Prices

Prices are really funny in this country.  Some things are super cheap while other things are very expensive.  Any branded item imported from the US is usually very expensive.  There is a store here, Mas por Menos, where you can buy some American branded stuff.  I’ve seen tubes of toothpaste from the US for $7.  Usually they have the same kind of toothpaste twice: one made in the US and imported, the other made here somewhere in Central America.  The packaging and branding is the same, but the place of manufacturing is different.  Usually the one made in Central American cost about half of the US imported one.  Cereal is like this too.  You can buy Frosted Flakes from the US for some horrible price.  But then they also have Zucaritas made by Kellogg here in Central America, complete with Tony the Tiger and everything.  It’s basically the same cereal for about half the price.  It think the grains may be a little coarser.  My budget can’t handle the American prices so we’ve been sticking with the locally manufactured stuff.

The best example of cheap prices came when Brayden got sick the other day.  I won’t go into detail about his sickness, but we had to take a sample (you figure it out) into the hospital for testing.  They did the lab test, then I went to the pharmacy and bought two kinds of medicine for him.  Total cost for lab test and two medicines = $16.  Hilarious. 

One thing I’ve noticed is that anything for which manual labor is a significant component of the total price is going to be very cheap.  Labor is cheap here (I’ll write more about that later too). 

Beans, beans, the Honduran fruit . . .

I think one of the most surprising things about this trip to me is that I have become a serious lover of beans while I've been here.  I've always tolerated them but never liked them.  The beans here are truly the best in the world, no exagerration.  A typical Honduran meal is a little bit of meat, rice, beans, and tortillas.  I've had it a lot and it sort of grows on you.

Another surprise.  I think my two older kids are actually starting to like each other.  They share a room now and it's small.  Room enough for two twin beds and that's about it.  There's about 8 inches between the two beds and another 8 inches to the wall.  When you are in that close quarters and there's no where else to go, I guess you learn to learn to like each other. 

Moving

We moved the Bible school the other day.  The previous missionaries to Honduras were killed in a car accident a few years ago, and since then the Bible school has been held in their house and basement.  They are renting a place for a couple of months while the construction will be going on on the new property. 

Moving the school was quite a job.  Several men from the church are out of work and came to help to pick up a little extra money.  We moved copiers, desks, filing cabinets, computers, books, etc.

The quality of anything in this country runs about an order of magnitude behind what it does in the US.  They make stuff last for a long time too.  Many of the filing cabinets are old and rusted.  All the desks could use a good refurbishing.  Some of the computers look like what I used about 10 years ago (maybe a 486 – they aren’t all this old, but I’ve seen some dot matrix printers too).  People just have a different expectation about things here.  The concept of something being “nice” almost doesn’t exist.  It just matters if it works or not.  Looks and age are completely unimportant.  This concept is true with everything.  Certainly with the cars they drive.  The average age of cars is probably 10 to 15 years behind the US.  Also with house construction.  (I may write more about this later.) 

Anyway, when we were halfway thru the day and paused for a break, I witnessed something interesting.  As we were going thru the stuff to move we came across several boxes of personal stuff from the former missionaries.  Frankly, it was mostly junk.  The kind of stuff that you’d put in your attic in case you ever need it, but you never do and then eventually throw away.  As with anytime that you are moving, we started a trash pile.  It grew to be fairly large by noon.  When we paused for a break, all the men from the church started rummaging thru that pile.  Anything that could be considered remotely valuable was taken with great joy.  Someone found a little teacup and took it to their wife.  An old, wooden Rudolf decoration popped up and someone took it.  Pieces of rope or chain.  It really didn’t matter.  If it could be considered remotely valuable, someone was glad to have it.  We have a lot to be thankful for. 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

to Tara Rollins Smith.  The world's greatest cousin.  Well, maybe not the greatest, but she's probably somewhere in the top 10.  Or maybe top 1,000 . . . I mean there's a lot of people in the world and I'm sure there are a lot of great cousins.  I think the world has about 6 billion people so even if she was in the top 1% she would be in the top 60 million cousins.  So maybe that's it.  The world's 60 millionth best cousin.  Although now that I think about it she's probably only in the top 10%, so make that the world's 600 millionth best cousin.

Happy Birthday, Tara!!

Can't judge a book . . .

Well, I’ve had some friendly reminders to resume posting to the blog again.  We’ve been pretty busy lately and so I haven’t had as much time to write as before.  Thanks for the comments from some of you though.  It lets me know people are reading.  Future posts will probably be shorter than in the past.  I have several things to post, but I won’t be able to do it all today.

There is one hilarious thing that keeps happening here over and over.  We have working with us here another sister (Sis. Venita) from Kansas.  She is half black and half Mexican and she looks very much like she fits in here in Honduras.  The problem is that she speaks very little Spanish.  So everywhere we go, we have the Schreckhise’s, me, Joy and Sis. Venita.  All of us except Sis. V look very American (aka white). We were eating the other day and a man came by asking for money.  He turns to Sis. V and rattles off his long request.  She of course has no idea what he is saying, but she looks Honduran so he assumes she does.

I can not tell you how many times this happens.  When in public places, the Honduran folk here constantly come up to our group, turn to face Sis. V, and in rapid fire Spanish say whatever it is that they are wanting to say.  She stares at them bug eyed, like “I have no idea what you are talking about”, until one of the Schreckhise’s interrupts to tell the person to speak to them.  They just assume that she is the Spanish speaker among us since she looks the part.  She will tell them “No entiendo mucho espanol” and they look at her and go right back into what they were saying like they don’t believe her.  And she’s like “No, you don’t get it.  I really don’t understand what you are saying.”  I’ve even seen this happen when Bro. Schreckhise has been speaking perfect Spanish to them for a bit.  Then when they want to reply, they’ll turn to back to her who hasn’t been speaking a word of Spanish and reply to her.  It’s like a mental block or something. 

This and That

This was sent to me by my friend Kimberly Forse after she found out I had an older silver percolator coffee pot. My mawmaw always made her coffee in one but I had no idea how it worked. Thanks to her I have brewed the most amazing Honduran coffee in my little silver pot. So for anyone needing to know how one works here it is…..Thanks Kimberly

1)  Fill the percolator with water to below the line on the stem where the filter basket will rest.

2)  Put the filter basket in place

3)  Add one heaping tablespoon of coffee for each cup of water in the pot.

4)  Fit the basket lid into place inside the percolator

5)  Here’s where we branch off in two directions. – If you are using an electric percolator, plug it in and turn it on. The coffee pot is now on its own until its done perking. If you are using a stove top percolator, put it over a low flame to heat the water. As soon as the first splurt of coffee hits that little glass bubble, turn the heat down.

For both electric and stovetop pots:

6)  Watch the pot carefully and as soon as it stops perking, remove it from the heat.

Being careful not to scald yourself, remove the lid of the percolator and remove the entire filter stem from the pot. If you leave it in there, the steam from the coffee will continue to condense, drip over the spent coffee grounds and drip into your coffee.

Also, here's a little bit of "history" on percolators - how they're put together and such:

A coffee percolator consists of five parts. There is the percolator coffee pot, into which you put your coffee. There is the stem, a hollow metal tube that fits into the bottom of the pot. In non-electric percolators, it has a flat, round bottom. There is the filter basket, which slides onto the tube and holds the ground coffee. There is the filter basket cover, a round perforated lid that fits on top of the filter basket and makes sure that the water showers the entire basket of coffee evenly. Finally, there is the coffee pot lid, which often has a glass bubble in it. The glass bubble just might be the most fun part of the entire contraption. It lets you watch the coffee splurting up from the tube and splashing inside before it spills back down onto the lid.

Some experiences

On Tuesday we watched a riot/protest on the street below our window. The market vendors were protesting a tax that the government had hit them with. Later I saw it on the news. I videoed it, too. Wednesday morning about 4:15 we were woke up with gunshots. It was the scariest thing. I jumped up and looked out the window and it was the same place where the riot had taken place. I was terrified when I saw the men walking down the street looking for someone....then I saw the guns in their hands. I was looking down on them when they looked up and saw me looking down on them. Waylon said for us all to just go lay in our beds and we would be safe because we would not get hit if we were laying down because our walls were cement and the beds were below the windows....scccccaaaaarrrryyyy!!!! Later in the day when the maids came we found out that those men were the guards trying to prevent a robbery. Apparently the protesters came back later….I later found out that there were people trying to break into the government building to steal some paperwork or something.

Just a side note….

I would like to thank Mothers Memorial for the great washer and dryer set that Lycia has been blessed with. I have the privilege of using it these few weeks. I also would like to say how much I appreciate my double sink in my kitchen in Texas. Everyone that we all know has 2 sinks in their kitchen. In my apartment here in Honduras I have 1 sink and a drying board…….

Today I took Ashlyn to the “salon” to get her birthday pedicure. I want you to imagine all those relaxing massage chairs you have sat in while you get your pedicure and the music playing softly in the background. Now forget all that and imagine this……. We stepped onto the elevator and rode one floor up and we were there. They lead us back into a room they had set up for our pedicures(earlier I had went up and told them “dos pedicures”). They had 2 comfy computer chairs side by side. For our feet, they had put a hospital like pan, inside a white trash bag, for a liner. Then as we sat down they filled the pan with water they had heating in a water/trash can…the can was clean. They told us to relax so we did….we “reclined” our chairs. Then they propped our feet on their legs and got to work. The surroundings may have been a little primitive but I will have to say that we in no way did we get a second rate pedicure. There was no chatter of other patrons, no door chimes, and no television noise. The view was incredible. We were on the top floor of the apartment building and we looked out over the entire city, with mountains in every view. Ashlyn got her first eyebrow wax for $3…..it was a first class job. We walked out with a day full of memories and only $30 lighter.

Today we went to the spa type thing up stairs. It was so much fun. Me and mom each got a pedicure that was an hour long including the massage. But when they filed my feet it tickled so much. They did everything better than the states or at least just as good. They just improvised a little. When you walk into an American salon they put you in a massage chair with a jacuzzi for your feet only. But here you sit in a desk chair that reclines. You put your feet in a barf bucket covered with a garbage bag. They put water from a heated garbage can on your feet with bath salts. Then I got my eyebrows waxed. It was so freaky but I did not yell.-ashlyn.

Don’t slam the door!

The property that the central church in Tegucigalpa owned (in conjunction with the Bible school) was located in an area that had gotten to be unsafe.  So they sold it and are currently in the process of acquiring new property.  In the meantime, they rent a building for a few hours for the Sunday service.  The mid-week service is done in small groups in peoples houses.  I got to go to one of the “grupos pocos” last night.  It was a really great experience.

Although, there are church members at the small groups, the focus is on outreach and there are a lot of people there who were just invited and don’t belong to the church.  The group is led by a member of the church.  It’s an interesting concept.  For the midweek service at least It puts the focus on working and not simply attendance.

The man who another brother (Hmo. Josue) and I were going to ride with had a last minute emergency and couldn’t drive.  We had to take a taxi.  This is a big deal.  There are two kinds of taxis: “collectivo” (English = very unsafe) and “directo” (engish = might be safe).  The taxis collectivos take you where you are going, but they can stop along the way and pick up other people as much as they want to as long as everyone is generally going in the same direction.  There have been instances of the taxi driver being in cahoots with someone else that he picks up along the way after picking up three of four other passengers.  Then they take them all out somewhere and rob them.  This had happened before to Hmo. Josue.  So we weren’t taking a taxi collectivo.  The taxis directos take you alone to where you are going without stopping for anyone else.  There’s still some danger but not as much.  I was instructed to basically not take anything along for the ride.  No cell phone, camera, wallet, driver’s license, anything.  I took my Bible and 470 lempiras ($23).  Had I known we were taking at taxi I would have worn worse clothes.  I was wearing slacks and a long sleeve business shirt.  They told me “Don’t talk in the cab.  They’ll know you are American.  Just pray in the cab . . . Silently.”  (I’ve been told I could pass for Honduran.  There’s a pretty wide range of skin color here.)  Hmo. Josue would do all the talking to the cab driver so I wouldn’t have to say anything.

The taxi ride both to and from the house was uneventful.  I guess we got safe drivers.  A funny thing happened though that I didn’t find out about until the ride was over.  When we got out and were standing on the curb, Hmo. Josue was trying to tell me something about shutting the door so hard.  I couldn’t understand everything he said, but I did get the gist that I had shut the door too hard.  Turns out, when I first got in the back seat and shut my door the driver said “Don’t shut the door so hard.”  Of course I didn’t know this because I didn’t understand what he said (or even know that he was talking to me).  And Hmo. Josue couldn’t  tell me because then it would be obvious that I was American.  And I hadn’t shut it any harder than normal.  Just the way I usually close a door.  Then when we arrived at our destination, I got out and without knowing it shut it even harder apparently.  The driver thought I was being spiteful because he had said something before.  He said something else and drove off.  I guess I was he rude American without even knowing it.

Once we got back to the Shcreck’s house I learned that it’s a culture thing to not shut the car door very hard here.  They hold it about 5 inches open and press it closed.  Sis. Lycia told me she’s had to get out and re-shut the door a number of times because the car would beep when they didn’t shut it hard enough.  I thought I was just making sure it was closed.  Anyway, one of those funny cultural things that you could never have predicted. 

We got to the house for the “grupo poco”.  It was a great experience that I’m glad I didn’t miss.  First, to go inside these people houses is quite a privilege (they think it’s a privilege to have you there too).  This was the house of the owner of a little store, so it was pretty nice by Honduran standards.  If I had to guess I would say it was still not bigger than 500 sq ft.  Cement floors, plaster walls, all bare, all mismatched furniture, couch, table and chairs.  If you’ve ever been to your grandmother’s house that was built in 1920 or something, this wouldn’t be quite that nice. 

We had the Bible lesson which was given by Hmo. Josue.  The Honduran church is a pretty mature church and the local preachers here are quite good.  I thoroughly enjoyed listening to the lesson and could follow most of it (Tal Como Esta).  When it was over the lady of the house fed us a traditional Honduran meal (beans, rice, tortillas, fried yuca).  It was great.

The kitchen area was interesting.  It was raining and there was a pipe coming from the roof with water just pouring into a big tub.  The tub wasn’t large enough to hold it so from this overflow and from other places water just runs all over the floor.  The whole house is made of cement etc (no sheetrock) so things getting wet doesn’t matter.  In this tub she had 7 turtles as pets (one she had had for 12 years – they ate dog food).  She had a green parrot, 3 love birds, a dove and a cat.  All this in the kitchen. 

I wish I could have taken pictures.  Might would have been rude anyway, but it was great to see how other people live.  Seems like the best experiences we haven’t been able to capture on camera because it hasn’t been safe to take one. 

She had 15 kids, only the youngest still living there.  I guess they all lived in that little place at some point.