HERE WE GO AGAIN…
As soon as I heard the jumbled English/Creo voice yelling, “You wit de baby, Ay! You wit de baby, I got you okay?” as I’m standing in a line of 100 something people sweating all of my carefully applied makeup and laughing at the fact that I even attempted to reapply deodrant, I knew that this was if nothing else, definitely going to be an adventure.
So here I am, with my 8 suitcases of “everything I own” and a baby that doesn’t want to sit in her stroller running through all of the reasons that this was a good idea through my head for the millionith time. (Somehow the more times you say it, the more convincing it is). The man turned out to be someone had been hired to help me with my luggage, and I felt an instant reassurance that everything would somehow be okay. I looked around taking in the irony that I felt more at place admist the Honduran hustlers trying to make a few bucks helping tourists with their luggage, than the plane ride full of upper class white Americans complaining that there “better be air-conditioning in our hotel” with their polo shirts and matching straw hats.
A half hour later, luggage in tow, I crossed the point of no return and officially stepped out into the country that was to now be my home for as long as we could stand each other. It is such a different feeling to look at a place from the perspective of a “resident” than a tourist. Instead of looking for the cheapest beer, I am looking for the cheapest nanny. Instead looking for a hostel that’s close to the beach, I’m looking for an apartment with running water. There was an instant connection between Honduras and I last time around, and although it had been over 2 years my heart lept across the gap as if a moment hadn’t passed between us. Like a long lost lover reunited, I hoped and prayed that Danika would develop a relationship with this beautiful place as I had.
The next few days go by in a blur as I struggle to transition from American-visitor to American-“why would you leave all of that for this?” (The most popular question I get when any topic revolving around money, the economy, employment, schooling, air conditioning, running water, men, or honey comes up). I watch Danika carefully as the realization that this isn’t just a vacation starts to set in, and wish she could express in words what she feels when she looks at me. I ask her at least a thousand times a day, “Do you like it here? Do you want to stay?” as if she will answer me. She just looks at me and smiles like the angel she is. I crave the intense confindence that comes from exploring by yourself, but am rooted in one spot for now as I wait for “life” to begin in the form of employment, an apartment, a nanny, etc. (It’s funny to me that I left the States to get away from being sucked into the trap of a meaningless 9-5 and missing my daughter’s life only to come here and anxiously await the day when I start a 9-5 and find a nanny). I am so grateful for kindness of those who know almost nothing about me, but have taken me into their homes and hearts regardless. I battle daily with the want to be independent and do things for myself and the need to slow down and enjoy each moment as it comes.

On the 4th day I finally I make it back to the place where this great love affair with Honduras began: the beach. West Bay may easily be the most beautiful place that I have ever seen, and I fell back in love in an instant. This day would also mark the first time that I truly forgave myself for taking Danika away from her family and her home and bringing her to such a different and foriegn environment. She squealed with delight at the water and kicked her feet furiously, fussing when I took her out of the water after 3 hours of playing. She smiled and flirted with every stranger that would dare look her way, and looked at me with complete and total love and trust in her eyes. She was happy. I took in the moment of the sun going down over the clear, green, Carribbean Sea as my daughter, my life, sipped on her coconut water and played in the sand. And after a year and a half, my heart was still.