"Two Dolla a Chance"

The little 'Teachers' Library' I made with the leveled readers from TFABB

Our shower...I love taking showers at sunrise, the sun is so pretty through the palm.

Sometimes Greg dries off on our veranda.

The path to our latrine...and the pigs that live near it.

Our side is on the right...here is our stall. We just bought a seat today!

Early morning sun through our thatch!

Greg and I both like to lay in his huge hammock together and this is what happens when he gets out :(

Our shrine from home and Greg filtering water next to his homemade sink!

Happy Holidays Everyone!

Bazaar-a-rama:

Greg's school has been preparing for their huge bazaar for the last couple of weeks, numerous PTA meetings, selling of raffle tickets, and begging for merchandise. So finally it was the weekend of the Bazaar. I had to spend the second night in our thatch house alone because all the men had to sleep at the school to protect all the prizes..and also to get ice at midnight, and then start cooking BBQ at 3 AM.

Greg's 'bed' in the library

Our first night in our thatch house was great, no rooster problem (there is a large dog population that likes to bark but it was preferable to screaming roosters). We woke up and took our first bucket baths and then rode our bikes to help set up for the huge event. Our job: drinks. Now in the states all that setting up for drinks would entail would be getting the cups and soft drinks and some ice. So I came along, how hard could drinks be....well, hard. When we get there we receive our assignment and we don't have the option to not accept; oranges, peeling and squeezing 9 bags of oranges. Greg uses his leatherman and I get a large knife that a boy ran to borrow from his grandmother and we begin. Withing the first five oranges my hand is cramping. We pushed through the pain and peeled straight until 12:30 when we got food from the school kitchen (for free). We did about 3 bags at that point and had about one 5 gallon bucket of juice. The juicers (the metal kind with a handle that you pull down to squeeze out the juice) weren't working so we were using two plastic juicers (the ones that looks like cones with ridges) and our hands. After lunch we lost most of the kids who were helping (yes kids of all ages wielding large knives peeling oranges) and we were left to peel and juice. It was a long day and finally at 3:30 we were done. A lot of the oranges were dry and we only ended up with 3 bags of oranges...we swore off oranges for life.

When we got there we immediately pick up brooms and start helping Teacher Brian who is frantically sweeping water out of the classroom. You see the coolers are old and the plastic has come off the corners so the foam just leaks. We were then told that we must do this all day so that no one slips like last year. Greg and I look at each other..."can't we just get four buckets to put under the leaks?" suggests Greg. Silence. Mumbles of support are given and quickly buckets are procured and the problem is solved.

Now those are speakers!

Erica, Grace, myself and Corina in the classroom that was converted to the food room.

My favorite room! I got pumpkin pudding and bread pudding!

Lunch time!

These paddles were '2 dolla a chance' and I WON that fan!!!!

The other side of the highway looked the same...it is kind of a big deal!

Greg working the drinks (not pictured: Greg's sweet jorts)

One of the many games of 'chances'

"I'm no expert...but I think we have a forest fire going on back here"

The day after the Bazaar they did not have school so the teachers could clean up. They were burning a large pile of trash (the main form of disposal) and Greg looked out to see huge flames lapping into the forest. He turned to Teacher P and said, "Um...I'm no expert....but I think we have a forest fire going on back here." He then responded with, "oh yes...that needs to be controlled." At which point kids were told to go fill buckets at the tap and for the next 15 minutes Greg played fireman ushering kids and buckets to the right spots and finally, yet again, saved the day.

"I stepped on his foot, his only foot!"

When I came back from the Bazaar (alone since Greg had to work until it was over) I ran into the teacher that lives in our village. He was standing with several relatives that he introduced to me and I noticed several church benches in his mother's lawn. He then explained that his 88 year old father is not doing well and that they are holding a prayer service tonight and that I should come. I agreed and went home to wait until the time. Greg would not make it so I wrote out a note and told our landlords to tell Greg where I was and to join me when he got home. So this experience was the most 'okay I'm really in the Peace Corps' moment I've had so far. I walked over and saw a large group of people (about 30)standing in a cloud of smoke from the burning sage. I heard my name from a few of my older students who were there and slowly smushed into the crowd trying to blend in. There was a prayer being said from somewhere in the house, everyone did the sign of the cross and then we started our procession. Slowly, with some singing, we filled into the thatch house of his mother's. It was slow going as people tried to find seats and it filled up when I was outside the door. There were about 15 of us standing outside and I sat on a bench right out front of the door. Then I heard a small commotion and heard 'okan, okan' which means enter and everyone was staring at me waving me in. I squished inside and squeezed in between a younger lady and a man.

I tried to hide my shock as I saw the dying man lying in a hammock in the middle of the room. His wife and eldest son sat on the bed next to him and then in a huge circle around him were all of his friends and family on benches. The old man was awake and looking around, fidgeting with his Guatemalan blanket every now and then. There were 3 guitars by me and an electronic keyboard. After we all got in, I noticed the green ketchi songbook in every ones hand and someone called out a page number and we began. We sang song after song in Ketchi. I just swayed around to the tune and tried not to stair at the man. I couldn't help wonder what he was thinking. What it must be like to be in your death hammock and be surrounded by everyone you knew singing hymns in the one room house you built. The house was packed with about 100 people sitting and standing. The room was lit by one florescent light and a candle and plumes of smoke would waft through the room ever so often as the breeze caught the incense burning. The old man's wife sat, looking at her hands, mouthing the words to the songs. Every now and then the old man would cough, she would pick up a bowl (ones made from dried gourds) and he would spit in it. Even sitting I was about a foot taller than most everyone in that room and I could not resist the temptation to just gaze around the room at this unique prayer service and these people. After about the first hour a man, who looked like a maya Willem Dafoe, began to speak. He had been leaning against a post in the house, with tight jeans, a big belt buckle, and a button up shirt with one hand in his pocket, straight out of a Western. He gave a long speech and all I could understand was that he was very happy. That everyone something... and that something was no good. I need to work on my ketchi. He nodded and sat down and we continued to sing. Guitars were passed around as people got tired and we sang song after song with different people just calling out a new page number after the song finished.

Greg came about 7:30. He sat with the ever growing crowd outside. After quite a while he caught my eye and motioned for us to go home. I did not want to leave and tried to tell him in sign language that it was too hard to get out and I want to stay. After some more feverish signing the lady next to me tapped me and smiled waving to the path she'd created for me to exit. It was tricky work squeezing past the guitars and the sleeping boy and the big step out of the house. There were people packed all around the entrance way and I stepped over the first bench onto something and heard a man say "ouch, you stepped on my foot!" I looked up and sure enough there was an old man looking accusatorily at me. I immediately jumped off his foot, nearly falling onto the person to his left and whispered many apologies. I put my head down and sulked over to where Greg was and sat down ignoring his smirk. I knew he was tired and he said that we should just go home, these things might last all night. As we were discussing how not to be rude while exiting the man who's foot I stepped on got up. He picked up his crutch and much to my horror he had only one leg...one foot, which I managed to step on. I looked at Greg, who was poorly attempting to hide his delight in my awkwarness, and nodded towards the house. I was glad it was almost 9 because no one could see my bright red face. We appologized to my teacher for having to leave and he understood and I quickly walked home to sulk in my awkwarness and reflect on the strange events of the night.