Sometimes it is hard to live in a different culture. Everyday things aren't as easy, they don't come as naturally. You can feel like just leaving the house is a challenge. I find these cultural differences interesting. To me, they can be challenging in a good way. But sometimes they can be tiring.
Today I will share "a day in the life" of an "extranjero". The word "extranjero" means "foreigner" but is pronounced like "stranger". Some days "stranger" feels most applicable.
It's garbage day. We have garbage day in the US, so that's no biggie. You take the garbage out and leave it on the curb, right? But in Honduras many people don't have garbage cans. I don't. And in Honduras there are lots of (literally) starving stray dogs on the street. Everyone leaves their garbage on the curb in plastic grocery bags. You can imagine what the street looks like by 10 am. Dogs have strewn garbage everywhere.
Fany can time it so that she runs out with the garbage when the truck comes. But she wasn't here this week, so I got the garbage out early and hoped the garbage truck would come soon.
For you to fully understand this story we need to jump back in time about three years. I remember it clearly. I was coming up the hill on my way home. Ahead of me there was a stray dog trying to walk up the hill. I say 'trying' because the dog appeared to have a broken leg and broken hip. It could barely move. I really didn't think the dog could make it up the hill. My heart ached and my stomach felt sick. I had to look away. I couldn't watch.
I assumed that dog died. I never saw it again until I found it eating my garbage today. It had opened one bag and strewn the stuff into the street, right in front of where my car was parked. It's belly was floppy and nipples swollen. Somehow, the dog that could barely stand and walk, gave birth and was nursing babies.
I should have shooed the dog away and picked up the garbage. But I couldn't. She was a hungry mommy.
She looked up at me and cocked her head to the side. She seemed to be waiting to see if I would throw rocks at her and kick her, like many people here would. In fact, she almost seemed resigned to a beating. She didn't back away from the food, but she also was not guarding it, or aggressive. She just looked at me with questioning eyes, leaving the ball in my court.
Her eyes penetrated my soul. I know that sounds dramatic. But I swear, I felt so deeply for that poor dog. She was looking right into my eyes. All I could think is that she is one of God's creatures. Her fur was all matted. She had bald spots and these gross huge skin growths, like enormous moles. She has to be in so much pain.
I got into my truck and moved it. She wobbled a little bit, trying to get out of my way. I could not bring myself to speak harshly or take the garbage away from that dog. In fact, I considered going back inside and searching for some food or liquid for her. But a quick inventory of my stuff brought nothing to mind that she would want.
I hope I don't see her again. It hurts too much. There are so many strays here. Most are too skinny. Her obvious bone fractures set her apart.
Leaving the dog behind to feast on the garbage, I went to the Marriot Hotel. We have bible study for English speakers in the lobby of the Marriot every Tuesday. Everyone dresses casually, like North Americans would for a bible study.
Last week one of my new co-workers at my new job told me that she likes the way I dress. She said I don't dress to be comfortable like most North Americans do. She said she likes that I wear heels and dressier clothes. She remembered what I had worn 4 days prior, from my blouse to my shoes. Honduran women dress up to walk to the grocery store.
Today as I arrived at the Marriot I saw a lady from my office and reporters all around. Darn! I forgot!! There was an important meeting there. Most of the important people from my office would be there. My hair was combed, but barely, and I was wearing those crazy patterned stretch pants that are popular in the US, but far too casual to be popular with Honduran women. I didn't want anyone from my new job to see me like this!
A few more people from my new job passed by, but I don't think they saw me. Lesson learned. If you are going to make an appearance at the Marriot lobby, dress nicely - by Honduran standards.
After bible study I headed over the the office of Honduran Fellowship. The last time I tried to go there someone was stabbed to death in the elevator, so the building was closed. It's a very nice office building. The man who was killed was a lawyer. He defended Honduras' Vice President of Congress. She was found guilty of stealing medication from public hospitals and selling it at inflated prices. Many people were mad when she was sentenced in July because she only received house arrest.
Two Wednesdays ago a young man entered the elevator with the lawyer who defended this lady and stabbed the lawyer dead. He confessed to the crime right there, on the scene. Some people thought he was justified. They spray painted, "Justice is served here" outside the fancy office building.
All of that to say that today I rode in those elevators. Each person was frisked with a metal detector wand and bags are searched in the lobby. I took a wrong turn at one point and a guard stepped in front of me and asked firmly where I was going. Clearly they are on high alert. I felt dumb.
At the same time I am thinking of all of those things, I have to remember Honduran elevator etiquette. In Honduras each time you enter a doctor's office, or office space, or car with people in it, or elevator, you have to remember to say "Good morning", "Good afternoon" or "Good day" if you want to be more formal.
If you are getting out of the elevator, you have to ask "permiso" ("permission") from the rest who remain inside. It sounds simple, and it is, but when you don't grow up with that custom it's hard to remember! Especially when your mind is envisioning the completely uncensored photo that made the front page of newspapers of a man lying dead, half in and half out of the elevator.
Today I didn't dress right, and if anyone witnessed me allowing that dog to tear apart the garbage in the street they thought I was crazy. But I did have decent elevator etiquette. I only forgot to say "Buenos dias" once in six elevator rides.
