A whirlwind week

“Nothing is a waste of time if you use the experience wisely.” (Rodin)

Lesser-known saying: Nothing like taking life advice from chai tea bags.

Rock-bottom. On Wednesday, I experienced the lowest of low times with my seventh/eighth grade class. They were just really, truly uncooperative and disrespectful. I was so at a loss that I let them go a few minutes early to recess—which I never do, so as not to give in to their frequent pleas to go just ten minutes, just five minutes, just two minutes early. I ended up sending all of them to the office at lunchtime so they could get a talking-to from the school’s director. I’m happy to say that Thursday was much, much better and on Friday I even got a few apologies. I hope that last week was a turning point and that they can spend the last four weeks before the exam and retest weeks peacefully doing the best they can to improve their English. Teaching has been difficult for me and I don’t expect any miracles, but I would like to end the year on a positive note.

Rodeo! On Sunday afternoon, I experienced several special events. I witnessed grown men (some straight from the disreputable billardes hall nearby) showing off for video cameras their sweet....jump rope skills. Yes, jump rope. It was evidently part of the town feria that’s going on this week. It seemed to be a special kind of jump rope situation, with two ropes at right angles to each other, which was a seemingly impossible configuration. Each time, several men would try to jump in and would make it only a few jumps before tripping. After checking that out, I headed to a field near the boulevard with some friends to the RO-DAY-OH! When we arrived, we paid the 50 lemp entrance fee and maneuvered past the cases of beer to the rough bleachers that had been set up about 10 feet from the “ring”—a U.S.-suburban-living-room-sized enclosure made of wooden posts (still in very tree-like form) and metal gates. We soon realized that most of the announcer’s time would be devoted to admonishing people who had entered earlier (without paying, evidently) in trucks and were standing in the truck beds to see into the rodeo. Despite continuous pleas to people to “sean educados” and colaborar con nosotros,” the nonpayers continued to observe and actually tore down some of the black netting that surrounded the ring so they could get a better view.

Pacifist bulls? The rodeo itself was a bit pathetic. Most of the bulls were pretty small and seemed to have no interest in entering the ring at all. Maybe they’re pacificists. At any rate, none of them seemed too interested in getting riled up. Many of them lay down once they got right outside the entrance and the vaqueros were at some pains to get them out in the ring. Even when they could finally drag them into the ring, most bucked around for a couple minutes and then, having thrown the rider or not, trotted docilely over to the exit. One of my friends who has been to rodeos in Panama says the bulls there were bulls, not tame like these ones. I suppose there just isn’t too much in the way of cattle around here, plus it was probably a budget operation. The funniest moment was when the only white bull entered the ring, in a playful mood. He bucked his rider off in about five seconds and then ran around the entire ring near the fences, butting in the direction of the men and boys who had draped themselves over the top of the corral. Most scrambled to pull their legs out of the ring but weren’t too disturbed. The only ones who got a real scare were too younger boys, maybe about 10 and 12, who had taken a friend’s camera to get some close-up shots. They were leaning through the fence with the camera when the bull started charging around. One ran back towards the bleachers but the other, caught between the netting and the fence actually dove through a whole in the netting. It was hysterical, particularly when the bull then trotted back to the exit, calm once again. If only I had been close enough to get a photo of a bull smiling...

Going OUT. That whole experience was very small-town and Honduran, and was really accentuated by my Friday night. I met up with a friend in San Pedro and we grabbed some dinner at Applebee’s in near proximity to several groups of pre-teens. I had the “zesti” (as our waiter wrote it down) chicken sandwich, which was great. Then we hung around my friend’s apartment, waiting to get picked up by a guy who went to our college and his friend. We would have dressed a lot nicer (okay, only a little nicer, since I don’t really have super-nice clothes here with me—but definitely I would have worn good shoes) if we had realized we were being taken out on a serious night out. At one point I do believe we begged to be taken back to my friend’s apartment to change shoes. That must have been before I hit the point where I was disparaging various possible U.S. presidential candidates in a far too loud voice.

Making the rounds. First we went to a very nice bar that evidently serves thai food and has a killer atmosphere...nice outdoor bar with comfy couches and a tree-filled, candlelit atmosphere. At first I thought we had valet service everywhere, until I realized that the white truck behind us contained the body guards. Kidnappings are just popular enough to make that kind of thing advisable, I suppose. Then we headed to, well, basically San Pedro Sula’s country club. There’s a full-sized Olympic swimming pool there, in addition to various tennis courts, a children’s play area, restaurant, and more. We went to the lounge and grabbed a few more drinks, and then headed to a classy club. (The ones we had been to before were part of what someone referred to as the “maybe get shot tour” of San Pedro.) It was indeed nice, albeit a bit smoky, and we heard all the reggaeton standbys, like “Acercate a mi” and some American favs as well. The whole experience was such a marked contrast to my usual life here. It was really fun—it felt like a real vacation, a real true night out. But it was also pretty surreal and strange to hang out with folks who live in a way that people where I live can hardly imagine existing. I know there’s a separation like that in the states, but I’m just so much more aware of it here.

The week begins again. It was back to school again today, but we started the week off right with a little party for my kids’ teacher from last year. It was great to see how excited they were about seeing their former teacher, catching up and showing off how much they’ve learned in the past year. Alas, this is my awkward segue into making a pitch for a new scholarship fund my co-middle school teacher and I have started for our ninth graders. The idea is to give at least one scholarship this year (and in years to come!) to make it possible for a deserving graduate of the school to continue his or her bilingual education at a reputable school in San Pedro Sula. If you’re at all interested in learning more, please send me an email and I’ll give you the inside scoop on what it’s all about and how you can help.