I've Finally Made It!

Everyone, I have an announcement to make: I am now at war. And I don’t mean with poverty in Central America, or corrupt political leaders, or the unjustness of society and the gap between the rich and the poor. It’s none of these things. And it’s not something religious either like the devil or sin or anything like that. What I’m facing is much more serious, much more heinous, and much more devastating. And that thing is… ants. The ants that rule the 22 acres of this orphanage have wrecked havoc on my feet for the last three weeks, and I can take it no more. No longer will I put up with these itchy red bumps all over my feet that won’t go away and constantly seem to reproduce. It will be a lifetime of work I’m sure, but there’s nothing I want more than to smash every ant I can find, and make them pay for all my discomfort. And the mosquitoes too for that matter. And maybe the flies, cause they can get pretty annoying. In fact, we can just get rid of every bug in the place for all I care…

Okay though, but other than my war with the ants, life is going pretty well down here. I arrived at the orphanage about three weeks ago, and since that time I’ve been getting to know the people, beginning to work with the maintenance team, and generally just adjusting to the rhythm of life down here. I can definitely say things are a little bit different than the college life of TCU and the boat life of a merchant mariner. When I was at TCU, I normally rolled out of bed at 9:45am, just in time to thrown on a pair of pants and walk into class a couple minutes late. Now I roll out of bed significantly earlier, to the tune of 5:45, just in time to brush my teeth and walk over to the chapel for morning prayer. At TCU I spent hours everyday on the internet checking my email and reading articles on espn.com. Now I’m lucky to get to check my email once a week, and normally it’s more infrequent than that. In the TCU cafeteria, my regular diet was cheeseburgers, sandwiches, french fries, fruit, pizza, and maybe a couple vegetables here and there. Now I eat beans and rice at virtually every meal, and sometimes only those two things. Life is a little more simple here.

And speaking of the simple life, I’m learning how they do maintenance south of the border as well. On the ships I worked on, we had 4 or 5 welding machines, thousands of wrenches, ten drills and five sawzaws, and basically every tool you could dream of. Things are a little different here. We do have a welding machine, but I’m pretty sure it’s from the sixties and you have to prop up the on/off switch with a stick to make it work. You can’t just walk down to the lumber store whenever you’re short a2x4 for your wood project. In fact, most of the lumber we use here, is home made. The workers cut down huge straight trees out of the nearby forests, carefully cut them into squares using a chainsaw, and then run then through a table saw to make them the size they need. It’s really quite fascinating and pretty amazing. The things they can do here with very few tools and not many resources is unreal. I’ve really enjoyed working with the maintenance guys so far. We have a team of five workers, ranging in age from 26 to 47, and even though their Spanish is fast and slurred and pretty difficult for me to understand, we’ve been working pretty well together. We have a long list of projects and maintenance things that need to be taken care, and little by little we’re knocking them out. Right now we’re repairing and refinishing the “pilas,” which are large washing basins about the size of a standalone freezer, in all six of the children’s houses. And today one of the workers even started teaching me how to throw wet concrete on the walls of the pilas. Who knows, maybe after two years of this work I’ll be able to start a masonry company back in the states… 

The first few weeks have definitely been a little bit overwhelming as I’ve been trying to get into the groove of life down here. Trying to get to know all the kids, all the other volunteers, figure out my job and other responsibilities, and still getting better with my Spanish little by little. As far as the job goes, I’ll have a very significant budget I’ll be in charge of, five workers to keep occupied, work for the kids in the afternoon to be in charge of, an agriculture class to coordinate for all the kids in the school, as well as random other tasks to keep up with like taking the trash to the dump and finding firewood and getting it chopped for all of the houses (they all use wood burning stoves). It will definitely be a challenge and a big responsibility, but I’m looking forward to the task and I think it will be very rewarding once I get into the groove of things. 

As for right now though, I’m just taking things little by little, and soaking up the beautiful way of life down here. Sitting in the chapel in the evening praying and listening to the children laughing and playing outside their houses. Watching the sunset over the ocean just fifty feet out the front door of our house. Seeing the clouds roll through the mountaintops as I walk to morning prayer every day. Going on a hiking trip with a group of the adolescent girls. Hanging out in the living room of our house with the other volunteers cracking jokes and talking about life. Playing soccer with the locals, and running out of breath in the first ten minutes. Watching a hen walk across the field with a handful of chicks following her. Sharing a coke with the maintenance guys during the 10:00 break, and talking about the weekend’s soccer match. 

So all in all, I think it will be a big challenge and one hell of an incredible ride all at the same time. Three weeks down, two years to go.

Holy Week Etc.

This time of year in Guatemala is known as the holy week hangover. Or at least that’s what I heard them call it in the bar the other night. This probably sounds a bit strange considering that in the states most people don’t stay up all night drinking during holy week, but things are a little different here. Not that everyone drinks, but whether you do or not, the Easter Triduum in Antigua bares few similarities with the one I knew back in Texas. Let me explain…

Alfrombra from the colored sawdust.

Life in Guatemala, and most of Central America, was dominated by Catholicism for years and years during the formation of their current society. So even though Evangelic churches, Mormon Temples, and Jewish Synagogues are springing up everywhere, Catholic customs are still a huge part of life. During holy week a huge part of the country just shuts down, and half of its inhabitants migrate to Antigua for the festivities. Every hotel, hostal, and street corner is packed with Guatemalans and Gringos alike. It’s hard to even walk through the city due to the floods of people. And there all here for a few certain things: the alfombras, the velaciones, and the processions. Every day throughout holy week one church or the other will have what they call a velacion, which is a huge display in their church to show their devotion and to honor Christ. They cost lots of money and take tons of work by the church members, but they really are truly impressive. On the floor of the church there is a gigantic alfombra, “carpet” in English, made of colored sawdust and every kind of fruit arranged in a beautiful pattern. They’re really interesting to see. And after you’re done looking at these, you can walk outside and get something to eat from any of the 500 street vendors packed all around the church.

Procession on Good Friday.

The other thing the churches do here is the processions. Think of a huge float from Mardi Gras, but instead of having bare-chested women on top, there’s a scene depicting the life of Christ, and instead of being pulled by a truck, it’s being carried on the shoulders of a hundred Guatemalans clad in purple robes and struggling under its weight. Walking along side it in two huge lines are a couple thousand other purple clad Guatemalans, as well as a band, and sometimes another smaller float or two. In the bigger processions on Holy Thursday and Good Friday there is a bunch of guys dressed as roman soldiers, riding horses, leading the procession through the streets. But they aren’t just marching on the cobblestone streets, they’re marching over, and demolishing, huge alfombras that people have spent hours and hours making. The same alfrombras that are made of colored sawdust, fruits, and flowers in the church, are also made on the streets for the sole purpose of being trampled by the processions. Pretty strange right? I thought so too… Back in the day I’m sure it was a show of devotion and penance, and for some it probably still is, but I think now it’s more of a tradition than anything. The guys clad in purple accompanying the floats are often texting on their phones or chatting with the guy in front of them, and everyone has their cell phone out taking pictures as the show goes by. It’s not exactly a solemn march, in my opinion. Regardless, it’s an age old tradition, and pretty incredible to see.

Alfombra made of flowers, ready to get stomped.

But that’s not the only tradition of Guatemala for Holy Week. The other is going to the beach and partying for days on end. The most popular beach here is called Monterrico, and I and a few of my friends decided to check it out this past Saturday and Sunday. We went there thinking we might be able to escape the crowds a little bit, but oh were we surprised. I have never seen so many people jammed into one beach in my entire life. It was insane. We layed around the beach, ate some tasty food, and hung out for most of the day, and then by the time night rolled around the music started pounding. Every hostel there has a party, and ours happened to be one of the bigger ones. Huge speakers, strobe lights, a DJ, and about two hundred Guatemalans crammed into one small space. But since our room was right beside the party, and the pounding music wasn’t gonna stop til three or four or in the morning anyways, there was only one thing to do. Join them. So we drank a few beers, went to the dance floor, took our shirts off like every other Guatemalan guy out there, and began to dance like the floor was on fire. At one point we even had half of the people in the bar shouting, “U S A!, U S A! U S A!” Probably the greatest achievement of my life.

Women carry them too.

So here I am, back to normal life in Antigua, doing the same as every other Guatemalan around: nursing my holy week hangover. Better heal up fast though. Cause come Monday, I’ve got a bus ticket to Honduras to begin my time at the orphanage.  

Big Problem in Little Chinatown

Local scoreboard in Santa Anna

At the same time the United States was struggling through Vietnam, Central America was struggling through sweeping revolutions, and it appears that fighting spirit is still with the people today. Last Monday (the 12^th), when I showed up for my Spanish class, it seemed that it would be just another day of conjugating verbs and stumbling through translated sentences. But when I came back from the morning break at 10:30, the atmosphere at the school had changed a bit. My teacher informed me that the previous Thursday one of the other teachers had badly hurt his knee when he was with some students, and that the school was refusing to provide the proper paperwork so that his insurance would pay for it. As a result, a majority of the teachers were going on strike. So instead receiving a new set of irregular verbs to study that morning, I received an up close and personal lesson on labor relations in Central America. Before long rumors were flying through the school that the injured teacher was going to need an amputation on his leg and that the school didn’t care. The local news station showed up and interviewed teachers and students alike, the police showed up and refereed a heated debated between the striking teachers and the administration, and a lawyer appeared and gave his two cents on the legal side of situation. It was quite a show. By one in the afternoon, my housemate and I had seen enough of the three ring circus, so we walked back home for some of Juanita’s delicious home cooking, not knowing what would happen the next day when we came back for classes.

When we arrived Tuesday morning, we were met in the streets by fifteen of the most senior teachers in the school, including our own, who had been fired for going on strike. Turns out things didn’t exactly quiet down over night… We walked in the school to ask what was going on and why they had fired our teachers, and we were joined by all the other frenzied students. First the school hadn’t provided the teacher with health insurance, and now they had fired our teachers for standing up for him. So the school administration stood up and explained to everyone their side of the story, saying that they’d been with the teacher the whole time and that he was going to have the surgery he needed, and that they was forced to discipline the teachers because of the negative light they had cast on the school. They also said that a few of the teachers were trying to take advantage of the situation and somehow get money or other benefits from it. This quieted down a lot of the students, and many of them relented and decided to stay with the school and continue their studies. I and a handful of the other students, though, just couldn’t completely buy the story. Some of the details were seemingly being bent, and some the the other statements were flat out wrong. There were just too many things that seemed a little fishy for me to continue studying at the school. So now, I and a few of the other students continue to meet with the teachers we had at the school who were fired, we just meet them in a different location and study independently. In fact I’m paying much less for the Spanish lessons, and they’re making much more, because all of my money is going directly to them. In my opinion, it’s a good situation for both parties. The lady I have for my classes is a really good teacher, and I’m learning a lot from her, so it’s good for me that I don’t have to change, and it’s good for her that she still has an income for the next few weeks. 

Now that's some tasty cookin right there.

In Latin America it’s not uncommon for employers to take advantage of their employees, nor is it uncommon for the employees to try to do the same. It seems clear that the situation was handled poorly by both parties. The teachers probably didn’t need to call in the tv station, the police, and a lawyer. That might’ve been overreacting… But when the school fired the teachers who were involved, and who also happened to be most senior and some of the best teachers at the school, it struck me much more as a reaction of revenge than anything else.  In addition, his whole story just didn’t quite add up. Was there corruption at the school? And if so to what extent? I’m not exactly sure. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle of both party’s stories. The bottom line is that it was a great experience for me to see how labor relations down here work. I learned a lot from it, and I’m still getting my Spanish classes. Plus now they are a little bit cheaper, so I can buy a few more of those delicious tostadas the old ladies sell in the streets, and a few more of the cervesas with my friends at the bar around the corner. Life is good…

Summertime in Antigua, and the Livin is Easy

Welp, I believe my first week in Antigua, Guatemala just might have been a success. I am now fluent in Spanish. That’s right, I know everything. Taco, burrito, cerveza, fiesta, oh and uhm… escuela. I think I learned that word too. For those of you not as fluent as me, escuela means school. As in the Spanish language school I attend for four hours every day, which happens to be the whole reason for me coming to Guatemala in the first place. I have a wonderful lady for a teacher named Glendy, who is kind and patient enough to help me struggle through four hours of conversation each morning. She even laughs at my jokes, though I’m quite sure they make absolutely no sense with my limited knowledge of the language. So it’s probably a pity laugh, but I’ll take what I can get at this point. Everyone there is incredibly friendly, and the moment I showed up at the front door I felt welcomed. Even the students are cool for the most part, and probably the neatest thing about it is that they come from all over the world. My best friend here is from Belgium, our two other friends from the school are from Korea and Australia, and several nights during the week we’ll go to the bar or the park or a restaurant with our friends from Canada, Holland, or Germany. The city is a melting pot of tourism, and thanks to its reputation for fantastic language schools there are travelers and students from every corner of the earth here. In fact the other night during dinner our conversation was part in English, part in Spanish, part in German, and part in Flemish. I only understood 25% of it. Maybe I should try to learn some Flemish too.

The courtyard in Juanita's casa in the evening.

The other great thing about my situation in Antigua, is that I’m living in a house with a Guatemalan family. Juanita, an incredible 75 year old grandmother is the main person here, with her daughter Rita usually joining us for a least one meal a day. She has four beds for students who are studying at the school, but currently only I and my Belgian friend Stan are here. The food is spectacular, and probably the healthiest I’ve ever eaten in my life. The big meal of the day is lunch, and it is also the only meal during which we have meat. For breakfast we have eggs with tomatoes and green onions, along with fruit and bread, and for dinner we normally have either beans or rice, bread, and several servings of vegetables. At this point in the story my mom will probably be thinking to herself, “Well, Harrison is starving, cause he loves meat, preferably fried, and tends to shy away from anything green.” And while this usually true, I just don’t have the heart to tell Juanita I’m not going to eat her cooking. Nor do I have the stomach, because if I turned it away I would just go hungry. So here I am eating lettuce, cucumber, and broccoli salads every day for lunch or dinner. This is a big step for me. In addition to learning Spanish in Guatemala, I just might be learning to eat like a more normal, healthy, vegetable-loving human being. But I still wouldn’t say I love cucumbers.

Dusk in Antigua with Agua Volcano in the background.



The city of Antigua itself is also a magnificent place to be, whether attending language school or not. It is a small old colonial town, bursting with brightly colored buildings and pleasant weather. As you walk down the cobblestone streets you are surrounded by buildings painted in bright blues, yellows, and reds, along with towering Spanish ruins where monasteries and churches used to stand. If you look South you will see Agua Volcano rising from the horizon, the closest of three volcanoes within sight of the city. When you pass by Parque Central, the center and focal point of the city, complete with gardens and fountains, you will encounter colorfully dressed women selling blankets or scarves, often with a baby on their back. A large portion of the population here still wears the old style clothes, reminiscent of Spanish conquistadors and indigenous Mayans and all delicately weaved with every color you can imagine. The locals in town are almost always willing to strike up a conversation with the random tourist, and even are willing to put up with my rudimentary, painfully-slow Spanish for at least five or ten minutes. Is this utopia? Absolutely not. Is there poverty and hunger and do tourist sometimes get held up for their wallet and cell phone? Sure, this is a third world country. But as a whole I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the colorful town, beautiful scenery, temperate weather, and welcoming people.

I’ve got plenty more stories, but I think that’s enough typing for one week. Now back to studying my Spanish. Or maybe eating some tortillas and guacamole. Guatemalans make awesome guacamole.   

Panorama of Pacaya Volcano outside Guatemala City. We climbed it this past Sunday.

And So It Begins...

Pacaya Volcano, Guatemala

Hello folks. I guess if you’re reading this that means you’re either semi-interested in my life and the adventures that come with it, or you were just browsing the internet and stumbled upon it. If you fall into the second group, you can probably just move on, cause I’m not that great of a writer and there’s bound to be more interesting things to read on the world wide web. But if you happen to be interested in what I’m up to, I’ll try my best keep your attention and avoid massive grammatical errors. 

Pretty soon I’m going to be showing up at the airport with a one way ticket to Central America. Sounds crazy, but in my strange little head it actually makes sense. The reason I’ve got this ticket is because I’ve committed the next two years of my life to working maintenance and helping with the kids at a small orphanage in rural Honduras.  It’s volunteer work, so I won’t exactly be bringing home a paycheck, but they feed me and house me, and I’ve saved up some money over the past couple years for plane tickets and health insurance, so I think I’ll be able to survive. Plus the beer down there is pretty cheap.

The thing is, I have a little different philosophy on life than most people.  When I graduated from Texas Christian University in May of 2010, most of my friends went out and got jobs in the corporate world. I was a mechanical engineering major, so a lot of my friends went to go work as engineers in the aerospace industry or oil and gas field. In fact I had a job offer from Bell Helicopter, complete with a nice salary and good benefits, but I just couldn’t bring myself to take it.  I’m not really the type to sit behind a desk and make drawings on a computer screen while wearing my slacks and button up shirt all day. At the time I was 22 years old, had the whole world in front of me, and had no desire to settle into a long term career of the 8 to 5 grind. That’s the way I viewed it at least. I wanted to do something more fulfilling. Something with a little more adventure and something I would love and enjoy and believe in. Something where I wouldn’t just be working for the weekend. A lot of my friends say I went to college and turned into a hippie. I do have long hair after all, but at least I never got into the drugs or the free love thing.

One of my goals in life is to spend the time that God has given to me doing things I find meaningful. After I graduated from TCU (and then worked for the past year to pay off my college loans and save some money), I felt like a free man. For the first time in my life my path wasn’t set out for me, and I could do anything or go anywhere I wanted. So it was then I started thinking about long term volunteering. I’d been involved with humanitarian work before, spending most of my Spring Breaks in Nicaragua and a few weeks one summer at an orphanage in India, and I felt like it was something I wanted to take further. Nothing got my blood flowing more than the meetings I had with the other TCU students discussing our plans to work with that Nicaraguan farming community, or the late night talks I had with my friend Donald in India about what roles Americans could or should play in the lives of orphan kids halfway across the globe. I loved it. I found it meaningful, exciting, and even fulfilling. So when I found out about the Farm of the Child orphanage in Honduras, something in me clicked. I thought to myself, what could be more worthwhile than taking kids off the streets of drug-infested Central America, where they would most likely otherwise fall into a lifestyle of begging or gangs, and giving them an education, a safe place to sleep, and the opportunity to make whatever they want out of their lives? Not to mention teaching them about the love of Christ. So with all the options for my future that this world and the grace of God had provided me, I decided this was what I wanted to pursue.

I found out about The Farm of the Child (La Finca in Spanish), through some friends at college. I got in contact with them my senior year, but realized I should probably pay off my college debt before going down. After I was able to do that and save up a little extra, I started talking to them again, and found out they were in need of a maintenance man. I’m a mechanically minded guy and a quick learner, so I offered to do the job. They said it sounded good to them, and before I knew it arrangements were made and plane tickets were booked. 

The orphanage sits on nine acres of the Caribbean coast of rural Honduras, about seven miles outside the town of Trujillo. I’ll be living in a volunteer house with about fifteen other people, mostly Americans, but some from Honduras and Nicaragua. I’m the only maintenance volunteer, with the others working as teachers, social workers, nurses, or various other things. During the day, I’ll be working doing general maintenance around the orphanage with several locals from the surrounding villages that have been hired to help out. I, as well as all the other volunteers, will also be doing a lot with the kids, like playing soccer, going fishing, or picking the vegetables out of the garden.  It’s a Catholic orphanage, so we begin each morning with prayer, and most nights have mass, adoration, or a rosary. It will be a life of simplicity, communal living, service, and prayer, which will be very different from the life I’ve been used to. But it’s also something I’m very excited for. I feel like I’m most familiar with busy schedules and a fast paced life, but I know there’s a lot to learn from the steady rhythm of rural Honduras, and I plan on embracing it as best as I can. I am certainly very thankful for this opportunity God has put in my life.

If you’ve made it this far down, I’m impressed. That was long. But also thank you. And if you’ve enjoyed this post, maybe you’ll enjoy the ones in the future too. My communication over the next few years will be sparse, consisting mainly of internet access once every week or two, but I hope to keep my friends and family as updated as I can on my life. This lifestyle will most certainly be very trying time also, so any emails or letters from ya’ll letting me know what you’ve been up to or offering encouraging words would really be great. Nothing would be more uplifting than a message from a friend on a rainy Honduran day, when I can’t unclog the toilet and the kids won’t stop screaming.

So that’s my story. My flight leaves March 5^th, and there’s no looking back from there.  God bless ya’ll.