Despite what most of you probably think by now, I actually
am still alive. It’s been a bit since I’ve gotten around to putting up a blog
post, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have anything worthwhile to report. So let
me start off with some good news: I seem to be winning the war with the ants.
After the first month or so, it seemed that either I had become better at
dodging the little buggers as I walked across the Finca in my sandals, or my
feet have become less tasty and the ants have moved on to something better.
Whichever one it is, it’s fine by me, as long as I’m not constantly itching and
scratching my feet every five minutes. They do make their presence known every
now and then, but for the most part my feet are much happier.
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| The war on the bees. |
However, the forces of nature haven’t completely given up
their fight against man… For a while now we’ve had a couple bee hives in one of
the school buildings, hidden somewhere inside the roof, and every few weeks or
so a kid would get stung by a rogue bee. I talked to the maintenance guys about
trying to get rid of it, but they weren’t exactly thrilled about climbing up a
ladder and waging a war against the bees. We tried shooting an entire can of
Raid through a gap in the wall where we thought the hive was, but it didn’t
have much effect. We tried getting to it from the attic, but it turned out we
weren’t able to reach the section of the roof where the hive was. So with no
creative ideas remaining, it seemed like the only option with a hope of success
was removing a section of the roof and attacking the hive head on. And while this option was no doubt a little
dangerous, the thought of it did get the adrenaline flowin a bit. So one
afternoon, we gathered all the maintenance guys together, and I suited up in
jeans, shoes, a sweatshirt, and gloves. To protect my face, I taped a bunch of
mesh to a hat and created a makeshift faceguard that I prayed would work
sufficiently. So without further adieu, I climbed up a ladder, with one can of
Raid in my hand and an extra in my pocket, ripped off the side panel of the
roof with a hammer, and started blinding shooting at the cloud of swarming bees.
The bees covered my gloves and arms, but it appeared that the thick clothing
would be enough to protect me. After expending most of the Raid, I stuck my
hands into the roof and started ripping out the hive piece by piece, and
eventually the entire watermelon-sized hive was lying on the ground with a
mountain of dead bees surrounding it. One hive down, one to go… We moved the
ladder to the second hive, and I tried the same approach: climb ladder, rip off
roof panel, and douse with Raid. Unfortunately, this hive was a bit larger, and
these bees were a bit more pissed off. They were so ferocious in fact, I could
feel a few stinging me through the thick sweatshirt. The buzzing became louder
and louder as they swarmed around my head, seemingly unphased by the Raid,
until eventually I had to jump off the ladder and make a run for it. But I
wasn’t the only one feeling their wrath. As I was full speed sprinting away, I
heard a few of the workers let out a few choice words, start swatting at their
arms and head, and make a run for it themselves. Even a few of the kids who
were working in the library had to head for the hills. However, without any
other choices, and with a hive full of bees laughing at me, I was forced to
reclimb the ladder, this time with a fresh can of Raid, and continue the war. And
eventually the poison and my determination proved too much for them. Soon
enough their hive was lying on the ground in pieces as weel So with the feeling
of victory filling our hearts, we loaded up the truck with the ladder and
equipment and returned to the workshop victorious. Almost… Within a few hours
my right hand had swelled up to the size of a balloon, proving that even my
thick gloves were no match for a swarm of angry bees. My left arm was a little
swollen as well. The kids thought it was hiliarious though, and made me show
them my gigantic hand every time I walked passed their house for the next few
days. Every war comes with casualties I suppose.
But despite all of the exciting bouts with nature, life at
the Finca can be a struggle sometimes as well. Being the head of maintenance,
as it turns out, can be quite a lot of responsibility. Organizing the workers,
getting the supplies for the projects, managing a tight budget, keeping the
houses in good working condition so house mothers are happy , organizing work
for the kids so they can learn a work ethic and also skills, and doing it all
in an unfamiliar language, culture, and place, can be quite stressful. Some
days the workers and I don’t share the same opinions, and some days the kids
would rather cuss you out than rake the leaves. So it’s days like this that I’m
thankful for the spirituality of the Finca, and the great community of
volunteers we have, because it is then more than ever that I rely on God to get
me through and rely on my community members to help me keep my head up.
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| Soccer goal made with some of the boys. |
But mixed in with the hard moments, are moments of real beauty
too. Moments where I really feel like I’m here for a reason and really have something
to give. A lot of times it’s hard to connect with the kids. Sure the littler
ones jump all over you and wanna play all the time and yell your name when you
walk by their house, but the teenagers here are like teenagers anywhere else.
They can be moody, standoffish, and with an attitude. But every once in a while
they surprise you too. One weekend I spent in La Ceiba, a large city three
hours away from the farm where our high school program is. There are two boys
and three girls who attend a Catholic high school in this town, and two of our
volunteers live there in an apartment with them. I do a lot of driving for the
Finca when there are trips to La Ceiba, since maintenance has a more flexible
schedule than other jobs, and I happened to be there that weekend for one of
these trips. I was standing on the balcony that night, about 11 o’clock, about
to turn in to bed, when one of the boys came out and started chatting with me.
I always joke around with this kid (like I do with every kid), but we’ve never
really had any deep conversations. But for one reason or another, he was in the
mood to talk that night. He opened up to me about how his parents had passed
away when he was young, how his cousin was running from gang members, where his
other family members lived in Honduras. He told me what he thought he might do
when he graduates from the Finca this next year, what his different thoughts
and plans are. And he told me about his dream to travel Central America and see
every all the different countries and cultures. The conversation caught me off
guard, because it’s not always easy to connect with the kids in a really
meaningful way. We come from different backgrounds, different cultures, speak
different languages, and with volunteers cycling in and out of their lives all
the time, it’s easy for them to put up walls and not open up, because after
all, we’re gonna go back to the States in a couple years anyways. But there are
also times that we can connect with them in a deep way, because they lack a
family that really loves and cares for them, and even though us volunteers may
not be here for their entire upbringing, we do really love them and care about
them. So I think that conversation really meant a lot to both of us, and I was
definitely honored that he shared all of that with me.
But I don’t wanna end with a sappy story. I’m not trying to
be a writer for Guidepost magazine here. So let’s talk about something cool.
Beards. Anyone who knows me, knows I have a real love for beards. Really it’s a
Hanvey family tradition. Though Papa Hanvey has a smooth face now, he’s been
known to rock a nice thick beard every once in a while, Isaac’s has something
akin to a red fox hanging off his jowls right now, and ever since arriving in
Honduras, I haven’t taken the clippers to mine. It’s been over four months now,
so it’s getting pretty grisly too. The kids have started calling me Barbudo, which
means “Huge Beard” in Spanish, and the neighbors I play soccer with on Friday
afternoons started calling me Osama last week. Classic… Not sure how long I’ll
keep it, but rainy season will be here in a month or so, and the temperatures
start dropping then (down to a freezing 65 degrees), so maybe I’ll need it to
keep my face warm. We’ll see what happens.
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| Livin on the beach is pretty rough sometimes... |
