So there we were, just another typical day at the Finca,
cutting down some overgrown trees that were endangering one of the buildings,
when all of a sudden, blood comes squirting out of the tree along the blade of
the running chainsaw! Ahhh!!! Blood!!!!!!! Okay, well maybe the 40 year old
Honduran beast-men maintenance workers didn’t scream bloody murder, but they
did have a pretty funny look of surprise on their faces. We cut a little more
and soon realized the source of the blood and guts: a Garrobo living inside the tree. Or at least he used he used to be
living, and as we were cutting through the tree trunk we cut right through his
house and cleanly through his neck. Actually cut his head clean off. So now we
had two halves of a freshly dead garobbo. But before I continue, let me give
you a little back story…
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| The delicious garrobo right before he went to the frying pan. |
For the last few weeks at the farm I’d been fascinated by
these iguana like creatures the locals call garrobos. Basically the exact same
as an iguana, just colored a little different, and much more in abundance. They
live in the trees (as well as a few that live in the clinic, the middle school
building, and under our house) and are seen frequently scampering around the
farm grounds. The main reason for my interest was that the workers told me they
were tasty little creatures, even better as chicken, so as I saw them running
through the trees I always thought how nice it’d be to put one over the fire
and have a little afternoon snack of garrobo and frijoles. In fact the previous
Sunday, I spent half an hour chasing one that had gotten into the chapel and
couldn’t find his way out. I ended up catching him in a cardboard box and
carried him back to our house, but as I was swinging the machete to lay the
deadly blow, he scampered up the side of the box and escaped. I was devastated.
So close to success, but alas, he escaped. So when the workers happened to
behead a quite large one with our chainsaw, I was pumped. It was a gift from
above.
One of the workers and house dad’s, Edgar, took me and the
garrobo back to House 5, where the oldest boys on the farm live, and prepared
him for a lunch feast. We put him in the fire to char his skin so that it’d be
easy to pull off, washed him in the juice from an orange to add a little kick
to his flavor, cut him into pieces, sprinkled him in a mix of spices, rolled
the pieces in flour, fried that baby up, and after a few minutes in the boiling
grease, we got to taste the sweet, sweet goodness of a freshly cooked garrobo.
And it wasn’t disappointing at all. Just like the maintenance guys had told me,
the meat was soft, flavorful, and better than chicken. It was the taste of
success.
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| Two volunteers (in the middle) with a bunch of our kids. |
So other than trying the delectable meats of Honduras, I’ve
had plenty to keep my hands full here at the farm. The day starts at 5:40 when
my alarm goes off for morning prayer, and things are pretty busy until we wrap
up the evening activities at 8:00 or 8:30. But as the days pass I’m becoming
more comfortable here. A few weeks ago I took over as the sole head of
maintenance, with Jacob, the old boss man, passing me the torch. And while
there are definitely struggles, as is to be expected, I’m slowly coming into my
own. We’ve got a lot of great projects going on: we’re planting orange,
plantain, and mango orchards, each consisting of about 50 trees complete with a rudimentary irrigation
system, rebuilding or refinishing all of the washing basins (called pilas) in
each of the children’s homes, as well as making a big push to clean up the
grounds of the farm. And since that constitutes 22 acres of trees, bushes, and
grass, it’s quite a task.
It is a little bit of
a strange sight though: a 24 year old gringo, who can barely speak the
language, being the boss of 5 Honduran maintenance men, several of which have
worked at the farm for double digit years. However I’ve been blessed with a
team that’s incredibly humble, and that’s really the reason it works so well. I
think if I was a middle aged man with years of experience, and some foreigner
came in, knowing nothing about my country and barely speaking my language, and
told me how to do my job, I’d have some issues with that. But these men are
humble, and used to this structure, so it actually works pretty well. I think
the combination of my planning and organizational skills, and their knowledge
and know-how of maintenance tasks here, has the ability to produce beautiful
results. Here’s what I mean: I’m a person who plans, organizes things, and
visualizes how projects will affect the farm in the future. I think about which
projects are most important, how to divvy up the budget, and where we should
focus our work. But Honduran culture is not one that looks into the future;
they live very much day to day. Not a single one of the workers has a bank
account, they don’t save their money, but just spend it as they get it. If
something big comes up like repairs to their motorcycles or house, they borrow
some cash, or wait til their next paycheck comes to get it fixed. When
something breaks here, usually their first instinct is to do a quick fix on it,
instead of looking for something more permanent. In an area where excess and
luxury doesn’t really exist, people are just focused on getting by day to day.
My favorite example of this is every day at 4:30 when I’m saying bye to the
workers and thanking them for their help, they always say “Hasta manaña,” or
“Nos vemos,” (“See you tomorrow,” or “See you when I see you”) and follow it up
with “Si Dios quiere,” which translates to “If God wills it.” Basically, “I’ll
see you tomorrow, but only if God allows.” They know that nothing is promised
to us, tomorrow is not a guarantee, and ultimately all of our efforts are
dependent on the will of God. What a beautiful and accurate view of life,
something most Americans could take a lesson from.
So like I said, it actually comes together quite well. Both
of our backgrounds and mindsets coming together to make the farm a better
place. Maybe over the next two years they can learn a little from me about
planning and organization, and hopefully I’ll learn a lot from them about
living in the moment, and depending completely on God’s providence.
So little by little I’m learning more about this place, my
new home, my new friends, and the children. I’m not settled in, I’m very much
still learning, finding how to divide my time up, when to spend it with the
kids, when to spend it on myself, and how to interact with people from a very
different culture. I’m still learning the basics of the language, how to roll
my r’s and how to conjugate the verbs. But surely enough, I’m figuring it out,
making it through the weeks, and have to say I’m definitely very blessed to
have the opportunity to learn so much.
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| The neighbor boys playing a game of soccer on our field as the sun sets behind the chapel. |
