Gifting, gordita, prayer sessions, frustrations of work

The nature of gifting things in Guatemala is very interesting. People here are very generous, even if they don’t have much themselves. There is a strong custom of gifting things and inviting people to eat, meaning that you will pay for them. I’m getting used to this system, but there are subtleties that take a little while to catch onto since they are different from how we do it in the states. Generally, if someone is wearing something pretty, like a pair of earrings for example, saying that you think it is very pretty is kind of like asking for them to give it to you. In Spanish it is better to say that “those earrings look nice on you” because saying “I like your earrings; they are pretty” means that you want them to give them to you. I learned this awhile back when a girl who is part of the family came to visit and I told her that her earrings were pretty, as is a common compliment that we give in the US. She promptly gave me a pair of identical one of a different color that she had bought, even though I protested she insisted. I get a lot of people commenting on the silver rings that I wear, telling me how pretty they are and asking me to gift one to them, so which I have to refuse because…they are my rings. Another example of generosity, if we’re working in the office, and someone leaves to go buy something at the store, they will generally get something for everyone without asking, just to be nice, even if it’s just a lollypop. We often take turns going to buy chocolate covered frozen bananas. If you’re eating something in front of someone else, you always offer them some, and they will always accept, even if they don’t really want it, just to be nice; whereas in the US, we would probably decline just to be nice, even if we wanted some. This is uncomfortable sometimes, especially when it’s a kid offering you some sort of sticky candy that has half melted in his dirty hand. One time I was waiting for the bus in San Juan with a woman from town who I kind of knew, and she went to buy some roasted corn on the cob that was for sale on the street, and asked me if I wanted some, so I accepted and knew that it would be impolite to offer to pay for it. Oftentimes random fruits and vegetables are gifted to me, like when one lady stopped by my office the other day to give me a pound of green beans, or when my soccer girls give me handfuls of jocote fruits or a giant lime the size of a giant orange. Whenever the women that I live with make something like corn bread or tamales, them always save me one. I’ve adapted to this too and since I bake frequently in my house, I always make sure to make enough to give some to the family. It’s a nice thing.

Along with the having to accept food that is offered to you and food being such a part of social customs, comes the gaining of weight with the cuisine here being carbo-heavy and relying heavily on pig lard, vegetable oil, and salt. It’s not necessarily seen as bad to be overweight here, and definitely not rude to comment about it. Even though I consider myself to be a normal height and weight in the states and maintain an active lifestyle here, I’m much bigger and taller than most people here, including lots of men. But coming from US culture, it still stings when people comment about my size. Last week when two of my coworkers made comments about how Katy was getting “gordita,” - little fatty - (which is not an insult and is often used as a term of endearment), I had to hold myself back from getting really annoyed at them. When the truck that I was riding on one day slid off the side of the road and we had to get towed out, they were calling for the heaviest people of the group to stand on the back bumper to give it weight to give the tire traction. And of course they called the gringa to go stand on it. These instances grate on me and take a lot of internal rationalizing to not let them bother you.

I went to another prayer session recently at the house of some of my friends for the one year anniversary of when their younger sister who had special needs passed away. I rather enjoy going to these events, since they are an opportunity to see lots of people from the community and share in a common purpose and share food together. They are not somber, formal events, but rather relaxed informal gatherings. Everyone is happy to see everyone and despite the reason for the gathering, everyone is in good spirits. People come late and leave early, and younger kids dart around playing between the adults seated on chairs and benches. People bring flowers (usually plastic ones) that are placed on an altar with candles, incense and a picture of the deceased person and sit together for about an hour while some women leads the praying/chanting/singing of which they are all familiar. Afterwards there is always some sort of snack and hot beverage, this particular evening there was chicken salad on tostadas and on rolls with hot chocolate made with cinnamon. It is common for people to take the snacks with them wrapped up to go to eat the next day or give to a family member at home. These events exist usually for birthdays, deaths, anniversaries of deaths. A nice Guatemalan custom.

There is a government institution in Guatemala in charge of upholding human rights. They have been active in El Chol organizing youth groups and promoting that youth know about their rights. So they organized a Fair for the Recognition of Youth Rights here in which they asked the participation of various institutions. So I was in charge of organizing the stand for the municipality on the subject of citizen participation, which is one of the main focuses of my project. I designed the content and the interns in my office helped me to make some posters and some games for the kids to play. On the day there were group of 15 kids that came in six rotations so I gave them a short presentation on participation and the System of Development Councils, then they played some interactive games to which we gave them candy for finishing the puzzles.

Working in Guatemala is frustrating. Working in the muni is frustrating. Here’s a little anecdote that captures pretty well the types of frustrations that are faced here. Days and days can go by without anything really to do. Then all of a sudden, a bunch of things all happen at once. One particular Thursday there were four work-related activities going on that I wanted to participate in. One, the monthly COMUDE meeting which I have never missed one and I don’t like to since you hear about everything that is going on. Two, a training on the GIS ArcView program. Three, one of the city councilwoman and I received an invitation to go to the capital for a two day convention on a Thursday of representatives of the Commission 9 (Family, Women, and Youth) part of the COMUDE, given by one of the NGOs active in El Chol. We were planning on going, but then two days beforehand, on Tuesday, three women representatives from the Presidential Secretary of the Woman (like the National Women’s Office) stopped by my office to tell us about an assembly they were hosting for the same day the other meeting was for in Salamá, the departmental capital of Baja Verapaz (activity number four). This meeting was supposed to be a gathering of ten women leaders from each of the eight municipalities in the department of Baja Verapaz to create a network of female leaders and elect representatives to the CODEDE, the Departmental Development Council. Baja Verapaz has a female governor (politically appointed position, but still cool), and she was gonna be there with representatives from different sectors that support women’s issues. So in talking to the city councilwoman, we decided that it would be more beneficial to go to that meeting, considering these contacts would be good for the women’s office that we are supposedly opening in January of next year. Of course the invitation was dated for ten days earlier and they weren’t able to get them to us til two days before the event, expecting us to get the notes to the ten female community leaders to the different rural communities in next day. It seemed like such a great opportunity that we made the effort. They had left five of the notes with me, and five of them with another community leader to distribute. So I had to coordinate with her but she is very busy and hard to track down and doesn’t really answer the phone. So I found her late Tuesday afternoon and we made the plans to go, put together the list of participants and she said she would arrange the microbus to take our group. It’s a delicate line that you have to tread on since all of these things are very political and personal, in terms of whom to invite, who get along with or doesn’t get along with whom, and all that nit-picky stuff that I know exists all the world over, but I feel is especially heightened here. Right afterwards I made the appropriate phone calls and house calls to invite the women. One I couldn’t get the phone number for so had to track down the microbus that was going out to that community and give the note to a random neighbor for her to pass on. On Wednesday I called the community leader to try to confirm the microbus, and she didn’t pick up the phone all day. I was calling and calling and she didn’t answer. Meanwhile the participants are calling me to confirm that they are coming, so I tell them to be there at 6:00 in the morning on Thursday to leave to be there by 8:30 when the meeting started. I don’t get a hold of her until 7:00 Wednesday night when she finally answered my site mate’s phone call and told her that she wasn’t able to go and that the bus wasn’t working. Well then I freaked out not knowing what to do, with all these women planning on making the effort to come down from their communities to attend this event. So I called the public microbus driver so see if by any chance he could take us and wait for us, but since the roads are so bad right now because of the rain, mud, and landslides, he told be he wouldn’t be leaving until 7:30, which would mean we wouldn’t get to Salamá til 10:00, late. And that to come back, the bus would be leaving at noon, which wouldn’t give us hardly any time at the meeting. So that option was out. I then called the coordinator of the women’s office in Granados, because I knew they were going and had a microbus and would be passing through El Chol. But she told me they only had room for two people and would be passing through at 5:00 am. There were no other options and I had no choice but to call them all and tell them that we wouldn’t be able to go. I was able to get a hold of everyone, except that COCODE president from the community that I go bake bread in. That community doesn’t have electricity, so the charge on her phone had run out. I was calling her all evening, sent a text message and everything but she didn’t get them. I was worried because she is an awesome woman who is super sharp, intelligent, and participatory and I knew that even though it rained all night, that she would still come. I barely slept all night worrying about this and I sent my alarm for 4:30 Thursday morning to try to call her again as she would be leaving her house, but still her phone was dead. So at 6:00 I rolled out of bed and went down to meet her in front of the muni. There she was, waiting there all by herself, dressed in her nicest homemade pink blouse and skirt set, and a thin sweater, soaked from the rain and sweat from the walk into town. I apologized profusely explaining the circumstances to which she was completely understanding. No matter how many times she told me not to worry about it, I just felt so bad, knowing that she had to ask permission from her husband to leave, spent all day the day before grinding extra corn for her absence, getting up before dawn, and walking for an hour in the darkness down the slippery muddy path from her house into town in the rain all alone. So we went to the market and I bought her breakfast of pinol and atol and she charged her phone in the muni before walking back home. I went home to shower and get ready and bought some lollypops for her to take back with her to give to her three year old daughter named Katy also. As far as the other activities were concerned, it turned out that the COMUDE meeting was canceled because the mayor called it off last minute, I couldn’t go to the ArcView training since they were gonna go on a motorcycle (which we aren’t allowed to ride anymore) but then they ended up not even going anyway because the roads are so bad, and it was too late to travel to the capital for the other convention. So there were four events planned for that Thursday that I wanted to go to, and it resulted that I ended up that none of them turned out and I spent a long boring day at the office frustrated, sad, and disappointed, playing some Spider Solitaire and listening to it pour down rain outside. Ugh. The whole day I was in a funk…questioning if I can really do much of anything here.

The rainy season continues...world map...oatmeal scones...

We gave another AIDS workshop in the department of Sololá. It went really well. It’s interesting to see how different communities react to the topic. For example, this was an indigenous site where some people speak Kachikel, so when we did the activity “Lenguaje de la Calle” (street language) people used some words in Kachikel. We stayed at a volunteer’s house and I got to meet some volunteers that I didn’t know. It’s always fun to share experiences and common frustrations and hear about the situations in people’s various sites. I continue to be impressed by the fascinating people that join the Peace Corps and what they have done in their lives. That weekend there was a group in Panajachel celebrating various occasions, (including my birthday). We went out dancing that night and I think I burned a million calories, but replaced a few with some late night street tacos on the way back to the hostel.

The trip back to my site was long and rainy. The clouds cling to the peaks of the surrounding green hills and settle in the low valleys. Along the sides of the highway run rivers of mud that look like chocolate milk and cut away at the road. The roads are in really bad shape now and covered with giant potholes from all the water running under them. The sights on the side of the road have become commonplace and I don’t much notice them as anything notable anymore…kids carrying loads of firewood bigger than they are, women carrying water on their head from who knows what source, guys carrying 100 pound sacks of corn on their backs with a strap around their forehead, old men sitting on cinderblocks chatting with bottles of illegally manufactured potent liquor, boys playing soccer on the road with goals marked by tree branches, and little girls in brightly colored woven skirts with big brown eyes and dirty faces peering out from tin shacks.

When we were only five km from El Chol, the micro I was on turned to the side of the road to avoid a passing car, and got stuck in the mud on the side of the cliff. I was the only one who yelped, so then everyone laughed at me. So all the passengers had to pile out, careful to not slip in the mud on the steep slope into the rickety barbed wire fence. Then we had to wait in the darkness in the rain for a pickup truck to come from town to pull us out and it made it a nine-hour trip home from the lake. I’m ready for rainy season to end – ready for my clothes to dry, ready for the mold to disappear from my walls, ready for my roof not to leak, ready for the water from my faucet not to be brown.

My site mate and I are starting a project to paint a world map on the basketball court of the elementary school in town. Geography is not a strong point here, it’s not like there are maps and globes in the classrooms, so we think it will be a good way for kids to see the countries of the world and orient themselves within it. And having it on the basketball court you can play those games where you call out a country and everyone has to race to that country, like we always played with the states back in elementary school. It should be fun. We have a template in squares, so you just measure the lines on the court and paint accordingly to the squares. We’re gonna have to get all the kids together to clean the area first and try to pick off the stuck-on gum and get them to participate in the painting as well.

The latest baking adventure in La Ciénega was oatmeal scones, which turned out superbly. The way that the clay oven works is that you put a bunch of firewood in there, let it burn down to coals, and then push them out. The only problem was that since it is the rainy season and has been raining a ton recently, all the firewood was wet, so it took a long time. Then to make the second batch, we had to burn a second pile of firewood and wait for that to become coals to bake the rest. In all we baked 110 scones. I brought the photos that my dad had printed out of the lunch we had when they were visiting and gave them the pictures that they were in. They were thrilled since they have very few family photos. I also showed them the pictures of my family when they went to Lake Quinalt and a bunch of new photos of my niece, which they loved and asked for me to give them some again.

We continue with our monthly inter-institutional meetings to coordinate with the NGOs that work in El Chol. There was little presence at the August meeting, so we came to the conclusion that the development professionals needed to be reminded of the meeting with a text message a couple days before. So I did that for the September meeting and there was more presence, but still not everyone. This is very frustrating. We have also started taking notes at the meetings to keep track of what we talk about and document our agreements and obligations. It was my turn to write the last meeting notes and it’s funny, that to create a five page single-spaced document in Spanish doesn’t even faze me. I still have my counterpart review it before I send it out, but my Spanish is definitely gotten a lot better. I have to say, becoming fluent in Spanish is one of my proudest life accomplishments. So I sent it to all the email addresses that everyone had given me, and about half bounced back. When I asked at the meeting if the rest had received the document, not one had checked their email to open it. Not one! Text messages are definitely to mode of communication here, email is not. And now the signal at the good internet café in town is down “til November” to remodel, whatever that means and the other internet place in town takes about 30 minutes just to open your hotmail account.