Ocho

          It turns out Pizza Hut in Honduras is remarkably similar to Pizza Hut in Canada. Even the music that played through the overhead speakers were popular songs by American artists. This surprised me because I was expecting to hear Latin American music played through the radio, not english pop songs. I had to punch myself for that stupid assumption; it was just another reminder of the silly stereotypes Americans and Canadians buy into when it comes to other cultures. 

          The only difference between this Pizza Hut and the one in my hometown, was of course the language. I blankly looked at the menu, trying to find a clue of how to say “Cheese Pizza” in Spanish. I willingly gave up and turned to Cathy for a quick translation. Thank goodness my group had Spanish speakers amongst them, or else I definitely wouldn’t have been able to order. However, something else on the menu caught my eye. There was no dollar sign that I could see, only an “L” followed by a number. I assumed that was the symbol for “Lempira,” which I remembered from the previous day was Honduran currency. I still had yet to see what Lempira looked like. I made a mental note in my head to ask one of the ambassadors if they had any stored away in their luggage from previous trips. I knew it wasn’t smart to handle it out in the open, even if this Pizza Hut looked identical to the safe and secure Pizza Huts back home. I didn’t want to take any chances. 

           We were a large group, spanning almost an entire wall of the restaurant. The five children were spread equally throughout the table, all looking a bit timid amongst us Canadians. One of the older girls sat across from Maddie and I. I remembered her from the gaggle of girls I had gotten to know briefly the night prior. Then, I had noticed she was a little bit more subdued than the rest of the children. She sat across from me now with her arms intertwined over her chest, apprehensively looking around the room.

            “¿Como te llamas?,” I asked the girl who quickly brought her bronze gaze upon me. 

              “Iris” She whispered shyly, a nervous grin etching her face. I smiled kindly at the girl and replied with my  name. It was a shame the conversation could go no further due to the language barrier. I looked over at Maddie intending to ask her how to say “how old are you?”, but she was lost in conversation with Cathy. I glanced again at Iris who was still looking at me, to which I exchanged another warm smile. 

    The waiter came and took our orders. After many failed attempts at pronunciation, Cathy finally stepped in and told the waiter my order. Maddie, on the other hand, had no trouble at all as she listed what she wanted in perfect Spanish. I found it funny how she kept telling me she wasn’t fluent, because from what I could hear at that moment, I could have sworn she had been speaking the language for years.

       An hour later we left the restaurant, bellies bulging with satisfaction. We had no further requirements for the rest of the day, thus as soon as we returned to the orphanage, more than half of us fell on our beds and slept for the greater part of the afternoon. It was our last chance to relax before the full week of work ahead. 

       At 3:00 I woke up to an empty room. Shawna, Debbie and Maddie must have woken earlier. I figured I’d better go and find everyone considering we weren’t in Honduras to sleep all day. Exiting the room, I noticed everyone was gone; probably out playing with the children. Fighting a yawn, I put my shoes on and marched outside. It wasn’t difficult to find Maddie. She was right outside the volunteer house chatting with some of the older boys- in English. Thrilled by this resolution I made my way over to the group and started listening to their conversation. 

             “Do you like it here? At El Hogar?” Maddie asked the boys.

             “Yes, it is good. I have good friends” The boy with the scar on his eyebrow replied. I remembered his name was Alexis. When the group noticed my arrival I was greeted with a chorus of “buenos tardes.” Maddie must have read the confusion on my face because she chuckled and told me it meant “good afternoon.” I greeted the boys with the same words, then started a conversation in my language.

             “You speak good english?” I asked the group.

             “Is okay. Not very good,” one of the boys replied. I think his name was Mario- or it could have been Junior. I really needed to improve my memory when it came to names. 

       The rest of the day passed very similarly to the one before. Maddie was dragged to another game of soccer, and I made failed attempts at making conversation with the other children. Dinner that night was beans and tortillas, which became much tastier when Cathy brought out a tube of hot sauce from her luggage. 

       The evening passed quickly. Since it was a school night, the children had a much earlier bedtime then the night before.  Brian told us the children had a mandatory assembly at 7:00 the next morning, which we had the option of going to. On a regular occasion I would pass it up gladly to sleep in; however, judging by the experience I had that morning I knew getting up for 7:00 would be unnaturally easy for me.