I wake at five in the morning, I realize there is no working shower and I wash in the bucket of cold water that is handed to me. It would seem that my taxi driver is the only punctual man in Honduras so, with wet hair I stumble into a taxi with my things for the day. I get to the ICYE office at 6.40am, I am twenty minutes early. I discover that SOMEONE neglected to tell me that we were going away for the weekend. Today.
So, here I am with nothing but the clothes I am wearing, 100 Lempira, a camera and some hand sanitizer. I am also berating myself for being so stupid. How the hell did I imagine I could come to a country where I didn´t speak the language, entrust myself into the care of a family I can´t communicate with and still expect to know everything I am supposed to? I am kicking myself here.
I bet my family told me. I bet I did that nod that people do when they don´t understand something but they don’t want to lose face. I wondered why my host mother looked so concerned when I left. She kept saying something to me and I just kept smiling and saying ¡Tenga un buen dia! It’s possible that I am an idiot.
One square arse later we arrive at PANACAM, a Honduran national park and home for three days. We have little time to take it all in as we rush headlong into a day of training. I am really starting to feel the jetlag, the effects of a 5am start and the hell of constantly being surrounded by at least three different languages. As I stumble up a ladder into my bunk that night I am alarmed to find that our patio has been designated the party area. Whenever anyone uses the toilet the dorm fills with light. I imagine it’s something like sleeping in a photocopier. My body finally gives up the fight with consciousness at 3am. I drift off to the sounds of drunks and bad quality pop played through even worse quality speakers.
I am strangely glad to get ‘home.’ Despite the trails of the weekend my evening is wonderful. I realize I have a lovely family who welcome me, even though they don´t understand me. I explain in terrible Spanglish about my ordeal and they are sympathetic. They are concerned that I have something to eat, that my clothes be washed, that I have a wash and get some rest. Later we all have a good laugh about it. Dora and Eugenia have been swatting up on their English at the weekend and we spend the whole night laughing at ourselves as we try to communicate. For the first time in four days I don´t feel alone. Dora has got me some books from her school and Eugenia starts to give me some vocabulary lessons. I start to realise what it´s going to take to make this happen, and so I vow not to read or speak any English for the rest of the week. I am going to have to sacrifice something if this is going to work. Once I finally surrender my expectations and accept the situation for what it is it all seems much easier. I feel happier and I wonder if I could really start to like it here.
After only a week I feel a hundred years old.