Fifteen minutes to journal? Bahahaha.

It's the end of day one: our free day. Typically we'd like to have these at the end of the trip, after all the team bonding, but this was the only way the schedule worked out, and we all are pretty bonded anyway.

Last night we got in around 9:00pm, and it took about an hour to get through immigration, customs, and onto the bus. Customs was far more lax than I've seen in any other country or Hawaii. The customs officer just took each of our forms, briefly glanced at each, and had us throw our stuff through the x-ray scanner. I don't think there was even anyone on the other end in case something was caught.

From there we took a trip with this guy who helps sustain the orphanage. The story goes that he's a brilliant businessman who did quite well in the US, then spent time in Central America, and decided to either start or significantly help this orphanage and a couple others in other countries. Rather than do the administrative stuff, though, he started a business whose profits go to the orphanage, and it's now one of the largest chicken farms in the country.

We got to the orphanage, which is a collection of houses, and got a few instructions. Mostly we just unpacked, found beds, ate pizza, and took in our surroundings. Then we sang a single song as chosen by Joe, and went to bed. (Also I had Jeremiah, who was excited about his alias, read Finally Done Right. He approved of my sharing his stories.) I realized when I took off my shoes before bed, that I'd been wearing them for thirty hours straight. That's a smell I'd like not to repeat.

I've yet to shower since Friday morning, but I plan to after these fifteen minutes are up.

Today we went to the beach. There was an adventure on the way there. We lost a human. There was a tourist pit stop on one side of a bridge. The river beneath the bridge homed several very large crocodiles, and the crocks hang out there because people "fish" for them with whole chickens. Seeing them in the zoo is one thing. Seeing them uncaged, if a good 30 to 40 feet below us, is something else.

From there we went to a ritzy, almost American, grocery store to get drinks and fruit and whatever else. Then we started heading to the beach. Almost there, someone asks, "Where's Leigh?" We do a quick count and realize there are only twenty-one of us. Questions abound. Did anyone see her at the grocery store? I have a vague memory seeing her there next to the cakes, vaguely remember her smiling at me. Someone else remembered talking to her there. So we did a quick u-turn and headed back. Someone asked another relevant question: "Who sat next to Leigh between the bridge and the grocery store." No one raised their hands. I then lacked confidence in my memory. Five guys jumped out and raced into the store. They were long in returning, and without success. Then we stopped and prayed.

Poor Jeremiah was frantic. I've seen him stressed a couple times when things like broken planes came up, but this was an entirely different level. If we hadn't all been feeling worried about Leigh, Jeremiah's flailing would have been funny. (Some of us thought it was funny despite. There was a mix of panic and humor to avoid panic.)

We got back to the crocodile pit and one of the merchants waved us in. Out comes a laughing Leigh. She said that she was uncharacteristically calm about the whole thing, not worried at all. Phillipians comes to mind. Prayer in thankful supplication leads to peace that passes all understanding.

The beach was great. I don't think I'd ever successfully caught a wave while bodysurfing before. A board is still easier and less saltwater-up-the-nose inducing. (This is as far as I got in the allotted 20 minutes.)

After an hour or so in the water, we went looking for food. We ended up at a bar on the beach. It's pretty common in the US for friends to just join a table before ordering, and for people to be indecisive, and then if the table gets too big, to split into two. It doesn't happen all the time, but waiters wouldn't think it too horrendous, would they? Anyway, this is not the case here. Here, you sit down, you order, you eat, you pay, you leave. (I'm exaggerating.) To cut a boring story short, the waiter was not happy with us, and was doing everything he could to hide his vexation. It occurred to me that "funny in that awkward not quite used to our culture sense" was us this time. Also, I still feel like the normal one.

Joe, Derek, Fifa, and Bill were just freestyle rapping in one of the guys' bedrooms. They're amazing. I lack the sense of beat, the ability to talk, and the rhyming to be even close to starting. Other than that, though, give me a few days and I'd catch up. They each took a turn on the way home from the beach too. Crazy folks.

On the way home, we stopped by a fruit stand. I sampled a couple things I didn't recognize, but didn't buy anything. Lots of people bought mangos. I don't know if I'm missing out or not by not getting any. I just didn't want any. Do you force a "cultural experience" for the sake of the experience? Will I be any better or worse off for doing it? I've had other mango before. It's alright, but among my least favorite fruits. It's not sweet enough.

Something I realized about myself on the drive back was two more situations where I don't act myself. I don't actually maintain a list, but if I did, bipolar episode would be on it. These additions are one, when in groups larger than five or six, and two, when I'm around someone with whom I'm infatuated. The first case, I think, is what made youth group and bible studies always so awkward for me. It has its exceptions, like at the end of mission trips and conferences when I'm really close to everyone, or at Fir Creek when I'm most myself around a few counselors regardless of the twenty kids around us. I think maybe I don't try to impress kids, so they don't count toward the quota. The second case is probably why I've only ever found a girlfriend when I wasn't really looking for one, or was looking at the wrong girl. It's quite irksome, because around someone with whom I'm infatuated is the time I most want to act myself.

We got back, and even as we drove up, droves of kids ran out to the bus. I'd kind of hoped for a shower before dinner, but that was pretty out of the question, especially if everyone had similar hopes. It's fairly common knowledge that mothers in Central America will be offended if you don't eat what's on your plate, and before Wednesday, that was my greatest concern about the trip. I don't do well with rice or beans or potatoes. That's a lot of what they eat here, especially the first two. I was told to tell the mom "un pico," "a little." I'd planned on just swallowing it with a gulp of water.

So we got our three person group house assignments, only Jane and I were the only ones with only two people. (I believe Leigh's boyfriend, the guy who had his mind changed, was originally in our group.) That also left us without a translator, but it worked out perfectly because our house is the only one with a longer term volunteer from Connecticut who's been here a couple months. She's now 85% fluent, and helped us get through dinner. I told the mom that I really only eat a very little amount, especially of rice and beans. She gave me the same portion as everyone else, with a slightly diminished portion of salad. Also, instead of water we got something I don't recognize. It looked like apple juice from concentrate but poorly stirred, and it tasted a little like barley tea, which to me tastes like watered down ash, thus eliminating my swallow-it-like-a-pill method. The salad was fantastic, though different from any I've had before. The only beans I tasted, and I almost couldn't keep them down, were what had been stuck on the apple slices in the salad. The rice must have rated an 8 where 1 is already amazing, because I really enjoyed the taste, overpowering the texture that usually gets me. Still, it's a starch, and like the starches I normally enjoy, it filled me up quick, and an hour later I was starving. This is why I brought a years's worth of granola bars, energy bars, and dried fruit.

Anyway, she didn't seem offended at all that I couldn't finish. In fact, when I mentioned that I don't even like rice, but enjoyed hers, we began the ever-entertaining conversation about how picky I am. She told me on Tuesday I would have toast and jam and fruit. Bless her. Tomorrow night the moms of the orphanage are meeting, so there will be subs, which causes chaos enough. Adding us to the mix would be problematic. So! our group is having a barbecue.

My house has five boys, five girls, and two older children-by-birth. The kids kept trying Spanish on me. I'm impervious. Two of the boys have the same name. During dinner, they kept trying to ask me questions, but I was at a loss, and Jane and our translator were at the girls' table. Every now and then the girls' table would quiet and I'd have a turn being able to understand a question. Eventually they gave up and the kid closest to me just imitated my eating and drinking, which was rather entertaining. After dinner, we got a tour of the house. I was freaking out a little internally because I had no idea what to do next. Normally they have devotional after dinner, but because it's Sunday, they had church already. What am I supposed to do with ten excited kids that I don't understand? Then one of the boys pulled out a chess board. Awesome.

They seemed like normal kids to me. I hadn't really thought about, in regards to everyday-living, how a sexually abused kid would act, but I think if I had, I would imagine them reliving the trauma continuously. Thank God this is not the case.

At eight o'clock, we left and gathered for team time, which ended with fifteen minutes for journaling.