A Kerosene Seller

 The lamp in my life refused to be snuffed out. God never let the kerosene of hope run dry.
                           - Nasreen Baig from Stones into Schools by Greg Mortenson

Far down the food chain of petroleum production, eons away from the giant machinery of extraction and fractionation and tucked away in dusty unmapped corners are the kerosene sellers. Their wares are kept in tiny grungy, sticky plastic jugs, brought from distant pumps tied to battered lorry sides, unhappy donkeys or, finally, atop dusty head cloths.

Late afternoons the sellers set out their merchandise in small plastic bottles for the evening market. By now the portions are small enough to attract the well rubbed coinage and single digit crumples of the poor. Kobos, centavos, francs, shillingis are counted out with a precision outrivaling anything on Wall Street to carry enough trembling light to darkening hovels.

Carefully the small tin containers are filled and the cotton wicks lit. Smokey flickers drive enough of the dark away to allow a meal, fiercely concentrated reading and late night lessons. Never enough for more than an hour or two and never more than a glimmer but, still, enough to continue living despite the darkness.

Hope doesn’t come in tanker trucks along paved roads. It isn’t in mammoth pipelines scarring landscapes. Hope comes in the tiny bottles of light that solve one problem at a time, give light for part of the night of darkness already gloaming. It is seeds, ideas, tiny flickers of change that, for brief seconds, give light a chance to reach forgotten webbed corners.

Vendors of hope seldom see the inside of air conditioned corporate offices. They often get missed as the visiting professional drives by in four wheel drive comfort. Their ideas are too small, too simple and, sometimes, too obvious to attract mega-watt attention.

But, in the end, theirs is the light that matters.

Ay Caramba!

If you are Tintin fan, you will recognize the phrase. Why it was plastered in two metre high letters on the inside of a circus tent in Santa Cruz is beyond me. It may simply be that old circus tents never die ... they just move on down and down the line.

Saturday or Sunday, I noticed that a circus tent was going up in a vacant lot near town center. As Manuel and I were walking past yesterday on our way to the mechanic’s shop, we stopped and asked about show times and ticket prices. 8:00 p.m. and $1.50. Sounded doable to me.

I arrived at the star studded venue and fought through the crowds to find a seat. Wait ... that was the Canada – Russia hockey game which I was missing. The inside of the tent was indeed covered with silver stars and the three energy efficient bulbs worked well to camouflage the lumpy dirt floor and left over debris of previous performances. By 8:00 p.m. there were almost twenty of us sitting on the rather precarious 1 x 5 boards around the tiny center ring. The announcer came on the loudspeakers and announced that in only a few minutes we would be amazed by spectacular performances. This must have had some effect because more people began trickling in. The short rain had stopped so that may have had more to do with it than the prospect of wonder and amazement.

The three bulbs went black and the spinning dance floor light show lit up the dressing room entrance and out came the dancing girls. They shimmied and shook to a Latin number and went back to somewhat subdued applause. The fact that one of the two was only seven or eight may have been a disappointment.

Spinning light show off, two spotlights on and out came the clowns. By this time, a few more people had come in, including a number of young men. Everyone had come to have a good time and they were happy to shout out comments and interact with the patter of the clowns. A huge improvement on the performance.

The star of the circus then appeared. An athletic man with waist long hair came out and did some rather amazing gymnastic routines. Considering the options if he were to make a mistake I was truly impressed. The safety mechanism for his one handed handstand on a metal pole three metres above the ground consisted of the smallest clown hanging all his weight on the stand.

The entire troupe consisted of seven people so lots of double duty. The lip synch dancing midget came out in a orange tasselled bikini bottom and shimmering red and silver tasselled bikini top. The number went on about three minutes too long. The first fifteen seconds would have been plenty.

The last set of the first half featured the acrobat in drag doing some great impromptu with the audience. He used audience applause to choose which of the several male targets should be his “date”.

By then it was time for intermission and the troupe headed out to man the popcorn machine and battered freezer with cold drinks. It was already 9:30 so I took the chance to head home. A great evening’s entertainment.

In school news, we are now over the fifty student mark. A small neighbourhood on the far side (read – other side of the tracks) of Santa Cruz heard about the school and got themselves organized to bring eight students. Rather impressive work.

Another new student arrived with her mother. Fifteen years old, pregnant and, consequently, married and barred from entering public school. We were very pleased to have the chance to welcome her here. It is sobering to watch this girl – still a child but having to become an adult all too soon and without any chance to grow up and enjoy the process.

Three hot days – above 35’ C and now another cold front has moved in. It is becoming like Alberta weather wise.

TTYL

Angel Mauricio Orellana Montaya

Angel is one our newer students. He heard about Centro de Enseñanza Fraternidad from several of our students whom he is friends with. Most of his age mates are not studying and he is one of the few who has a chance to continue on to Grade 7.

Angel’s mother suffers from arthritis and, so, one of the three boys needs to stay at home with her during the day. This means that only two of the boys are able to go to school. His father runs a taxi between the main highway and Santa Cruz. A part of Angel’s duties are to clean the car and help with its maintenance.

The family lives in a small, one room wooden house. While small, it is their own. When his father is not driving his taxi, the boys help him with field work growing maize and beans.

Our program is proving to be easier, more informative and more interesting than public school. Angel enjoys being able to work on his own and at his own speed. He makes the trip to study each afternoon and works from 1 till 5 at the computer.

Plantains ... BIG Plantains

A rainy and cold week. Weather patterns are changing. But, things are green. Toques are the headgear of choice for everyone.

Monday one of our neighbours told us that it was time to harvest our plantains. The bunch was hanging over the fence and she was certain that someone else would harvest them if we didn’t. There were quite a few little ones at the bottom of the stem which I would have liked to give chance to grow. However, the top ones were ready and tempting. We planted them last February in a banana circle arrangement. The circle is a three metre diameter circle with six banana plants on the circumference. In the centre of the circle, a heap of organic material is kept one metre high at all times. With rain and sun, this material rapidly composts and the nutrients leach out of the pile to the banana (or papaya – another circle we utilize) roots. As well, the pile keeps the moisture levels much more even and compensates for heavy rains or periods of hot, dry weather. The size of the plantains was about 50% than normal plantains and one was enough to feed one worker at lunch – we sliced them and fried them.

We divided the bunch up among our workers and each went home quite happy. Each had enough for several meals. It is exciting to see some of these plants finally come into production. We have several bunches ripening so can look forward to more great meals. The financial side of this suggests that a family with 50 such circles could earn an income of $200.00 a month – an income level of choice. One acre could hold 80 circles along with 60 permanent vegetable growing beds. The potential is there.

Today Santiago, my yard and project worker, learned how to use a water level to construct a contour line on a neighbouring piece of property. It took a great deal of time to get him comfortable with the method but, eventually, he mastered it and the finished line looks nice. Tomorrow he will get to review his studies by making two more lines. The level is simply two poles with a long piece of hose between them. By using the level of water in the hose, one can determine when both poles are at the same level on a piece of ground.

I have been talking with several people about planting on contour and these three lines will make the conversation much easier to follow. Such a simple technique can make a huge difference in dealing with erosion. If we can incorporate lines of trees on the contour as well, then the steep hillsides which are farmed for maize and beans will be much safer when heavy rains and hurricanes arrive.

One of the exciting developments this week has been that more students are figuring out ways to access computers at home. We had hoped this would happen eventually but it has happened faster than expected. Hurrah. Six students are now studying on two computers in their village. Another three will begin studying next week. This, of course, opens up spaces for more students here at our facility in Santa Cruz. Another seven students will begin studying this weekend and next week. Very exciting to see some of these changes happening so soon in the program.

Elections have some interesting consequences here. The lady in charge of education for our area is a replacement for someone who was supporting a different party (or unknown to the present party). Offices and jurisdictions get rearranged and the effects for the outlying districts are sometimes quite detrimental. Currently adults studying in the system we are working with will have to travel all the way to San Pedro Sula to access information and assistance. The office here in Santa Cruz is being closed. The lady who was working here was told that she can continue working if she can find other groups to pay her salary. Hopefully the city and region will kick in to help keep her here and the office open. Bizarre.

My energy bunny, Edel, found some neat English programs so I have been working hard to get our English units constructed and readied for the students. Usually, students are just given a mark for English without having to do any of the work. Consequently, the material which is designed for students with seven years of English study is well and truly beyond their level. We are designing a course which is at a more appropriate level and which will enable our students to actually study some English and, as well, give us a more ethical means of assigning marks. Sigh. Ethics are such a drag sometimes.

Last night was the Ash Wednesday service. Those who arrived early and on time found the church locked. In fact, the local ‘homeless’ man had already bunked out for the night by the front door. The man with the key ... that all powerful invisible person who controls so much of third world officialdom ... was not to be found. Fifteen minutes into service time a key was found and things were underway. Only 600 or so people waiting. The priest must have noticed my singing as he complimented me in English, “I am happy for you.” Because of Lent, the absence of drums and piano gives room for the voices to be heard. I had bravely turned on the microphone for most of the songs. If I have a microphone (see earlier blogs about first and second string singers) I sometimes cheat and leave it off for songs that I am lost on. As well, there is no compunction on the part of the lead singer to stay with the printed songs. Extra songs that everyone else knows are regularly thrown in to keep me confused.

For lunch today, I made a strawberry preserve type dish served with cream. Rave reviews all around. It is so nice to awe and amaze sometimes. If only my kids could notice.

TTYL
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Back in the Saddle

The searches at airports continue to become more intrusive and time consuming. The latest one in Edmonton took first prize in my experience. Swabbing the hands of toddlers and rifling through the pages of every book were two of the rather extreme measures taken. Considering the port of entry, the procedure was tedious to say the least. This is the first time I have been in a line where the passengers are openly talking of the procedure and questioning it.

The good news, for me, was that my one plastic crate was resealed by the ubiquitous but invisible searchers. I attached extra zip ties to the top and they actually used them and even added some more duct tape. What a delight. My rather eccentric collection of things must trigger their curiosity as they invariably pick my luggage to open and leave their paper document droppings behind.

Going through customs in Honduras was made easier by the arrival of two groups of volunteers with their mountains of luggage. I simply tucked into their line and left without so much as a glance from the officials. Two taxi rides and a long bus ride later and I was home again.

New students are waiting each day now that I have returned. One of our teachers, Edel, is a super salesman and has spread the news far and wide. There are a couple of potential village groups which might sign on and that would be fantastic. We will see how that goes. We have students from two new communities, one of which is in a new direction from Santa Cruz. That is fantastic.

As I was leaving, twenty trap hives arrived from the fibreglass man. My orders for Santiago (James to you) were that he wash them with vinegar to remove the fibreglass smell and then fit them with five top bars and a lid. Because of our limited space, I told him to hang them all in a tree behind the school. He followed directions with zeal and the tree was soon festooned at all levels with hives. Most surprisingly was the waves they made in the bee community. Evidently, two or three days were somewhat interesting in the school and yard with three swarms meandering about (even a few scouts into the office where we store beeswax foundation sheets). There are three trap hives with bee activity in them now. Truly amazing that swarms will settle so close to each other and that there are that may swarms in the town. Yesterday I sent five of the remaining hives to other locations so that we don’t have too many bees here. They are, after all, Africanized bees and I don’t want things to get too hairy for the students – we are, first of all, a school. It makes it even more surprising as we were told a few years ago by a couple of agriculture people that there were no bees in our area.

The front of the school fence is now bright and white with a coat of whitewash. I had hesitated to paint it because of cost. Well, the whitewash cost $3.00. Sigh. Had I known that a year ago, we could have been putting a second coat on by now.

My night noises have acquired two new sounds. My neighbours welcomed a set of twins last week so their night cries are something I will have to become accustomed to. Not having to get up for them will make that process fairly quick and certainly painless.

I will try and have a couple of biographies by next week. It was encouraging to hear from a number of people in Canada that my blog is being read. Feel free to comment and/or ask questions. There is little eye contact and no noise of conversation from electronic media.

TTYL
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Murphy Rides The Airplane

Back in Canada and enjoying the dubious benefits of snow, sub-zero weather and nearly zero percent humidity. Thank goodness for long johns and a good in-car heater.

My trip to Canada began quite enjoyably with a chance encounter with a former student from the Bilingual school I taught in several years ago. We had a good opportunity to converse and catch up on her life. She was headed to Miami to check out a college in Florida. Colleges in the States have adapted to students from other education systems by providing a year of prep studies which allows them to catch up to the rest but contributes, in a way, towards their degrees. Good business opportunity that is not being missed.

Ten minutes from being safely on my next flight to Chicago, a sniffer dog found something in a bag from Columbia somewhere underneath the terminal I was in. Not being able to differentiate between drugs and explosives, the handler pressed the panic button. As we were lining up to board our plane, security personnel swept through our terminal herding all and sundry ahead of them. Within minutes, several thousand people were milling about in the corridor between terminals. No one wanted to exit and face the screening hassle again. One hour later people began heading back towards terminal J. Checking the board, we found that our flight had been moved to Terminal G and was leaving in fifteen minutes. Out we went, down the long hall to the next inspection point, undressed, inspected and dressed, then a final dash to the gate. No plane there and only a few of the original numbers. One of the passengers then checked his black berry to find that we were scheduled back in Terminal J. Smarter this time, we checked with airport personnel. True to Murphy, the people at the United Airline counter were not present. A few phone calls and many walkie talkie messages later, it was confirmed … Terminal J. Back out … back in and we were ready to board.

We arrived in Chicago too late for connecting flights. A boy going to Australia for opening College Exams, a man headed to Turkey to open a hotel and a couple rushing home to be with a dying father were some of those tangled in Murphy’s web. As luck would have it, we arrived at the United desk at 9:00 p.m. Shift change. So, with a burgeoning line up of mildly disgruntled passengers, all but one of the clerks packed up her stuff, donned her winter coat and headed home.

Next afternoon, the seven of us who were connecting for Edmonton, arrived home. Of course, Murphy had not finished. Our luggage remained in Chicago. Thirty hours later my suitcases arrived at my house in Vegreville thanks to a man who makes his living fixing airline luggage mistakes.

I had packed several bottles of Pineapple wine from one of the projects I am working with. The limit at customs is only two bottles so I had to go to the man to pay duty charges. Fortunately, he could find no category to charge them under so, happily, he stamped paid on my form and let me through. Murphy didn’t win all the battles.

TTYL
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