Cobán, Los Amates Feria, comunicación pública, community meetings, heat, schooling, etc.

I have been officially welcomed as a volunteer to the region of the Verapaces. Every time a new group of volunteers comes in, there is a celebration gathering of the volunteers in the region to welcome the newcomers. Last weekend there was a big party with all the volunteers from the departments of Alta and Baja Verapaz and from other areas of the country. I traveled with some fellow Baja Verapaz-ers on Friday to spend the night in the city of Coban. We had quite an interesting journey. At one point the microbus that we were on stopped behind a long line of cars and told us that it wasn’t going any further because there was a roadblock. Frustrating since we were only half way there and had already paid full fair. Obviously the driver knew about it beforehand, but of course failed to mention it to us. We were told that no transportation was getting through, but that you could walk across. So we got out and walked to the front of the line of cars and climbed under some branches that were (symbolically) blocking the road. It was funny since there were people selling cold drinks and frozen chocolate bananas and there was a relaxed atmosphere. This was the first of two blockages so we went on foot for a ways walking with our backpacks in the sun with a bunch of other people and a nice family that we met who was also going to Coban. Eventually a pickup came along offering us a ride and we hopped in the back and it took us to the second blockage. This one was a bit more intense and the people had set the branches on fire and were adding tires to the blaze. There were lots more people on this side and I ran into some people from my town and got the scoop of the situation. They told me that the town was mad because the police had lynched some people but that everyone was calm and it was safe to cross. So we stepped around the burning tires and made our way across and found another microbus on the other side that took us to our final destination. If I had been in that situation my first week in Guatemala I would have been nervous about the whole thing, but now that I’ve been here for over six months, it just seemed like a normal day and was no big deal. We talked to locals and scoped it out and it wasn’t a problem. Roadblocks are quite common here and more of a nuisance than anything else.

I had a funny conversation with the microbus driver on the way. I sat in the front seat crowded in and squished against him. He told me all about the processing plant that he worked in in New Jersey and the story of how he got deported and all that. It was crazy listening to his experiences, especially since there is practically a daily article in the papers with pictures of the planes landing in Guatemala bringing back all the deported.

Coban is a typical largish Guatemalan city surrounded by deep green almost tropical hills. It’s the hub of the central northern part of the country and is famous for being a coffee growing region and for its artisan wares. We got off the microbus in front of McDonald’s and we couldn’t resist but eat dinner there. My quarter-pounder and Oreo McFlurry sure hit the spot and I think I’ve eaten more McDonald’s in Guatemala that I’d eaten my whole life before. I eat enough tortillas, eggs, and beans and its nice to treat yourself once in awhile. We stayed a relatively cheap but very comfortable and hospitable hotel and had a yummy breakfast and delicious coffee in the morning.

Saturday we walked around town through the central park and the market (Guatemalan markets cease to amaze and intrigue me). We made an excursion to these sweet waterfalls a little ways out of town. I enjoyed the ride through the beautiful landscape and we got off the microbus on the side of the highway where the park is. There was a shirtless guy standing there taking entrance fees – 10 quetzales, like a dollar and some change. He had to convince us that he was legit since it seemed like some scam that someone would do where they would take your money and then you’d get in and have to pay the real person. But no, it was fine and we made our way into the hardly developed park. We took a winding steep path through warm lush green forest and arrived at a large beautiful bright teal pool with a giant waterfall cascading into it. The water looked like the postcards you see of the Caribbean. Bright and clear. Since most of us hadn’t thought to bring swimsuits, we stripped down to our underthings and dove into the deliciously refreshing cool water. We frolicked and swam about and floated on our backs looking up at the greenery on all sides. The current is fairly strong where the falls hits the water, but by clinging to the rocks on the side you can get behind the falls to where there is a cave. We sat in the cave behind the falls on the water-smoothed rocks for awhile taking the impressive beauty of the place. Floating on my back looking up at all the green was another one of those “I’m so happy I’m in Guatemala” moments.

That afternoon we made our way to the cabin where we were having the party a little ways outside of Coban in the town of Tactic. Randomness has it that it sits near a chicken farm with over 60,000 chickens reside. Go figure. We grilled all sorts of meats and veggies and made a giant grocery sack full of pasta salad (lack any other serving dish). I met lots of other volunteers and hung out with lots of good pals from my training group. The evening included a dance party. Good, good times.

This week I went to another training in Salama with the NGO Promudel. This one had to do with public communication and how to increase transparency and citizen participation with different media communication. Thus, I went with the guy who is runs the loudspeaker off his jeep who I found out is the “Public Relations” guy for the muni. That was news to me that the muni even had a “Public Relations” guy. Basically his job is to go around town in his jeep blasting music and announcing municipal, school, cultural, and sporting events. It was a great workshop and we got a lot out of it. We are going to write a plan of public communication for the muni that includes the newsletter, an end-of-the-year magazine, the loudspeaker jeep, bulletin boards, and possibly a radio station.

Last Saturday was the election of the queen of the feria in an aldea of El Chol called Los Amates. The rural community is about 7 km up a terrible dirt road from El Chol that few vehicles can take on. You think El Chol is in the middle of no where, then you go to the aldeas and really feel like you’re lost. I got a ride in the loudspeaker jeep and we bumped and jostled our way up the mountainside. When we got there we were invited to eat dinner with the guests of honor like with my counterpart and his wife, the judges of the contest, and the announcer of the event. This election was a bit more tame than the one in El Chol, less slutty dancing and less revealing clothing by the 15 year old girls in the contest. Like most community events that I attend, they always give a little mention of me being present and I wave to the crowd. After the election of the little girl and the big girl queens there was a community dance in the little school. In a double classroom they put the giant speakers and lights and fog machine and packed everyone in so it was good and hot and sweaty and foggy. Of course they only play one type of music which sounds like one continuous song for the entire time with the same bouncy beat. What is interesting about these community dances is that there are so few women present because either they have to be home taking care of children or they don’t get permission to leave the house from their parents or their husbands. So there is always an excess of men and boys who have to just stand in little groups watching since there aren’t enough girls to dance with. Needless to say, you can’t walk through there being a girl without being swept up. Overall it was a funky small community celebration that was lots of fun. It reminds me how lucky I am to get glimpses in the lives of others while living here. They get a kick out of me being here. I get asked daily how I like El Chol, and how I feel living here, and they respond with how good it is that I am here, and that I like it here, and then they tell me that I probably won’t ever leave. To which I give a polite chuckle and then tell them that no, I will be leaving in two years. To which they respond with at least I will take my Guatemalan husband with me to the states. To which I respond with another chuckle and a shake of my head.

We continue to trudge ahead with database at work. I finally got the data from the Ministry of Education and spent several hours adding up over 100 columns of data for 13 schools, (which is just the beginning). I also created a questionnaire to distribute to the COCODE presidents to hopefully get complete, accurate data on the status of water and sanitation in the communities. It is important to have accurate data for the municipality to be able to inform decision making, but man it’s tedious.

My English class is still going well and I am enjoying it, despite various frustrations. I have about 18 consistent students now which is a perfect number. Monday I gave them their second test and they did alright. Some did very well of course (there are a few very smart cookies who I feel bad about hold back with the rest), and others did terribly (which I feel bad about since no matter how many ways I explain it, they just don’t get it). I’m finding myself having to teach learning habits and study skills as well since they seriously lack them. This test included an oral component when I took each student outside and they had to answer three questions that I asked them, all of which we had practiced in class. Before we started I told them that I wasn’t going to be in the room, so I expected them to act like adults and be respectful and not talk during the test. Well, that didn’t work and they were all talking and sharing answers and it really pissed me off. There is just a lack of respect in general here in classrooms, meetings, anything and it is really frustrating. It’s adults too – talking on their cell phones or to their neighbor during workshops or meetings or whatever. I got really stern with my students and told them I was very disappointed and explained that I was giving this class outside work hours, for no pay, and that they needed to pay me with respect. And I told them that anybody missing two classes without clearing it with me or making it up is going to be out of the class. Oh man, I was so frustrated. Usually I’m super chipper and jolly in class and try to have a good time, but hopefully with the fresh stern words they got the picture.

This week pan dulce (sweet bread) was on the curriculum for my women’s group in La Cienega. I trudged up on foot carting all the pounds of flour and sugar for the lesson. A friend of mine accompanied me this time since my co-workers couldn’t go and my friend didn’t want me to go alone and she wanted to get to know that community. On the way there in the strong sunshine we passed a man puffing his way up the hill with a heavy load of sugarcane on his back. As we passed my friend said “que rico!” and turned around and told us to each take a stalk as a gift. That was very sweet (no pun intended) of him. Gotta love the randomness of walking the middle of nowhere in Guatemala, being given sugarcane out of the blue, and walking along with a tall stalk of it in your hand as a walking stick, like it’s perfectly natural. I had never had fresh sugarcane before so when we got to the community we cut part of it, peeled it, shared it with the women and their kids, and sucked out the juice from the cane. It’s yummy! The bread turned out well, like usual. They fed us lunch, like usual. They asked when I was coming back, like usual.

There is a civil engineering intern from the university in the capital who will be working in the office for the next six months. He is working on a project with some co-workers to measure all the municipal owned in the municipality. Basically these are “community lands” that individuals “rent” for 10 quetzales – like a dollar and some change – for the year. They can either grow crops on them or maintain them as forestlands. Back when this system was set up, the measurements were made very approximately and what is written down may not correspond to what’s on paper. The muni will be going around measuring these lands and updating the registries since many are inaccurate, belong to deceased people, etc. So rumor went around that the muni was going to be kicking people off these lands or taking parts of them or selling them or whatever else. So to clarify this misunderstanding and keep everyone from getting all ruffled we set up meetings in various communities and went around clarifying the information. We spent all day driving around the dirt roads to these rural hard to reach places meeting with community members and explaining the purpose of the measurements and that we weren’t taking any land away from them, just trying to organize and update the registries. There were some tense moments and people got heated with their questions but overall it went well and I think everyone understood in the end. We were in the direct sun all day, usually meeting outside schools where there is nowhere to sit and no shade and I sort of fried myself. I had a good time getting to visit communities I’d never been to and observing the dynamics of it all. Things are so different out in the aldeas than they are in town. The men all dress identical with work jeans, boots, a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up or a ratty t-shirt with English writing, a white hard material cowboy style hat, a woven man-purse, and a machete in a leather sheath. Oh yeah, and every single one has a mustache.

One of the things that bugs me about the men who I don’t know who come into the office for one piece of business or another is that they always give a firm handshake to my male co-workers, but to me, they either barely lightly touch my hand in a bad imitation of a handshake, or don’t offer it at all. Or they pull you in for a kiss on the cheek instead. I know it’s a cultural difference, but coming from where a firm handshake for everyone is valued, it gets to me.

It was a bad week for accidents. A bus veered off a mountain in another department and killed 55 people. A couple in their 40’s from an aldea here ran off the road which killed them and left their 11 children orphaned. A 22-year-old woman from here tried to commit suicide by driving her car off a cliff. She’s in an unhappy marriage with a drunken cheating husband and has one kid. She was taken by helicopter to the capital, which was of course the talk of the town because it is so expensive. She is still in intensive care.

The days are getting really hot here. Maybe in the 90’s I would guess. I die when I go home at mid-day and make lunch because the tin roof cooks the insides of the house like an oven. There is always a crackling noise as the metal adjusts in the heat, making it sounds like its raining. The evenings are spectacularly wonderful though. Once the sun goes down there is a refreshing cool breeze but still comfortably warm. I relish being in a t-shirt or tank top at 8:00 in the evening. Sometimes I go down and sit in the central park with people and chat in the dusk hours. There really isn’t anything to do here but sit in the park in the evenings, so you run into lots of people and just sit around. It’s pleasant.

One of the funny things about being a foreigner in a small town is you feel like you live in a fish bowl. People notice all lots of details about me that wouldn’t think. If I put on mascara, grow out my fingernails, wear different shoes, get a sunburn, wear my glasses, whatever it may be, people notice and comment on it. Everyone also seems to know where I was, even if I didn’t see them they’ll be like, oh yeah I saw you over by such-and-such. It’s strange.

My friend who worked for the family I live with left and now her aunt works there in her place washing dishes and clothes, doing household chores, and taking care of the senora’s ancient mother. The woman’s daughter’s name is also Katy, which is funny. The other night she and Katy came up to my house for a visit, actually just assuming I had a TV and wanting to watch it (even though the family has two). She was surprised disappointed when I told her that I didn’t have a TV and that I like to read books instead. She sat down and we chatted for awhile. It was an awkward situation (of which I now have lots of experience with). She is 24 and from one of the aldeas, had her first kid when she was 15, and has a first-grade education and tried to pass second grade, but after three years unable to pass, she dropped out. Her husband left with another woman and she works in the house here. She was looking at my travel guide to Guatemala and didn’t know how to orient the book to look at the words or the map of Guatemala. I pointed out El Chol, Rabinal (the only other town she has ever been to) and the capital on the map. Everything I told her she was surprised about. She started pestering me about why I wasn’t married yet and that I was getting old and needed to start having children right away. The whole exchange was quite interesting.

Two of the kids I live with are in first grade and learning to read. It’s so cute how they get out their notebooks in the evenings and show me what they’ve learned. I sit with them as they read to me and its super adorable. It’s nice how Spanish has consistent pronunciation and rules – it makes it a lot easier on kids to learn how to read and write. There just isn’t a culture of reading for fun here though, which makes me sad. They have their books that they learn how to read with, but I have really never seen any fun kids picture books that make a kid want to practice. The adults don’t really read for fun either and the three teachers that I live with were all surprised that I like to read for pleasure.

One of the interesting things about the education system here is that in primary school they teach the kids some English and some Achi, which is the indigenous language around here. Its funny though cause the teachers don’t speak it or know how to pronounce the words, but they give them lists of vocabulary words to memorize anyway. So they really don’t learn anything worthwhile or of substance, but at least they have some exposure to the languages. However, talking to some of the parents and kids of ladino (non-indigenous) families, they don’t like that they are “wasting” time learning an indigenous language. El Chol is almost 100% ladino and very few people actually speak Achi. It is commonly spoken around Rabinal, which is the next town about an hour north of here. Many parents want their kids to learn English since it is much more useful in the job market and don’t see the importance of learning an indigenous language since although everyone here is mixed, they don’t associate their identity with being indigenous. It is an interesting dilemma.

Racism here is very strong in an overt, but non-malicious way, if that makes any sense. People will be made fun of for having darker skin, speaking an indigenous language, and telling someone they are acting like an “indio” is an insult for doing something stupid. It’s not taboo to say these kinds of things and oftentimes they aren’t really meant to hurt someone’s feelings, but more in a joking around kind of way. Yet it creates an atmosphere of perceived inferiority that permeates all areas of society.