What the... how is it possible that I'm about to turn 30?

I’m about to turn 30, and although I’ve known it was coming, I can’t seem to wrap my head around this fact – I’m going to be #$%& 30 years old and that means I must definitely be an adult, even though I still feel about 18 inside.  There have been a lot of mixed emotions keeping me up at night as I contemplate my impending real-adultness.

One of the biggest emotions is guilt.  I have spent around 8 of the past 12 years living far away from my family and closest friends. I missed the birth of both of my sister’s babies.  I missed my childhood best friend´s wedding and the birth of her first child.  I missed my other best friend’s 30^th birthday. I somehow blinked and my oldest niece is legal drinking age and living on her own and my oldest nephew is driving a car.  I am living abroad in a dangerous and difficult country and when I consider how much I am missing, I struggle to remember why I decided to come in the first place.  Am I really going to make a difference here in Honduras? Is it worth it to miss the milestones of my friends and my nieces and nephews, and the sense of community that comes with living close to my family? Do I really need to be so far away to fulfill my sense of purpose and challenge?

The second emotion is anxiety – this is the first time I realized that my youth isn’t going to last forever, and that if I want to have my own family one day, I better start focusing in that direction before my ovaries expire. I can’t seem to meld the two parts of myself into a cohesive lifestyle – the part of me that is filled with adventure and wanderlust wants nothing to do with the part of me that is getting broody and eyeing up males for the strength of their genes.  I found my first grey hair not too long ago, and I no longer have the option of going braless.  Like it or not, time is marching on, and I have to keep up or else.

I do feel a great deal of satisfaction, however, when I review my life thus far.  I have never owned a car or a house, but I am the owner of incredible, unforgettable experiences that have taught me to take each day as it comes, and have given me strengths which have allowed me to survive and cope with the highs and lows of my adventurous life.  I have loved ones on all corners of the earth, and continue to draw strength from them regardless of where we are.  I have traveled to Europe, Africa and Central America, and learned a second language.  I have bungee-jumped, zip-lined, climbed volcanoes, surfed, kayaked, white-water rafted, cliff-dived, and survived in the most isolated villages and some of the biggest cities. I have avoided being bitten or stung by (knock on wood) scorpions, snakes, stingrays and jellyfish, but I have hugged a cheetah, snuggled a sloth and walked through a jungle filled with howling jaguars (remember that Mom, in Tikal?).  I have made some really, really bad decisions, and I have learned from my mistakes.  I finally finished my undergrad degree after 10 years of on and off studying.  I have fallen in love and had my heart broken.  I have laughed so hard my stomach muscles were sore for days afterward.

My life is not ordinary, and it doesn’t follow a plan.  I have no idea where I will be next year, or what I will be doing. If I judge myself based on the lives of others, I may not have made it very far linearly speaking, but in the end, is that what I’m aiming for?  My aim for my 30´s?  Spend more time with my family, spend more time with my friends, and spend less time judging myself or others. And keep on feeling like I'm perpetually 18. 

Climate Change and Cashews in Choluteca

Last week I had the opportunity to travel to Choluteca, in the south of Honduras, to learn about Cashew harvesting and production.

Choluteca is in what is referred to as the “corredor seco”, or dry corridor, as it lies in a part of the country that has been in drought for many, many years.  Winding down from the hills of Tegucigalpa, we reached Choluteca in about 2 and a half hours.  As soon as we hit sea level a wall of heat rolled over us and we put the air conditioner on full blast.  Daily temperatures range from high 30's to low 40's (celcius).  The only plus is that it’s a dry heat, and so in the shade there is some relief.

I´ve never seen an example of climate change as drastic as what I observed in Choluteca.  90% of the bridges we crossed were over completely dry river beds.  Some of the rivers have little pools of water left in them, where the women of the families that live nearby must haul their clothing to do the washing. Miles and miles of dead trees that used to be orchards spread out on either side of the dry, dusty highway, and when we get to the more rural areas, the dust from the dirt roads is so bad that visibility is almost zero. 

The land is parched.  Life is hard in this part of the country.  Most of the rural population has no electricity, and use communal wells for water.  Their crops often fail because of lack of irrigation and unreliable rains in the rainy season. The cows are all thin, and the farmers resort to feeding them melons for lack of other food and water source.

The strange thing is that this part of the country is where some of the juiciest fruits grow– melons, watermelons and mangos.  Those with irrigation systems can produce fruit year round.

This year´s cashew harvest was ruined because of an ill-timed rain.  It’s ironic – a place that is so hungry for rain, and yet when the rains come when they shouldn’t, it can wreck everything.  The delicate flowers of the cashew tree were all destroyed by the rains in January and February, and there is nothing the farmers can do but wait for the tree to flower again. Luckily, the cashew tree is hearty, and is one of the few plants that flourishes in dry hot climates, and thus is a huge opportunity for development in Honduras.

After seeing how the seed (what we call the cashew nut) is harvested, I now understand why they are so expensive!  Each seed grows on the bottom of what is called a false fruit, which is about the size of an apple and red or yellow in colour.  You can eat the fruit fresh; it is pulpy and juicy and acidic and sweet at the same time, but often quite astringent.  In the processing plants they make dried fruit, juice, and wine out of the fruit.  The cashew fruit contains 5 times more vitamin C than an orange, but because of its delicate skin it is difficult to transport, and without the seed attached to it will start to decompose within a matter of hours in the heat.

The seeds themselves are surrounded by a double shell which is manually removed by the workers at the plantation.  The shells contain anarcardic acid, a skin irritant, so all workers must wear gloves.  Even the skin of the fruit contains this toxin, and if a drop of juice falls onto your clothing, it will stain it immediately.

Every time you pop a cashew in your mouth, if it comes from Honduras, it has been processed by hand, twice.  First they are dried in the sun, and then fried quickly over a hot stove to release some of the oils, and then the outer shell is removed with a quick bop of a wooden hammer, or with the assistance of a nut-breaking machine (manually operated).  The (mostly women) people working in this area of the plant get paid around 25 cents per pound. If they work steadily all day they can usually get about the equivalent of $5 per day.  After the hard outer shell is removed, the next step is to remove the inner shell, which is usually done with a knife.  If the cashew breaks, the price the workers receive per pound gets cut in half.  From there the cashews are roasted and mixed with spices or honey or salt, packaged, and exported.  I bought as many bags of cashews as I had cash, about 2 and a half pounds for $10.

Above: Making wine by squeezing cooked cashew apples  Below: Cashew “raisins”

We made a rambling trip back to Tegucigalpa, stopping to buy jumbo shrimp and prawns at the port, fresh cheese at a small colonial town, and watermelons and mangos from a vendor on the side of the road. After experiencing the heat in Choluteca, I will no longer complain about the heat of Tegucigalpa.  A little perspective never hurt anyone.