Hot Potato

I just finished my HIV workshops that I did with high school students in an aldea of my site. We did three 3-day workshops with 6th through 8th graders and they actually went quite well. On the third day of each workshop, each group had to prepare and present a short HIV charla to a group of 4th through 6th graders in other aldeas. This was the part that I was most nervous about, since students here never really learn to work in groups, give presentations, or speak in front of others. Also, due to teachers’ strikes, two of the groups had more than a month between the days that I taught them and the day that they had to present. I was worried that they would forget everything and it would be disastrous. However, I was elated to find that all of the groups seemed to have absorbed quite a bit of the information and they all did very well with their presentations. The only potential problem I had was with a 17-year-old 7th grader who took to preaching like the Evangelical preachers and didn’t want to stop talking. He went on for at least an hour and probably would have kept preaching to those poor kids if the rest of us hadn’t left him to go eat lunch. All in all, it was a fun experience and I was proud of how well most of the kids did.

With the same grant money, I also had two HIV trainings with community health volunteers in that same aldea. These made me think about the differences between meetings in the States and in rural Honduras. This is how a meeting of adults in Honduras generally runs…I try to think of US professionals in suits attending one of these meetings and how they would react.

• I arrive at least 15 minutes before my presentation is to start, carrying a rolled-up stack of big white papers that I have prepared with markers and sometimes glitter. With the roll of masking tape that I use as a bracelet, I stick my papers to the walls before my guests arrive.
• I wait. Sometimes a few people will show up at the meeting’s official start time, but most will roll in at least 15 minutes late. It is rare that any meeting starts less than 30 minutes after it is supposed to start, and when this happens, I always feel flustered. People will trickle in slowly, with the men often sporting woven junco hats and machetes. Depending on the season, knee-high rubber boots may also be worn. Older women will wear homemade two-piece outfits while the younger ones will generally wear skintight jeans and sequined tank tops that are at least two sizes too small. Love handles and pot bellies will be exposed with pride. If the woman has a young child, he or she will also be in attendance, and she will breastfeed openly.
• We begin with a prayer, of course, since everyone is either Christian or Catholic.
• In order to engage my audience, I must preface the boring educational part of my charla with a dinámica, or ice-breaker. This can be any sort of fun game such as Simon Says, Duck Duck Goose, or an activity where we stand in a circle and sing. Everyone will giggle hysterically at this dinámica and applaud enthusiastically afterward. If I neglect to start the charla with one, people will pout and shout “una dinámica, Melanie!”
• I will begin my presentation, using my papers as visual aids. Since I can generally assume that much of my audience will be illiterate, my papers have few words and lots of drawings. As I can’t draw, I spend a few minutes trying to explain what each shapeless blob on my papers is supposed to be.
• Just as I am starting to get to the heart of my presentation, which generally has a basic message such as “don’t poop outside” or “AIDS is bad,” I am interrupted by the arrival of the merienda, the snack. I must help pour and serve a sugary beverage and some form of deep-fried starch. I swell with pride as I realize that my community members have clearly been moved by my “stop eating so much sugar, fat, and carbs” nutrition charlas.
• We resume. After a while, I realize that my audience is growing restless and proclaim that we need another dinámica. This announcement is met by lots of giggles and a few claps. Everyone loves a good dinámica.
• Throughout the charla, small children will cry unattended. Roosters will sing outside. A few curious kids and/or adults will stop by. Comments and personal jokes will be whispered among the audience members. A few will just tune me out and engage in their own full-volume conversations. I will be the only person to notice these distractions; everyone else is accustomed to having background noise at all times.
• We will wrap up the charla and move on to a review of the information covered, which will be another variety of dinámica. We might play Jeopardy or my own personal favorite, hot potato. If it is an AIDS charla, we will use inflated condoms as our hot potatoes, and then burst them open to answer the questions I have cleverly tucked inside. It is great fun for all, except for the part when I have to inflate the condoms with my mouth.
• I will ask people for any suggestions or comments that they may have about the charla. I will inevitably receive the standard response “que bonito,” or “how pretty.” This is the customary answer that rural Hondurans will give to any question that requires them to opine. They will never give a straight answer.
• Lunch will arrive, served on disposable plates covered in foil. Rail-thin dogs will show up and attempt to snap up each stray grain of rice that falls to the floor, but will be thwarted by people kicking them away. We will consume a meal of corn tortillas and some combination of rice, oil, potatoes, beans, cheese, a lone tomato slice, and mystery meat. We may or may not have the benefit of forks with which to eat, but that is what tortillas are for. Another sugary beverage will be enjoyed. After we finish, we will dump our trash into a trash can, although we might as well just throw it on the floor because the dogs will tip the trash cans over to eat the scraps. No one would ever think of closing the door to the health center to keep the dogs out, because nobody likes closed doors.
• As my audience members slowly leave, I remove my papers from the wall and hope that no one notices that my masking tape is pulling chunks of paint from the wall. I roll my papers back up, replace my masking tape bracelet, and call it a day.

So, this is how most of my charlas run. As you can imagine, it is a lot of fun. Next time you have to sit through a tedious meeting or an endless Powerpoint presentation, you can think of me down here, playing hot potato, coloring with markers, eating beans, and being glad that I’m not you.