1 month! Ahhhh!

As everyone will be saying right about now, I really cannot believe how quickly the time has gone by. I am enjoying my time here and wondering, would it be possible to come back? I think it might be… we’ll see.

Today I am in Brus Laguna again, talking to some of the same pastors I talked to the last time I was here.

In thinking about climate change, I know that it can be a touchy subject in the US. Maybe you think the problem is over-exaggerated, that change in the climate is something normal that was going to happen anyway. Maybe you think climate change is topics of discussion for treehuggers and liberals. Maybe you don’t think it exists, that it is made up by some people but there is no scientific proof of the changes. Maybe you don’t really care, because it doesn’t affect you and it’s not like you are putting out bumloads of hydrocarbons into the air. Oh and China is worse about polluting than we are.

I would like to plead with you, PLEAD with you, not to take climate change lightly. Even if you don’t believe the scientists, please believe this:

The Church is suffering because of climate change.

“No audience should say, ‘That’s your social location and your experience. Its not my experience,’ for as long as we are in the world we are interconnected” – Dube, from my HNGR homework readings

The Church here in La Moskitia is facing huge social, political, and economic problems all related to climate change. What is climate change in this context?

The pastors here know and understand the effects of climate change, even if they don’t completely understand the causes of the changes. They know climate change because they live it – they depend more on the land, and they see the differences in the amount of hurricanes and the heat.

The changes most frequently mentioned are the changes in seasons: the rainy season and the dry season are no longer clearly defined. They first started to notice this change 5 years ago. For a farmer, this change is devastating. They plant their crops with the expectation that rains will come. The rains do not come and the plants die. Or, when the rains do come, they come in sudden floods, drowning the crops and destroying houses.

The lagoons and water canals have less water, affecting fishing and water transportation.

More heat and more hurricanes is another change. The heat negatively affects people’s health, as well as affecting nature (droughts, drier water canals affecting transportation and fish population, etc). The hurricanes destroy towns, farms, and businesses.

All of the pastors mention the cause of the changes as coming in part from deforestation. Most of the mass deforestation in La Moskitia happens when people come from the interior of the country or from outside the country and buy (or illegally occupy) large portions of land for ranching. They have more cash (rumors say drug trade), and can afford to buy the land. The problem is that the land should belong to the indigenous people, the largest group of which is called the Miskitos, but the government has been too slow in giving property rights to the people. The ranchers cut down and burn large areas of forest, affecting water sources and changing the climate within La Moskitia.

The branch of the government that is supposed to be protecting the forests sometimes gives permits (bribed?) to cut down the trees for wood businesses or for ranching purposes. The money made from cutting down the trees does not stay within La Moskitia, because the people come from outside of La Moskitia and sell the trees outside of La Moskitia. Not even the taxes on the cut trees benefit La Moskitia. The Miskito people themselves cannot legally cut down a tree to make a canoe.

Inability to provide for themselves using the traditional subsistence methods has led many people, especially the young, to look for other ways of survival – drug trade, lobster diving (which leaves many crippled), and other fast-cash but socially devastating economic activities. More rapid urbanization, more delinquency, more families broken by drugs and alcohol, more prostitution and the highest level of AIDS in Honduras – it is all connected. The Church mentions drugs as being their main concern for the youth.

Destruction of the environment decreases biodiversity and has caused the populations of animals to disappear, affecting food supply.

Some of the deforestation happens as a result of fires, which happen regularly. Extended drought seasons increase the likelihood of fires.

More trash is a notable difference. The increase in use of imported plastic goods from (Coca-Cola bottles, for example) has led to the accumulation of litter in the streets and in the water. The lagoons are dirtier and have less fish and wildlife, affecting food supply.

A few pastors know that changes (especially in temperature and seasons) also come from the amount of hydrocarbons in the atmosphere, the greenhouse effect, etc. In one interview with an association of pastors in Brus Laguna, they recognized that countries like the US have contributed to this problem more than less-industrialized countries such as Honduras. They asked me if the Church in the US understands climate change, too. I had to say no, we do not. They reasoned that, in the US, the people do not depend so much on the environment for daily living. We (in the US) go from our
air-conditioned houses to our air-conditioned cars to our
air-conditioned jobs, not noticing the heat, they told me. The US causes environmental problems for Hondurans but those in the US do not feel the effects of their own actions.

The Church in the US should be worried about the effects of climate change in La Moskitia, because there our brothers and sisters in Christ are suffering. These changes affect the economic situation, impoverishing those who depend on the land and the water, a.k.a. the majority of people in La Moskitia, generally poor. The Church in the US should be worried about the effects of climate change because we are those who are affecting climate change. Not to say that the people in La Moskitia are squeaky clean, either. But IN OUR CHURCHES we need to stand up and say that the destruction of nature is sin because it is not loving our neighbor. We are not loving our own brothers and sisters.

We need a time of confession and action on the part of the churches. What would be awesome is maybe for a sermon topic, maybe during a retreat, youth lock-in, All-School Communion, prayer services, you name it – times of reflection in churches and services (in the normal, everyday spaces of Church community) that include recognizing the blessings that God has given us, recognizing our part in the sin of the destruction and rejection of those blessings, and reflection and prayer about the spiritual and physical actions (as if these could be separated!) that we as the Church in the US should take.

Parts of the interview in Brus:

Policarpo Wood: Mi pregunta tal vez, allá afuera, a los Estados Unidos, ¿también sufren problemas climáticos, o los de afuera miran los problemas de Honduras? ¿Miran los problemas de la Moskitia? ¿O los Estados Unidos, Europa también, sufren cambios climáticos? ¿Cómo mira usted? ¿O no hay problemas?

Jhony Alfaro: No tienen contacto con la naturaleza porque están en una ciudad. Una ciudad no tiene naturaleza. Allá en la ciudad, tienen su casa, allí ponen su abanico y no se siente calor. Sale de la casa, en el carro pone su aire acondicionado en carro, no se siente el calor. En la oficina pone su abanico. Allá ellos no sienten los efectos mucho. Porque casi no viven por la naturaleza. En cambio, nosotros sí, dependemos del clima, y dependemos de las lluvias para la siembra, dependemos del sol para la cosecha, entonces yo veo que eso afecta más a nosotros porque estamos más en contacto con la naturaleza. Si ella, que está estudiando este tema, tiene algunos tips, hay que enseñar a la gente para poder manejar los recursos naturales, como Iglesia. Porque nosotros podemos hablar de lo que hemos aprendido en la Biblia, los recursos, porque son cosas que el Señor nos había dado. Y como buenos mayordomos que somos, tenemos que tener cuidado, pero por lo mismo es que vivimos en contacto con la naturaleza. Porque no podemos decir, hoy mi casa no voy a hacer de madera para no cortar árboles, la voy a hacer de cemento. De donde voy a mandar a traer cemento? Y como lo voy a hacer? Entonces, qué hacer, y cómo decirle a la gente para que podamos todos entender bien que sí nos afecta, y estamos aquí, pero cómo desarrollar eso. Como cuando alguien compra una moto, y dice ya tengo la moto, tengo la llave, tengo la gasolina, pero cómo la uso, dónde va la gasolina, dónde va el aceite, dónde va la llave, cómo se hace, saber manejar, entonces ya es una parte. Sabemos dónde, porqué, pero no sabemos el cómo.

Carlos Molinero: Lógicamente, creo que el pastor Policarpo preguntó qué va a hacer con eso, bueno está haciendo un estudio de su universidad, ya hecho convenio con nosotros [MOPAWI], para poder entrar en este tema, Iglesia y el cambio climático. Porque ya hay una preocupación. Especialmente porque en esta zona, pues, hay una población cristiana que está sufriendo los afectos. Aquí se ha usado tres palabras: el problema, lo tenemos como cambio climático. Hemos hablado de causas, hemos hablado de efectos. Entonces, realmente cuando referimos a lo que es efectos, ya son las cosas del raíz, que ya se van entrando y que nosotros no podemos, se está yendo de nuestro control. Ya vemos cada año inundaciones, entonces estamos aquí dando palabras de causas, y de efectos. Con lo que ella está haciendo en Puerto Lempira, ya ha hablado con pastores, ha tenido quizás más tiempo para estar allí a Brus Laguna para poder hablar con ustedes respeto a este tema, y poder tener no sólo una acción sino una mayor reflexión a partir de la Iglesia, a partir desde adentro de la Iglesia, ¿verdad? Porque hay asuntos que el gobierno tiene que arreglar definitivamente. Hay cosas que son del gobierno. Pero a partir de la Iglesia, y a partir de que vemos de los miembros de la Iglesia, vemos los problemas que están dando, y personas que están sufriendo por estos cambios.

P.S. The picture is the view from the MOPAWI office… be jealous. The baby coconut trees at the very left are a few of the 3000 coconut trees that MOPAWI sent out to the communities. They are dwarf trees, which have sweeter fruit.
The best time to plant most fruit trees is when the moon is full. That way the trees grow shorter, with more, sweeter fruit!

ADELANTE SELECCIÓN!!!

This past Saturday was really important. It was the US-Honduras game, set in Honduras. (The US team tried to change the location of the game to the US using the political situation here as an excuse – too violent, or something, puh-lease!) As I know absolutely nothing about the US team, and because I love Honduras, and because I am surrounded by Hondurans, I was supporting Honduras, of course. So I’m not very patriotic; I suppose that makes me a typical HNGR intern. My host dad had just come from Ceiba, where he bought for the whole family, including me! Honduras jerseys. That night I went with my host parents and brother Jim to a fund-raising dinner for the right-wing Partido Nacional, and we watched the game on a big screen. The first goal was Honduras, but the US won the game. Honduras should have won because they were playing better than the US. We left in silence. A few days later, in a twisted stroke of fate, Honduras had to depend completely on the US soccer team, was begging the US to win. The only way Honduras could continue on to the World Cup would be if they won their game against El Salvador and the US won theirs against Costa Rica, because of the way the point system works. The games were at the same time on Wednesday night. Honduras was winning, but unfortunately Costa Rica was beating the US 2-0. The US scored a goal, and all of a sudden there was hope again. Within literally a minute left to the end of the game, the US miraculously scored another goal, bringing the game to a tie and Honduras to South Africa, for the first time since 1982!!! We all (my host mom, Jim, all of my cousins, and I) and hopped in the truck and rode around and around the streets of Puerto Lempira along with every other car and motorcycle in the city, honking and screaming. “Thank you gringos!” they all told me to tell you. That night I was proud to be an American, haha. It was really fun to see how the whole city erupted in joy. Micheletti declared the next day a holiday for the public sector, and MOPAWI took the holiday as well. I spent the day chilling in the hammock, chatting with my host mom, Kendy, and Jim. I was thankful for the opportunity to spend more time with them.

An especially good day was two Saturdays ago, when Kendy decided to clean out the attic. It was a really fun day, going through tons of pictures and old junk, finding a Frisbee, and generally learning more about my host family. The pictures part was especially neat. I recommend asking to see pictures, and asking questions. The stories that come out of pictures are precious.

Hey Sparkle-Butt

May 22 is great! En serio!
I want to see a chocolate fountain!
(I thought I had told you by some other medium of communication, but let’s make it official, shall we?)

No more mail, porfa

*So if you had any thoughts about sending me mail, don’t think those thoughts any more. It takes at least two months for things to get here, and I just got some mail from two-three months ago that had somehow ended up in Wampu…

I have been repeatedly slapped in the face and affirmed by Nouwen’s book Gracias, which Dr. Kepner gave me for my birthday when she was here. Nouwen was in Peru for six months – a HNGR internship timetable! Here is what he says:

To say with all that we have, think, feel, and are: “God exists,” is the most world-shattering statement that a human being can make. Because when God exists, all that is flows from him. It doesn’t take much to realize that I am constantly with myself. I am aware of all the various parts of my body, and I “know” when I am hurting and when not. I am aware of my desire for food and clothing and shelter. I am aware of my sexual urges and my need for intimacy and community. I am aware of my feelings of pity, compassion, and solidarity, my ability to be of service and my hope to give a helping hand… My own existence fills me, and wherever I turn I find myself again locked in my own self-awareness: I exist. However, as soon as I say, “God exists,” my existence no longer can remain in the center, because the essence of the knowledge of God reveals my own existence as deriving its total being from his. I suddenly or slowly find my own existence revealed to me in and through the knowledge of God. Then it becomes real for me that I can love myself and my neighbor only because God has loved me first. Once I “know” God, that is, once I experience his love as the love in which all my human experiences are anchored, I can only desire one thing: to be in that love. (47-48)

My emotional experiences are directly related to my understanding and affirmation of the existence of the love of God in my life. I must daily make the choice to look and find evidences of that love, and then live in that love, doing my really boring work, going running even when I really don’t want to if only for the reason of chatting with abuelito afterwards, washing my clothes well, “do your work.” Stop dying. Live. Be.

If you remember a past blog entry, I had a very strong desire to be called vos. It was more than a mere difference in syntax: I wanted to be a vos because I wanted affirmation that I am known. But only God can really know me. I was floored by a song by Alex Campos, written from the perspective of God talking to us: “y si niegas mi existencia, lo que yo siento por vos, el lucero de este cielo te dirá que aquí estoy yo, te dirá que soy tan cierto como lo es tu corazon.” To God, even if I doubt him and his love, I am a vos!!!

May peace be with you today, and may you know the presence of the love of God.

May you also watch the Honduras-US fútbol game this Saturday… adelante selección!

fin de semana

On Sunday, I was able to participate in an incredible event, for which I have waited a long time: Santa Cena, Moravian style! We woke up early and went to church at 6AM, which was a beautiful time of the day to have a service (much less hot). The service was beautiful, somewhat liturgical, and all of the hymns and most of the service was in Miskito (as opposed to the Catholic church, where most of everything was in Spanish). I arrived a few minutes later than my host family, and noticed with dismay that everyone was wearing all white (and all the women were wearing the white head coverings given to them at confirmation). I of course was wearing a very colorful, bright green shirt I bought in Costa Rica with Lauren. I felt very out of place, as if I wasn’t already being the only gringa. But I soon realized that it didn’t matter very much, and that they were welcoming, as they have always been to me. It was symbolic of the way I have felt here as a whole: glaringly out of place, and shouldn’t I have known better when I saw my host mom that morning dressed in all white?, and I do not have a head covering because I did not grow up in this church community. But as much as I feel out of place here and want so much to be able to integrate more into this community, my feelings are not as valid as the welcoming actions of the people around me. They have already welcomed me, especially especially as a sister in Christ; am I accepting their welcome? Or do I doubt the sincerity of the love their actions show to me? I need to practice seeing love in the small and in the ordinary, and reflecting love in the same way. My favorite part of the service was the end, when everyone in the church shook hands with everyone else (literally everyone).
That afternoon, I went to a birthday party with Kendy and the kids. Everyone was laughing at the way the pet deer were begging for food, and is that baby deer eating a lollipop? I was talking on the phone to Cendy, my host sister who is studying in Tegus, when all of a sudden I was headbutted in the leg by the male deer, who I hadn’t noticed was nearby because I had been talking on the phone. Of all the animals in the world that have had the opportunity to attack me, this is by far the least-expected animal attack. “The things that happen to you!” exclaimed Kendy. Apart from some bad-looking bruises, I am okay.
Church that night was especially powerful, as probably 30 people were dancing, including my host mom (the first time I have seen her dance). I honestly struggle with resentment as I watch the (mostly women) dance, wondering why I do not have faith, wondering why faith does not capture me like a lion captures and consumes its prey, as described by Donovan. I wonder about my motives – do I want to dance just to prove myself to my family and the people around me, do I want physical proof of the existence of the Holy Spirit before I let myself have faith, Thomas-style? Or do I legitimately want to live in faith, knowing Christ in this way? In conversations about this with my host mom, she says, “I will pray that you can know Jesus in this way, before you leave.” She says that I probably need to concentrate more on the Spirit. For her, dancing is more of a process, but for some dancing comes all of a sudden. There is one guy in particular who will all of a sudden be touched by the Spirit, and in a sudden furious burst will knock down all the chairs and people around him until someone can manage to push him into the center of the church. I want to be touched like that, but somehow I suspect that, if I could dance, I would be more of a process-person. Please pray for me in this.

Family Pic

Bakusa

Written July 25th

I am currently in a town called Wampusirpi, which is a 30-minute plane ride from Puerto Lempira and close to the mountains. I came here mostly because everyone else in the PL office was coming here, and I didn’t want to be by myself when I could be here in Wampu! Wampu is definitely a town, whereas I would now say Puerto Lempira is a city. It is beautiful, with fruit trees, traditional houses on stilts, and mountains in the distance. I am currently eating the best chocolate I have ever eaten, even better because I know it was grown locally, in a sustainable way.
I would like to tell you the story of this place according to a man I talked to yesterday named Don Blackhouse, who is 97 years old. He actually was one of the founders of Wampu, and so he has seen everything that has gone on here. He is an elder in the Traditional Moravian Church here.

Here is a summary of what he said:
The Miskitos as a people use the natural resources in a sustainable way, as they have for a really long time. There are people, however, who come from the interior and from outside of the country and buy up huge pieces of land, then proceed to “descombrar” for wood, or to have land for farming or ranching. The land, not used to this, quickly loses fertility. People say that the Miskito is the one destroying, but we are not the ones destroying. Our way of living is sustainable. People also say that the Miskito is lazy and doesn’t like to work, but the truth is rather that we don’t use all of the land because we want our children and grandchildren to have land and resources to survive.
But now there have been many organizations and the government who have come promising but not delivering anything. We don’t trust them anymore. [He told me this next part in English; imagine a Jamaican accent.] A year ago, a white man came and told me he would give us money. He told us he would send the money, but he did nothing. [continue conversation in Miskito/Spanish] The church has nothing to do with the government, and there really isn’t that much interaction between the churches here.
In 10-15 years, there will be nothing left for us. Already we have seen the changes – if we want to hunt, we have to go way up into the mountain to find animals. There used to be many animals all around to hunt, but now there are none. ICF [the government arm that protects the forests and fauna] tells us now we cannot hunt. But the way we hunt is sustainable. They won’t even give us permits to hunt, but they will give people who come in from the interior permission to hunt or cut down trees in exchange for a bribe.
The only hope is for all of the people who have come in from outside of La Moskitia to leave. I want ICF to leave. We need land rights, we need titles to the land so people don’t come in and take our land. The same officials that make laws against slashing and burning do the same thing with their own plots of land.
We tried to pray. God has his plans, but he waits, too. Maybe he’ll wait longer, I don’t know. I hope that God in listening to our prayers will send someone with enough power and influence to remove all of the Ladinos from our land. This is the hope. This person will come from the interior, or from the US, or from somewhere. [The person won’t come from La Mosquitia? I asked.] No.
I was one of the founders of Wampu. I have seen all that has happened here. I am sad, because I know soon I will die, and my children will have no resources. Bakusa [así es – this is how it is]. So then, I think about taking a gun and killing the people who have come in. Even if they kill me, I am going to kill someone. Bakusa.

This interview left me with a feeling of absolute despair. Later I cried without crying, cried to God, asking him why he hasn’t done anything, why he is not here. I generally try not to read the Bible looking for answers with the open-at-random method, but I didn’t know where to go and I was feeling angry with this God who has so often seemed so Clock-Maker-abstract to me. I should know better than to doubt his presence, but at the moment I was feeling rebellious. Defying God to answer, I flipped open and read. The passage was Psalms 144.
Salmo 144:7-8
“Extiende tu mano desde lo alto, y librame del mar inmenso: librame del poder de gente extraña, de los que dicen mentiras y levantan su derecha para jurar en falso.”

Later Psalms 144-148 talks about how good God is, how he protects the oppressed and frees the captives, and it’s an incredible chorus of praise, even though David was having some issues – I’m not sure if the issues were even remotely similar to those in La Moskitia, but these verses in 144:7-8 seem to be coming direct from the mouth of Don Blackhouse. I know, I know; I’m taking the verses out of context, but the fact that these exact words are in the Bible reminded me at the time that nothing is new to God, and that he is here, he is good and he is working, even if I cannot see it.
Kat wrote in my Chambers book a note of encouragement about how God never sleeps – “think of the daily nurturing work of watering plants, of sweeping the floor, of taking care of children.” Something similar is happening in La Mosquitia. Even as it is being destroyed, God is nurturing.
I know that God works in ways we do not expect. He takes our hopes and flips them over and extends them into our lives like a blanket to cover more than we could have ever imagined, like a well extending deep into the earth when we only have the strength and faith to pray for dirty surface water. And he empties himself into situations where we would least look for him – a manger in Bethlehem, a carpenter from Nazareth? We asked for a king, we asked for a political savior, we asked for a holy and glorious war, and you send us this dirt-poor baby?
We asked for a crumb, and you sent us an entire loaf of bread, which you even broke for us to eat. We asked for a drop of water and you sent us a flask of wine, which you even poured out for us to drink. We asked for someone, anyone, and you sent us Yourself. We looked for you everywhere and then realized you had been walking to Emmaus with us the whole time.
Are you here, Lord?
Even here?

The “vos” fail

Since I’ve been in Honduras, I’ve been fascinated by their accent, their way of speaking. In La Mosquitia it’s even more interesting. Honduran Spanish has something that Mexican Spanish doesn’t – the form of “vos.” Instead of the way I learned it, “tú” becomes “vos,” most often tacked on at the end of sentences: Fijate que ya lo vi, vos. Claro, vos. M’entendes, vos. And the “s” is more of a puff of air than an “s.” I love it. Every time I hear it I love it.
I most want to hear it directed at me. The first time I heard it in Tegus, with Laura, I asked her many questions about it and practiced on her, and it felt great. But then I realized that everyone else called me “usted,” expect Don Osvaldo, who uses “tú” for some reason. In my understanding of the difference between tú and usted, it depends on age and probably on social status. Everyone in the MOPAWI office called me usted, and of course I felt like I needed to do so with everyone else, as well, even Laura, although she still used the “vos” with me.
It’s very interesting figuring out when people use it and to whom. In a monthly MOPAWI meeting, it was so interesting, I wanted to take notes and keep track of who talked to whom, how. In my host home, the parents are the “usted,” but sometimes also the little kids are “usted.” It’s confusing.
When I first went to my host home, every so often Kendy would talk to me using the informal – not necessarily saying vos but at least putting the words in the informal conjugation. So unaccustomed was I at that point to hearing this, I would excitedly ask her, “Cómo?” And she would repeat, in the usted form. This happened multiple times but now she only speaks to me using usted. Sometimes I try to slip in a “fuiste” or a “compraste,” trying to see how I can stretch it back but always getting “usted” replies. I feel like I messed up dreadfully, and that there is no way back.
I actually still struggle to understand people when they talk to me in the “usted” form, because it’s the same as she/he, and I would have to think really hard about what they were saying. “Who?”, I would ask, trying to figure out who they were talking about. “Usted!” I long to be a vos, the desire to call someone a vos, to learn how to speak in the local manner and to be spoken to in the local manner. To belong. To speak with people who are actually my age in a way that reflects this and doesn’t reflect my foreigner status.  I decided to wait for the appropriate time to do ask. Today at lunch, Doña Carmen asked me how I was feeling, if there was anything that I would like changed. I told her that this was probably a weird thing to ask, and that there is probably a more natural way of doing this, but that I really feel weird every time she calls me “usted.” After that we sat on the couch and she told me that she couldn’t called me vos, because that is a reflection of a sloppy upbringing. I told her, oh okay, I just didn’t know, because I learned Mexican Spanish and I therefore have zero understanding of when and with whom to use “vos.” She said, “With some people, with whom I’m in confidence, I use vos, but more often we use usted.” “Oh okay,” I replied. “Bien.”
Really I don’t mind as much when she calls me usted, but it makes me feel so weird when Kendy and Jim talk to me and I reply in the usted, and when we do this around people with whom they use the vos. I love listening to Kendy and Jim speaking to each other, and long to be a part of that interaction.
Since this conversation, I have remembered that I am a Nine, darn you Richard Rohr. I have the expectation of myself as having the full trust of people. When Doña Carmen told me the above, it hurt. I was trying to figure out why it hurt so badly, and I realized that me equivoqué (I was wrong) – why should I expect their automatic trust and acceptance of me if I haven’t shown them that I fully trust them? For instance, I haven’t yet opened up to my host family about most of my feelings or fears or joys or my life story. This is mostly because I don’t want to burden them or make them sit through uninteresting stories in horribly broken Spanish if they don’t want to (typical nine way of thinking). It’s like I’m trying to be nice but I’m actually hurting myself and everyone around me, something I learned with my roommates last year. With this family, as well as with my roommates last year, when they have a story to tell, they just tell it. I need to learn this freedom and openness, and yes, trust. They trust me more than I trust them and yet I expect them to call me vos. I wish I had kept my mouth shut, but at the same time I’m glad I tried. I don’t want to try with Kendy or Jim, though, partly in fear of another fail. I love my host family here, and they´ve been such a blessing. Home is a place to have fun and relax, and the little ones are a consistent source of laughter.
Here are some pictures of my siblings:

me and kendy

pasear

¿Golpe del estado? Maybe?

When I woke up yesterday morning, I knew something strange was going on. First of all, there was power – the fan in my room turned on at 7:30 and I was really confused. Secondly, on TV there were soldiers running around, the newscaster saying something about Mel. “What happened?” I asked Jim, my host brother. “It seems like there has been a golpe del estado (coup d’etat),” he replied. I sank into the couch and watched as the TV showed scene after scene of soldiers running, angry people shouting, etc.

My host mom walked in the room. “What we were afraid would happen has happened,” she told me. We all watched together, skipping church, as the reporters told us how Mel had been supposedly kidnapped and taken to Costa Rica, then how Mel had sent a resignation letter to Congress but it was dated the 25th, and then how Congress met and decided that the vice-president Micheletti would be the new president.

Things started to get repetitious on TV, as they usually do in situations like this with breaking news, and so the family gradually dispersed. Jim’s friends/cousins came over and they went into a bedroom with Geovany (my little nephew) to watch a soccer game. Kendy (my host sister) and I remained watching the news.

All of a sudden, we heard a ruckus from the bedroom. Cousin Sergio rushed out and told us, “Come and see!” Kendy and I ran in and saw poor little Geovany lying on the bed, with his hands and feet tied behind his back. He was rolling around, making noises, and everyone was laughing. “Golpe del estado,” said Jim. “This is Mel Zelaya, kidnapped!”