Waiting to see what happens next

Since coming here I’ve learned that if I want to enjoy myself I have to sit back and just let things happen. At home in the United States, I usually plan every day before it starts: what I need to accomplish, who I will meet with, even what I will eat. Here I often wake up with only a vague idea of what will happen. This is partly because Hondurans aren’t as obsessed with detailed planning as Americans. It doesn’t help that when plans are being made right in front of my face I am often oblivious to them because my Spanish is limited.

Hondurans don’t plan as far ahead as Americans do. When relatives come from out of town to visit my family in the United States, they call weeks in advance to check if it’s okay. Not so here. One night last week Esperanza’s brother called to say that he’d be coming into town the next morning and would be staying with her. She got up at 5 am the next day to start cooking and preparing for his arrival. From what I understood, she was expecting him at about 10 am. He didn’t come until later in the afternoon, and thus missed out on the lunch I imagine she was preparing for him. Nevertheless, she was happy when he showed up and had dinner ready for him later on.

Even when specific plans are made, I’m usually the last to know about them. Because of language and cultural barriers, I often don’t hear when plans are being made or am not sure how to interpret them. It’s pretty often that someone asks me to do something or tells me we’re leaving to go somewhere and I don’t realize they’re talking to me. They usually have to repeat it in more of a “Hey John! I’m talking to you!” fashion before I get the message.

Sometimes I know that plans were made but am not sure what they mean. Last weekend Julia, Esperanza’s sister in law, invited us over to eat. Originally, we were going to go for lunch, but Esperanza said Sunday morning that we’d go “por la tarde” instead. Tarde here means afternoon or early evening, so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Was she having us over for supper, or more of a late lunch? I didn’t want to demand to know exactly what time we were going, so I sort of bummed around the whole afternoon waiting for Esperanza to tell me it was time to leave. Finally at about 6:00 we took off and had a great dinner. Now I know that if someone asks you to come over and eat “por la tarde” they mean for supper.

One night, because of my lack of cultural knowledge, I attended two religious services and narrowly escaped a third without even intending to go to. Esperanza’s brother Arturo’s mother-in-law had died a week ago and they were having a Novena for her. The Novena takes place about a week after someone dies, and consists of friends and family coming to the house throughout the day to visit, attend religious services, and eat food that the family of the deceased provides. In this case the family had baked about 1500 sweet rolls in their wood oven out back and cooked over 100 pounds of beef.

I wasn’t able to make it to the Novena during the day when the priest was coming to give a mass, so I came during the evening with Esperanza. I figured all the religious celebrating would be over and we would sit, visit, and eat some of those tasty rolls. When we arrived we were served food and then corralled into the living room for a “celebration”. The celebrations that they have here are pretty much Catholic masses without the priest and without the communion. One or two lay ministers come do readings from the bible and preach. Someone usually plays the guitar as well. The celebrations last about 40 minutes.

At about 10pm I was happy that the celebration was ending so that I could go home and get some sleep. Coffee and rolls were served. Arturo’s wife thanked everyone for coming and headed off to bed. Just as I was about to get up and say goodnight, here came two more people toting bibles and another man with a guitar. Let the second celebration begin! Little did I know that novenas go on till one in the morning and that this one would include two or three more celebrations. Luckily, after the second round of celebrating someone notified me that a third was about to start and asked of I was getting tired. I made a quick exit, satisfied with the cultural experience.

Families that Stay Together

One night I was talking with a 70+ year-old relative of Esperanza’s who was visiting from Tegucigalpa. When I asked about her family she said she had several children but that believe it or not only one still lives with her. In the United States I would be thinking, “Only one you say? What is your dead-beat 40-year-old son doing living with you anyway?” Here this is totally normal, if not expected. Hondurans don’t normally move out of the house unless they have a reason to.

 

For one of Esperanza’s grown sons to move out and live alone just to have his own space would be very strange here. Grown children move out because they get married or because they find a good job that is far away. They don’t move just to be independent. According to our Spanish teacher Miriam, Honduran mothers are very clingy will often encourage their children to continue living with them even when they have families of their own.

 

One reason large families often live under the same roof is lack of resources. Most young single people can’t afford to live in houses or apartments of their own, and older retired people can’t afford to stay in their houses without the paychecks that their working children bring home. Hondurans often live in close quarters because they can’t afford anything else. Several people sleeping in a bedroom with multiple people in the same bed is common among poorer families.

 

Honduran parents have reason to keep their children close. In a country where government help is hard to come by and most people can’t save for retirement, family provides a necessary network of support. Hondurans expect that their children will care for them until they die. Children who don’t are seen as neglectful. There are nursing homes here for the elderly who have no one to care for them, but they are not happy places and are seen as a disgraceful last resort.

 

I have heard several Hondurans talk about the disintegration of the family here. Mainly they are talking about the alarming amount of single mothers. Divorce and single parenthood are so common here that I’m almost surprised when I see a couple in their twenties or thirties that is married and living together. What’s interesting is that while the bonds between fathers and mothers are weak here, the bonds between mothers and children and between grandparents and grandchildren are amazingly strong.

My Family in Ojojona

First, let me mention that Ojojona was hardly affected by hurricane Felix. We had rain, chilly weather, and a little bit of breeze, but nothing more. Thanks to people who wrote to see if I was okay. Unfortunately, it sounds like Nicaragua and the north coast of Honduras were hit much harder.

 

Although I live in my separate little house out back, I’ve gotten to know Esperanza and her family pretty well. I eat all my meals with her and members of her extended family are always popping in and out of the house. Esperanza has lived in her house for over 30 years and used to live there with her mother, who is now deceased. Her father died decades ago, but built the house when he was still living. Her parents did quite a bit of traveling and were well known in the community, so I assume they were pretty well off.

 

Esperanza is divorced and has two children. Her sons, Daniel (24) and Christian (22) both work in Tegucigalpa. Daniel works 6 days a week on a computer in the office of a bank. Christian works 6 ½ days a week (every other Sunday) as a salesman in a mall. Both leave very early in the morning for Tegucigalpa and don’t return home till about 7 pm. Christian said he makes 110 Lempiras a day, or about $6. The bus trip to and from Tegucigalpa costs 18 Lempiras, leaving about $5 a day. I assume Daniel makes more, but am not sure how much.

 

Esperanza also operates a small Pulperia (general store) out of her house. She sells bread, candy, pop, candles, matches, and various other small items. Pulperias are common throughout Honduras. There are two others within 100 yards of Esperanza’s. Neighbors are constantly knocking on the door to make small purchases.

 

Christian’s girlfriend in Tegucigalpa is going to have a baby in December. This is a little problematic since she is only 15, but not very unusual here. His girlfriend mother lives in the United States and has forbidden her to move in with Christian. The girlfriend came to live here once briefly, but her mother threatened to have Christian put in prison for statutory rape if she didn’t leave. Christian plans on helping to support the baby when it is born. Daniel is dating a teacher from Ojojona who is about his age. He has no children.

 

While Esperanza and her sons don’t have any money for certain luxuries like cable or a car, they live reasonably comfortably. They have a new TV, a DVD player, a refrigerator and a well-maintained house. Esperanza has a woman named Chaya come in every day to do laundry and clean. Chaya started working for the family years ago when Esperanza’s mother was alive.

 

Although Esperanza and her sons are the only two people living in her house, it is actually owned jointly by her and all of her siblings. Esperanza has four brothers and two sisters, and they are a close family. Even though only three of the siblings live in Ojojona, I have met all of them over the past couple weeks. Most seem to be pretty well off financially for Honduras. Here’s a quick rundown:

 

Arturo lives across the street in a large house. All of his 5 children, ages 15 to 25 live with him along with two grand children and a live-in housekeeper. His wife Ana operates a pulperia (small general store) out of the house and also sells handicrafts that she makes. In the past Arturo drove a bus and a delivery truck. Now he opperates a small farm with several milk cows. He owns quite a bit of land and is selling it bit by bit to people who build houses on it.

 

Mario is the youngest in the family and also lives in Ojojona. He’s married to Julia, the treasurer of Ojojona’s water board. They have one 12-year old daughter Adela. Until recently, Mario and Julia lived in the small house where I live, which Mario built. Six months ago, they finished construction of a new house about a half mile away and moved there. Mario works as a vendor in Tegucigalpa’s largest market. Julia often comes to eat lunch with us, since she works nearby at the water board office.

 

Irene and Rosie are both married and live in Tegucigalpa. Irene has one son and Rosie has a son and a daughter. Both send their kids to private bi-lingual schools (English and Spanish). Rosie’s 16 year old daughter speaks English better than I speak Spanish and wants to study architecture after high school, possibly at a university in the U.S. Irene works in real estate and Rosie manages a candle factory. Both have university educations. Rosie owns a small well-kept house next door to mine, where her family and Irene’s family stay when they visit Ojojona on weekends.

 

Julio lived about two hours south in the city of Choluteca. He works as a salesman and also as a coordinator for some sort of non-denominational Christian brotherhood that was founded in the United States. Julio spent the night at Esperanza’s house last week, on his way from Tegucigalpa where he had bought sandals, handkerchiefs and underwear to re-sell near Choluteca.

 

Geraldo lives in Tegucigalpa and going to be ordained as an Episcopal minister in November. He drives a large new pick-up and visits the United States often. I have only met him once briefly.

 

That’s a quick summary of the people I spend my time with when I’m not working. Arrangements were not made for me to live with Esperanza until the day we arrived in Ojojona, but from day one she and her family have included me in just about everything they do. We in the United States could learn something from Honduran hospitality.

 

Below are some pictures of where I’m living:

 

My 2-room house out back

 

The entryway, surrounded by corn and banana plants

 

The small wooden building on the left is my bathroom. The cement basing in the center

is the pila where wash my clothes and get water to bathe.