Monday, July 6, 2009
The WORST.
Welp, the hype and bustle I anticipated around my online documentary of my Honduran travels has been halted! Not only was there little to no internet access available to me in the country, I am no longer in that country struggling to obtain it. June 28th left Honduras in a political mess involving but not limited to the eviction of the country's president and major airports closing. With no stable political leader in power, and the talk of uprising, my family and loved ones thought it best to get me out of Honduras while there were still airplanes taking off. With my mind set on spending the next four weeks of life teaching english to the village, the surprise shift in plans came as a bit of a shock and I was forced to part with my new friends without much mental preparation at all.
While at the airport, I sat pouting, wishing I was still fumbling over my spanish with a swarm of my favorite girls singing High School Musical and trying desperately not to get lice, but was interrupted in thought by the couple sitting across from me. They were discussing with American's around me about their one day experience in Honduras. They had come down to work at a clinic the night before, and had been immediately sent home the very next day because hotels in the area were not allowing any Americans at all to stay in their rooms. I quickly pulled out my headphones, booming with Spanish music to keep my mood immersed in Honduran culture and bitter about leaving, and listened to the couple inform the surrounding passengers that the president of Honduras and the president of Venezuela were in cahoots, and this meant very bad news for Americans and those housing Americans. This brought me a combination of relief and worry. Worry about the Americans that were still in the country and their possible risk, but relieved that I was no longer posing a threat to the people I have come to love so much.
So I got on my plane, feeling like I finally had a reason to leave, and listened to my Spanish music until my ipod finally died. Some of the perks of coming back included seeing AARON!!, not having ants crawling in my hair and in my clothes and through my shoes, not being bitten by every bug imaginable, and not sweating so profusely that pounds a day were shed. However, as every day passes, I find myself somehow missing the heat, missing the extended family of ants setting up camp in the corner of my room and above all MISSING THE VILLAGE and all people who inhabit it. I miss Leslie and Miriam, two brilliant and beautiful girls who stayed my my side, singing songs, and correcting my spanish. I miss tiny hands and feet, climbing up my soggy clothes trying to steal a hug. I miss crying toddlers, smiling Zulema, gold walls, long hugs, "eres todo poderoso", singing any and all 90's worship songs, pickled mangoes, big brown eyes, chicken pox, a little boy who affectionately called me "feya" every time I wouldn't play with him, hot rain showers, and new friends. I miss Honduras.
Today I am back in my other favorite city, readjusting and finding my way; praying for every one of these kids and their safety, and digging a small tunnel underground back to Tegulcigalpita. There are so many things Honduras needs prayer for. THE KIDS's safety, education, health, hearts, the political restoration of the country, the basic needs of the village, the workers (Reyna, Zulema, Gary, and Silvia) and the children in the state run orphanage who need angels protecting them everyday.
As for me, I am waiting for the politics to die down and hoping to return in August with Aaron and team. I will be moving to California at the end of the month to embark on a new journey. In this season of life I am uncertain, unplanned, and unafraid. I will be moving with my very best friends to try and learn what living together in community in a new season looks like, and I am in love with putting my faith in someone worthy of my trust. The next few weeks will tell if the politics of Honduras will allow me to safely enter the country, if not, hopefully it won't take me too long to tunnel my way down.
While at the airport, I sat pouting, wishing I was still fumbling over my spanish with a swarm of my favorite girls singing High School Musical and trying desperately not to get lice, but was interrupted in thought by the couple sitting across from me. They were discussing with American's around me about their one day experience in Honduras. They had come down to work at a clinic the night before, and had been immediately sent home the very next day because hotels in the area were not allowing any Americans at all to stay in their rooms. I quickly pulled out my headphones, booming with Spanish music to keep my mood immersed in Honduran culture and bitter about leaving, and listened to the couple inform the surrounding passengers that the president of Honduras and the president of Venezuela were in cahoots, and this meant very bad news for Americans and those housing Americans. This brought me a combination of relief and worry. Worry about the Americans that were still in the country and their possible risk, but relieved that I was no longer posing a threat to the people I have come to love so much.
So I got on my plane, feeling like I finally had a reason to leave, and listened to my Spanish music until my ipod finally died. Some of the perks of coming back included seeing AARON!!, not having ants crawling in my hair and in my clothes and through my shoes, not being bitten by every bug imaginable, and not sweating so profusely that pounds a day were shed. However, as every day passes, I find myself somehow missing the heat, missing the extended family of ants setting up camp in the corner of my room and above all MISSING THE VILLAGE and all people who inhabit it. I miss Leslie and Miriam, two brilliant and beautiful girls who stayed my my side, singing songs, and correcting my spanish. I miss tiny hands and feet, climbing up my soggy clothes trying to steal a hug. I miss crying toddlers, smiling Zulema, gold walls, long hugs, "eres todo poderoso", singing any and all 90's worship songs, pickled mangoes, big brown eyes, chicken pox, a little boy who affectionately called me "feya" every time I wouldn't play with him, hot rain showers, and new friends. I miss Honduras.
Today I am back in my other favorite city, readjusting and finding my way; praying for every one of these kids and their safety, and digging a small tunnel underground back to Tegulcigalpita. There are so many things Honduras needs prayer for. THE KIDS's safety, education, health, hearts, the political restoration of the country, the basic needs of the village, the workers (Reyna, Zulema, Gary, and Silvia) and the children in the state run orphanage who need angels protecting them everyday.
As for me, I am waiting for the politics to die down and hoping to return in August with Aaron and team. I will be moving to California at the end of the month to embark on a new journey. In this season of life I am uncertain, unplanned, and unafraid. I will be moving with my very best friends to try and learn what living together in community in a new season looks like, and I am in love with putting my faith in someone worthy of my trust. The next few weeks will tell if the politics of Honduras will allow me to safely enter the country, if not, hopefully it won't take me too long to tunnel my way down.
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