This main street passes the plaza and part of el centro. Above the silver car, you can see part of the Evangelical church where I hold recorder lessons with one group of kids--yes, this is the church in which we were locked one Saturday morning. The street was unusually quiet so I didn't feel especially stared-down while I took a picture. The small red vehicle is a mototaxi, a three-wheeled cart-like mode of transport around and outside the town of Gracias. I'm not sure why this one has a Texas plate (most don't have plates but some decoration, often a Christian symbol or phrase). Upon asking my host sister, Doris, if the mototaxis ever tipped over (when we once chose an especialy fast driver, jostling around on the rocky dusty roads), I was informed that what I would be told would alarm me. For various reasons (perhaps including this minor one), I prefer walking.
Musings on language:
-What is the difference between understanding a new word out of context/description from a conversation and looking it up in the dictionary for an English equivalent? Is the urge to look the word up bad? When does one know the meaning of a word or idea?
-As I come to understand more than I can necessarily respond to, I find that I don't have to "understand" all of the conversations directed at me. As a foreigner, I can get away with"no entiendo" until the person loses interest in discussing whatever undesirable topic with me. Is this bluntly evil or a plausible part of being a foreigner?
One afternoon last week, after working at the clinic, I visited a local botanical garden. It wasn't anything fancy, although a woody area surrounded by the city was impressive, but I found this fern especially pleasing to the eye.
Sky vs. earth perspective and a speech from the stream:
In Honduras, when you walk down the street, you must watch each step, surveying the rocks, dust, and uneven curves of the path. This necessity is intensified in the dark. One evening, as we walked to a neighbor's home for a prayer meeting, I really wanted to just look up at the sky instead of bending my head down to the dusty road. I wondered, "What is it that draws us away from the earth and towards the sky?" Is it simply the mystery of something we can't touch or fully understand? or the feeling of transcending something ordinary here on earth in the moments that we look up at the stars? Defending the earth, I wondered how we can learn to appreciate it more. In some ways, it is much more amazing (or should be more important to us) than the sky. It is this dusty earth that holds us securely in place, from it we are constructed (when organic matter is fixed with energy from the sun and incorporated into our bodies), and, while it has such claim/authority over us, it humbly conforms to the actions of our hands when we call it home--actions which are often damaging. Perhaps the dusty, rocky, uneven surfaces that are called streets and those that we condemned for their irregularity should be an indication of the ugliness of our actions--those affecting the once-beautiful land. We should direct our sight to the earth more often than just when necessary to avoid tripping--if not to realize its amazing mechanisms, to at least recognize how humans have trampled the life out of the life-giving earth.
On my walks to/from the house, I have often noticed several very polluted streams. On one of these sightings, it struck me how naturally and indifferently the water ran over, through, and under all the debris. It made me a bit queasy...I wanted to ask the stream, "why do you deal with it, why do you so easily submit, why don't you rebel as you ought to and evade the insulting pollution?" But the water just trickled on, obeying its eternal duty, creating ripples as happily as if it were the most serene and well-kept fountain. I pitied how easily we mistreat and pollute the earth, including water sources. I thought how I would avoid the stream because of its pollution. I speculated at all the diseases and infections that come from such tainted streams. This water source cannot be trusted...only because humans have not honored the once-existing trust. When the books of Proverbs and Psalms mention the righteous staying on the land and the wicked being removed or rooted out, is this what is meant?...That we must distance ourselves and protect/treat the effects of 'contamination' from such streams only because we have transgressed against them? What a pity. What are the acts of righteousness that will keep us in the land, then? These might be care and close association, both operating under a trusting honor. I hope to so conduct myself as I settle each of my new homes, never growing comfortable with the sight of a mal-treated stream or joining in the efforts that bring it to such a state.
This sign delightfully says, "Plant a tree."
During most brigades, the town school is closed for the day and used as a clinical space. People wait in line before we arrive and most stay until we leave, either curious by the gringo project or willling to receive all they can in their presence. The bland-looking sign in the tree says, "We care for forests."
From the school, another village is seen as well. The clouds seem frozen in a cascade down the mountains, ever lining their tops.
Villages--experience and kindled desire
During my second day in the villages with the brigade, I enjoyed getting to know the children (reading books and teaching duck, duck, goose and playing several of their games). No other gringos joined me so I was sunburnt on my own in this cause. Once we had played pato, pato, ganso for a while and didn't know what else to play, they said, "tell us a story-una cuenta." I said I didn't know any stories. They said "about animals, princesses, el libro"...it struck me that I didn't know how to tell them a Bible story and wished I had this capacity while they were so willing and eager to listen...'the book' seemed like a blunt reference to the Bible, but I realized they referred to my reading another book, like I had earlier in the day. Julie, the lady who provided the books, was busy with the doctors in what looked like an important meeting and the books were packed away for the day, so we went to play more games. I tried to play a game in which they stood still in a circle and passed on hand claps while a song was sung (as they got tired of running in the afternoon sun) but found that I knew no song to sing with them except 'gracias Señor por el pan" (thank you Lord for the bread) which didn't seem very appropriate for the occasion. They sang several songs about seemingly meaningless things--despite our earnest efforts, we didn't succeed in the game. I wish I had a song prepared to teach them at that opportunity. Not long after, the brigade team began to packed and left the village, many of the kids saluting me and waving as we left.
I'm not sure when it had occurred to me as an idea, but I would like to consider living in one village each week at my second internship site in Peru--doing cleanings and educating about dental infections while getting to know the villagers with various activities such as games, stories, songs, recorder-teaching, bracelet-weaving, cleaning streams/streets, while evangelizing with word and deed along the way. I envision 6 such weeks with two weeks in the beginning and end of my time in Peru that are truncated, which I could spend at the clinic site in Moyobamba in transition into and out of service. My brainstorming began with consideration of what it would take for me to be comfortable (safety, supplies, tasks, food, etc), then I wondered if it would be difficult to get 'plugged in' at each village....I realized I had assumed that people needed my service and would come to my theorhetical cleaning/education appointments and other activities. I thought I would consult whether home visits would be more worthwhile. But after being acquainted with the children in the villages during the second day of the brigade this week and having them invite me into the street and into their yard, I hope my earnest intentions would be recognized and embraced in most villages. After my experience that day, I earnestly recognized a calling to such an experience and hope that I can explore and embrace such or similar circumstances.
I thought about one astounding fact on the way home from the second day in the villages. I had heard one doctor the day before say that there was much disease in the villages and that most of it was preventable (this seemed to be a Eureka moment for the doctors--a rarity that provided a spark of excitement in the medical field). I was aggravated that we still insist on treating even preventble diseases with chemical prescription and don't consider all diseases preventable (or at least manageable) by empowering patients and communities to care for themselves. I realized that, with a few exceptions, dental problems are entirely preventable, as they result almost exclusively from dental infections. On the bus ride, I wondered whether I would become overwhelmed in the villages with how insignificant dental problems are compared to other illnesses that I might encounter. In consolation, I decided that preventing oral infection is worthwhile and improves health at any level. Now, I wonder if orthodox brigades are mal-targeted. We can extract as many teeth as possible year after year, satisfying our need to do something to "help" (and place many fillings...and do many cleanings--even though these are closer to prevention on the gradient)...but if we do not try hard (or do nothing in the case of treatment-heavy projects) to inform and equip the people to understand that it is within their power to prevent dental infection and disease, we really are just beating our heads against the wall. These reveries help me validate my inspiration for planning village trips in Peru. I hope I will continue to be lead where I am most useful and where I will gain from the experience to better serve in the future. As far as my imaginings take me, such an experience would greatly shape my dental training and beyond. My most intense longing, kindled by interaction with the second day's village children, is to tell the stories of Jesus and teach songs about His life while there is interest and opportunity. Living in villages that aren't accessible by car, sharing the gospel message and its acts while explaining the dental infection dilemma...empowering them to make a difference in their mouth, life, streets/streams, and communities seems quite romantic and adventurous, while altogether meaningful. I was told by the Honduran interpreters that some villages are not charted in the city municipalities or known about by the urban population and that, frankly, most Hondurans neither know nor care about the existence of each other's villages. I suddenly care immensely for the spiritual, ecological and oral welfare of such communities. I guess it is a little selfish of me to spend so much of your reading time going on about my musings and desires, but I suspect that since you're visiting my web log you have the slightest interest in me and/or (if you can separate the two) my ponderings. If you are so inclined, I'd ask you to pray for the construction of plans for my second internship site--in Peru.
A third sign (the first one that struck me) in the schoolyard reads, "Smile at life." I think this should include both your own life--your optimism--and the life that surrounds you--care for your neighboring creatures.
A post-script (or preview) on cultural identification:
While various brigades have been in and out of the clinic (and especially now that I am involved in one of them), I have noted a struggle in identifying with the americanos. I feel so much more comfortable around the Honduran interpreters, the local clinical staff, and even the local patients. Vainly or not, I feel like I have to partake in the proud and thus awkward task of validating my existence (with my resumé of credentials) while interacting with folks from the States. They operate with outstanding efficiency (no Latin-American delays), strongly emphasizing team-work, but it seems (unfortunately) that this strong team effort exasperates the "innie-outie" or "us vs. them" xenophobic tendancies that Americans often project. Instead of being respectfully or gratefully accepted for offering a hard-working helping hand, I feel that I might be rejected membership in "the team" because I'm not staying in the box that was constructed for me or that my presence goes beyond the agenda that was prepared months ago. As I sat down to a TV dinner with my host family after the third day on the brigade, I realized how much I appreciated belonging to a Honduran family, which unconditionally accepts me, allowing both space to participate in the family and room for reclusion. I am calling this part of my post a post-script or preview because I don't think I am done unwrapping this issue of cutural identification...so stay tuned. : )
I'll complete the week as part of the brigade (this sentence is inevitably awkward and short, revealing its mood about the content). The Evangelical group recorder choir will play this weekend (the Baptist group last week played Amazing Grace wonderfully) and I look forward to possibly visiting La Campa, a historic town nearby, with Dra. Raquel and one of our patients, a local university historian who is writing an analysis of the local history, is running for Honduran congress or senate, and has offered to guide a trip to the site during its festival (February 5-24, I think). Dra. and I will start the following week in the newly built dental office--this will be my final week working at the clinic in Gracias. [That statement sounds so hollow--like an object in mid-air, falling from extreme heights, needing to anticipate something. I feel like I should insert "Selah," like in the Psams, to indicate a need for pause and thought] Nonetheless, I am eager to visit my aunt's family in Argentina before beginnining service (that has yet to take form) in Peru. Pictures throughout this post are from the street, a botanical garden in town, and a village school yard from this week's brigade. Except for a moderate sunburn from earlier in the week, I am doing very well.
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