shit, they say the best things in life are free

Love love love the rain here. Somehow it still hasn't gotten old--the sudden downpours in the middle of the day that shut down internet and sometimes power, getting us soaked in mere seconds. It's awesome.

Anyway, dynamic duo Art and Dick have now been here for a week. After only a few days with them, I was reminded again of just how incredible this organization and its leaders are. I can definitely see how they inspire other employees and volunteers here; they are the definition of people who work tirelessly and quietly. No grumbling, no boasting.

The other night, I woke up to go to the bathroom and noticed that the lights in the comedor were on. I went to go turn them off, and was startled by Art and Dick, both of whom whooshed by me, each with a cheerful "Good morning!" Confused, I groggily greeted them back, and went to check the time on my phone.

4:47.

They had gotten up at 3, and had been in and out working and running errands ever since. This is amazing in and of itself, but to work like this cheerfully for 2 straight weeks, consistently coming back for over 20 years... That's dedication. I know that for years I've always admired and envied people with "passion"--people who have that one thing they really care about, obsess about, and seem to need in order to be happy. I never thought I could feel so strongly about any one thing. People, yes. But some thing, some cause, some activity? Not so much.

I don't know if this is the same idea, just a different rendition, but here the buzz words are commitment and dedication. This kind of passion is different; day-to-day work here can be frustrating, isn't particularly enjoyable, and definitely isn't always satisfactory. But people here--and more and more, I begin to feel more included in that category, though probably undeservedly--care, and for the mere sake of progress (even if it sometimes seems minute or even nonexistent), keep doing what they're doing. I have hardly been here for a month, and already I feel the pull. One year--less, ten months!--seems so short, and already I'm imagining ways to come back.

Another thing I'm beginning to become addicted to is exercise. I know, what? It's funny how much I like to work out here. At home I'm so lazy--it takes so much discipline just to roll out and run at all. Here, I'm starting to understand why Ann and Connie love running so much; I feel addicted to the rhythm of running, the sound, concentration, and slightly masochistic drive of running. That feeling of finding the point where you just have to stop, and then pushing a little harder until you're back into the right rhythm.

It may just be that I love being outside here, or that I'm already outside so much that the activation barrier is lower. But today, for example, my legs were covered in mud (literally up to my shorts), and with the rain falling on me as I felt the burn, all I wanted to do was keep going.

It helps too that after every run, I feel great. My head is just so much clearer, and I worry a lot less. When I first arrived to Conce yesterday I was feeling a little anxious--nervous about leaving and worrying about everything. But now I'm regaining that it's-great-to-be-in-Conce feel, which is nice. It's beautiful out here. And although I'm already starting to feel the loneliness and relative emptiness, I am also really excited to have my own space and alone time. I just need to make sure I keep running to keep clarity and stop myself from thinking too much.

There are so many wonderful parts of being here: the beautiful scenery, the peacefully and slow pace, the incredible friends I've made. But I also need to remember why I am really here: to work hard and do as much as I can for the people here, which means focusing on my project and throwing myself into anything else that could use my help.

Just gotta keep running. Running and working--the rest will fall into place on its own.

journal entry from 9/16 - health fair

A little behind in blogging, but here is an entry about the feria de salud that I thought captured a lot about life here. Story time!

Great day today.

We (the brigade, Karla, Beth, Alex, Alan, and I) left this morning for la feria de salud out in the small community of Guarumo. After ~20 minutes of driving and hiking (read: sore ass and muddy shoes), we arrived at the school, where we were greeted by two of the three local community health volunteers.

What a welcome! There were balloons, streamers, a welcome poster with meticulous pencil lines drawn in... They were so incredibly proud to have us there, and I don't know how many times one of the volunteers kept repeating how "orgulloso" they felt that their little community had been chosen to host the first health fair of the region. Throughout the day, everyone was incredibly gracious and supportive--even passing out cups of hot "poliada" (milk, flour, sugar, and cinnamon--like horchata but better) and later, plates of hot, homemade lunch.

After the initial welcome by the community leader, eight school-age kids came out in elaborate dresses (for the girls) and vaquero outfits (for the boys) and performed a few traditional dances for us. Again, the sense of pride was incredible. The children were all so earnest and serious in their dancing (one boy had some serious moves), while their parents beamed in the audience. In some ways it reminded me of our old Chinese-dance days... The same pushy pride from the parents and reluctance from the kids. But while ours stemmed from embarrassment, theirs was just from shy nervousness. Huge difference.

The dance was then followed by the most enthusiastic sermon I'd ever seen. The pastor from the nearby evangelical church (literally across the street from the fair, and where we had lunch) read a passage from the Bible, then excitedly shared the "palabra de Dios" while asking us to open our hearts and let go of the leprosy in our souls, all the while punctuated by enthusiastic "Amens" from the crowd. With the exception of a crying baby and some distracted children, the audience was captivated; it was the quietest Honduran silence I'd ever heard. It was a small glimpse into religion's central role in these rural, conservative communities, where adolescent mothers are commonplace but dancing is a sin. Even when I asked the health volunteer how many people were in his community, he answered not with a number of families, but with "two congregations!" It made me wonder if we could ever get locals even half as invested in their own health. Or, perhaps more cynically, how we could aprovechar their religious fervor in some way...

Anyway, after all the welcoming fanfare, the brigade members set up their posters and went to man their health education posts as people mingled and passed through. Unfortunately, there wasn't too much interest...unless of course, there were handouts. Free stress balls and toothbrushes went like hotcakes, but I soon found kids blowing stress balls into stress balloons and picking toothbrushes out from the mud, so we know how effective that was...

On the other side of the fair, we performed general consults and pap smears. Everyone and their mom (and/or dad, grandma, aunt, uncle, etc.) came to see the doctor/gringo nurses, and we quickly ran out of patient intake forms. For my part, I became an expert at taking pulses as people waited in line. Then, the brigade leader announced that because of the rain, it was time to roll out. ...Except that we still had almost 20 patients waiting in line to be seen. It was a disaster. Everyone in the community was so proud and worked so hard to organize this event for us, and here we were, ducking out in the middle of it. Eventually, we reached a compromise and decided that the brigade could leave earlier, but we StoSers would stay behind. As a result, I ended up helping Delvia, the professional nurse (as they term them here) from the Conce health center, with her paperwork as she saw patients. She taught me the word "pitis"--patients who had no problems but came to get meds (mostly acetominophen) and explained various illnesses and their treatments to me. It was a good thing we stayed, too, because more and more patients just kept coming in.

Two cases stuck with me the most, coincidentally the last two who wandered in. One patient came in with an infected toenail and needed to get it removed. Beth helped Delvia with the extraction (? I don't know the right terminology) as Karla and I watched. There was obviously no OR or sterile room for surgery, so Delvia cleaned it as best she could with iodine and got ready to pull. The woman--like so many here--was incredibly stoic and calm, quiet despite not having any anesthetics for the pain.

Our last patient was a girl of 20. I served as a translator for Karla and asked her what was wrong. For some reason, she was incredibly shy and refused to speak above a whisper. I became confused by her answer ("me duelen los pies durante la regla," or my feet hurt when I get my period), so I asked Alex to come help. As soon as he sat down, she immediately began whispering urgently in my ear, pulling my head closer to her. All of a sudden, she started spilling her real symptoms to me, and also divulged that she wanted birth control.

She took to me after that, refusing to talk to anyone else while continuing to whisper into my ear. At one point she even cradled my head, caressing my face and stroking my hair. Turns out she had arrived with her sister, but was terrified that her sister would find out about the birth control (i.e. that she was having sex! And thus doomed to hell.) This made me even more impressed with her insistence--at the very least, she would be one less pregnant girl to worry about. (Side note. After about a month here, there are two things that never fail to make me smile: kids who come into the clinic with their dads, and any time a woman asks for birth control. Men are seldom the caretakers here, and I fall in love with every man who comes with his little boy or girl. And after all the pregnant women I've seen... I rejoice every time I hear someone's trying to prevent one.)

Anyway, for some reason this small encounter was extremely exciting and fulfilling to me. I didn't treat her, nor did I prescribe her medications. It was such a small thing, to sit there and coax answers out of her so Karla could diagnose and treat her, and yet I felt stupidly giddy afterwards, so incredibly happy to have been part of the process. It makes me so excited about the prospect of being a doctor, being trained, licensed, and even paid to see patients. My time here has given me possibly the best and most personal--and thus for me, most fulfilling--perspective of medicine, and I am incredibly excited to learn and do more in the next few years in med school.

- The End -

thoughts.

I really do love Conce. There’s just something about being outside here that is so calm and peaceful. I’m back on my favorite porch, listening to the crickets chirp while I stare out into… Well, darkness. There are no lights and the moon/stars are obscured by clouds, so I can barely even make out the difference between the mountains and the sky.

It’s funny how things change in just a few days. Last time I was here, I was the “chinita”—some Chinese chick that no one knew or recognized. I came to Conce mostly just to check the place out, meet people, get to know the area, and see the clinic. We bonded over rum and cornhole, and late-night firefly watching. Today, I was greeted by name by both doctors and brigade members (that was a real surprise), all of whom were warm and welcoming. I came so that I could attend the health fair tomorrow—to work alongside health promoters and community volunteers in a nearby community while getting a feel for these types of community health events. And today, among all these people camped out in hallways and porches, I decided to sit out on the porch by myself, thinking and staring into the darkness.

Been doing a lot of thinking lately. Probably comes as no surprise to my friends in the States—at home and at Yale, I overthink like crazy and am stuck in my head all the time. But one of the reasons I love it here is that when I first arrived, I somehow escaped all of that. I lived in the moment, whether working, chatting, reading or writing, and took every day as it came. It’s a testament to my time here that I even noticed I was stuck in my head.

But now I’m back in the crowd of “whys” and “what ifs” and “what will happens,” for better or worse. Maybe it’s just time for that monthly mental checkup, or maybe it’s just because of all the imminent change. In a few days a new long-term volunteer will arrive to join our gang. A day later, Ben will get back from his two-week vacation, along with Art, Dick, and co. It’s strange to think that in the past two weeks, those of us who have been here have all become close and comfortable with each other, forming a support network that will inevitably shift and expand to accommodate change.

I love this kind of ever-shifting and yet constant dynamic—the same type of camaraderie I enjoyed while in Germany. Somehow, the fact that people come and go and serve different terms makes people bond faster and—I think—on more genuine grounds. Despite knowing someone’s imminent departure, everyone still wants to get as close to everyone else as possible. Connections and intimacy, though not instantaneous, develop quickly, and there’s very little bullshit.

Instead of holding back and keeping some sort of safe distance, it’s almost as if we try to squeeze as much as possible out of people before they leave—to have more to remember, hold onto, and maybe even idealize once they’re gone. The fact that we’re here is already a strong tie that holds us together, but the knowledge that we’re all leaving somehow accelerates the process, knocking down walls and allowing us to see and admire the best in each other. Or… maybe that’s just because we work, eat, and sleep together. Who knows.

Anyway, sorry for yet another sappy post. I figure if I write some of my thoughts down and get them out there, they’ll cloud my head a little less and quit distracting me. Or at least clear out some space for me to think about other, more productive things.

Hopefully.

glossary of my past week

much has happened, but i'm not feeling inspired (or motivated) enough to write a real entry (i.e. with complete and articulate sentences), so this is my way of being lazy... i'll fill in the blanks later (and make it more interesting) i promise! and i'm sorry about all of those parentheses... whoops.

brigades - (n.) two-week rotations of 20-30 people including dentists, dental students, nurses, and nursing students accompanied by teenage translators; spend time by shadowing/working in the clinic or accompanying other personnel on paquete básicos or home visits.

idalia's birthday - (v.) eating several pieces of cake, spooning jello shots out of a tin, and kicking out the translators so we could sit and talk/crack jokes about vaginas... in spanish. followed by an invitation by delmi to stay at her house while in conce. (!!) still trying to decide if it was a serious or drunk offer. or both. (??)

parto en santa lucía - (n.) ashley, liz, and i crowd the small room as a woman lays there, silently waiting for her contractions. said woman turns out to be such a tough bitch that the birth seems almost anticlimactic--no screaming, very little bleeding, and no snipping necessary. baby is born without mishap after a nerve-wracking 5 seconds of silence. he is beautiful, and a whopping 9 pounds.

la esperanza - (n.) closest city for a girls' night out. ashley, liz, janell, and i take a 5-hour bus ride (see following entry) to the closest city in order to tomar and bailar. unforch, stomachaches and a honduran "elvis" get the best of us, preventing too much tomando and any bailando. instead, we (or just i) sway/wiggle along to various spanish songs, plus a short interlude of "yesterday." we return to the hotel to enjoy luxurious hot showers (wow do i miss those... really, the biggest thing i miss from home. surprise!) and girl talk before finally succumbing to sweet sleep at 10:30. again, WILD.

bus - (n.) similar to "short buses" of the states, packed with children on laps and in aisles. bonded with a woman and her baby son on the way back, as well as a 5-year-old who stared at me before asking "japonesa?!" and then his dad, who is a local priest, proceeds to ask if my family believes in god. and if i read the bible. ...and then stops talking to me.

22nd birthday - (n., v.) quiet and relaxed day of eating and lounging. many calories are consumed (por ejemplo karla and beth's m&m cookies, ashley's peanut sauce longevity noodles, and pastel dorado with orange juice-garnished frosting), and then preserved on the couch as we watch "i love you, man." with close friends around me and many messages from home, i go to bed feeling loved and at home despite the vast distance (both physical and metaphorical) between home home and honduras home.

birthday sex - (n.) a song that is stuck in my head.

warning: cheese & sap ahead.

So... The power went out last night. Actually, the power's been out for awhile now, and we've been running on the generator. So really, the generator went out last night. Through our time in the dark--brigade members (nursing and dental students who rotate here for two weeks) read and played games while we (the long-termers) chatted quietly on the porch--I realized a couple things about people and attitudes here. Well, one big thing really.

People here are incredible.

For example, take Alex and Chepe. These two boys decided to drive out last night at 9pm to San Pedro Sula so they could buy a new breaker for the generator. This is a 6-8 hour drive, one way, on shitty roads. In the dark. They finally just got back about an hour ago, which adds up to about 21 hours in transit. The most remarkable part of this is just how unremarkable it all was. There is absolutely no glamour in driving to some Honduran hardware store to buy a circuit breaker. But without it, our clinic would be without power...indefinitely. So besides lacking light (our headlamps got hella action last night) and cold beverages, we were in peril of inactivated vaccines, spoiled lab samples, backed-up data entry, nonfunctioning equipment, etc. etc.

There are also few thanks. As I predicted, they left quietly last night, drove all night and all day, and then came right back to fix the power. Literally, we only knew that Alex had come back when the lights came on; he hadn't even come in to eat dinner. And now they're right back to their million other duties, without fanfare or pats on the back.

People here do what needs to be done, without being asked and without any reason except that someone needed to do it. I think this is one reason (of many) that volunteers and employees here are so remarkable. In middle-of-nowhere Honduras, there's very little room for ego. You can boast or whine all you want, but no one has the time or energy to give a shit; everyone's too busy trying to get things done. Because someone has to do it, people step in where and when they're needed, without any external incentives like ambition, affirmation, recognition, or even gratitude. These are all good things, and common motivators/rewards at home and at Yale, but they're not expected or necessary here.

Another thing is how scarily attached I'm getting to people here. There is a very easy and comfortable support network here, and I absolutely love that we can go from shooting the shit one minute to TMI-ing the next, or even you know, talking about feelings. I feel incredibly lucky to not only know such great people, but also to get to work and live with them, and even have them as lifelines.

These people, who are my roommates, colleagues, mentors, and friends, are the heroes here.

I love that.

this past week in conce, i...

- fought off vindictive ants by day and 3-inch moths and frogs by night.

- stepped into a pile of shit.

- swam in (near? under?) a waterfall.

- watched the most beautiful sunset, accompanied by cows and horses.

- ate lunch in a pink, giraffe-spotted house.

- and squeezed onto a bus ("como pescado") for a 2+ hour ride back to santa lucía.

so that's the short version. hella long version, with complete sentences (and capitalization!):

view on the car ride to concepción

Concepción is absolutely gorgeous. On the drive there from Santa Lucía, Ben stopped at a place where we literally were level with the clouds. On our right, we could see the mountains of El Salvador, and on our left, Honduras--both sides with clouds just floating between the mountains. It was beautiful. Turns out... That's what Conce looks like. All the time. Despite the wide variety of huuuge, strange-looking insects, the views were absolutely unbeatable, and I spent a good few hours looking out into the countryside, even without the aid of a hammock. The nearby campo de fútbol always had at least one horse just chillin there, and behind the clinic there were a bunch of cows grazing and mooing. Incredible.

In terms of my project, I'm really excited to be in Conce. In my few days there, I got to talk to nurses/doctor at the local health center, as well as go into the nearby San Miguelillo with a health promoter, Deisy. We left Conce around 7 am, rolling up our pants to trek (and by trek I mean slosh and squish) through the muddy roads, followed by hiking up and down a mountain. At one point, we had to run along the trail so we wouldn't get hit by the rocks sliding down towards us. When we got to San Miguelillo, I watched Deisy talk to a bunch of kids (4th through 6th grade) about self-esteem, except that they were all watching me. After a few minutes of that, I tried to help Deisy out by asking them questions related to the subject, but they only stared harder, probably thinking, "the chinita speaks!" I sat quietly after that.

I also got to meet Don René, a campesino who claims to have laid the first brick of our Conce clinic. He was very excited to have me there, telling me all about his experiences with other gringos. He took a few breaks between stories to order his wife around, first telling her to bring a chair, and then to bring me some coffee. When I said "no gracias," stupidly forgetting that it is rude here to decline people's offers of food and/or drinks, she poured the cup out and went back inside to reboil water to prepare something else for me. Good job Yuan. A few minutes later, she brought out "chocolate," a delicious concoction made not of chocolate, but of corn. And Don René's stories kept coming.

la cascada

The weekend was also fantastic. Liz and Ashley showed up early Saturday morning, and all of us went to the mercado together, mostly to check it out but also to buy drinks and a cake for our lunch date at Delmi's. We basically wandered around for an hour under the various tarps, stopping to look at/step around everything from seafood and produce, to spices and supplements ("para mejorar la memoria!"), to lacy underwear and woven bracelets. While squeezing through the crowds of people, I ran into Don René (and "con permiso"-ed my way out) and some storeowner offered himself ("le interesa un hombre fuerte?") to me. Awkward...

In the afternoon, all of us went to a nearby waterfall! Alan drove us down, where we hiked down in our swimsuits and flip flops. Guess who stepped into a pile of cow shit? Oh yes. In my flip flops. So I hiked the rest of the way down with a bare (and by bare I mean covered in pupu) right foot, careful to avoid jagged rocks, ant hills, and more mudpies. When we got there, the waterfall itself was absolutely amazing. It was beautiful, and it was fun to just be silly, swimming against the currents and hiking around in our sandals. After we got back, we spent some time just hanging out on the porch, watching the sunset. It's really incredible--no matter how long I sat there, every time I looked away I was stunned again when I turned back. The clouds are always so beautiful, and there's a feeling of tranquility that is wonderful. That night, we gringos took over the clinic and pretty much got right down to the usual: drinking. Armed with rum and tequila, we played cornhole almost the whole night (Alex and I were the champs, no big deal), polishing it off with four of us just music DJ-ing and YouTubing. Liz and I ended up going outside to look at stars on the porch, but had to resort to firefly-watching since it was cloudy/rainy (surprise!). But we had a really great time just chatting, and when we finally went to bed it was already 3.

girls @ the waterfall! liz, me, ashley, and karla

On Sunday, our big adventure was lunch at Delmi's house. A note about the house: it is bubble-gum pink, with large dark spots that make it look like the back of a giraffe. Ashley made a joke about it, and I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about--I simply hadn't noticed. It was just... Delmi's house. Apparently I am adjusting faster than I'd thought; the only things that are remarkable and camera-worthy to me are the landscapes, no longer the run-down houses, muddy roads, or the random chickens/dogs/pigs/children on the side of the road. Trying to decide if that's a good or bad thing.

Anyway, back to Sunday. Liz, Ashley, and I headed over a little earlier to try to help out with cooking, since there were more of us gringo guests than people in Delmi's family. We met Delmi's niece Sari, who is super sweet and an incredible cook. Under her and Delmi's tutelage, I learned how to make tajadas and carne asada (don't worry Steve, I took mental notes), and Doña Lucía even treated us to her special coffee! I watched her roast the beans in sugar before grinding and preparing the coffee, and oh man. Riquísimo. We also had a wonderful time playing with Analía, Sari's beautiful baby, who was pretty much the star of the afternoon. It was wonderful to be able to eat with Delmi's family, complete with the four generations of Analía, Sari, Delmi, and Don Miguel and Doña Lucía, passing plates around and even saying grace together. Everyone was incredibly gracious and welcoming, and Doña Lucía is probably the cutest old woman in the world, giving all of us big hugs before even asking our names. Our feast (carne asada, tajadas, arroz, salsa, cuajada, y frijoles) was followed by cake--ordered from a "Profesora Deisy"--that proclaimed "Felicidades!" though we were more celebrating food than anything else. Unfortunately, in the midst of our merriment, we realized that we only had ~40 minutes until the last bus to Santa Lucía would arrive, so we had to book it.

conce clinic driveway during daily downpour

Except that it was pouring. Again. So we walked as fast as we could, up the steep hills in our flip flops, tracking mud up our pants all over again. We ran into the clinic, throwing our soaked clothes in with our dry clothes, balling up dirty linens, running out the door to the bus stop... only to find out that the bus would probably be another 40 minutes. So, we all waded again through mud and streams to the "sala de espera" of the clinic, where we repacked and took pictures of our sorry selves to bide our time. When the bus finally arrived, it was PACKED. People were already standing in the aisle, and two guys were holding onto the back. Still, they let us get on, huge backpacks and all, so the five of us gringo girls shoved our way down the aisle as non-intrusively as we could. I ended up standing awkwardly between two seats, trying my best not to hit the women sitting on either side of me with my computer or my elbows. Besides some sing-along time with our besties Jack Johnson and Lady Antebellum, the 2+ hour bus ride was pretty uneventful, if slow and a little tenuous. When we finally arrived, the streets of SL were completely flooded. Karla lost her shoes downstream while Idalia, our resident dentist, lost her backpack to the bus. And then the power went out.

Always an adventure!

a note about names

okay. so first point: names are VERY important here. hondurans typically have a grand total of four names: two nombres and two apellidos. this gets confusing, because when one asks, "como se llama?" people usually respond with only two names, one first and one last. when you consider that there are 4-choose-2 permutations of a person's name, and then that they may have records in several health centers and clinics, we have a pretty big record-keeping problem. 

punto dos: you, my anonymous reader, probably know me as yuan. but not here. people here can't pronounce "yuan," so in the past week i have been llamada "jew-an" (the spanish pronunciation of my name), "juan," "juanes," "gringa," "muchacha," y lo que es más común, "chinita." today i met one of our employees/old friends of StoS, named delmi. the three of us took turns to introduce ourselves: elizabeth, karla, y yo. when we got to me, delmi asked me to repeat my name once more, and then just shook her head and said, "chinita." y eso es. she suggested that i pick a spanish name that's easier: "delmi?"

claro.

anyway al final, ya estoy en concepción. it has a very different feel than santa lucía, mostly because it's newer and bigger. the clinic is beautiful and the medical equipment is nice, but it's a lot less familial and loving than SL. definitely no marías y valeadas, nor un comedor where everyone hangs out to eat. it's like a place to visit, not to stay. i guess staying in the brigade-room (where we threw a few mattresses on a tile floor) reinforces that feel. plus, there's no rosbinda in the clinic, though the doctors here are young and nice and friendly. but! to satisfy my badass requirement, i'm probably going to try to win over delmi, who is definitely a no-nonsense, won't-take-your-shit character. love her.

tomorrow, me voy al centro de salud with juan, our medical director/new drinking buddy. we bonded over eminem the other night... go figure. anyway hopefully tomorrow will give me a better feel for how to go about working with health promoters and community health volunteers. OR i'll just get eaten alive by the 3-inch bugs here. en serio. or scorpions/tarantulas.

wish me luck,

chinita

p.s. sorry for all the spanglish today. i must have caught the bug from juan... hope y'all (and by "all" i mean like, the five of you--two if you don't include the roomies) can still understand me! 

vaya pues~