The first person that spoke to me as soon as I arrived to my layover in Houston was an elderly Salvadoran woman. She asked me in Spanish if I knew if her flight to El Salvador was on time. Shocked, I wondered why in the world out of all people at the airport she would ask a white girl like me. Maybe she was in hurry or just hopeful that I would understand Spanish. Either way, I was anxious and excited for the challenge. After she had repeated herself a few times, I was finally able to interpret what she was saying. It was my first Spanish-speaking challenge prior to my arrival in Honduras and I refused to fail.
I responded in my very broken Spanish, which eventually turned into Spanglish. She squinted her eyes and slightly nodded her head. Gosh, I hope I’m making sense… What happened to the last five weeks of Spanish summer class?! The woman smiled and seemed to understand my word vomit. She was short and frail with bronze skin. She had probably traveled to the U.S. to visit her family. I wanted to help but had no idea how or whether she knew the direction of her gate or if she was completely lost. I panicked and rapidly scanned the TV screen through the list of departures in search for El Salvador. dammit, where is it? It’s not listed. WHY?! I apologized and told her that I don’t see it listed. She briefly sighed and thanked me with a smile. She turned around with her small black suitcase and walked away.
My first (semi-successful) opportunity to speak with a foreigner in Spanish and I felt helpless. What’s going to happen when I arrive to Honduras? I thought I was prepared for this. I knew I shouldn’t overthink the situation but promised myself that I would spend more time speaking to Honduran staff and other locals to immerse myself into the language. I knew it wouldn’t be easy and that they may think I sound like a typical gringa but I also knew that experience from a Spanish course alone would never suffice.
My encounter with this woman got me thinking. Would I ask a Honduran in Tegucigalpa’s airport for help or guidance in English with the assumption that they won’t speak or understand my language? Yes. Yes, I would. Because at that very moment feeling lost in a foreign country is frightening. I would hope someone would point me in the right direction!
I also noticed that globalization is becoming more prevalent the more I travel and spend time talking to people, especially at airports. When I arrived to my gate for Tegucigalpa, I sat next to the Chief of the Fire Department Academy in Tegucigalpa. He was 50-something tall man with dark features and leather brown skin. He wore an orange t-shirt and had a bright orange and yellow-stripped vest by his side. He also spoke Basic English, which was surprising and very relieving but it wasn’t going to help me. I wanted to be testing again. I wanted a real conversation in Spanish.
We introduced ourselves and things went smoothly until questions became more complex to comprehend. So what did I do? I whipped out my iPhone and used Google translator, worried that he would be offended by my lack of Spanish-speaking skills. Would he not approve of my travels to Honduras? But the man did not seem to mind. He was patient and spoke like he would with any other native Spanish speaker. I asked him about the immigration and gang violence issue in Honduras and he was kind enough to explain it to me. A few minutes later, we lined up at our gate and went separate ways. Just like that. And all it took is a little effort.
I walked down the aisle of the plane and found my designated seat. I squeezed through the two seats in my row and sat next to the window. Before the plane took off I offered the man next to me a piece of gum to avoid air pressure. The Honduran man accepted and thanked me in English. Ah, maybe he speaks English. I have so many things to ask! I introduced myself in Spanish and he did the same except in English. He said his name is Jose. He works as an IT (information technology) manager for a nonprofit school in Tegucigalpa, called The American School. For a couple of years, he studied at a university in Wisconsin. His daughter is in high school and volunteers in their community in Honduras. His wife was seated across the aisle from him; they have been visiting their family in America. I was happy to know that I had someone to further inform me on the current political and socioeconomic situation in Honduras. Topics ranged from gang violence, unemployment, and NGOs working in country.
These two travel encounters made me realize that despite the gang violence and economic instability in Honduras that the country cannot be strictly judged this way and that great things there do exist. These issues, made sensational by the media, should not reflect the life of every Honduran individual or community. According to Jose, the media is over dramatizing the event that hundreds of children are immigrating the country due to violence. “It’s really not that bad and this is nothing new. Things have been this way for a long time,” he said. “Their parents are paying as much as $5,000 for organizers to transport their children to Mexico or the United States for better economic opportunity.”
I was surprised by his input and felt a slight sense of relief. I didn’t want to ignore the chances of danger but realized that worrying and over thinking the situation won’t make my experience there any better. Although, I did want to understand why. Why aren’t people taking action? Why is nothing being done to stop gang violence and poverty? There were a million questions racing through my head. I realized that this internship will be a rare opportunity to truly see and understand conflict in a developing country. And although this is my second trip to Honduras, I had a feeling that the upcoming experience would not be the same.
There would be no time to waste, and I couldn’t wait to go the extra mile to assess, identify and resolve issues with my colleagues throughout my internship. So what can I say… Let the gringa effect begin.