Day 2-Passing Through

August, 2011 § Leave a comment

Waking up early here is not much of an option but more of a necessity if you don’t want to roll around in your own sweat and if you want to feel those first hours of cool air before the heat and humidity wake up and take their throne.

I had cereal for breakfast and took a “bucket shower” to be properly introduced to my new surroundings. Even though it’s no good for rinsing, at least I get to feel cool water on my skin rinse away the dirt, dust, sweat, and stale air of yesterday. I feel like a snake molting all the dead with young and alive skin making its appearance.

I gave some of Lindy’s family the cookies. They are now a crumbly mess in the Tupperware but taste just as sweet and delicious. There was only one whole one left which I insisted the mother of the house, Doña Tela, take. After I had offered it to Don Enrique, of course.

Christine has a scooter, the lucky duck. On her scooter every morning she gets to pass the Caribbean Sea.

Yes, I saw it! For the first time in seven months I said “Hello” to that ol’ love of mine. The Caribbean is so many things. I don’t worship nature or anything but the beauty of the sea is like a distant lover, a funny uncle, and a close sister all at the same time. Passing it this morning it was a cousin I had nearly forgotten but knew I’d never forget.

The baby cow broke my gaze. Christine said tenderly, “Move out of the way, baby cow.” She slowed down and when we got close enough, it scampered away toward its mother.

Those gates. We passed through the hospital gates. The gates that held me hostage and protected me. The gates that separated me. The gates that, when I left Honduras, contained all that I remember and, to the Hondurans, were more familiar than my face. They do so much good, and yet are so toxic. But, I felt good passing through those gates again. Knowing I am only a visitor when I’m behind them, and I’m at home outside of them now.

My first priority when we got to the hospital: COFFEE. I stepped over to the kitchen area and asked the mean-lady-who-doesn’t-move for coffee. Thankfully, Argentina, my former housekeeper (for staff housing, that is), was there and asked me if I wanted coffee.

“Sí, porfa.”

“Con crema o negro?”

“Negro está bien.”

She brought me a mug of black coffee in one hand and a tub of sugar in the other. I slurped, and pleasantly surprised, declined the sugar. Obviously someone has been teaching them to make coffee! Or, teaching me how to drink it.

I went to the hospital with my mug and did some greetings, finished my coffee, and returned the mug to Argentina.

Now, I sit in staff housing, in a worn-out hammock that I’ve read in, Skyped in, and “hung out” (literally) in many times before. Ironically enough, Mrs. Peach just shared with me the one luxury that she allows herself during travel, hazelnut instant coffee. Not wanting to ruin a good thing, I declined. I’m going to offer her some cookies.

Today I will read, visit, deliver Diana’s computer, think too much, go to Rio Esteban, and change my mind a million times about moving to Honduras.

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