The Hoseman

No, it's not a job title. Hoseman is the name of one of our students at El Sembrador. He is from a remote region of Honduras called La Mosquitia. This area of Honduras is secluded from the world by swampy rainforests and is only accessible by air or boat. La Mosquitia is populated by Native Americans called the Moskito.

Hoseman and I have become good friends because we have one very important thing in common. Neither of us understand a single word of Spanish...ok, maybe a few words, but that's not the point. Hoseman speaks the Moskito language and, like me, is perpetually lost in the sea of Spanish that surrounds him. We are forever wandering in a fog of confusion never quite sure what's going on or why. But now we are friends, comrades brought together by a common language...not Spanish or Moskito or English, but the language of bewilderment spoken with the shrugging of shoulders and a sympathetic smile. We share the bond of our language deficiency and we offer eachother sympathy and understanding without words.

I love Hoseman because I can look at him and know that he is just as confused as I am. Every day we laugh at eachother when we attempt a conversation and end up giving up after "Hello, how are you?" Sometimes I seek out this little moment of shared bafflement. Somehow it's a little comforting to know that I'll never understand Hoseman and I don't have to. Most of all I love Hoseman because every day when we pass his smile brightens my day and lifts my spirits.