viernes, 24 de julio de 2009

Chicken soup for the soul

Whenever I used to think of chicken soup, two things would always come to mind. One was the Campbell’s soup commercials where the snowman would come inside from the cold, and the bowl of chicken soup would melt him away into a little boy. The other is that damn book that was a lovely idea at first, but then it got so extreme I think they even came out with one called ¨Chicken soup for the dog’s soul.¨ Dogs don’t even have souls. Shows how much they know.

Last Sunday my whole idea of chicken soup changed entirely. (warning, if you are a vegetarian, you may not want to read further). I got up at the break of dawn, excited for the day that lied ahead. I ate a quick breakfast, bathed, and changed, then headed off towards a friend’s house. Today we were going to run an errand together. A special errand.

I got to the house, early of course, and waited anxiously as she finished making tortillas and breakfast for her family. When we finally left, she told me that to get to the person’s house we were going to, it would be quicker and better to go through the farm instead of on the main road. I agreed, but later regretted the decision, as I stomped through the farm, climbing on top of big rocks and getting scraped by thorns along the way. We finally arrived at the house after stopping at a few others to visit and drink coffee along the way. While we were there drinking yet another cup of coffee, I watched as the woman searched through the herd of young ripe chickens, and picked up the chosen one out of the dozens of others. She then tied his legs together so he wouldn’t get away, and handed it to my friend, who stuffed it into her bag. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor guy, wondering if he knew his fate that lied ahead. I looked into his eyes, trying to find some hint of fear or sadness. For a moment I thought I saw a tear, but quickly realized it was just the sun glimmering off the white of his eye.

When we arrived back at her house about 2 hours later, we were ready to make the soup. She started the fire and put a large pot of water over it to boil. ¨I want to see how you kill the chicken.¨ I said, wondering if I would regret it later. At that moment, I saw her son walking out towards the back of the house with the chicken in his hands. It was time. She took a kitchen knife in her hand and headed out behind him. He handed her the chicken, and she positioned his feet under one of hers, and grabbed the head with her hands and began to saw it off. It was at this moment when I wondered if I shouldn’t just become vegetarian for the rest of my life. I pondered it while she struggled to get the head off, then as I watched the son take the knife and hack it with one big whack. And I kept pondering it while trying to keep a straight face as I watched the poor chicken die before my eyes. The same chicken she had carried on her back up the hill through the farm. The same chicken she had been petting while chatting with the neighbors and drinking, that’s right, another cup of coffee.

The next step was easier. Plucking it. She stuck him in a pot of boiling water, and to my surprise, the feather just started shedding. She told me in order to learn I had to help her. So hesitantly, I reached my hand in there and started plucking. The more we plucked, the more it looked like something I would buy in a supermarket, and the more assured I became that I could eat meat once again. The only thing was I had to keep dodging his head bobbing from side to side that they hadn’t yet cut off completely. After the plucking came the gutting. As she cut him open at the end, I was surprised to find organs spilling out onto the table. I almost just expected him to be empty, like the turkeys we stuff for Thanksgiving. She picked through the organs, telling me which ones we could leave in there, and which ones we couldn’t. After we finished gutting him, she cut him up into pieces, and he was ready to cook. About an hour later, she spooned out a bowl of hot, fresh chicken soup for me. As I spooned each bite into my mouth, I quickly forgot about the fact that I knew this chicken, and that I had seen him running around happily with his brothers and sisters only this morning. It was delicious. The flavor of fresh chicken is so much richer, fuller than the chicken you buy at the supermarkets. And the meat has an entirely different texture. I would like to see Campbell’s try to imitate this flavor! .

miércoles, 15 de julio de 2009

When I was your age.....

The other day, I was talking on the phone with my older sister. As we started the conversation, she was getting into the car, headed home from work. To my surprise, no more than 5 minutes later she was getting out of the car in front of her apartment building.
¨Are you home already?¨ I exclaimed in astonishment. ¨That was like, less than 5 minutes.¨
¨Yeah, so?¨
¨How long of a walk is it?¨
¨Oh, I don’t know, about 20 or 25 minutes.¨
¨What?? 25 minutes? And you would rather take your car than walk?¨ I began to rattle off a million and four reasons why it’s a much better idea to walk than it is to drive your car, including one example from my experience here in Honduras. ¨Did you know,¨ I said in a huff, ¨that I walk over an hour just to get to the next town to do work, usually up a really big hill, and not to mention an hour walk back under the scorching tropical…¨ I stopped mid-sentence when I realized how ridiculous I was being and simultaneously heard a roar of laughter coming from the other line. I joined in with my sister’s laughter, although somewhat astounded by my reaction. I sounded just like an 85 year-old man exclaiming to his wide-eyed grandkids ¨when I was your age, I walked 5 miles to school in a foot of snow….uphill both ways.¨

I have since then had time to reflect on my reaction, knowing that it had been one from the gut. Strong, but coming from real emotions. For the past two years, I have lived among people who bathe in streams not for fun, but out of necessity, people who ride horses not for show or sport, but because it gets them from one place to another, people who cook over a fire every day not to roast marshmallows, but because that’s their stove, people who don’t even understand the concept of ¨camping,¨ because they live in those conditions basically every day.

These people, however, I have never taken pity on. On the contrary. I in fact admire their strength and work ethic, and wish there were more people in the US like that. Here, I see a life stripped bare of all the conveniences of technology we’re used to today. A life that is pure and simple, just the way God made it. Not necessarily better, but extremely different from the life we lead in the US. A life where dog toe nail clippers exist as well as people who complain about the barista putting whole milk instead of skim milk in their coffee (it’s crazy they even notice the difference). These little reminders just give me a sort of reverse culture shock every time I hear them. Like my sister who drives to work every day when she could easily walk 20 minutes. Perfectly normal, who wouldn’t? But after living a life where a car is a luxury, my automatic reaction is not one of disdain, but of mere shock. And when I finally get back to the states, I will leave that life behind; but never the memories, with which I unfortunately will have no one to share them. I also think I’m starting to understand grandpa’s point…..

miércoles, 8 de julio de 2009

A Honduran crisis

About a week before the alleged ¨elections¨that ex-president Manuel Zelaya was supposed to be making, peace corps sent everyone a text message telling us that we had to stay in our sites the entire weekend just in case something extreme happened. Elections? I asked a fellow volunteer. What elections? I had no idea what everyone was talking about. What fourth urn?

Honestly, although there was apparently a bunch of hype about the cuarta urna (fourth urn), I still don´t know what exactly Mel´s plans were. All I know is that it was illegal, and he basically was doing it so he could stay in power more than 4 years (much like the same thing Chavez did nearly 10 years ago, as well as various other Latin American presidents following his lead). Well, Sunday morning I get a text saying, to my shock and surprise, that there has been a ¨golpe de estado.¨ What´s that? I asked a friend of mine. He said that it´s when the government in power is overthrown, and a new government takes over. A coup??? Can it really be? I didn´t believe Honduras was capable of such a thing. But they were. Although it´s still unknown exactly if it was a coup or not. Basically, what we were told was that the supreme court, congress, and the military acted together to kick Mel out, and put in the president of Congress, Roberto Michelleti (they couldn´t put in the vice president, the next in line, because he is running for presidency during the next term, and if he were president, even for such a short period of time, it´s against the Honduran constitution for him to run).

So since then, it has been interesting here in Honduras. It´s the first time ever that I´ve really talked politics with the people in my town. Normally they don´t seem to care much, but when I talk to them, they all seem to be strong in their beliefs that what Mel did was wrong, and that they want democracy, not a dictatorship. There have been many protestors to reinstate Mel Zalaya, but it seems to me like the majority are for democracy and the new president. Even last week, there were demonstrations all over the country of hundreds of thousands of people peacefully demonstrating that they want peace and democracy, not a dictatorship. I remember hearing that over the radio, and wanting to cry it was so touching to me. Although there are so many countries who are against Honduras and what they did, Hondurans have held strong to their beliefs and won´t back down. And all, on both sides, have demonstrated their beliefs peacefully. I hope and pray for the best for this county, because God knows that they deserve it.