I know I’m not changing the world here or even going to make any huge drastic changes to El Chol, but hopefully I will help a few people make their lives a little better or a little easier. My baking adventures continue. The press has been writing about how the prices of basic goods, including bread, have drastically increased in recent months while salaries remain stagnant and low. The women have been practicing the recipes that I taught them at home for their families, which makes me happy. The other day we made cake out of a box, which they didn’t know existed and they thought was the coolest thing ever. We made chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla cakes and corresponding flavors of frosting. Like usual, we baked them in sardine cans and they turned out beautifully. I showed the women the most recent pictures of my beautiful baby niece and they oohed and ahhed over her again. Here this is an interesting custom of gifting things, including pictures. So the women asked to have a picture of her, which struck my as slightly odd, but I obliged and gave them some of the extra pictures that I had and wrote her name and birthday on the back. They were absolutely thrilled and put the picture up on the wall right along with all the other family snapshots. It was cute. I had walked there by myself and it was a very tranquil walk in the early morning with fog still covering the corn fields. The walk home in the heat of the mid-day was a bit tiring, but I broke my rule and brought my ipod out of my house for the first time since I’ve been here and enjoyed listening to Michael Franti/Spearhead and Manu Chau as I sauntered back to the pueblo.
The prayer sessions returned to the house to honor the senora’s father who died. There are nine days of prayer sessions with food after a person dies, and another nine days 40 days after the death, and another nine after one year. So once again there were lots of people, but not quite as many as before, in the house each evening praying, socializing, and enjoying food provided by the family. One night I help dish out steaming hot cups of hot chocolate with rice and distribute them to everyone in attendance. It was nicely complimented with tostadas with tomato sauce and crumbled campo cheese. I took advantage of the opportunity of everyone gathered to again show off pictures of my rolly-polly adorable niece and everyone went nuts over her and couldn’t stop talking about how “preciosa” and delightfully plump she is.
While my Monday and Wednesday evening are occupied by English classes, Tuesdays and Thursdays are now filled with soccer games after work with co-workers. We play on the basketball court in the central park, so it’s a small, quick-paced game, with lots of spectators. The middle school is right behind it, which is in session from 2:00 pm to 7:00 (but for some reason they never seem to be in classes), so all the middle school students are out there watching us and cheering. The adolescent boys yell at me “canche! canche! [another word for a light-haired person] come here!” When I go up to talk to them, they get all embarrassed and don’t say anything and just giggle. It’s cute, but annoying. I’m the only girl playing with all these guys, plus I’m canche, so it makes it all the more a spectacle. The games are good and competitive and I keep up pretty well with everyone.
Like I’ve mentioned, there is a fair amount of support from international NGOs in El Chol. One of them is working with COCODEs and workshops on citizen responsibility. I asked to tag along to one of these workshops to observe in one of the rural communities. It was a great experience, just seeing how different the aldeas are from the town in interesting. I got stung by a giant bee “from the mountain” right in the middle of my cheek as soon as we arrived. It didn’t swell too much, gracias a dios. Everyone at first stares at me with that “what in the world is she doing here” look, which I am well familiar with. Throughout the meeting people unabashedly stare at me the whole time. But when I left they were all super nice and very gracious and thanked me immensely for coming, even though I didn’t do anything. When making a list of the people in attendance, the facilitator would ask them if they knew how to write in order to sign next to their name. If they didn’t (about half the women), they would put their fingerprint down instead. The meeting dealt with discussing what services the community had, how they got those services, what services were needed, and discussing making commissions to address what was lacking. The citizen responsibility part plays a huge role because of the emphasis on decentralization of the central government, the government isn’t going to come in and do projects. Instead, the responsibility lies in the community to organize itself to solicit funding to get the materials for the services they need, and then put in the manual labor to make them happen.
It’s interesting looking at this system coming from a country when I never questioned that where I lived had running water, electricity, sanitation, schools, stoves, and roads. Here, if a community lacks these services, it is their responsibility to organize themselves, petition the municipality or an NGO, wait, pester, wait, pester some more, and then put in the manual labor to execute the project. Taking into consideration that all this work they have to do in the free time outside their normal working hours in mostly subsistence agriculture. Thus, it’s impressive when projects get completed, and understandable when they don’t get organized or fall through. I wrote a little while back about that word “colaborar”, to collaborate, which I continue to hear all kinds of contexts, but especially with respect to the responsibility for the community to collaborate to get projects done. I suppose the same process happens in the states, like for example if a certain community decides they really need a stoplight at a certain dangerous intersection and the city hasn’t put one there yet, they may organize themselves and go petition the city for that stoplight. But it’s hard to imagine telling a community in the US that it is their responsibility to organize themselves, petition, and put in the labor to get running water. There, it is seen as a right and responsibility of the government to provide these “basic” services, whereas here it is seen as development and the responsibility of the citizens to make the government or an NGO provide. Such is development here. The role of international institutions is huge. There is immense reliance on these NGOs to pick up the slack where the government leaves off.
I was invited to have a birthday lunch with the family of one of my friends the other day. It was nice to relax for the afternoon among friends, several of which are in my English class. It’s cute because the tradition is to sing the Happy Birthday song in English here. The cake was a yummy but strange concoction made by dipping white bread in pineapple flavored gelatin mix before it solidifies and putting a cooked pineapple spread between the layers. It is eaten chilled with cream on top. Very tasty, but an interesting method.
Easter is a much bigger deal here than it is in the states and the whole week, Semana Santa (Holy Week), is vacation. The whole thing is bigger than Christmas and there are lots of family and social events. I took advantage of the days off to go travel along the Rio Dulce to the Caribbean coastal town of Livingston. The Rio Dulce is what flows from Lago Izabal, the largest lake in Guatemala. I made my way on six different vehicles of three different types. (Pickup truck, microbus, microbus, microbus, pullman (nicer big bus), microbus). I enjoyed the views along the way as I watched the landscape of the country completely change. Baja Verapaz is a mix of green and brown but as you travel east, the brown disappears and turns itself over to pure greenery. It gets hotter and muggier. You start to see lots of banana tree plantations and Del Monte, Dole, and Chiquita banana semi trucks making their way to the eastern port with their goods for the world market. You can catch glimpses of people outside their houses lounging in hammocks, shirtless men drinking beers in the morning, and kids playing in the dirt. The pace of life is relaxed in all of Guatemala, but it seems to slow down even more as the temperature rises in eastern part of the country.
After seven hours of travel from El Chol, I arrived in the town of Rio Dulce where we stayed for a couple nights. It is a hectic excuse for a human settlement, basically just a crossroads for Peten (the whole northern part of Guatemala), Guatemala City, and the Caribbean coast. It is super hot and muggy, there is tons of fresh tropical fruit for sale, and most people just get there and hop on another bus and leave. But it makes a good jumping off point to enjoy the lake and has lots of good seafood restaurants and inexpensive simple lakeside hotels. We found a cheap cabana and they had a boat to come pick us up to take us across the 50 yards of water to the place. (It’s so close they just yell to get a boat). So we got there and settled into the basic cabana on stilts in the water that creaked when you walked on them. We sampled the swimability of the water and found it quite pleasant and warm like bathwater. Getting hungry and venturing out for dinner, we realized that we were actually on an island only accessible by boat. Hmm….they hadn’t mentioned that to us. There’s just one guy to runs the little dingy back and forth and he was nowhere to be seen. So we ended up talking to this guy in the restaurant there and told us that he was headed in his private yacht to another hotel/restaurant owned by some Swiss guys only accessible by boat for a fabulous all-you-can-eat BBQ feast. That seemed like a wonderful idea and he invited us along. He was a crazy cool wealthy old dude with some interesting political views (loved Pinochet and thinks that dictators are the only way to achieve long-term economic success). We got along great and had engaging conversation. The meal turned out to be well worth it (the equivalent of like 7 dollars) with grilled chicken, beef, pork, shishkabobs, roasted veggies and corn on the cob and endless other amounts of yumminess. I’ve pretty much been eating vegetarian here since I don’t like to buy meat to cook at home, so I had been lacking good meatiness and thoroughly relished being a carnivore once again. After the scrumptious meal we zipped across the lake in his yacht to a disco. We passed the night dancing with all the foreign backpackers and hip kids from Guatemala City on vacation and watching our married friend flirt with the owner of the hotel we were staying at.
The next day took a hot and bumpy camioneta ride through the green steamy countryside to check out Finca El Paraiso, a crazy phenomena of naturally hot water cascading over rocks into cool river water that mixes together to make a delightful temperature for bathing. You can stand right underneath where the water falls over the rocks and its just like a hot shower, with a sulfur odor. It’s a good place to be wowed (again) by the ingenuity of nature and meditate on life for a bit. The day of swimming around was just what we needed to beat the jungle heat and relax after a long day of travel. It was cool because we went on a Sunday, which is the day when all the Guatemalan families go and spend the day swimming and picnicking. We munched on the best mangos I’ve ever tasted in my life and some moist banana bread off the street.
The other main attraction to see at Rio Dulce is Castillo San Felipe, this old castle built a few centuries ago by the Spanish to prevent pirate attacks and control access to the sea. It was restored back in the 50’s and makes an interesting little jaunt. Thinking we were cool, we decided to walk the three kilometers to the place in the blazing heat of the day and arrived sweating buckets. It was nifty to see the canons and small stone walkways and doors and take a little bite of history. We opted to find a microbus back into town.
The next day we hopped on a boat to cruise down the river to Livingston on the coast. The boat ride was gorgeous through a lush canyon with sheer cliffs covered in greenery. Saw lots of birds, collections of lillypads with pretty flowers, some other hot springs and caves with bats along the way. Luckily we had to no trouble en route, considering that two days before four Belgian tourists had been kidnapped by some community members there angry over some guy being thrown in jail. But the tourists had been released that morning after negotiations and our passing was tranquil, gracias a dios.
We reached Livingston, the smallish town on the Caribbean coast near the Belize border, reachable only by boat, where the Guatemalan Garifuna culture is concentrated. The Garifunas are a mixture of descendents from black slaves influenced by Guatemalan, African, Caribbean, and American cultures. They have unique music, dancing, and language that is a mix of English, Spanish, and something else I can’t remember. Livingston is a unique mix of Guatemalan, Garifuna, and foreign tourist cultures are mushing together. Both Spanish and English is spoken and it hard because you never know which language to use with people. The town itself consists of two main streets with hotels, restaurants, and tourist shops. There is fresh fruit, coconut bread, knick-knacks, and jewelry for sale on all sides. It is situated on a peninsula so you can walk from the beach across town a few blocks and get to the beach on the other side. You might be greeted on the street with “what’s up man?” or “buenos dias senor”. You might hear Reggaeton, American hip hop, Ranchera, or Punta (Garifuna) music. And then there are the tourists – domestic ones vacationing from Guatemala City with their stylish clothes and swanky walk; foreign older couples walking around wide-eyed with sweat-stained shirts, wide-brimmed hats, Teva sandals, and big digital cameras taking it all in (I think they came off the cruise ships maybe); foreign younger hippie backpacker-types trying to play it cool; and the occasional Peace Corps volunteer taking vacation feeling smug about themselves that they speak Spanish while listening to the other tourists struggling, and enjoying drinking a cold beer out of their site. It’s strange because it you were dropped into this town, it would be very difficult to figure out where in the world you were. It feels like a mix of the southern United States, the Caribbean, Latin America, and I don’t know what else.
The beaches around town aren’t very pretty so we took a day trip outside the city to a place called siete altares (the seven altars) where the river flows through seven different pools of smoothed rocks. You can swim in the deeper ones and jump off the ledges that don’t look very high from above, but are scary once you’re peering over the edge. After that we went to playa blanca (white beach) fittingly named for the white sand. Now that place was the postcard image of Caribbean beaches that is fixed in our minds. Swaying palms trees with hammocks strung between them, gentle warm waves washing over fine white sand, and a warm breeze bringing fresh salty sea air. The water is heavenly except that you can walk out super far and it still only comes up to your waist. Very different than the brutal crashing waves on the Pacific side. We laid around reading and dozing in the shade of the palm trees, trying to avoid skin cancer, but putting ourselves in danger in instant coconut-falling-on-your-head death.
In town we enjoyed the typical food of the town, tapado, a creamy coconut soup with every kind of seafood in it. It was deliciously sweet, rich, and savory and required a fair bit of work to eat as we pulled out a whole crab, a whole fish (with head), various octopus tentacles, shrimp with all their legs and eyes and various other unidentifiable sea creatures in their shells.
Thursday morning of Holy Week we got up early to get the first boat to Puerto Barrios, the main eastern port of the country. From there we caught several buses and microbuses back to Rabinal in Baja Verapaz, the town just an hour north of me. When we got to the terminal, we were informed that there were no microbuses running to El Chol that day so we had to go look for a pickup truck ride. When a truck stopped it asked where we were going and I said “El Chol” and he told me that’s where they were going too so we hopped in. Only a little way down the road he stopped at a place called “Los Chorros” and told us this was as far as he was going. Confused, we figured out that he had misheard me and thought that we wanted to go to Los Chorros instead of El Chol. So, we had to wait there. Coincidentally there was a family of eight waiting there too for a ride to El Chol…they had been waiting five hours already for a ride. So we waited for awhile debating what to do, munching on some knock-off Fruit Loops cereal to take care of our hunger. Randomly this middle-aged white guy come down the road huffing and puffing on a bike. We said good afternoon and started at each other and I asked him what he was doing there. He said he could ask us the same thing and we chuckled since we were out in the middle of no where on this dirt road. He was from Belgium and had ridden his bike from Cancun, Mexico to there and was headed for Peten in Northern Guatemala. He had been told that the road was paved and hadn’t been told that it was over some mountains. We chatted for a bit and he told us how he has done this sort of thing all over the world. Crazy awesome guy. By this point it was late afternoon so I called my family back in El Chol and the senor came to pick us and the whole other family up in his truck. It was like a two hour round trip for him so we paid him for gas but wouldn’t take any extra money. Very kind and definitely saved us.
I was so happy to be back in El Chol to see the Holy Week activities. It’s cool to see other places, but really cool to get to participate in stuff with people that you know. Thursday night there was a reenactment of the Last Supper in the central park, complete with costumes, lights, and sets. It was very serious and very well done. Holy Week here is famous for the “alfombras” or carpets that the people make in the streets to prepare for the elaborate processions with Jesus and the Virgin Mary. In El Chol various families and the schools each get a section of the street to do so we got up super early Friday morning to help the family with their section. First you spread fine sawdust all over, and then with cardboard stencils you decorate with dyed sawdust to create these elaborate patterns in the streets that really look like carpets. We spent several hours on these works of art and everyone down to the kids pitches in (colaborar :-) to help. Then when they are all finished preparing the route around town leading to the church, the processions make their way along the carpets and instantly ruin them. Jesus and the Virgin Mary are paraded through the streets while men hold them up like pallbearers. The procession stops at various houses and the priest gives a sermon at each stop with his portable microphone. I followed along for awhile, but it went on for awhile and the sun got really strong. Following the procession the family invited us to eat the typical Holy Week lunch with them consisting of re-hydrated dried fish and various breaded and fried starches and vegetables all smothered in a red sauce and the obligatory tortillas on the side. It was accompanied by fresh squeezed tamarind juice. Good to try, but I missed glazed ham, cheesy potatoes and green beans.
It is also Holy Week tradition for families and friends to go picnicking by the river. So Friday afternoon I went camping at the Rio Montagua, the longest river in Guatemala, with a bunch of the same people that I had gone camping with on the mountain last December. We got our provisions and all piled into a pickup truck for the hour’s super bumpy journey to the riverside. We collected a bunch of firewood and made a fire and everybody contributes food so there’s all kinds of tortillas and chicken and beans being cooked up and shared. I brought my ipod and my ipod speakers that I scored down here for like 6 dollars. They had fun going through my music and it’s always surprising what people pick out and know. They really like Blink 182, Coldplay, Metallica, Nirvana, Aerosmith, and Guns n’ Roses. Its funny. The night was made rather merry with cusha, homebrewed alcohol that we mixed with Super Cola. The following day we hung out by the river, went swimming (in the two feet of water – it’s the dry season), and grilled meat. It was a great relaxing day hanging out with a bunch of cool Guatemalans.
Saturday night there was a big community dance in the central park with a live Meringue band. It was lots of fun and there was lots of couples dancing, but as usual there were more people watching – parents keeping an eye on their daughters, adolescent boys too shy to ask a girl to dance, girls waiting to be asked, and the curious onlookers observing it all.
Ironically Easter Sunday was the most tranquil day of the week with few activities going on except for mass. While buying food in the market, I ran into one of the women from my women’s group in La Cienega. She is one of the coolest ladies ever…super smart, very motivated and a great leader. I met her husband for the first time, which just made me so sad, since he was drunk and blabbering and asking me for a visa to the states. She was obviously embarrassed and I just hate seeing such great women with such crappy husbands.
Monday it was back to work and the usual. Tuesday we had a good monthly meeting with all the institutions that work in El Chol. We scheduled a meeting with the mayor to reorganize and evaluate how the COCODEs are working and planned out how we are going to support reorganizing the working commissions of the COMUDE. Hopefully things will keep moving forward.
P.S. Here's an article about the war in relation to the community where I was waiting on the side of the road between Rabinal and El Chol for a ride back home.
http://www.tcdailyplanet.net/blog-entry/2008/03/24/american-genocide.html#
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
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
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
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.
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