My font porch can be a “dangerous” place. As I lay in my hammock on in my enclosed porch, the dog napping on and off, head resting at the gate, two evangelists approached. Both older Honduran men, not Bello’s favorite populations in general. People can and should have their own faith but I prefer not to be preached at in my own home. When the Mormon missionaries passed by several months ago, I also happened to be reading on my porch. The porch can be a dangerous place because I am exposed. I cannot pretend to be busy or not home as I lie with a book in a hammock in plain site. Bello to the rescue. As the men approached, one wearing a “Jesucristo vive” (Jesus Christ lives) shirt, zipper-cased Bible in hand, he gave them a few seconds as we both surveyed the men. They stopped within inches of the gate, obviously a little unsure of themselves. Whether this uncertainty was a result of the dog or due to their own convictions, I do not know. Bello gave a growl, then let out a full round of barking. The man in the Jesuscrito shirt tried to talk through the barking. I didn’t hear a thing other than “las palabras”, “the words”. Bello tends to get excited when dogs, pigs and some people pass the house. Although I don’t normally like when he jumps up, paws on the sill, to bark out the bar windows, in this case, I tried to hide my smile. He put his paws on the sill and barked, face-to-face with the other man. (Hondurans in general are not tall people and there is a single step up to the porch.) As the hair on the back of Bello’s back stood on end and he growled off anything but a welcome, I eased out the, “this isn’t a good time” excuse as I watched my baby.
Normally, I don’t really like his “bravo,” as it is called here. I don’t appreciate when he randomly lunges or barks at an innocent passerby as I walk him on his leash. Instances like this, I can’t help but appreciate it. Who Bello reacts negatively towards is sometimes unpredictable but a few traits tend to set him off: 1 Bolos (drunks). 2 People who are obviously afraid of him. 3 Frequently, people on bikes, I am not sure why, 4. The others are mostly men, though not always. I think he is a pretty good judge of character although once in awhile he reacts to people to whom he didn’t just a few minutes previously. I will never full understand it but sometimes I appreciate my personal “vigilante”. I love that he barks at bolos and “me cuide.”
Side note: the tick situation is improving though not completely resolved.
Completely unrelated...
One strange reality of living in another culture and living in another language is trying to express your personality. At least for me, it isn’t the same. Maybe it is the language, maybe it is the culture, maybe it is the rest of the situation and my role in my community. I don’t feel like I am the same person in Spanish as I am in English. Partially, it is difficult to pop off random comments in another language. Also, many things don’t translate. When around other Americans, you can translate things directly and often they pick up on the intention. For example, at one point I said “si solamente,” translated directly means “if only” but I am pretty sure that doesn’t work quite right in Spanish. I said it in the presence of other Peace Corps volunteers, at least one of whom caught my meaning immediately and laughed at the direct translation (which was the point). Months ago, I mentioned to one of my sisters that I don’t feel like I portray the same personality in my community. She told me that probably wasn’t the case but I think it might be true. My evidence, is that I was told by one of the younger colegio teachers that he initially thought me to be “enojada” which means serious. Maybe I don’t see myself as others do, but serious is probably one of the last words I would use to describe myself. Luckily, I think that impression has worn off and was mostly a result of my lack of ability to speak and not knowing what the hell I was doing the first few months in site.
Another incident occurred a few weeks after the encounter with the teacher. I was hanging out at my host family’s when come high school boys stopped by to help move chairs from their house (I’m not sure why but they have TONS of plastic chairs stacked in the backyard, why they have never offered to lend me a few, I don’t know.) My host sister commented that one of the boys was very outgoing. In learning a new word, I asked if I was outgoing. The response was a pretty definitive no. I either have a skewed perspective of myself, or I portray myself differently here. Who knows, maybe I am serious and not outgoing. Anyway, random rant but you aren’t a captive audience so I am not culpable.
When we reached the top, we dropped our boards and ventured a little further to peer directly into the upper crater. You could smell the sulfur and see where it mixed with the graphite, calcium and basalt to form the mountain. Since this is an active volcano, if you scratch away the surface, the sediment is hot to the touch; an incredible reality after those geo-science classes in college. You know you are a nerd when you consider collecting sediment samples to bring back to geo professors back home. I probably would have done it had a container been available. That, and I suppose it may get lost in the next 14 months or so.
The girls went first so we could watch the boys crash and burn from the bottom, a much better view since you cannot actually see the bottom of the volcano from where we were “pushed off” the mountain. That is not to say that the girls didn’t crash as well (I definitely did), but the boys tend to go faster and therefore, had some impressive wrecks towards the bottom. Faces covered in black dust and pebbles in places they shouldn’t be, we headed back to the hostel for free mojitos. Since we only had a few days, we hoped a bus to start the long trip back to Honduras. Nope, no shower first, we settles right in a busito with all the Nicaraguans,
covered in dust and a little blood. Good times.
