“She turned me into a NEWT…I got better”) to Man vs. Wild (exceptionally relevant given the circumstances). We were quite the group: Climby Jason, Hoppy Bryan, Reasonable Pete, and Dragon Lady (that would be me, seeing as I’m Asian and all. We have apparently all lost any shred of political correctness we might once have possessed). And at the end we found a waterfall, joined up with the actual trail, and headed to the represa for a nice swim! After dinner, I was invited to join Guys’ Night, which involves being manly and watching war movies. I almost got kicked out for being a jerk, but I think that actually qualifies me more (that’s the bitter spinster in me speaking). Poor Jason is my substitute Bobby. He was making pancakes, and when I asked if I could have a bite, he had the nerve to say no. So, of course, I took the most perfect bite out of one and put it back on his plate. ¡Qué big necia! Anyway, I really enjoyed the last two episodes of HBO’s The Pacific, and I can’t wait for next time (unnecessary parenthetical note here).

Dancing Fool

So I show up to Danza Moderna practice on Wednesday after several weeks of missing practice and, of course, find out that we have a performance on Saturday. There is going to be a competition between all the hogares; one boy and one girl from each corresponding hogar (same ages) have to dance. It’s all based on Bailando Por Un Sueño, sort of the Honduran version of So You Think You Can Dance or Dancing with the Stars. Juan Bautista (the group leader) is one of the judges, so we’re not competing, just doing a special presentation. As with all things on the Ranch, we are doing this last minute. So we start a brand new dance and have extra practices from 1:00-4:00 Thursday and Friday. Awesome.

My girls (and Tía Delmy) have been hinting all week that I should dance for the hogar. I initially declined because I thought it should be one of the girls. Eliu, one of my favorite kids and the elected dancer from Discipulos, asked me on Friday if I would dance because no one from Pilares wanted to do it. And we all know how good I am at saying no.

So I show up Saturday thrilled that I don’t have to do manual labor because I get to make up the dance with Eliu. And I’m thinking I’ll do one song – easy peasy lemon squeezy y ya está. But no. Apparently, the rules are that we have to do four styles of dance – punta, bachata, reggaeton, and merengue. So here are my responsibilities (and keep in mind this is for the same night): get Eliu’s tío to let him come practice, find four songs for each dance style, create a remix of said songs, burn onto a blank CD which I don’t have, choreograph, and practice. I manage to do all this between the hours of 9:00 and 11:00. Yes, I am magic. I get the music from my laptop, some of my girls, and volunteers. Our assistant director Ross (also a friend from Puyallup) finds me a blank CD. Laura, who hates doing remixes but is the only one who can do them, agrees to do one for me. I nominate her for sainthood and pay her in bars of chocolate (they are great currency here on the Ranch – sort of like cigarettes in prison). The choreography and practice part are easy because Eliu happens to be a great dancer. He’s one of the few kids who knows how to dance with his face, if you know what I mean. Not a problem for me – thank you, dance team.

I run back home after lunch to get ready for mass. Running around barefoot and stressed out, I somehow manage to trip and take off a chunk of my foot (right from my beautiful dancer’s callous). Good thing I don’t have to dance on it or anything. Sona dumps on some iodine (I scream like the big baby I am) and bandages me up. I call Juan Bautista who informs me that we are practicing after mass because he has added ANOTHER SONG. I tell him I plan on punching him, but dutifully show up to practice in talleres. Afterwards, we get kicked out so they can set up the sound system. I offer the salon of San Vicente, and we head that way while Juan goes to find a missing dancer. On the way, I find out Eliu is looking for me. I track him down and tell him to meet me in half an hour because the remix is not yet done (at this point, we’ve only practiced to the songs separately). I’m back at San Vicente in a blink, borrow the keys from Lauren, and somehow manage to LOCK MYSELF IN. I scream from the window and am rescued by some of the volunteers because my fellow dancemates are too busy laughing hysterically. We practice, and when Eliu shows up, I run out to grab the remix. Once I’ve finished with Danza Moderna, Eliu and I run through our dance a few times before I have to get ready.

When I show up all dolled up to my hogar, I am greeted with screeches of delight from my girls. I get lots of “¡Qué guapa andas!” to my personal favorite via Sheila: “¡Qué big sexy!” I shove some food down and head down to talleres with my tía, who I have now officially and completely won over. Both dances go extremely well, but it is with my dance with Eliu that I am most tickled (that’s us dancing in the photo). Before I go on, everyone from my little Casa Suyapans to my girls in Pilares to my favorite año familiars tell me they are going to support me. I fully admit that I love attention, and I felt like a rock star having my name chanted by people who love me. Eliu starts out by grabbing the microphone and explaining that the style of punta we’ll be doing is different from other groups because it comes from the Garífuna people of the north coast and can only be danced by people of “sangre negra.” Eliu is beloved by all the Ranch, and they erupt in cheers before we’ve even begun. The dance goes spectacularly well and is the most pure, unadulterated fun I’ve had in a long time. I pull out all the stops and proceed to kiss each judge on the cheek during our exit (it also helps that they’re all guys I’m friends or acquaintances left). Everyone loves our dance; even Jason (one of my substitute little brothers) accidentally gives me a compliment he can’t take back. We get 5 out of 5 from judge Dagoberto and 145 out of 5 from Juan Bautista. Mauricio’s score is secret. After snack, the winners are announced. We end up getting first place in our category (albeit out of two couples) and are rewarded with two pieces of pizza each, which I proceed to share with my consentida. SSSSSSSSSSSSSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!