Along with building the most amazing resort in history, Nikki Beach also funds an animal reserve on site that takes in rescued animals that have been captured by hunters and sold on the black market. One such animal is a 5 month old jaguar named Sumo. He was sold to an American business owner on the mainland of Honduras by a poacher who had killed his Mom and was looking to sell Sumo as a pet. The American bought Sumo from the poachers and promptly brought him here to the Nikki Beach Reserve. He was sick, malnourished, and on the brink of death. The Vet here nursed him back to health and now he is the healthiest, most lovable animal you could ever meet. He plays with dog toys and gets so excited when he sees people coming that he forgets about his size and throws himself at you. If you put your hand up to his cage (cage is an understatement, Sumo has an actual replica of a jungle as a home, it's the next best thing to actually being in the jungle, trust me) he will put his paw on your hand begging you to play with him. I will use any and every excuse to go down to the reserve to see the animals, but was waiting on the perfect opportunity to bring Danika down.
Yesterday was it.
Danika squealed at the monkeys chattering and jumping down to harmlessly grab at her feet, pointed at each one of the exotic parrots and mackaws squawking at us as we threw them pieces of fruit, but I have never seen her make the face that she did when she saw Sumo up close and personal. She was utterly stunned. She stared at him with her mouth wide open and her eyes even wider. She didn't even make a move. She wasn't scared, just in awe of this creature that was too big to be a "puppy" but didn't look like a human. Sumo seeming to know that he was in the presence of something slightly more delicate than he was used to, very gently stood up to reach where my hand was placed. His face was right next to Danika's. Danika very slowly took her tiny little pointer finger and placed it directly on the pad of Sumo's paw. Sumo just stood there as Danika poked his paw again and again, looking up at me with her mouth still wide open.
Another moment of paradise.
I then took her over to the most dynamic of all of the creatures there; a two toed sloth named Guillermo. Guillermo has a big attitude, but can only move in slow motion so it makes it all the more funny to see him fuss at you. He is easily the ugliest creature I have ever seen but he certainly doesn't know it.
I saved the best for last with my two favorite animals in the reserve. Two big fat old monkeys named Gordo and Blanche. Gordo is named Gordo because that's exactly what he is, fat. He was captured and sold as a pet to an American family who fed him candy and pop until he became so sick that they didn't want him anymore. Now he eats fruits, vegetables, and has the occasional treat of sweet coconut. He is still fat, but getting healthier and healthier by the day. He is very outgoing and when he sees you coming, he runs and puts his whole arm out to touch you. Mouth wide open in what looks like a snarl, but is actually a smile.
Blanche is an old lady that was also used as a pet. She is missing a finger for some unknown reason and is very very frightened of humans (one could only guess why). She does not trust anyone, but has decided to trust me for some reason. When I come around her she gently sticks her hand out to me and we just stand there holding hands like old friends. I don't make any sudden movements around her, and don't pet her or feed her treats. She wants nothing more than to hold my hand as I talk softly to her about anything and everything. Sometimes she closes her eyes as I talk as if she is imagining all the beautiful things I describe to her.
It makes me sick to think that people could abuse these beautiful creatures and the reality of poachers in Central America is very much a part of day to day life, a fact that I single handedly can do nothing about. As long as there are people who are willing to buy, then there are poachers that are willing to sell.
I will make note that the reserve is not yet open to the public and when it is, the public will not get to have the same experience that I was able to share with Danika. The animals will be viewed from a far and treated as though they are wild.
For now, I will enjoy every second I possibly can with Blanche, Sumo, and the rest of the gang. I try not to show my sadness for the freedom that they have so unfairly lost, although I'm sure they can feel it in my touch and see it in my eyes. I am sorry for all that they have gone through for the sake of other's, but I am thankful that the Lord has brought them here, a fate that very few others will get to see.
See bottom of page for a picture of Danika and Blanche.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Very Unlikely Roommates
I have three obnoxious roommates that share my space, eat my food, but refuse to help me pay rent.
One, we will call him Larry, resides strictly in the kitchen. He eats any and all crumbs of food that might have been dropped and hides in the most inconvenient places.
Larry is a cockroach, and a big one too.
He comes out every night to inspect the happenings of the kitchen and leaves every morning to give me my space. I respect him and he respects me. It's a very unique and ugly relationship. I know that if I enter the kitchen anytime after 8, I can expect to see Larry creeping around on the floor by the refridge. He stops whenever I enter the room and looks at me with a look that I can only describe as inconvenienced. It's as if we share custody of the kitchen and I am infringing on his time. I can honestly say that I have not had any desire to kill Larry, but know that even if I did, I would have no idea where to start. You see Larry is territorial, and not a bit afraid of me. There has been two occasions in which I have entered the kitchen in a sleepy haze and have not been aware of Larry's where abouts and he has actually walked over my foot. I have no doubt in my mind, should I choose to try and end his life, that he would put up quite a fight.
(P.S. He's about as long as my index finger.) And so I choose to pick my battles and he is not it.
The second, we will call Harry, lives in the hallway and is quite a bit more spasodic than Larry. He is an ant, and the biggest ant I have ever seen. I mean you can actually see this guy move in the dark. He does not enjoy my company in the least bit and scurries up the wall everytime I walk by. Unlike Larry however, Harry seems to be all bark and no bite, and doesn't get into any of my things, so I let him rule the hallway as he so chooses and try not to disrespect him in front of his ant friends by scaring him too often.
The third, and by far the most annoying roommate, we will call Big Mama. She resides in the bathroom, and although I have left the door open on many many occasions, refuses to leave. It's as if she is challenging me. Short of killing her, there is nothing I can do.
She is a spider, and not just any spider, I'm talking Charlotte's fat cousin spider. This thing could barely fit in my palm (if for some reason I ever decided it would be a good idea to put a possibly poisonous tropical spider in my palm, she would not fit). She also only comes out after dinner time and can be found in three very specific places (not that you have to look too hard to find her).
On the clothes hamper, on the wall by the garbage can, and my least favorite, on the toilet bowl.
She also seems to be harmless in that she has yet to attack me, however any attempts of mine to stomp my foot to get her to leave have been completely fruitless. She has called my bluff, seen that I am too soft to harm her, and taken complete advantage of my weakness.
I have gotten used to her presence at this point, and can honestly say that the only time I'm really nervous about entering the bathroom is when I can't see her. The possibility of her resting on my brush as I reach into the drawer without looking to grab it frightens me far more than knowing she is sitting by the garbage (in which case I would walk my garbage out to the kitchen, in truth I would rather see Larry than Big Mama, but just barely). I realize that my bathroom experience is completely dictated by an animal that is about 1/100 my size, and I have gotten very good at brushing my teeth while keeping one eye on her furry fat little behind just in case she decides to make a move.
My friend offered to "remove" her a few days ago, and I was immediately disgusted with the thought of her being killed due to my comfort level. What about her family? What if she really is Charlotte's fat cousin?
The thing about it is you never really know their story, and whose to say that she wasn't there first? Maybe she watches me just as careful thinking the very same things that I am.
I am moving into a new and improved apartment the 1st of June, and although I will not think twice about leaving my "friends" behind, I can honestly say that Larry, Harry, and Big Mama have been more tolerable than some of my roommates in the past.
One, we will call him Larry, resides strictly in the kitchen. He eats any and all crumbs of food that might have been dropped and hides in the most inconvenient places.
Larry is a cockroach, and a big one too.
He comes out every night to inspect the happenings of the kitchen and leaves every morning to give me my space. I respect him and he respects me. It's a very unique and ugly relationship. I know that if I enter the kitchen anytime after 8, I can expect to see Larry creeping around on the floor by the refridge. He stops whenever I enter the room and looks at me with a look that I can only describe as inconvenienced. It's as if we share custody of the kitchen and I am infringing on his time. I can honestly say that I have not had any desire to kill Larry, but know that even if I did, I would have no idea where to start. You see Larry is territorial, and not a bit afraid of me. There has been two occasions in which I have entered the kitchen in a sleepy haze and have not been aware of Larry's where abouts and he has actually walked over my foot. I have no doubt in my mind, should I choose to try and end his life, that he would put up quite a fight.
(P.S. He's about as long as my index finger.) And so I choose to pick my battles and he is not it.
The second, we will call Harry, lives in the hallway and is quite a bit more spasodic than Larry. He is an ant, and the biggest ant I have ever seen. I mean you can actually see this guy move in the dark. He does not enjoy my company in the least bit and scurries up the wall everytime I walk by. Unlike Larry however, Harry seems to be all bark and no bite, and doesn't get into any of my things, so I let him rule the hallway as he so chooses and try not to disrespect him in front of his ant friends by scaring him too often.
The third, and by far the most annoying roommate, we will call Big Mama. She resides in the bathroom, and although I have left the door open on many many occasions, refuses to leave. It's as if she is challenging me. Short of killing her, there is nothing I can do.
She is a spider, and not just any spider, I'm talking Charlotte's fat cousin spider. This thing could barely fit in my palm (if for some reason I ever decided it would be a good idea to put a possibly poisonous tropical spider in my palm, she would not fit). She also only comes out after dinner time and can be found in three very specific places (not that you have to look too hard to find her).
On the clothes hamper, on the wall by the garbage can, and my least favorite, on the toilet bowl.
She also seems to be harmless in that she has yet to attack me, however any attempts of mine to stomp my foot to get her to leave have been completely fruitless. She has called my bluff, seen that I am too soft to harm her, and taken complete advantage of my weakness.
I have gotten used to her presence at this point, and can honestly say that the only time I'm really nervous about entering the bathroom is when I can't see her. The possibility of her resting on my brush as I reach into the drawer without looking to grab it frightens me far more than knowing she is sitting by the garbage (in which case I would walk my garbage out to the kitchen, in truth I would rather see Larry than Big Mama, but just barely). I realize that my bathroom experience is completely dictated by an animal that is about 1/100 my size, and I have gotten very good at brushing my teeth while keeping one eye on her furry fat little behind just in case she decides to make a move.
My friend offered to "remove" her a few days ago, and I was immediately disgusted with the thought of her being killed due to my comfort level. What about her family? What if she really is Charlotte's fat cousin?
The thing about it is you never really know their story, and whose to say that she wasn't there first? Maybe she watches me just as careful thinking the very same things that I am.
I am moving into a new and improved apartment the 1st of June, and although I will not think twice about leaving my "friends" behind, I can honestly say that Larry, Harry, and Big Mama have been more tolerable than some of my roommates in the past.
My Socio-Economical Desires (or lack there of) Have Been Compromised
I went, I saw, I had the time of my life. Dammit.
Friday morning I stepped out of the 6 passenger plane that took me to the Mainland, only to be met by my driver (what???) who brought me to the 5 star hotel that I would be staying at for the night.
There I met the President of Nikki Beach, and my boss who flew in from Miami, the Director of Marketing of Nikki Beach. Strangely, I didn't feel out of my league and managed to jump into a few conversations here in there about the business.
Later my boss told me to pick from the four dresses her bought for me and off we went to the ultra exclusive party.
When we got there the pool that led up to the club was lit up with candles. Everything was draped in white linen, the couches were white , the candles were white, everyone was dressed in white, it was elegant, sexy, and absolutely fabulous. Our team gave a presentation about Nikki Beach to a room full of the richest people in North and Central America who are all anxiously awaiting it's opening in 2010. By the end of the night, we managed to sell almost every single one of the condos that were available. The press ate everything up, taking pictures left and right (I managed to sneak into a few of them too).
Here's how you know that you are at a glamorous party: there were models hired to walk around and make the party look good.
I will break for a little FYI now and let everyone know that twice I was asked if I was Jennifer Aniston (I'm assuming they mean Jennifer Aniston in her fat, not sure what to do with her hair, early Friends stage), both times I politely pointed out my name tag which in fact did not read Jennifer, but Courtney, in pretty bold letters might I add.
And of course in true Courtney fashion, I couldn't let the most elegant night of my life pass by without getting into a fight with a rich snob.
His name was Larry and he was every bit as annoying as his name. He had a lot of money and of course an even bigger sense of entitlement. He decided that it was his duty to embarrass me periodically throughout the night by making sexual references about me loud enough for a fourth of the room to hear and hit on my incessantly. By the end of the night I ran out of cute quips and turned around and loud enough for half the room to get quiet told him that he was being completely disrespectful in what was supposed to be a professional setting and if he was going to continue to be rude I was going to ask him to leave (of course I had absolutely no jurisdiction to actually do that but it sounded good). He just stared at me blankly and his plastic wife broke out in laughter and said, "that's right honey, put him in his place!".
I apologized to my boss about my outburst but was told to never apologize for defending my integrity. Even the phrasing sounds elegant right?
Later that night, my boss told that I was going to have a wardrobe made for me so I can keep up with the elegant style of Nikki Beach when clients fly in to Roatan. I can honestly say that I don't exactly know what having a wardrobe made for me means, but it sounds like something I want to be a part of.
The next morning I awoke early to catch my flight back to my sweet baby girl (who was staying with her Ti Ti) and while waiting for my driver, decided to have breakfast by the pool and charge it to my room (along with two snickers bars, three natural juices and a water from the minibar; all together totaling over $100, oops). As I sat pondering the night and how much easier it was for me to fit in then I had hoped, I realized that I was starting to like the rich lifestyle. I loved the clothes, I loved the service, I loved the accessability to everything you could ever need. I even liked the automatic respect you got from everyone around you. And I was good at the conversation too, I could fit right in with any of them and no one seemed to know that I was a wolf in a sheep's really expensive dress.
The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. Was I losing myself in all of this? Was I changing? Was I becoming what I hate the most?
And just as I was losing hope in the strength of my values, I, without even realizing it, took a bag from my purse, emptied it's contents, and started filling it with all of the food that was going to be thrown out from the table to bring home for the street dogs.
I guess there are some values that all the money in the world can't touch.
Friday morning I stepped out of the 6 passenger plane that took me to the Mainland, only to be met by my driver (what???) who brought me to the 5 star hotel that I would be staying at for the night.
There I met the President of Nikki Beach, and my boss who flew in from Miami, the Director of Marketing of Nikki Beach. Strangely, I didn't feel out of my league and managed to jump into a few conversations here in there about the business.
Later my boss told me to pick from the four dresses her bought for me and off we went to the ultra exclusive party.
When we got there the pool that led up to the club was lit up with candles. Everything was draped in white linen, the couches were white , the candles were white, everyone was dressed in white, it was elegant, sexy, and absolutely fabulous. Our team gave a presentation about Nikki Beach to a room full of the richest people in North and Central America who are all anxiously awaiting it's opening in 2010. By the end of the night, we managed to sell almost every single one of the condos that were available. The press ate everything up, taking pictures left and right (I managed to sneak into a few of them too).
Here's how you know that you are at a glamorous party: there were models hired to walk around and make the party look good.
I will break for a little FYI now and let everyone know that twice I was asked if I was Jennifer Aniston (I'm assuming they mean Jennifer Aniston in her fat, not sure what to do with her hair, early Friends stage), both times I politely pointed out my name tag which in fact did not read Jennifer, but Courtney, in pretty bold letters might I add.
And of course in true Courtney fashion, I couldn't let the most elegant night of my life pass by without getting into a fight with a rich snob.
His name was Larry and he was every bit as annoying as his name. He had a lot of money and of course an even bigger sense of entitlement. He decided that it was his duty to embarrass me periodically throughout the night by making sexual references about me loud enough for a fourth of the room to hear and hit on my incessantly. By the end of the night I ran out of cute quips and turned around and loud enough for half the room to get quiet told him that he was being completely disrespectful in what was supposed to be a professional setting and if he was going to continue to be rude I was going to ask him to leave (of course I had absolutely no jurisdiction to actually do that but it sounded good). He just stared at me blankly and his plastic wife broke out in laughter and said, "that's right honey, put him in his place!".
I apologized to my boss about my outburst but was told to never apologize for defending my integrity. Even the phrasing sounds elegant right?
Later that night, my boss told that I was going to have a wardrobe made for me so I can keep up with the elegant style of Nikki Beach when clients fly in to Roatan. I can honestly say that I don't exactly know what having a wardrobe made for me means, but it sounds like something I want to be a part of.
The next morning I awoke early to catch my flight back to my sweet baby girl (who was staying with her Ti Ti) and while waiting for my driver, decided to have breakfast by the pool and charge it to my room (along with two snickers bars, three natural juices and a water from the minibar; all together totaling over $100, oops). As I sat pondering the night and how much easier it was for me to fit in then I had hoped, I realized that I was starting to like the rich lifestyle. I loved the clothes, I loved the service, I loved the accessability to everything you could ever need. I even liked the automatic respect you got from everyone around you. And I was good at the conversation too, I could fit right in with any of them and no one seemed to know that I was a wolf in a sheep's really expensive dress.
The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. Was I losing myself in all of this? Was I changing? Was I becoming what I hate the most?
And just as I was losing hope in the strength of my values, I, without even realizing it, took a bag from my purse, emptied it's contents, and started filling it with all of the food that was going to be thrown out from the table to bring home for the street dogs.
I guess there are some values that all the money in the world can't touch.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Working Girl Again
I have officially become a working girl again.
My first few days away from Danika have proven to be much harder than I thought and once again reiterates my point that we are seldom happy in the exact moment we are in, as just last week I was complaining that I wanted a job so bad, and now I have one and am mourning the loss of my time with Danika.
So for all of you wondering, here's the scoop.
I am the Office Manager for a company called Nikki Beach Resort and Spa.
It is still in the beginning stages of development and will not be completed until 2010. It is the first 5 star resort that Central America has ever seen and will surely change the face of Roatan, as it will bring in millionaires and celebrities that would have never come here otherwise.
Anyone interested can go to www.blueoceanreef.com to see more.
It is truly an incredible project and one that I am grateful to be a part of.
I have always enjoyed watching something start from gravel and rock and grow into something incredible. I am torn about my feelings however as I feel that I have now integrated myself into the tourist/Rich American crowd versus the poor Honduran crowd I have felt so much a part of since I've been here. It saddens me to see what this will do to the class status here on the island, as the gap between rich and poor will surely sky rocket. However I know that this will also bring about many jobs where there were none, and give the economy the boost it needs for the survival of it's citizens.
This weekend I am being flown to San Pedro Sula on the main land for an ultra exclusive VIP Party attended by some of the richest people in the world. Land owners will fly in from all different countries to see the unveiling of the project and the launching of Nikki Beach in Roatan. It will be a feeding frenzy of buying and selling the property and condos, millions of dollars will be exchanged. Millions of dollars have already been spent on that one night alone. Champagne and exquisite food will flow. Models and celebrities will be present. Everyone will be dressed in all white. White Linens draped over everything. It will be elegant, it will be trendy, it will be luxurious. It will be everything that I am not....
I am to get on a private jet tomorrow morning at 6 am and will be picked up by a driver at the airport where I will be escorted to a 5 star hotel where I am staying for the night. My boss is flying in from Miami special for just the night, bringing with him a dress that he purchased for me from one of the most expensive stores in America. I will meet with billionaires, and models, and celebrities all wanting a piece of this incredible development. It will be a night I will never forget.
I find the irony of the situation overwhelming.
Never in a million and one years would this situation present itself for me in America. I was surrounded by the culture of greed, having everything I could need at my fingertips (or at least at the nearest Walmart) and yet wouldn't be able to touch that crowd of "haves". Because I was a "have not".
Now I am living in a third world country where running water is a luxury that is promised to no one, and am constantly surrounded by those same "haves" that want a piece of what I've got.
They come into my office begging to be a part of this incredible project, begging to be included in the "Nikki Beach crowd", and always leave with a strange curiousity for the girl who doesn't seem to be impressed with their designer sunglasses and summer homes in Belize. They ask me a million questions about how I got here and what businesses I own, and cant' believe that I came here following my heart not my pocket. A concept they surely will never understand.
And they unknowningly have justified the exact reason that I came here in the first place, because once you "have" you will never be satisfied again. There will always be something more. You begin to look externally for your contentment versus internally; the only place that it can truly be found.
They look at me with blank stares when I try to explain that the view is still as breathtaking from my $500 apartment as it is from their $989,000 condo.
After work I rush to the grocery store before it closes ( I work 6, sometimes 7 days a week to earn just enough money for an apartment, Danika's Nanny, and a few groceries), and fumble through my purse to find enough to buy Danika a melon for tomorrow since the market has already closed for the day. As I hand the cashier my last 500 lempiras ($30), I thank the Lord that my pockets don't run any deeper than they need to.
And let me tell you, that hard-earned melon never tasted so good.
My first few days away from Danika have proven to be much harder than I thought and once again reiterates my point that we are seldom happy in the exact moment we are in, as just last week I was complaining that I wanted a job so bad, and now I have one and am mourning the loss of my time with Danika.
So for all of you wondering, here's the scoop.
I am the Office Manager for a company called Nikki Beach Resort and Spa.
It is still in the beginning stages of development and will not be completed until 2010. It is the first 5 star resort that Central America has ever seen and will surely change the face of Roatan, as it will bring in millionaires and celebrities that would have never come here otherwise.
Anyone interested can go to www.blueoceanreef.com to see more.
It is truly an incredible project and one that I am grateful to be a part of.
I have always enjoyed watching something start from gravel and rock and grow into something incredible. I am torn about my feelings however as I feel that I have now integrated myself into the tourist/Rich American crowd versus the poor Honduran crowd I have felt so much a part of since I've been here. It saddens me to see what this will do to the class status here on the island, as the gap between rich and poor will surely sky rocket. However I know that this will also bring about many jobs where there were none, and give the economy the boost it needs for the survival of it's citizens.
This weekend I am being flown to San Pedro Sula on the main land for an ultra exclusive VIP Party attended by some of the richest people in the world. Land owners will fly in from all different countries to see the unveiling of the project and the launching of Nikki Beach in Roatan. It will be a feeding frenzy of buying and selling the property and condos, millions of dollars will be exchanged. Millions of dollars have already been spent on that one night alone. Champagne and exquisite food will flow. Models and celebrities will be present. Everyone will be dressed in all white. White Linens draped over everything. It will be elegant, it will be trendy, it will be luxurious. It will be everything that I am not....
I am to get on a private jet tomorrow morning at 6 am and will be picked up by a driver at the airport where I will be escorted to a 5 star hotel where I am staying for the night. My boss is flying in from Miami special for just the night, bringing with him a dress that he purchased for me from one of the most expensive stores in America. I will meet with billionaires, and models, and celebrities all wanting a piece of this incredible development. It will be a night I will never forget.
I find the irony of the situation overwhelming.
Never in a million and one years would this situation present itself for me in America. I was surrounded by the culture of greed, having everything I could need at my fingertips (or at least at the nearest Walmart) and yet wouldn't be able to touch that crowd of "haves". Because I was a "have not".
Now I am living in a third world country where running water is a luxury that is promised to no one, and am constantly surrounded by those same "haves" that want a piece of what I've got.
They come into my office begging to be a part of this incredible project, begging to be included in the "Nikki Beach crowd", and always leave with a strange curiousity for the girl who doesn't seem to be impressed with their designer sunglasses and summer homes in Belize. They ask me a million questions about how I got here and what businesses I own, and cant' believe that I came here following my heart not my pocket. A concept they surely will never understand.
And they unknowningly have justified the exact reason that I came here in the first place, because once you "have" you will never be satisfied again. There will always be something more. You begin to look externally for your contentment versus internally; the only place that it can truly be found.
They look at me with blank stares when I try to explain that the view is still as breathtaking from my $500 apartment as it is from their $989,000 condo.
After work I rush to the grocery store before it closes ( I work 6, sometimes 7 days a week to earn just enough money for an apartment, Danika's Nanny, and a few groceries), and fumble through my purse to find enough to buy Danika a melon for tomorrow since the market has already closed for the day. As I hand the cashier my last 500 lempiras ($30), I thank the Lord that my pockets don't run any deeper than they need to.
And let me tell you, that hard-earned melon never tasted so good.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Danika's New "Daycare"
Lisa and the rest of the Zamzows, I regret to inform you that you have officially been replaced.
Perhaps replaced is the wrong word, substituted is more like it.
For those of you who didn't know Lisa's Daycare, it was Danika's home away from home while I worked in the States. Providing for Danika's every need, any toy Danika could want she had at her fingertips. Books, blocks, toys that made noise, walkers, bouncers, outside toys. She had it all. If she was hungry, she ate. If she was thirsty, she drank the nice cold milk waiting for her in the fridge. She enjoyed the heat when it was cold, and cold when it was hot. She was comfortable. She was content. She had no idea what was coming...
Today I sit at work while Danika is at her new "Daycare".
In Honduras, there is no such thing as a Daycare, no place to go to bring your kids when you work. As a female, once you have children, you stay home to mind them, bottomline.
If you want someone to look after your child, you have to seek them out.
And it's not your middle aged, educated, retired teacher kind of person (sorry Lisa, you're only middle aged in numbers, in spirit you're in your 20's). It's a 14 year old drop out whose family couldn't afford to send her to school anymore and now sells tortilla at a stand in town, kind of person.
I found my new "Nanny" in the shack next door. She says she's 14 but in all reality is probably more like 12. She stays with her mom, dad, and 5 brothers and sisters in a tiny one room shack made out of plywood and not much else. The floor is dirt and there is nothing in it but a mattress and a stove. I was desperate to find someone so that I could work, and she said that she would work for 1500 lempiras a month ($90). My job required me to work 6, sometimes 7 days a week and I knew that I would never find someone else that would watch her everyday. Plus, I didn't have a vehicle so I had to find someone close to where I was living so that I could pick her up and drop her off on foot. I knew that my money was quickly running out and I needed to work bad if Danika and I were going to stay here in Roatan. So I made a decision and trusted God.
And just like that Danika had a new "daycare".
The first day I dropped her off I packed a bag the size of a small suitcase with anything and everything Danika would need. The girl and her family don't speak English so I brought along a translator to tell them what she can and cannot eat, that I perfer she doesn't use plastic things, that we don't use conventional medicine, to make sure to re-apply our natural organic bug spray every couple of hours, to make sure her bonnet stays on to keep her out of the sun, that she likes to nap in your arms, and on and on and on. The girl politely listened to everything and I teared up as I handed over my baby girl.
I rushed home 10 hours later to pick her up as nightfall was approaching. As I approached the shack I saw my bag sitting exactly where I left it. A moment of panic hit me as I immediately regreted my decision to leave her there and was sure that I would hear horror stories of all the things Danika was exposed to. I realized that I didn't know enough Spanish to ask all the questions that I was dying to ask about Danika's day and why they didn't use anything that I brought. I ran to get a friend to translate.
And here is what I found out:
Danika's first day away from me was spent playing on a piece of cardboard in the grass in the beautiful Caribbean sun, taking a four hour nap in a hammock, eating a healthy meal of homemade beans and rice, and enjoying a freshly squeezed mango as a snack. She spent the afternoon playing with the rest of the children in the neighborhood fussing over her and trying anything and everything to get her to laugh. She spent the late afternoon taking a walk by the Caribbean Sea and listening to soft Spanish songs sung by 3 generations of Spanish women. She was bathed in a warm bucket of rain water in the back of the shack and was exhausted from her activities. When she saw me, she reached for me, and then immediately looked back for her Nanny.
I felt ignorant for lecturing them on all the things that I had that morning, and ungrateful for thinking that they were less sufficient than a Lisa Zamzow just because of there circumstances.
Once again, I was humbled.
The second day I picked Danika up, she didn't even reach for me.
Shefina (my mom away from my mom) says with a laugh that by next week she will like her Nanny more than me. I tell her that that's not even a little bit funny as I try to conceal the tears welling up in my eyes.
I put into perspective the incredible lesson that I learned about myself in all of this. I always thought that I was a non-judgemental person, but I immediately judged them because of their circumstances and assumed that because they were poor and Spanish that Danika would not be in good hands. When in the end, Danika couldn't be in a better place. She is surrounded by a different culture and different language other than her own, and will learn to appreciate all walks of life, not just the ones who look and talk like her.
Shefina laughs as she watches me feed Danika her dinner and says that she's sure Danika's first word will be "tortilla".
I look at Danika and tell her that it better not be; Danika just smiles a toothy grin up at me and goes back to working on her banana.
Perhaps replaced is the wrong word, substituted is more like it.
For those of you who didn't know Lisa's Daycare, it was Danika's home away from home while I worked in the States. Providing for Danika's every need, any toy Danika could want she had at her fingertips. Books, blocks, toys that made noise, walkers, bouncers, outside toys. She had it all. If she was hungry, she ate. If she was thirsty, she drank the nice cold milk waiting for her in the fridge. She enjoyed the heat when it was cold, and cold when it was hot. She was comfortable. She was content. She had no idea what was coming...
Today I sit at work while Danika is at her new "Daycare".
In Honduras, there is no such thing as a Daycare, no place to go to bring your kids when you work. As a female, once you have children, you stay home to mind them, bottomline.
If you want someone to look after your child, you have to seek them out.
And it's not your middle aged, educated, retired teacher kind of person (sorry Lisa, you're only middle aged in numbers, in spirit you're in your 20's). It's a 14 year old drop out whose family couldn't afford to send her to school anymore and now sells tortilla at a stand in town, kind of person.
I found my new "Nanny" in the shack next door. She says she's 14 but in all reality is probably more like 12. She stays with her mom, dad, and 5 brothers and sisters in a tiny one room shack made out of plywood and not much else. The floor is dirt and there is nothing in it but a mattress and a stove. I was desperate to find someone so that I could work, and she said that she would work for 1500 lempiras a month ($90). My job required me to work 6, sometimes 7 days a week and I knew that I would never find someone else that would watch her everyday. Plus, I didn't have a vehicle so I had to find someone close to where I was living so that I could pick her up and drop her off on foot. I knew that my money was quickly running out and I needed to work bad if Danika and I were going to stay here in Roatan. So I made a decision and trusted God.
And just like that Danika had a new "daycare".
The first day I dropped her off I packed a bag the size of a small suitcase with anything and everything Danika would need. The girl and her family don't speak English so I brought along a translator to tell them what she can and cannot eat, that I perfer she doesn't use plastic things, that we don't use conventional medicine, to make sure to re-apply our natural organic bug spray every couple of hours, to make sure her bonnet stays on to keep her out of the sun, that she likes to nap in your arms, and on and on and on. The girl politely listened to everything and I teared up as I handed over my baby girl.
I rushed home 10 hours later to pick her up as nightfall was approaching. As I approached the shack I saw my bag sitting exactly where I left it. A moment of panic hit me as I immediately regreted my decision to leave her there and was sure that I would hear horror stories of all the things Danika was exposed to. I realized that I didn't know enough Spanish to ask all the questions that I was dying to ask about Danika's day and why they didn't use anything that I brought. I ran to get a friend to translate.
And here is what I found out:
Danika's first day away from me was spent playing on a piece of cardboard in the grass in the beautiful Caribbean sun, taking a four hour nap in a hammock, eating a healthy meal of homemade beans and rice, and enjoying a freshly squeezed mango as a snack. She spent the afternoon playing with the rest of the children in the neighborhood fussing over her and trying anything and everything to get her to laugh. She spent the late afternoon taking a walk by the Caribbean Sea and listening to soft Spanish songs sung by 3 generations of Spanish women. She was bathed in a warm bucket of rain water in the back of the shack and was exhausted from her activities. When she saw me, she reached for me, and then immediately looked back for her Nanny.
I felt ignorant for lecturing them on all the things that I had that morning, and ungrateful for thinking that they were less sufficient than a Lisa Zamzow just because of there circumstances.
Once again, I was humbled.
The second day I picked Danika up, she didn't even reach for me.
Shefina (my mom away from my mom) says with a laugh that by next week she will like her Nanny more than me. I tell her that that's not even a little bit funny as I try to conceal the tears welling up in my eyes.
I put into perspective the incredible lesson that I learned about myself in all of this. I always thought that I was a non-judgemental person, but I immediately judged them because of their circumstances and assumed that because they were poor and Spanish that Danika would not be in good hands. When in the end, Danika couldn't be in a better place. She is surrounded by a different culture and different language other than her own, and will learn to appreciate all walks of life, not just the ones who look and talk like her.
Shefina laughs as she watches me feed Danika her dinner and says that she's sure Danika's first word will be "tortilla".
I look at Danika and tell her that it better not be; Danika just smiles a toothy grin up at me and goes back to working on her banana.
Becoming Baptist?
Our candle lit beach church service was canceled on Saturday so Danika and I decided to go to Church with Danika's self-described Grammy on Sunday morning.
We arrived in the simple yet beautiful stone Baptist Church just as the congregation joined the choir in singing the opening hymn.
I can honestly say that I was blown away by the sound coming from the Church..but not in a good way.
Every person in the congregation seemed to have their own idea about what pitch the song should be sung in, and how fast the song should go. Not one person was singing on key or on beat. And everyone seemed to be trying to "outsing" their neighbor, so the "singing" actually sounded more like shouting.
Shefina (Danika's Grammy) began pounding her hand loudly on the wooden pew to keep the beat for the congregation, but nothing seemed to help. Danika looked up at me with a confused look as she had never heard anything like that before and then began to babble loudly along with everyone else. I laughed in my head at the thought of God sitting in Heaven cringing at the sound of his faithful praising him.
The rest of the service played out more like a conversation between the reverend and the congregation as people commented out loud whenever the Spirit moved them.
Danika of course never stopped babbling loudly, and decided she was going to pull the hair of every single person within reach of her stubby little fingers.
After the service was completed various people from the congregation wandered over to see who these strange white people were with Shefina, although most already knew us from seeing us around the island.
Slowly Danika and I are integrating ourselves into the culture. We are becoming less like visitors and more like islanders.
I am grateful for every new experience that Danika and I encounter and learn from, though I can definitely say that next Saturday Night will find us back in West End as Catholics.
We arrived in the simple yet beautiful stone Baptist Church just as the congregation joined the choir in singing the opening hymn.
I can honestly say that I was blown away by the sound coming from the Church..but not in a good way.
Every person in the congregation seemed to have their own idea about what pitch the song should be sung in, and how fast the song should go. Not one person was singing on key or on beat. And everyone seemed to be trying to "outsing" their neighbor, so the "singing" actually sounded more like shouting.
Shefina (Danika's Grammy) began pounding her hand loudly on the wooden pew to keep the beat for the congregation, but nothing seemed to help. Danika looked up at me with a confused look as she had never heard anything like that before and then began to babble loudly along with everyone else. I laughed in my head at the thought of God sitting in Heaven cringing at the sound of his faithful praising him.
The rest of the service played out more like a conversation between the reverend and the congregation as people commented out loud whenever the Spirit moved them.
Danika of course never stopped babbling loudly, and decided she was going to pull the hair of every single person within reach of her stubby little fingers.
After the service was completed various people from the congregation wandered over to see who these strange white people were with Shefina, although most already knew us from seeing us around the island.
Slowly Danika and I are integrating ourselves into the culture. We are becoming less like visitors and more like islanders.
I am grateful for every new experience that Danika and I encounter and learn from, though I can definitely say that next Saturday Night will find us back in West End as Catholics.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Becoming Catholic?
Danika and I had been down here for almost 4 weeks and had yet to properly thank the Lord for all that He has done to get us here and keep us safe. Feeling an overwhelming need to do so, I ventured out Saturday morning in search of a church that “spoke” to me.
Later that day we ended up down in West End at the beach when I saw an old wood sign that said ¨Saturday Mass 7 pm¨ and an arrow pointing up into the palm tree littered hill. I decided that there would be no better place to praise God than in the hills surrounded by beach and made plans to come back later that evening.
few hours later, sans sunlight, we found ourselves wandering around trying to find the sign again. (Turns out a small old wood sign hidden in with the trees is not the easiest thing to spot in the dark.) Finally we found it and followed the arrow faithfully. We walked for a ways and when I didn’t see a building or hear any music I decided that it must not be there anymore. Just as I was turning around something caught my eye, it was a beautiful cross that was lit up in the hill. I followed it and found a small group of people gathered in the moonlight surrounded by candles.
The stars illuminated the sky above us and the faint sound of waves crashing on the shore resignated in our ears.
It was the most beautiful church I had ever been to.
The service was presented by a Catholic Priest and was in Spanish. And yet I still felt the presence of the Lord more clearly than I ever had before.
Yet again another powerful lesson that I have learned since coming to Honduras.
Too often people think that the “church” is defined by the four walls that surround it. When we say that we are “going to church”, what we really mean is we are driving to a building where we will sit with a group of people that talk, look, and think just like us. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
But as I received communion and knelt in the dirt with my daughter babbling along as I prayed, I felt the power of my surroundings, the power of the sermon that I barely understood and yet understood completely.
We ended the service singing “How Great Thou Art” in Spanish and Danika stared up at the candle lit cross as if she too felt the power pouring down from it and washing over us.
As I walked along the shore back to town with my daughter it dawned on me that the beauty of being a Christian is this: You can never ever run out of things to be thankful for.
Later that day we ended up down in West End at the beach when I saw an old wood sign that said ¨Saturday Mass 7 pm¨ and an arrow pointing up into the palm tree littered hill. I decided that there would be no better place to praise God than in the hills surrounded by beach and made plans to come back later that evening.
few hours later, sans sunlight, we found ourselves wandering around trying to find the sign again. (Turns out a small old wood sign hidden in with the trees is not the easiest thing to spot in the dark.) Finally we found it and followed the arrow faithfully. We walked for a ways and when I didn’t see a building or hear any music I decided that it must not be there anymore. Just as I was turning around something caught my eye, it was a beautiful cross that was lit up in the hill. I followed it and found a small group of people gathered in the moonlight surrounded by candles.
The stars illuminated the sky above us and the faint sound of waves crashing on the shore resignated in our ears.
It was the most beautiful church I had ever been to.
The service was presented by a Catholic Priest and was in Spanish. And yet I still felt the presence of the Lord more clearly than I ever had before.
Yet again another powerful lesson that I have learned since coming to Honduras.
Too often people think that the “church” is defined by the four walls that surround it. When we say that we are “going to church”, what we really mean is we are driving to a building where we will sit with a group of people that talk, look, and think just like us. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
But as I received communion and knelt in the dirt with my daughter babbling along as I prayed, I felt the power of my surroundings, the power of the sermon that I barely understood and yet understood completely.
We ended the service singing “How Great Thou Art” in Spanish and Danika stared up at the candle lit cross as if she too felt the power pouring down from it and washing over us.
As I walked along the shore back to town with my daughter it dawned on me that the beauty of being a Christian is this: You can never ever run out of things to be thankful for.
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