I am writing after no updates in two weeks, so first and foremost, I must apologise. For those who have been following my blog, you might remember that I said that I was going to Utila in my last post. I am typing up about my experiences in Utila, which were great (although it’s permanently cemented my hatred of regaeton music, but I’ll save that to my next update). I have been back in
Tegus three days and I’ve been very busy with Casa Alianza, which I am very pleased about. I’ve had a couple of hard interviews with kids who were selling drugs (on patches where the Maras worked) and had guns shoved in their mouths. How they are still alive is a little short of a miracle. I will also be interviewing some girls next week who have been victims of human-traffic and forced into prostitution.
I am now the owner of a netbook, so I will be able to keep in better touch with loved ones via Skype. I am also most likely to move next week to Tegucigalpa, to an area called Cerro Grande, which I have been told is dangerous by some and not by others. I will have a meeting with the family next week but nothing is set in stone just yet.
Since I’ve been back, the Padgett household has been under attack of small flying beatles called ronrones. They don’t sting but they prickle you when they land on you, and they must be partially blind because the stupid things keep flying into my face. When they land on the window at night it’s like a scene from the Alfred Hitchcock movie “The Birds”. There are literally hundreds of them and I have no idea where they come from. They get under the door and are attracted by light. I keep finding them on my pillow before I go to bed and end up smacking them against the wall. It’s horrible and mean, I know, but they are like
the machines in the Terminator movies. They come back with reinforcements and it seems nothing much can stop them. Again, they don’t sting, but they don’t seem to do much else either. They have no purpose for being (like regaeton music). They are just there and they want to annoy you. Chris and Andy Padgett have been flinging pillows around the room to kill them, which is great fun to watch. I have suggested they buy an iguana and feed it ronrones but I thinkthe lads have more fun jumping around. It has been raining and thu-
ndering the last two nights and there seems to be less. It has also coincided with a period when my bodily functions have been quite relaxed and I’ve been letting off a lot of wind. So would anyone when frijoles (red kidney beans) are served up regularly, although admittedly I have been mixing up my diet with fresh avocados, guavas, fried eggs, tacos, mantequilla, chocolate, pasta with salsa and granola: a few funny whiffs are inevitable. So if my gas emissions are acting as an insect repellent, so be it: I’m glad they have some use.
Talking of food and farts, one of my favourite fruits have inspired yet another poem. If you have guessed already from the title of this update, I am of course talking about the amazing mango. There are many different kinds, at least 10
in Honduras alone (maybe more). I saw one as big as a water melon the other day, but my favourites are the medium-sized red ones and the small yellow and green ones. There are also very small green sour ones, but I’m not that keen on those. With the small green and yellow ones, I often treat myself to a bag of 10, which cost no more than 33p, which makes them even sweeter. The scent and texture and the juices make me weak at the knees and I sometimes almost cry in happiness when I rip my teeth into the fibres like Gollum from Lord of the Rings. I have never tasted mangos like these before. So without further ado, here it is:Mangos Mangos here give me the squits, It’s a serious addiction I can’t quit, Cigarettes and alcohol, betting and drugs, They’re boring lures and the weakness of mugs. But when I see a mango I must rip it from its skin, I’m obliged to suck at the fluorescent fibres in wonderful shameless sin, I have to dig in my teeth and pull at the rich flesh, And I don’t care when it gets in my teeth and hangs like wired mesh. There I sit with its yellow dye all over my face, I feel as if I’m in Babylon, within my favourite place. I will suck on the stone and swill it in my gob, Then find a very public place for me to proudly flob. The juices and flesh will then go down to my tummy, And it’llsoon make my poo a little yucky and runny. My hands will be sticky and stained with yellow, But my addiction will be fulfilled and I’ll be feeling mellow.
I apologise for any vulgar images I have given you in the above poem, but I think you now understand the full extent of my addiction. It’s healthier than crack at the end of the day, and cheaper too! But I am incredibly passionate about the mangos. Until you’ve tried them here, you just wouldn’t understand. Excuse my pomp.
Talking of pomp, I wrote this poem on Prince William and Princess Kate’s big shindig wedding. How was it? Any good? I heard it’s been rammed down everyone’s throats. But I do wish them the best. I’m not a huge fan of the Royal Family but for some reason, I do like Prince William and I think he’ll be a great king (not that he’ll have to do much). I have decided to dedicate the next song to them. It is actually the theme-tune to the Royal Family television series, Half The World Away, and bodes well with the homesickness I’ve had of late. Again, another song from Oasis. But I love it and I’m not going to make any apologies for that.
I will update you about my Utila trip in the next few days. Until then, take care.