Article

 My second historical article was published here.

Back...

... in the US of A. I do know how lucky I am.

On the first, my host family made me a lovely going-away meal. Vilma and Sofi made chicken parm, baked potatoes, and arroz relleno. For dessert, Valeria served us an apple flan she'd created.

So sweet 🥺

Apples are expensive because they're all imported,

so you know it's a special occasion when they're served!

So grateful for a smooth travel day on the 3rd.

About to take off from SAP

I traveled through Houston and fortunately had no delays or problems.

There were these strange, shrink-wrapped restaurants in IAH.

During my layover, I was able to find an open restaurant and order my first real salad in many months. There were iPads at each seat in all of the restaurants, even the shrink-wrapped ones. Seems rather extra...

... as are the airport prices, no surprise.

Guess we know where all that extra revenue goes.

The salad was yummy, though.

Safely on the ground in Denver, thankful for the warm welcome from my fam ❤️

No words, just ❤️❤️❤️

Over the past week, I've reconnected with the kitties, the fam, and Indian food; baked blueberry pie; journaled; finished up one last translation for MCC; unpacked; slept; sunbathed; jogged; sang. Elieth's first article that I translated got published (do you recognize one of the images?); the one I translated last week is queued as is my second historical article. The job search begins.

Connecting with nine other SALTers on Friday evening. We played "Jeopardy" but each question was a prompt to tell a story from our SALT experience. I answered Church for 500: "most bizarre church experience" (see national youth retreat)

I'll keep an eye on the LACA blog and notify here when those last two pieces of MCC Honduras content I had a say in are published.

Thank you all again for your support and prayers this year!

Last Weeks

Well, friends... somehow I've arrived in my last week in Honduras... for now. In some ways it feels like not much has happened since my last post. At the same time, it feels like ages ago. And really, a lot has happened.

Keyla and Sarah have both gone back to their home countries. I'm so grateful to have been able to say goodbye to Keyla in person on the 3rd.

Hasta pronto, hermanita

I've created some things. In addition to writing another historical article and submitting it to the LACA blog (I'll let you know when it gets published), I made some tangible things, as well.

Lamps in my life, not quite the light of my life

I made the pink lampshade out of an electric kettle box and some lining fabric that I cut out of a shirt that didn't really need a lining (especially when worn in a place as hot as SPS). I haven't seen it receive any visitors, though, unlike the lampshade in the living room.

Colorado Pie

"Es la primera vez que he probado pie, y es la primera vez que me encanta!"

On the 5th, MCC had a baking party to "raise some dough" for MCC. (I go into more detail on my Instagram, but basically it's a way to raise awareness about the financial hardships caused by the cancellation of so many relief sales, which is one of the COVID-implicated reasons that the office here in SPS will be closing.) My plug is: as MCC continues peace and justice work around the globe, including COVID response, please consider donating where needed most... contribute the cost of what you'd normally buy at the relief sale, whether that's a bierrock or a quilt!

I decided to make one of my favorite comfort foods, Colorado Pie, for my host family. My host sister Karinita (center) said, "It's the first time that I've tried pie, and it's the first time that I love it!" Turns out, baleada flour doubles well as pastry flour.

Valeria and I made sure it wouldn't be the last time Kari tried pie. A couple weekends ago we banded together to make peach pie.

I think Vale says it best... 👌🏼

🤤🥧

I've also made some virtual things. And virtual... people? Yep, Vale, Kari, and I have had some fun with the Sims 2. We made ourselves of course. Our last name is literally "Crazy Family" (yes, in English). We went on a vacation to Japan. And of course lived other things vicariously through our sims, like going to work and school.

Yay, sister time 💖

Here's another virtual thing I've made: a photo slideshow for our despedida yesterday. We all gathered on Zoom for our official end-of-year ceremony.

Calling in from Cortés, Cundinamarca, Indiana, Maryland, Texas

It was good... We listened to poetry, played charades, did some guided sharing led by Elieth, watched the slideshow, had some time for open reflection, and received awards. I got the award for investigation 😊

Everyone got an award, but it felt good to be recognized for something unique, especially since I'm pretty proud of how I was able to jump into journalistic interviewing this year.

Let's see, what else has happened? The SALT year usually ends with a re-entry retreat in Akron in early July, but this year it was held last week and virtually.

It was great to be able to reconnect with some of the other SALTers and IVEPers who I met last August

I was a little skeptical about doing re-entry while still in country, but I'm grateful it happened when it did. It was a very rich time of sharing and reflection, and it was helpful to get some perspectives from those who had already returned home or are on a similar timeline to me. It's helpful to be able to know what to expect from air travel during COVID and from reverse culture shock, and it also felt good to connect with people who are in the same phase as I am of anxiously awaiting their flight.

Welp, if all goes as planned, I'll be home this weekend. The Honduran government continues to add weird new circulation restrictions, which meant Elieth wasn't able to leave for Nicaragua by land today, but I think I should be able to get to the airport. I appreciate your prayers!

More Skiing

As I was preparing to go out on my bike last week for the first time in almost two months, I expected that exercising with a mask would feel strange... "Not something I've ever done before," I thought. Wrong—as I biked along, wearing a helmet and feeling the wind hit only my eyebrows, I realized the sensation was strangely familiar. I've compared my experience in San Pedro Sula to skiing before, but this time the similarities were more corporeal.

Hi church/office... it's been a minute...

And, speaking of the office, guess I should just get the bombshell out there: the MCC Honduras office is closing. They don't like us to use the word closing; they keep saying, "It's not a closure, it's a consolidation," and, to be fair, MCC will still continue working with partners and funding projects in Honduras. But that doesn't change the fact that the MCC Honduras office is closing, and the administration of all MCC's relationships in Honduras will take place from Managua.

I've known for a while. We were actually told a month ago, today. We were asked not to share the information with more than our closest family members until the comprehensive press release came out. Reasons given included wanting to share the information directly with the partner organizations first. I can imagine it also had to do with wanting somewhere official to point folks so they could get all the information of cuts being made worldwide, so it wouldn't seem like Honduras is the only program experiencing this. But I'm relieved that I can finally tell you all... my supporters, my prayer team, my cloud of witnesses.

So, as the press release says, "Administration of MCC programming in Honduras and Nicaragua will be consolidated in July 2020," meaning I'll be coming home in July, not October as I had started to imagine back in February. I wasn't blindsided by this on April 22; after the first couple weeks of lockdown and an idea of what was happening with the MCC budget, I was pretty sure the centennial celebration would be canceled and my extension along with it. I was, however, pretty shocked to hear that all personnel would be leaving Honduras in July.

I had really been looking forward to getting a taste of life as a service worker, but at least it's not a huge change from what I had thought when I signed up to serve with MCC. Our re-entry will be virtual and a little earlier than I expected, but I'll still be flying back to the states in early July, the day after originally planned (well, if there are flights). I'll just be going straight to Colorado—already "re-oriented"—instead of to Pennsylvania with a week of re-entry ahead of me.

It's really my teammates who have been affected the most severely. Jenny and Joél came here expecting a five-year rep term. They'll be leaving after less than a year here. They'd gotten rid of all the kids' winter clothes—of course they would have outgrown them in five years! Ditra, who had signed on to a three-year service worker term to do some of the financial and planning, monitoring, and evaluation work that currently falls to Rudi, had sold her house in Mexico and was only able to join the team virtually in March after getting stuck in the US after her orientation in Akron was cut short to try to get her here before the borders closed, but her flight was scheduled the day after Lars' on that fateful weekend in March and they weren't letting non-citizens/nonresidents in anymore. She's already been laid off, and they got Rudi to extend from her end date in April to stay through July to close out the books. And Dayna, who I haven't met (not even over videochat) but would've been taking over Lars' role as CPCer in August, thought she had a role all lined up after graduating from university and now will have to find something else. And in this job market...

And to look at that list of countries in the press release and know we're not the only team affected by these changes... and even hearing some stories from country programs not mentioned but which are still "reorganizing" some of their staff... and knowing there's a human story behind each decision about each position...

Seven of the 11 of us SALTers who are still on assignment are in programs mentioned. My second cousin Caleb, a SALTer last year and now on a yearlong extension in Vietnam doing similar historical communications work to what I've been working on here in Honduras, has also had to deal with the awful feeling of withholding information for several weeks. In a note to him, I reflected that our situations are somewhat bittersweet... in a way making our work documenting the legacies of our respective country programs even more important...

On that note, the first of my anniversary articles was published today. Give it a read for an idea of just part of the wonderful history of teamwork between MCC and Honduran Mennonites.

Touch

you can ask me, but the truth is that nothing much has changed

if I'm already fasting, it heals me a little to have companions

in this hunger strike

as they say, misery loves company

but, think about it, what if mercy loves company too?

an opportunity

since it's impossible to pretend that everything's okay

for anyone

to finally reveal the rest of what hurts us

- 2020/03/23

My primary love language being physical touch had become, to a certain extent, the primary thing I'd be teased about in the office. Not in a mean way, just in a friendly, poke-fun kind of way. "Lily, do you want a hug?" one of the team members—one I know isn't a hugger—would ask.

Honestly, no. I mean yes, I would love a hug—need a hug—but the thing is, it doesn't really work if the other person doesn't also want the hug.

And it doesn't really work at all, now.

Rosita posted something on her WhatsApp status back in early January that I took a screenshot of because I loved it so much:

The best feeling in the world: hugging someone and they hug you back even harder.

Honestly, I'm not even sure I'd be able to say physical touch is my primary love language. They all are important to me. Quality time and acts of service also suffer, to a certain extent, from physical distancing measures. How I miss the spontaneous interactions in the moments before, between, after. The gifts that we want to give can't all be given under these circumstances... and yet, a simple, unexpected, and perfectly-timed one can still make my heart melt. I guess we still have words of affirmation, but when only 7% of our communication comes through with the literal meaning of the words we type... sometimes they fall flat.

This is easier for me to write about in this season because it's something that everyone is very publicly dealing with. For the same reason, I've been able to make great strides over the past seven weeks in the amount of compassion I'm able to have for myself... especially when it comes to productivity. The sense of solidarity and not being alone in the struggles of quarantine... it's so important.

And yet, there is still that feeling of being alone. Because we are. It's not called self-isolation for nothing.

But at least we're all feeling alone, together.

Maybe this feeling is pandemic sonder. I'm grateful for the windows into others' experiences. Even (or maybe especially?) those of strangers.

My first year of university, I remember counting the months it had been since I'd hugged anybody. Everybody else seemed to be making friends so quickly. No sense of others going through the same, although I know there must have been. At least this time I have global solidarity. And my host family... Valeria still gives good hugs. But many people I care about are out of my reach for now... ones who would squeeze me back even harder. Some of them are two thousand miles away. Another is in Tegucigalpa. Perhaps most painful are the ones only a neighborhood away. A mile might as well be two thousand.

Elieth posted this a week ago 🥺

We live in the "most connected" age humankind has ever known, right? So why are we still lonely? This was a question we were asking even before global lockdown. Virtual connection is great and all, but it's no substitute for frente a frente... and society was already grappling with the realities of the loneliest generation. Our symptoms are an acute manifestation of the chronic ones we were already seeing... brought on by this triggering event.

Another thing I don't want to go back to "normal" in the aftermath of the pandemic. Let's go back to human, instead.

Don't get me wrong. I'm so grateful for technology right now. For the solidarity, for the otherwise-unavailable spaces, for the connections over video complete with inflection and even a window to partial body language. But it's no substitute for the real thing.

"There is still at least one thing missing: that moment when your mutual darting attention comes to rest and you make real eye contact, not the off-kilter kind that comes from peering at a screen located a few inches from a camera, but an actual meeting of actual eyes transmitted through the air..."

- Gary Greenberg, 2020/04/23

And it's so hard, even with grace for self and others... to reach out virtually.

Sometimes, when your chest is too tight for words, you just need to be able to go to that person who you know will hug you back.

"I will not kill off my yearning to touch you. I will let it guide me. I will fantasise about it. I will write about it. ... I will feel the fire of rage in my belly and the impossible sorrow in my throat. And I will learn over time how to translate this hunger ... into the making of this most necessary new world." - V, 2020/04/21

Gustavo

I haven't been looking forward to posting about this and to some extent it seems pretty futile to do so since most of you probably already know about it. But it wouldn't be right to omit it from my blog. So, here goes...

My host dad Gustavo passed away at the age of 68 on Wednesday the 15th at approximately 3:50pm from what they’re saying was a heart attack. He’d gone to the hospital early on Monday the 13th (like midnight/1am) and later that day they found water in his lungs and gave him meds to help with that and he seemed to be responding well. They also found that his heart was somewhat enlarged so after being in observation on Tuesday, he was going to have a catheterization for diagnostic purposes on Wednesday. He died just before the procedure. He had been just fine before Sunday the 12th when he'd just felt really tired… so it was a shock to the whole family because we'd really thought he'd been getting better on Tuesday and Wednesday. He was diabetic, but even in the hospital all his sugar and blood pressure levels were looking really good until the end.

He was buried the next morning at 11am. Due to the measures being taken in Honduras for all deceased persons—whether the doctors suspect they were infected with COVID-19 or not—no one was allowed to see his body and only 10 people were allowed at the burial: his wife (my host mom, Aurora), his grown children, his sister, and a couple other close family members. His grandchildren and I, along with his children-in-law and many neighbors and friends, were among those who could not go. This was a man who likely would have had hundreds of people at his funeral under other circumstances.

Things in the house are... weirdly normal... well, pandemic “normal.” Aurora has expressed trust in God’s timing and gratitude that it happened during a time when her children don’t have to go to work and her grandchildren don’t have to go to school so the family can be together and support each other. Although I don’t entirely agree with her theological perspective, I too am glad that she’s not home alone after such a loss, especially when her children’s employers may not have been sensitive to requests for bereavement leave.

I’m doing alright, I think. I’m finding time to grieve and remember with my host family, time to talk it through virtually with people close to me including my family in the States and my MCC Honduras team, and time to escape and have fun both with my host family and virtually with others. I'm appreciating it when people reach out to me. And I am very grateful to be with my host family right now... I cannot imagine how extra-painful it would have been if I had left a few weeks earlier and then this had happened. I still feel like the safest thing for me to do in my current situation is continue sheltering in place with my host family and doing what I can to continue the work of my position remotely.

Gustavo's hammock has been conspicuously empty these past two weeks. His chickens are also gone; he'd had someone lined up to inherit them. They came to take them away on the 17th. I'll sign off for now with a picture I took the day of the burial and shared on my Instagram with the following reflection.

Grietas

Curse the cracks that open up and swallow.

We were keeping a safe distance from the pit, or so we thought

But the ground shook, yawned wider, and we fall prone

Supported by the new precipice only up to our shoulders

Forced to peer down in

It was a hot day, but the miasma that emanates chills to the bone.

Careful! These clay jars are our inheritance

Stop putting them so close to the edge of the table

They're already cracked

The twelve o' clock news of ten at eleven? Curse the cracks that forbid goodbyes

But the jars have sunlight inside

And their cracks let them share and receive it

And they can still hold food, we almost forgot

So in the first hour of a strange new day

Unexpectedly

There is laughter.

Bless the cracks.

Tombs

I was affirmed a couple of times for this devotional I offered during our Thursday office meeting. Here's a slightly modified version.

Something I’ve been thinking about over the past week is how we as Christians would usually be celebrating the end of Lent this weekend, but in a way, we’re heading into an extended season thereof. We won’t really get to physically emerge from our tombs until an unknown date in the future. Our next doughnut will not be next week.

I could wax philosophical about emerging from our metaphorical tombs, but I don’t really want to go down that road right now.

A passage of scripture that has presented itself to me multiple times this week is:

There must be no competition among you, no conceit, but everybody is to be humble: value others over yourselves, each of you thinking of the interests of others before your own. Your attitude must be the same as that of Christ Jesus:

     Christ, though in the image of God

     didn't deem equality with God

     something to be clung to—

     but instead became completely empty

     and took on the image of oppressed humankind:

     born into the human condition,

     found in the likeness of a human being.

     Jesus was thus humbled—

     obediently accepting death, even death on an execution stake.
Philippians 2:3-8

I appreciate this translation because it highlights Jesus’ solidarity with humanity, especially those who are oppressed. It portrays Jesus as the image of God, as we all are (Genesis 1:27). And it speaks to some of the most frightening parts of being human—the human condition, in all its uncertainty, and the knowledge of our own mortality—and that Jesus faced all of this, too.

When Jesus was crucified, his friends were not expecting him to rise on the third day.

They hid from death in locked rooms.

Their uncertainty over what to do next must have been crushing; they didn’t know if they had anything to move toward or look forward to. They were paralyzed.

I’m going to read John 11:17, 21-24:

When Jesus arrived in Bethany, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. When she got to Jesus, Martha said, "If you had been here, my brother would not have died! Yet even now, I am sure that God will give you whatever you ask."

"Your brother will rise again!" Jesus assured her.

Martha replied, "I know he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day."

I feel somewhat like Martha in this situation, having faith that coming out of the tomb is in the cards, albeit far in the future. What I want to highlight is the uncertainty of the time within the tomb. Even though we will be in a Lenten season for more than 40 days and we are in our tombs for more than three or four days, those four days must have felt like an eternity to those who loved Lazarus, those three days forever to those who loved Jesus.

What happens during the eternity of the tomb? How do hearts change? How does the uncertainty of the resolution change the responses to life restored, since it wasn’t clear if and when it would be?

Curfew

The Honduran government changes the rules so often that it's hard to keep up. At nine in the evening after I published my last post, the cadena nacional on TV and radio announced that the department of Cortés (where SPS is) and the neighboring city of El Progreso would be under absolute curfew for the rest of the week. No leaving home, even to go to the supermarket. The rest of the country would remain under the MWF (1,2,3/4,5,6/7,8,9,0) schedule.

On Wednesday they announced the rest of the country would be changing to a M-F schedule (1,2/3,4/5,6/7,8/9,0) but that Cortés and El P would remain completely locked down. (At least they're spreading out the people over more days now...)

Earlier today we saw this schedule:

After a week at home, are we finally going to be able to go to the grocery store again?

It was quickly revoked.

This evening at 8:30 on the cadena, they announced this new schedule:

Looks like Colón department has joined the fun...

I won't be shocked if I wake up tomorrow morning and there's a new one.

Even after a week without being able to leave the neighborhood, my host family and I are in good shape. They have good connections to neighbors who can supply us with meat and eggs, the pulperías (neighborhood markets) are still getting supplied with paper goods, and produce vendors wearing masks are allowed to come through with their carts.

There is some effort by the government to deliver supplies to people in situations where they'd typically be earning money one day and buying their food with it the next. But there are the questions of is it getting to them fast enough and is it really enough food for 15 days like they're saying it is...

I know physical distancing measures are essential to stopping the spread of the virus, but... hunger is more deadly than COVID.

Three

As week three encerrada comes to a close, I thought I'd give y'all some novedades from the past week. While I was writing my update last Saturday, we got news of new regulations to be followed during the curfew. Each person can leave their house one day a week between 9am and 3pm to go grocery shopping or to the bank. Whether you can go out on Monday, Wednesday, or Friday is determined by the last digit of your government-issued ID: 1, 2, 3 on Monday; 4, 5, 6 on Wednesday; and 7, 8, 9, 0 on Friday. No movement is allowed on the other four days of the week. Those who go out when it's not their turn risk having their vehicle decommissioned or worse. So, here's my take on how the first week under these rules went.

The lines for the grocery stores and banks are ridiculous. Jenny and Rudi went shopping yesterday at one of the grocery stores that actually lets you go inside, even though it's more expensive, so they wouldn't have to wait outside in a line for an hour at least, but a lot of average folks don't have the luxury of that choice. And the hot season is really kicking into gear... it's getting up into the mid-90s pretty regularly with a heat index at about 105. This is not the season of the year where you want to make a habit of standing outside for hours! (I mean, you rarely want to be outside for longer than you absolutely need to in SPS... as I can attest to from my heat-exhaustion-induced low-grade fever nap I took after our four-hour outdoor foray back in August.)

From some of the footage I've seen on the news channel my host parents watch, there are traffic jams behind the checkpoints where police check IDs to make sure people are following the rules. In my opinion, it seems a little nonsensical to condense traffic in stores and public areas to three days a week... wouldn't it be better if people were spread out over more days so there wouldn't be so many people in one place at once, even if there are 6 feet between people when they're lining up? And what a great idea to have a couple police officers touching every single one of the IDs of everyone in a long line of cars 🙄

Life didn't change too much for me between this past week and the one before, except I think I'm getting better at being gracious with myself? I'm trying to do my self-work in such a way that I can maintain it cuando regresemos to "normal" work patterns (the subjunctive mood is definitely needed in this case).

Maybe subjunctive is my mood over the past few weeks.

One of the things I've learned being in Honduras is to feel more comfortable thinking about the future in more uncertain terms. (I've alluded to this before but haven't directly addressed it.) Language is a big factor, since the prominence of the subjunctive in speech makes a non-native speaker like me really pay attention to the difference between things we do know and those we don't (e.g. cuando llegué en Honduras en Agosto vs cuando regrese a los EEUU en Octubre). Even short term plans that we might not even label as "plans" in English, such as nos vemos ("see you later" or "we'll see each other") is often accompanied by a si Dios quiere ("if God wills"). I can only imagine how, for a native speaker, this way of expressing concepts must be so ingrained in their way of thinking that there's an inherent ease with uncertainty. Even though I still feel much more comfortable expressing myself in English, there are now some things I feel like I can't fully express without using Spanish... cuando regresemos a trabajar en la oficina being one of them.

I wonder if being immersed in Spanish—and in a culture full of people for whom thinking about time and plans in this way is the air they breathe—has made me, mentally, somewhat more prepared and comfortable with the weirdness, uncertainty, and discomfort of this time. It may not be the air I breathe, but it's the water I swim in.

Not Bad!

I've found some decent ways to keep myself busy so far—besides working, of course!

First order of business on the 16th was to make my desk fit for working at! It's got some more stuff on it now, but it was so dusty and completely unusable because of the desorden completo covering it. Now at least it's covered in useful things that have their spots!

On the first Saturday of full curfew, I completely cleaned my room: got all the dust bunnies out from under the shelf and the bed, mopped the floor, sprayed and wiped down the bathroom! Cleanest it's been since before I moved in!

We've been having a daily "cafecito" even though the coffee and snacks part is a little more difficult, but it's a good way to keep our MCC team connected.

 

We've found multiple ways to play Catan. The third screenshot here was when I won 😁

Last Thursday, the "soup night" potluck that my friend Kate hosts monthly in Boulder met virtually for trivia! It was great to reconnect with her and meet some new friends, just like at the in-person soup nights (which I've been sad to miss since I went last in July)!

I've been able to join BMC's services by Zoom the past couple Sundays, and on the 22nd I gave the Mission Moment (which was already scheduled before all of this, so it was kinda nice to have everyone else on Zoom too instead of just me!). It's been lovely to hear Randy preach again and see folks who I haven't in a while.

Jackbox games have proven themselves decently versatile with a little ingenuity in screen sharing. I've played Fibbage with the fam and introduced it to Rudi and Lars. Rudi had the idea that we should have a sibling game night with it! Fibbage was glitching out, so we ended up playing Drawful 2. My sisters and Lars' brother were able to join, and although Rudi's siblings were unresponsive, Kara was able to join from the US so that was fun! We'll have to give Sibbage Fibbage another try, and hopefully the game will work and Rudi's sister and brother can join.

This past Sunday afternoon, my mom's brother Jim set up a Zoom call open to the whole extended family! It was great to get updates on how everyone is doing.

And of course there have been plenty of one-on-one calls: video and voice with friends and family. I'm really grateful for this time of increased availability to connect!

COVID-19

🎵 Don't freak out, but that means 
For the moment, we're in quarantine 🎶

(👆 Sorry, not sorry Dexys)

It's been quite the month, hasn't it, friends? I wanted to write a post re: all of the wonderful things people did to celebrate my birthday in early March, and maybe I still will. I did get a chance to put some pictures on my Facebook at least and know many of you saw that.

I don't know about y'all, but I had a week of reckoning this month. Mine was between the 10th and the 17th⁠—between those two Tuesdays, everything changed.

On the 9th, Pastor Isaías Flores who served a term as IEMH president about 30 years back and his wife Berta happened to be in town visiting their son Melvin (Mary's husband), so I spent the afternoon at their house interviewing Isaías, having cafecito, and meeting some of the other siblings who came over to say hi to their parents. On the 10th, there were still no confirmed cases in Honduras and I joked about the virus to Pastor Pedro Calix during our interview. He told me about his involvement in the movement to abolish obligatory military service in the early 90s. (I'm really excited to share that story with y'all btw... Refugee article is almost published and the anti-militarism story is next!)

My first "oh, shoot" moment was on the 11th, when the first two cases of COVID were confirmed in the country. Still, we weren't too worried and continued the rest of the week basically normally (except that Thursday was the last day schools were in session). On Friday, Pastor Oscar Dueñas came to the office and I was able to get his perspective for my next article, as he was the director of the Peace and Justice Project (PPyJ) in the early 90s.

Saturday, I biked to Beraca practice and was prepared to serve on Sunday morning, but before church I got the news that gatherings of over 50 people had been prohibited (which had actually gone into effect in the afternoon or evening on Saturday). That was my second moment: "uy, this is getting serious."

Later on Sunday, we heard that the borders would be closing at midnight. Jenny and Lars had been in Colombia for LACA meetings from the 1st through the 7th. Although Jenny had returned on the 8th, Lars had taken a week of vacation and his flight was supposed to be landing in Honduras around 9pm. We were worried he might not make it back in! But luckily his flight was on time.

Monday morning the text was more widely available of the government-issued proclamation that had gone into effect at 11:59 the previous evening:
1) Labor in the public and private sectors is suspended.
2) All events of any kind and with any number of people are prohibited.
3) All sporting, cultural and social activities are canceled.
4) Public transit is prohibited from running.
5) In-person religious celebrations are suspended.
6) All businesses must close including malls.
7) Air, land and sea borders are closed for the entire national territory.

There were some exceptions listed (including that citizens and residents⁠—that's us⁠—would still be allowed in, so losing our CPCer to migratory limbo wasn't quite as close a call as we'd thought). Basically, the things that would remain open included hospitals, pharmacies, gas stations, supermarkets and pulperías, banks, home-delivery or drive-through food service, and "publicly indispensable" jobs such as generating electricity.

I figured this meant that I would be trying to work from home that day. The reps confirmed this after a bit, and I started trying to install the work software I would need on my personal computer. But mostly I was just in a state of shock and lament.

Tuesday was similar... it was still sinking in that this will be our new reality for a while.

That evening, I heard that a curfew would be going into effect from 10pm to 6am.

In the morning, I asked my host parents to take me to the office so I could get some of my things. Jenny and Rudi actually went in as well, and we gathered up the things we would need to work from home indefinitely. Work computer, succulents, food from the fridge, and historical documents in tow, Gustavo and I headed home in the truck.

Later that day, I realized the curfew had actually been extended to an "absolute," or 24-hour, curfew. Technically people were only supposed to be out for reasons such as getting groceries, going to the bank, or sanctioned work activities. I suppose I could have truthfully said it was for work, but I'm pretty sure NGO work counts as some of the suspended public/private sector work. I'm just glad we didn't get stopped! There were actually a fair amount of cars out and about, but banking and grocery shopping could certainly account for the movement I was seeing.

But yeah, we've been under nonstop curfew since then. I think it was only in San Pedro Sula, Tegucigalpa, and La Ceiba at first, but since Sunday the 22nd (I believe) it's been the entire country. The supermarkets and banks aren't open normal hours anymore; you have to check the schedules and go during those hours. Thursdays at the banks are only for senior citizens, for example. The grocery store that the MCC team uses most of the time has a system where you bring your list and the workers pack it for you while you wait outside. (This means you have to make your list very specific or you might end up accidentally spending the equivalent of $20 on 4 jumbo boxes of Cheerios when all you wanted was one small box of 4-grain Cheerios⁠—as Rudi found out the hard way!)

As I said, Monday and Tuesday of last week were pretty much shot in terms of "productivity" and I was really giving myself a hard time about that for a while. What actually ended up helping my productivity later in the week was reminding myself that all the Zoom calls, WhatsApp messages, emails, and personal processing that was going on was a lot of emotional labor and that I shouldn't feel unproductive for tending to all of that.

Starting on Wednesday the 18th, I finally started to accept the new reality we're heading into. I think getting my stuff from the office, and seeing Rudi and Jenny in person, helped with a certain sense of "closure" of the "before-COVID" phase of my MCC term. Who knows, the rest of my term may well be in the "during-COVID" phase. It would be nice if there's an "after-COVID" phase, but I'm not holding my breath.

And for many SALTers, sadly, there was only a before-COVID phase. That same day, all MCCers received an email that we would be allowed to end our terms in good standing and go back to our country of citizenship if that were the right decision for our situation. For many SALTers, this has been a very heavy choice: to leave placements early or weather the pandemic in host communities, based on a personal judgement, with guidance from their reps and/or partner org, of what is appropriate in each individual's circumstances.

I’m feeling very blessed with the sense of peace I currently have regarding my own decision to stay in Honduras during this time. I feel like the government here is taking appropriate measures (much in contrast to the very delayed response in Colorado and the rest of the US). My host family makes me feel very welcome and has been clear that we’re in this together and for that I am very grateful, since some SALTers have faced xenophobia during this time. Of course it would be very difficult if anything were to happen to my family members back in the states, but I am so grateful for the technology that we have access to and how I have been able to stay connected with them. MCC’s amazing health care coverage for its service workers is another thing making me feel very secure right now, especially having just aged out of my parents’ health plan earlier this month. And of course, I am so lucky to have internet access at my host home and a placement I can continue to contribute to remotely—many SALTers’ work has been suspended indefinitely due to physical distancing measures.

Kara's teaching position at AFE, for example. My host siblings have been able to continue their classwork online, but the underprivileged students at AFE have no access to that kind of technology, so it was unclear whether she'd have any work for the rest of the term. She made the difficult decision last week and made it home this past Wednesday the 25th. I feel very fortunate to have been able to hug her goodbye on Tuesday (I know, I know, but I couldn't not!) after Rudi and Joél picked her up from the church where a private car (carrying a letter from the embassy granting special movement permissions) dropped her off after driving her and a couple ASJ workers up from Tegus.

Another thing many SALT workers have had to take into consideration is the possibility that border closures are getting tighter and restrictions may not have lifted by July. Some of them have plans to begin studies in August. I'm so grateful that I'd already adjusted my brain to picture myself staying here through October. A Messenger group that Lauren, another SALTer, started on the 19th has been very helpful for hearing others' decision-making processes and being able to pray for and support one another. By my count, just under 50% of the SALTers will be remaining in their placements.

Okay, I think this wall of text has dragged on long enough. Tomorrow I'll try to post some photos of how I've been entertaining myself in quarantine.

Beraca

On the last day of January, I attended a meeting of the members of the ministerio de alabanza (worship ministry). The praise band is named Beraca, which means "blessing" in Hebrew. Gaby and Elieth were there too since they've participated before. The meeting was somewhat logistical and also had an element of committing to participation in the ministry in the new year. The next day we had a rehearsal, and I practiced as well so I could start learning some of the songs even though I wouldn't be singing on Sunday the 2nd.

Gaby and me at rehearsal

My parents were here Feb 3-14 and Mom posted a great overview on Facebook of their time here. Check it out on her timeline or mine.

On the 15th I was called to rehearsal, and the next day I was up front singing with the band in the worship service for the first time! I also participated this past Sunday:

Gaby is to my left and her sister Flor is to my right

It really has been a blessing to get involved in music again this month, and I'm looking forward to continue participating and serving the church this way while I'm still in SPS! Speaking of which...

Another beraca I've been given over the past couple weeks is the opportunity to extend my term with MCC! I was really surprised when the reps asked me on the 20th how I would feel about the idea of staying through October, since I already knew my current position won't exist, exactly, in the coming year. (In the YALT position replacing it, my communications role will be combined with what has been Rudi's work at CASM for a focus that is less on general MCC communications and more about presenting the work of CASM's migrant program.) Well, it seems the lack of this role in the next cycle is partially why they would want me to stay on a little longer in it!

I've been continuing work on the alumni album and anniversary stories I mentioned, interviewing Linda Shelly and Luke Schrock-Hurst this month to round out my understanding of the context in the 80s and polishing up my first story about the Mennonite response to the Salvadoran refugee crisis (which also has info from my interview with Ovidio last month and with Cesar and Lizette in December). Keep an eye out for that article on the LACA blog in the next couple weeks!

Anyway, with all the comms work I've been doing re: the anniversary and the centennial celebration, the reps are hoping I can continue that work with a few more months to share more stories. My role will also be somewhat augmented by event planning responsibilities as we prepare for the centennial celebration in early October. 

So, logistically, this means that I'll no longer be flying back to PA the first week of July for SALT re-entry. Instead, I'll move from being a SALTer into my expanded role as an MCC service worker! And lucky you, you get to keep reading my blog for longer.

Comida

Here's the overview of comida catracha that I promised a while back!

Usually Aurora packs me a lunch that I bring with me to work, but this is an example of the kind of food I get when I go out to eat on a weekday (clockwise from upper left): remolacha (beets), ensalada con aderezo (salad with dressing), albóndigas (meatballs), huevo picado con habichuelas (scrambled eggs and green beans), and cebolla en vinagre (pickled onions).

Just one example of the many types of sweet bread that are available here. As you can see on the bag, these are called hojaldras. They are basically a flaky fried dough with sugar on one side. You can eat them for breakfast with coffee... or just as a snack.

Here's a typical breakfast at a restaurant or at home (The home pic is from close to the beginning of my term before I asked Aurora to stop feeding me so much cheese 😅). Scrambled eggs, fried plantains, and beans. The fried plantains are so good mixed with the eggs and beans, but they're a bit of a treat since I don't always get them; often breakfast is just eggs and beans (with or without tortillas).

Every once in a while, Aurora makes pancakes for breakfast. For a while I was eating them with peanut butter (that I bought myself—definitely a gringa thing), syrup, and bananas. But one morning when Gustavo and I happened to be eating breakfast at the same time (rare, since he usually gets up really early), I saw how he was eating them—with refried beans and mantequilla (crema). I'm a convert!

Here are some fancy pupusas from a restaurant in Copán. They're more common in El Salvador and the western region of Honduras. Here I have loroco (a local veggie), ayote squash with chicken, and beans with chicharrón. Less fancy ones are often just filled with cheese. The red stuff is repollo (cabbage) and encurtido, a common pickly side/garnish.

Here are four typical meals I might get for dinner at home. Clockwise from top left, they are:

1. Rice, beets, zucchini scrambled with eggs, beans. This would also be a common packed lunch.

2. Rice, habichuelas (green beans), salad (a rare treat), pollo a la plancha (grilled chicken)

3. Honduran enchiladas (yes, I know they look like tostadas, but I promise they're called enchiladas here)

4. Sopita de frijoles (bean soup) with rice that you dip in with your spoon

No post about food in Honduras would be complete without the baleada! First, a homemade baleada, after which you can see how Aurora makes the dough. Third is one with chicken and avocado from Baleada King on the Tercera Avenida, which is the best place in town to buy them—just ask any local. Last is a baleada sencilla (simple): just beans, mantequilla, and queso.

Here are some more typical Honduran foods. Montucas are a lot like tamales except made with young corn so they've got some sweetness to them (and in both, watch out for huesitos—bones!). Tacos are always flautas unless you specify Mexican tacos. Carne molida (ground beef) and tajadas (plantain chips). Pollo chuco (fried chicken, or, more literally, filthy chicken).

Here's another Honduran delicacy I've been served a couple times... I'm just gonna leave this here.

Whole fish... fancy and on vacation with Mom and Dad vs church fundraiser. 

And then, of course, there's the variety of fresh fruit that's available! The papaya here is a lot better than what I've had before, and sometimes I get a slice or two with my breakfast. Some new flavors I've tried are salted and vinagred green mangos, ciruelas (I guess they're related to plums), and pera de malaca which tastes like a tropical botanical garden smells. We've just made it past green mango season and we're finally getting to ripe mango season! I just bought one yesterday (along with some guavas) but they still need a couple days. I'll probably have to do another food post later since I continue to try new things!