When I'm asked how good my Spanish is I usually respond with something non-specific like, "Well, I'm learning more every day," or "I can understand more than I'm able to speak." I am in the fuzzy zone which is somewhere between beginning-intermediate and whatever comes after that, also known as "Level Dangerous."
Level Dangerous involves a lot of reassuring head bobbing that communicates that yes, I understand what you are saying to me even if you're not getting much else in the way of feedback. And, most of the time, I DO understand what you are saying to me. Until I reach Overload. Overload is the state someone in Level Dangerous reaches when they have maxed-out their listening comprehension. This can happen unexpectedly. I have found that I'm more likely to reach overload when I'm in a small group and I'm not the only one expected to listen in Spanish. Constant eye-contact, a friendly smile, and slow reassuring head bobbing is very important when in Overload.
This usually works just fine. Usually. The system breaks down when the speaker strays from friendly, informational, or happy topics and onto other more serious and sometimes even sad territory. This can happen without warning. The other day a woman was telling Andrew and I about how her brother had been married for a long time and was not able to have children. His wife, pregnant with another man's child, eventually left him and went to the states. Up until this point we had been talking about the photos of her cute grandchildren that were posted all around the house, and I was still wearing my happy face. Belatedly, way too far into the sad brother story than was socially appropriate, I realized it was time for my sad face and a slow side to side head bob. I can't wait to be in Level Almost There.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
MCC Honduras team pictures
This Friday was the despedida for Jeff, the volunteer whose work we are taking over. We went to Fred's Kitchen and delighted in various international cuisine offerings, including European vegetarian crepes, Thai-ish peanut butter chicken, and American cheeseburgers. Here are some team pictures to give you a sense of our work environment.
The MCC Team (Center to left around table): Jeff Eschleman, Maria Eley-McClain, Adam Lawrence, Sarah Winter, Caleb Yoder, Darrin Yoder(with Caleb), Julie Aeschliman (with Lucía), Andrés, Amanda, Josh Eley-McClain.
In the paila of the Nissan.
Josh, Jeff, Maria.
Sarah and Simon
The MCC Team (Center to left around table): Jeff Eschleman, Maria Eley-McClain, Adam Lawrence, Sarah Winter, Caleb Yoder, Darrin Yoder(with Caleb), Julie Aeschliman (with Lucía), Andrés, Amanda, Josh Eley-McClain.In the paila of the Nissan.Josh, Jeff, Maria.Sarah and SimonJeff leaves on Friday, so I guess we have to hope we have gleaned as much of his encyclopedic knowledge about Honduras as possible. Everywhere we've gone in the country people tell us how much Jeff has meant to their lives. He will be missed.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
The globalization of war
Today, while waiting at Charlie's Chicken for a chicken sandwich and side order of tajadas, a friendly middle-aged gentleman approached my co-volunteer, Josh, and me and greeted us in labored English: ¨Hello. How are you?¨ It isn't uncommon for a Honduran to approach gringos for a rare chance to practice what English they know.
Anyway, this led into a conversation about how he learned English. Apparently he worked in security at the US Embassy in Baghdad a year ago and was one of the many guards responsible for securing the premises in the Green Zone. His salary was high -- about nine year's worth of work in one -- but it was dangerous and thankless. Josh said he has heard that the job did not include insurance.
This man was not the only Honduran sent to Iraq for security work. According to this article there is a contingent of at least 600 Hondurans who were essentially outsourced as private security for American interests in Baghdad. They were to be paid between $900 and $1,500 a month for a six-month tour in Iraq. In this report, the salary promised that was promised to a Chilean mercenary was not what he received, but the worker did not see the contract until he was on the plane for Baghdad.
Incidentally, this chilling line from the first report was also eerily similar to a comment the man at Charlie's Chicken had made: ¨The instructors 'explained to us that where we were going everyone would be our enemy, and we'd have to look at them that way, because they would want to kill us, and the gringos too,' an unidentified trainee told the AFP wire service. 'So we'd have to be heartless when it was up to us to kill someone, even it was a child.'
As is generally the case with globalization, the Honduran security workers were not compensated as well as their US counterparts. According to yet another article, which talks mostly about Colombians used as private security personnel, the Latin American mercenaries were paid half of what their American counterparts received. In the report quoted above, the American secuirty personnel received more than 10 times what the Chileans did.
What does this say about how we value a person from a developing country compared to a person from a developed country? They are both doing the same work in the same dangerous situation, but the Honduran mercenary is essentially viewed as less valuable. Yes, $1,500 a month is significantly more than the Honduran worker would make here in Honduras, but to me the salary in this line of work is essentially the value of someone's life.
The reality is globalization allows us to outsource all of our dirty work to cheap labor -- t-shirts, car parts, and killing.
Anyway, this led into a conversation about how he learned English. Apparently he worked in security at the US Embassy in Baghdad a year ago and was one of the many guards responsible for securing the premises in the Green Zone. His salary was high -- about nine year's worth of work in one -- but it was dangerous and thankless. Josh said he has heard that the job did not include insurance.
This man was not the only Honduran sent to Iraq for security work. According to this article there is a contingent of at least 600 Hondurans who were essentially outsourced as private security for American interests in Baghdad. They were to be paid between $900 and $1,500 a month for a six-month tour in Iraq. In this report, the salary promised that was promised to a Chilean mercenary was not what he received, but the worker did not see the contract until he was on the plane for Baghdad.
Incidentally, this chilling line from the first report was also eerily similar to a comment the man at Charlie's Chicken had made: ¨The instructors 'explained to us that where we were going everyone would be our enemy, and we'd have to look at them that way, because they would want to kill us, and the gringos too,' an unidentified trainee told the AFP wire service. 'So we'd have to be heartless when it was up to us to kill someone, even it was a child.'
As is generally the case with globalization, the Honduran security workers were not compensated as well as their US counterparts. According to yet another article, which talks mostly about Colombians used as private security personnel, the Latin American mercenaries were paid half of what their American counterparts received. In the report quoted above, the American secuirty personnel received more than 10 times what the Chileans did.
What does this say about how we value a person from a developing country compared to a person from a developed country? They are both doing the same work in the same dangerous situation, but the Honduran mercenary is essentially viewed as less valuable. Yes, $1,500 a month is significantly more than the Honduran worker would make here in Honduras, but to me the salary in this line of work is essentially the value of someone's life.
The reality is globalization allows us to outsource all of our dirty work to cheap labor -- t-shirts, car parts, and killing.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Soy yo, el gringo
Two days ago I drove for the first time through the crazy streets of San Pedro. Amanda and I had to drop off our monton of clothes at Bubbles, the local laundromat. The drive went well; I even sneaked right across the insanely busy Avenida Junior during the beginning of rush hour. We dropped off the clothes, left my name -- Andres -- and returned to the truck to head home. Of course the truck wouldn't start and we didn´t really know what to do. The nice ladies at the laundromat said we were more than welcome to leave our truck in their narrow parking lot until we came up with a plan, but if we left it there overnight, they said, it would be gone by morning. So we helplessly walked back to the office to find help from our older and wiser MCC friend, Jeff. At about 9 p.m. all of the folks in the office who were here for Connecting Peoples meetings we´ve had this week walked down to Bubbles to push start the truck. It took some doing, and must have been a funny site to see a herd of gringos pushing a beat-up Nissan truck down the road with every dog in the neighborhood going nuts, but finally the truck started and we all hopped in the back.
It´s times like this, when I feel helpless, that I feel the most self conscious of the fact that I´m different. No matter how much I try to blend in by not wearing shorts, trying to speak Honduran Spanish, etc., strangers will always recognize me for what I am -- a gringo. But it´s endearing, and it gives me character, I think. I have never been more aware of that fact before yesterday, when Amanda and I returned to Bubbles to pick up our clothes. Oddly, the woman recognized us and didn´t even have to ask my name. She had the bag of clothes waiting for us at the window. While walking home, I noticed a piece of tape on the bottom of the trash bag that held our folded laundry. I assumed it said ¨Andres,¨ the name I gave to the woman when I left the clothes. But no, the the label was even more simple and descriptive -- ¨gringo.¨
It´s times like this, when I feel helpless, that I feel the most self conscious of the fact that I´m different. No matter how much I try to blend in by not wearing shorts, trying to speak Honduran Spanish, etc., strangers will always recognize me for what I am -- a gringo. But it´s endearing, and it gives me character, I think. I have never been more aware of that fact before yesterday, when Amanda and I returned to Bubbles to pick up our clothes. Oddly, the woman recognized us and didn´t even have to ask my name. She had the bag of clothes waiting for us at the window. While walking home, I noticed a piece of tape on the bottom of the trash bag that held our folded laundry. I assumed it said ¨Andres,¨ the name I gave to the woman when I left the clothes. But no, the the label was even more simple and descriptive -- ¨gringo.¨
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Labor abuses in Honduras
Honduras is known for its cheap labor. If you look at the tag on your shirts, chances are many of them were manufactured right here in San Pedro Sula, where wages and operating costs are low. Most of the plants, however, are reported to be fairly well run, and the jobs are highly sought after as some of the best paying jobs in this economically depressed country.
But this report put out by the National Labor Committee on labor practices in one Honduran Alcoa auto parts processing plant is absolutely shocking. According to the report, workers were systematically abused and denied basic rights guaranteed by the UN and the International Labor Organization. Here is one of the more disturbing excerpts from the report:
At Alcoa, it is not uncommon for workers to have to urinate, or even defecate, in their clothing after repeatedly being denied permission to use the bathroom. The bathrooms are also dirty, lacking lights and toilet paper. Workers who take “too long” may be pulled from the toilet by guards. There have even been cases of women being made to disrobe and lower their underpants to prove they were having their period so they could use the bathroom more than twice a day. Workers arriving 15 minutes late can be punished with the loss of two-and-a-half or three days’ wages. With as little as ten minutes notice, workers on the night shift can be ordered to remain working for another six hours, keeping them at the factory from 4:15 p.m. to 6:00 a.m.—nearly 14 hours. All overtime is obligatory and those who object can be fired. Many lines work this mandatory 13 ¾ hour shift five nights a week, putting them at the factory 68 ¾ hours a week. Especially in Plant III, where the air conditioning has been broken for nearly a year, fainting is common as factory temperatures often reach 104 degrees. Supervisors yell at the workers, “Hey, Donkey, move!” or “Work, you prisoners!” Security guards patrol the shop floor and if they see someone resting for even a few seconds, they will poke that person with their baton and order them to keep moving. Especially at night, workers take strong caffeine pills to stay awake and race to meet their high production goals, as well as pills for muscle pain, and later sleeping pills in order to sleep during the day. Production speed-ups are routine and arbitrarily set by management. In June, workers were told they had to increase their production from nine harnesses a day to 12. This was a 33 percent increase in production, with no wage increase.
Fortunately, this report has attracted some international attention after Alcoa fired all employees who were recognizing their legally guaranteed right to unionize. My hope is that this international awareness will turn consumers´heads to the realities of cheap labor here in Central America, encouraged by so called ¨fair-trade¨agreements. I guess we need to ask ourselves a very difficult and complex question: Are these human rights abuses a fair trade-off for cheaper auto parts?
But this report put out by the National Labor Committee on labor practices in one Honduran Alcoa auto parts processing plant is absolutely shocking. According to the report, workers were systematically abused and denied basic rights guaranteed by the UN and the International Labor Organization. Here is one of the more disturbing excerpts from the report:
At Alcoa, it is not uncommon for workers to have to urinate, or even defecate, in their clothing after repeatedly being denied permission to use the bathroom. The bathrooms are also dirty, lacking lights and toilet paper. Workers who take “too long” may be pulled from the toilet by guards. There have even been cases of women being made to disrobe and lower their underpants to prove they were having their period so they could use the bathroom more than twice a day. Workers arriving 15 minutes late can be punished with the loss of two-and-a-half or three days’ wages. With as little as ten minutes notice, workers on the night shift can be ordered to remain working for another six hours, keeping them at the factory from 4:15 p.m. to 6:00 a.m.—nearly 14 hours. All overtime is obligatory and those who object can be fired. Many lines work this mandatory 13 ¾ hour shift five nights a week, putting them at the factory 68 ¾ hours a week. Especially in Plant III, where the air conditioning has been broken for nearly a year, fainting is common as factory temperatures often reach 104 degrees. Supervisors yell at the workers, “Hey, Donkey, move!” or “Work, you prisoners!” Security guards patrol the shop floor and if they see someone resting for even a few seconds, they will poke that person with their baton and order them to keep moving. Especially at night, workers take strong caffeine pills to stay awake and race to meet their high production goals, as well as pills for muscle pain, and later sleeping pills in order to sleep during the day. Production speed-ups are routine and arbitrarily set by management. In June, workers were told they had to increase their production from nine harnesses a day to 12. This was a 33 percent increase in production, with no wage increase.
Fortunately, this report has attracted some international attention after Alcoa fired all employees who were recognizing their legally guaranteed right to unionize. My hope is that this international awareness will turn consumers´heads to the realities of cheap labor here in Central America, encouraged by so called ¨fair-trade¨agreements. I guess we need to ask ourselves a very difficult and complex question: Are these human rights abuses a fair trade-off for cheaper auto parts?
Friday, October 12, 2007
These are a few of my favorite things...
One activity we did during MCC orientation in July was the Meyers-Briggs personality test. I found out that my love of making lists pushes me over the edge into the "judging" category, and out of the "perceiving"category, which I was formally so fond of. So here we go...
The little things that can make any day exciting:
1.) Kissing. I love it when women I've just met give me a kiss on the cheek as a greeting or farewell. It's more of a cheek brush with a kiss to the air... it makes me feel accepted and even a little loved. It's even better when they kind of grab my elbows with both hands and hold on for a little bit. Why don't we do this in the states? Why all the awkward half-waves?
2.) Fruit juices. One can purchase an amazing assortment of fruits for just a few lempiras (18 lempiras = $1), so it is possible to experiment with a blender and any number of combinations of fruits. There are also many, many fruit juice mini-restaurants around, which will juice fruit for you, blend it with ice and lots and lots of sugar for around a dollar. We've discovered that it's worth it to ask for a little less sugar than normal.
3.) Walking. I am definitely a little nervous about the city buses; traffic is intense and so biking isn't a good option, so I'm thankful that I enjoy walking.
4.) Snack food. Specifically, baleadas (flour tortilla with refried beans, cream, and cheese, folded in half with pickled spicy veggies to put on top), and pasteles de pollo, otherwise known as empenadas. Very tasty.
5.) Amiga. The special Friday section of the La Prensa, San Pedro's daily paper, which is just for women.
6.) TV. I feel guilty for including this, but I have watched more t.v. here in 5 weeks than I did probably all of last year; mainly when we've been staying with host families. I think it's helping me with my spanish.
7.) Cool, breezy evenings.
8.) Rain.
9.) My spanish teachers, who are usually fairly patient with me.
10.) Two potential new friends, who also happen to speak pretty good english, but seem patient with spanish-learners (PTL).
To be fair, I'll include an abbreviated list of some things that can make a day in Honduras not quite so exciting:
1.) Exhaust, and traffic in general.
2.) Fried food, every day, every meal, everything fried, then fried some more.
3.) The practiced "come hither" look that so many men seem to have down, that has caused me to start being a sidewalk-starer.
4.) Sad, sick, and miserable-looking street animals.
5.) The big things: poverty, homeless children, unemployment, environmental degradation... all things that shouldn't be tritely tacked on to the end of an abbreviated list. All things that I'd like to write more about in the future when I'm not tired from a 4 hour bus ride and ready for bed.
Goodnight from San Pedro...
The little things that can make any day exciting:
1.) Kissing. I love it when women I've just met give me a kiss on the cheek as a greeting or farewell. It's more of a cheek brush with a kiss to the air... it makes me feel accepted and even a little loved. It's even better when they kind of grab my elbows with both hands and hold on for a little bit. Why don't we do this in the states? Why all the awkward half-waves?
2.) Fruit juices. One can purchase an amazing assortment of fruits for just a few lempiras (18 lempiras = $1), so it is possible to experiment with a blender and any number of combinations of fruits. There are also many, many fruit juice mini-restaurants around, which will juice fruit for you, blend it with ice and lots and lots of sugar for around a dollar. We've discovered that it's worth it to ask for a little less sugar than normal.
3.) Walking. I am definitely a little nervous about the city buses; traffic is intense and so biking isn't a good option, so I'm thankful that I enjoy walking.
4.) Snack food. Specifically, baleadas (flour tortilla with refried beans, cream, and cheese, folded in half with pickled spicy veggies to put on top), and pasteles de pollo, otherwise known as empenadas. Very tasty.
5.) Amiga. The special Friday section of the La Prensa, San Pedro's daily paper, which is just for women.
6.) TV. I feel guilty for including this, but I have watched more t.v. here in 5 weeks than I did probably all of last year; mainly when we've been staying with host families. I think it's helping me with my spanish.
7.) Cool, breezy evenings.
8.) Rain.
9.) My spanish teachers, who are usually fairly patient with me.
10.) Two potential new friends, who also happen to speak pretty good english, but seem patient with spanish-learners (PTL).
To be fair, I'll include an abbreviated list of some things that can make a day in Honduras not quite so exciting:
1.) Exhaust, and traffic in general.
2.) Fried food, every day, every meal, everything fried, then fried some more.
3.) The practiced "come hither" look that so many men seem to have down, that has caused me to start being a sidewalk-starer.
4.) Sad, sick, and miserable-looking street animals.
5.) The big things: poverty, homeless children, unemployment, environmental degradation... all things that shouldn't be tritely tacked on to the end of an abbreviated list. All things that I'd like to write more about in the future when I'm not tired from a 4 hour bus ride and ready for bed.
Goodnight from San Pedro...
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
La Ceiba -- Honduras's girlfriend
After a brief stay in San Pedro Sula, we headed to the north coast last Thursday to explore Tocoa, Trujillo, and La Ceiba. La Ceiba, the third largest city in Honduras with 100,000 inhabitants, is affectionately known as Honduras's girlfriend. I don't quite know what that means, but the guidebook explains Honduras's three largest cities this way: in San Pedro Sula, you work; in Tegucigalpa you think; in La Ceiba, you party. We haven't partied yet, just like we haven't really worked while in San Pedro Sula, but I can easily say that the North Coast is my favorite part of Honduras so far. To be fair, I have yet to see Tegucigalpa, but we'll had there this weekend. On Thursday we explored the old colonial town of Trujillo, and ate ceviche in a restaurant right on the edge of the ocean. It was so close to the water that I would expect that during high tide the water comes right up to the first row of tables. It was painful to not be able to swim, as we caught only a quick lunch before heading back to Tocoa but at least have some good itineraries in mind for visitors. The rest of the weekend was spent attending the Honduran Mennonite Church's National Assembly. Most of the pastors from Honduras were there, so it was a good chance to get to know some of Honduras's Mennonite big-wigs.
Since then, we've been in La Ceiba taking classes at the Central American Spanish School. Classes are four hours in the morning, leaving the rest of the day for study, relaxation, and exploration. Today's afternoon activity was one of the most unexpected surprises so far. We had previously been told to hit La Ceiba's Butterfly and Insect Museum, as it houses one of the best collections of Honduran butterflies, moths and insects, so we decided to spend our afternoon there. Upon entering we were greeted by a gringo named Robert Lehman, who graduated from Goshen College -- Amanda's and my alma mater -- in the 60's. After graduating from Goshen, he worked as an elementary school teacher for one of the American schools owned by the Standard Fruit Corporation (now Dole) and ended up staying. Throughout his thirty plus years here he has amassed an amazing collection of more than 14,000 specimens from 101 countries. He spent many of his nights out in the mountain jungles with a black light and white sheet, collecting moths, beetles, butterflies, dangerous moths, and other creepy crawlers. I got the sense that he no longer collects in the mountains, but is now an avid trader of insects throughout the world. He is currently awaiting a shipment of 700 butterflies from Poland.
You never know where you'll find a Maple Leaf.
As for the rest of this week, we'll have two more days of classes at the Central American Spanish School, and head back to San Pedro Sula on Friday. A Learning Tour from MCC in Akron will be meeting us in Tegucigalpa on Sunday, before which we plan to go to the Honduras National team game against Panama. It's a tough life.
Since then, we've been in La Ceiba taking classes at the Central American Spanish School. Classes are four hours in the morning, leaving the rest of the day for study, relaxation, and exploration. Today's afternoon activity was one of the most unexpected surprises so far. We had previously been told to hit La Ceiba's Butterfly and Insect Museum, as it houses one of the best collections of Honduran butterflies, moths and insects, so we decided to spend our afternoon there. Upon entering we were greeted by a gringo named Robert Lehman, who graduated from Goshen College -- Amanda's and my alma mater -- in the 60's. After graduating from Goshen, he worked as an elementary school teacher for one of the American schools owned by the Standard Fruit Corporation (now Dole) and ended up staying. Throughout his thirty plus years here he has amassed an amazing collection of more than 14,000 specimens from 101 countries. He spent many of his nights out in the mountain jungles with a black light and white sheet, collecting moths, beetles, butterflies, dangerous moths, and other creepy crawlers. I got the sense that he no longer collects in the mountains, but is now an avid trader of insects throughout the world. He is currently awaiting a shipment of 700 butterflies from Poland.
You never know where you'll find a Maple Leaf.
As for the rest of this week, we'll have two more days of classes at the Central American Spanish School, and head back to San Pedro Sula on Friday. A Learning Tour from MCC in Akron will be meeting us in Tegucigalpa on Sunday, before which we plan to go to the Honduras National team game against Panama. It's a tough life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
