Something illegal...

So, it’s been just a little over a month since I’ve returned from my extended hiatus in the States, spending time with the fam, friends, a funeral, work, and physical therapy.  Since I’ve been back I’ve been even busier, picking up our eco-ladrillos project with antsy, but motivated counterparts, planning environmental and English programs for the elementary school and middle school, and doing both my own research on the hot springs as well as getting contacts to conduct a study on the physical and chemical properties, all which come with a price.  PC/Guat has been going through a lot of changes too due to the security situation in Guatemala.  More than half of the volunteers here have been sent home, either via early “Close of Service” or because they were given the choice to leave early, with the benefits of being a PCV.  Some left because they wanted to or had other things lined up for them, and others left because they didn’t want to change sites (some departments were closed down such as Huehue, San Marcos, el oriente, Baja Verapaz in an attempt to concentrate the volunteers in specific areas).  In addition, PC/Guat started a shuttle system to prevent travel along the interamerican highway, where there have been armed robberies on public buses.

In the midst of arriving into all this craziness I’ve thought of what it is to be an illegal immigrant. When I first got here people would ask me if I had a visa – of course I do.  But then I realized that it is not so obvious to Guatemalans who make a long trip via car, bus, truck, and foot to “el norte” to get a job and make money to send back to their family… illegally.  Although I knew a few illegal immigrants while volunteering in Philadelphia during college, I now KNOW people who have been in the states or who have loved ones there.  Yesterday, I watched a few videos that their family had sent them from the US.  One was of a trip to a fruit-picking farm, and another of a Christmas Eve celebration.   Their family spoke in Spanish and listened to the same music we listen to here… marimba, cumbia.  I wondered about my own family, speaking in Korean at home.  And I wondered about all the different cultures and languages that encompass the United States.  How many different tongues are being spoken in homes right now? How many different types of music are being listened and danced to?

Just last month, a group of a few dozen people from my aldea and adjacent aldeas set off for the states.  One was someone I had worked with.  Being oblivious to his progression in the dangerous journey, which includes a 3 day hike through the desert in Mexico – yes, hike, on foot, police on the borders, and coyotes who want more money than was settled, I learned from his two daughters, my students, that he got caught and is in jail.  Apparently, people move in small groups; for example, in groups of 5.  While another person from my aldea made it to NY with his group, this man’s group wasn’t so lucky.  So, right now, he’s in an Arizona jail with the rest of his group, which includes a young pregnant girl, and another group.  His brother, who is in NY, is working on getting a lawyer to help them.  Curious, I asked my friend what being in jail was like when he had gotten caught after living and working in the states for a while.  He said it was nice, a lot nicer than the jails here.  He got food, water, a toothbrush, towel… and a free plane ride back home.  While there are people who immigrate with intentions of staying in the US, from my own conversations with people, many go with the intentions of returning to Guatemala.  They want to work for a few years, build a house back in their hometown, and then drive a Ford pick-up down.

I definitely don’t encourage people to go.  But I don’t discourage it either. What position do we have, as volunteers, to the people who we work with and build friendships with, who then want to go to the states to work?  I certainly don’t tell them, “yes, yes, go!”  But how can I tell them that they cannot go, when they can’t get a visa, and when “everyone” – or almost everyone – does it. Peer pressure?  No, it’s much more than that.  It’s a means of living that comes with a lot of risk.  The USA isn’t the only country with illegal immigrants.  Hey, they exist in South Korea too – something I hadn’t thought about until recently as well!  I should really do some reading on illegal immigrants.  It'd be interesting to see what the law says about it, especially because there are lawyers who defend them as well.  But, first, I have to figure out where I can get literature on hot springs in Guat and my aldea!

Weather report: 80⁰F, slightly breezy, blue skies and fluffy, white clouds

Reading: The Zookeeper’s Wife by Diane Ackerman
(Finally) feeling: like writing a blog

Prayer Requests:

1.       Health and safety of the remaining volunteers.  Our cohort just did our mid-service meds!  A few volunteers have TB, and some others are sick with the usual… digestive problems, flu, cold, etc.

2.       Success of the community projects.  Here, “success” does not just entail the physical completion of a project. I really hope that people learn about the environment, volunteerism, and the process of carrying out a project, from the planning, soliciting money, implementation and management, to “after-service.”

3.       My faith and God’s love will come into play, somehow.  I’ve been in site for a year now and I’m not sure what impact I’m having among the members of the community. While there are people I’ve come to know very well there are still new faces that I encounter and are surprised to learn that they are from the aldea.  Whether it’s from our conversations or my actions I hope to be a window through which God’s light could shine into the people here.

Loss of Speech

Before stepping foot in Guatemala, I thought my 27 months here would make me fluent in three languages. I’ve got English down; my Korean’s not terrible; and my Spanish would definitely improve from SPAN110 Elementary Spanish I.

However, after 11 months of communicating and interacting with Guatemalans and my family and friends back in the States, I’ve come to a terrifying realization:

I am now extremely inarticulate in all three languages, even my mother tongue. 

How can that happen?

Maybe that’s why I haven’t written a blog in the longest time. It now takes effort to form proper, complete sentences in English. I do not even want to think about what my Verbal GRE score may be.  (Shudder)

As inevitable as it is for any expat, I have a growing list of Spanish mistakes, which always makes my host family laugh.  Definitely something to bring up and tease me about when guests are over, right?

1. CUCHARA vs. CUCHILLO

To all you folks who passed Elementary Spanish know the difference between CUCHARA (spoon) and CUCHILLO (knife). Indeed because I knew the difference too, until I came here and my brain started mixing both existent and nonexistent languages with each other.  (In addition to mixing up words, I am very good at making up new ones too.) 

When I am in my house I spend a lot of time in the kitchen with my host grandmother and the little six year old.  There are always lots and lots of cucharas, but I always seem to have trouble finding the cuchillos because they’re never in the one same place.  So, I always say I need the cuchara.  Where is the cuchara?  And my little sister looks at me like I’m crazy because I have one in my hand and I actually really need a cuchillo.

2. OCOTE vs. AYOTE

So I made this mistake not too long ago.  The majority of Guatemalans have a “plancha” or an iron stove that they use to cook their food.  To heat the plancha, they need leña, which is firewood.  The best type of wood to use to start a fire is OCOTE, which is part of a pine tree.  It burns really well and stays aflame.  Now, AYOTE is a type of squash that is very common, at least in my town, and we eat it a lot. 

One day, I visited a family in the town center and we were talking.  The grandmother there offered me some ayote so I accepted and ate it. Yum. Later, back at home, I told my host grandparents that Doña Carmen gave me ocote to eat.  And they said, “No, no… you didn’t eat ocote.”  Of course, I replied, “Yes, I had ocote.”  And my grandpa started laughing his buttons off and my grandma asked if I were sure.  Was it ocote or ayote?  Ah…. Yes. Ayote.  Now, my grandpa still comments that i have tough enough teeth to chew on wood.

3. CERVEZA vs. CEREZA

The popular CERVEZA here is Gallo.  Now, I used to a little beer and alcohol in the States but here I’ve really turned it down to the bare minimum.  I don’t go out and get drunk.  I haven’t gone out and gotten drunk since being here.  It actually saves a lot of money when you’re on a short budget, but I also have not found it fun here.  Maybe it’s the lack of bathrooms.  Or the fact that I feel unsafe here at night, especially with drunks.  But, I don’t even drink during the family reunions where people take shots of guaro with their lunches.

So, why did I ask for two cervezas instead of CEREZAs (cherry, but “cereza” is also the name of cherry gummies) to buy for two little kids?  I have no idea.  But the kids thought it was hilarious.

4. PELAR vs. PELEAR

You know, there are plenty of Spanish words that are so similar!  Like these two!  Is English like that too?  Well, PELAR means to peel while PELEAR means to fight.   This mistake happened in the kitchen as well.  My host grandma had steamed guisquil (a green type of spikey squash) that grows out behind the house and asked if I wanted to eat some.  Of course I did!  Guisquil is awesome and even more awesome just steamed with a bit of salt, kind of like how you would eat a boiled egg with salt.  However, you need to peel it because it’s really spikey.

So, I proudly told my host grandma and sister that I was going to pelear my guisquil.  No, I should have said I needed to pelar my guisquil.  But, maybe, it makes sense to pelear with my guisquil because it does have armor, the spikes, while I had my bare hands.  Right, right?   I guess I can’t use that same excuse when I said I was going to pelear my manzana…

5. ARENA vs. HARINA

As much as I am in the kitchen, I haven’t used the word HARINA (flour) much.  However, with our eco-ladrillos wall project coming up, I have used the word ARENA (sand) a lot because we will be doing construction and had to solicit funds for the project.   I have, however, been baking a lot with boxed cake mix and pancake mix.  It may be cheating to some people but when I’m almost in the middle of nowhere I would rather buy a box of mix than all the ingredients I would need to bake a cake from scratch.  And btw, I never thought it was possible to screw up cakes from cake mix, but apparently, it is possible.

So, one day, after we were done baking a yellow cake with chocolate frosting and savoring the work, I told my host uncle that we will make cake from scratch one of these days.  Probably during the English camp I’m giving in December.  And I said we would need to buy arena to make the cake.  He asked, “Arena?”  Nod nod.  He said, “Do you mean harina?” And like the many other times the wrong word came out of my mouth, my reaction was to just smile and nod.

As much as I am losing my ability to speak coherently, I did my usual QT yesterday and came across Philippians 2: 1-18 and was shocked at how much I felt this passage, if that’s possible.  Previously, when I read Bible passages, I would just read—and like my loss of speech—my loss of reading comprehension played a toll as I numbly went through the words, not knowing what I had read once I was done.  Maybe it’s because the passage is so relevant to what I’m feeling as a volunteer in a different country, open to arrogance at my own ways of doing things and complaints.  Hey, but getting sick with different strands of the cold and flu six times in the past six months does suck and rehydration salts taste horrible. Still, I should do my work and interact with people with love, with God’s love.  And maybe talking in love will help untwist my tongue.

Fear changes

What are you afraid of?  Getting on a camioneta that’s going to get robbed by armed, ruthless men who will shoot and kill you if you, or another person on the bus, refuses to give up all money, jewelry, and electronics?  Contracting some infectious disease that you most likely don’t have to worry about in the States like malaria?  Drinking water or eating food that will give you worms, parasites, or God-knows-what? 

When I was applying to volunteer, some people asked me, “Aren’t you scared?” or commented that I was “brave” for making such a decision.  Well now, I’m not one to take unnecessary risks, but I also don’t find myself worrying about everything that can go wrong.  So, my fears?  No, I am not scared of taking camionetas nor am I afraid of walking alone in my aldea. I am not afraid of eating fresh fruits and veggies nor the water.  In the midst of watching “The Walking Dead,” I am not afraid that the world is going to be taken over by zombies, especially in my small aldea. … or maybe it will.

Of course I have fears. However, in the six months that I’ve been here, they have changed. 

For example, before I came to Guatemala, I had a fear of bugs.  I could not kill spiders or pick up beetles or touch moths and butterflies.  I felt the adrenaline rush through my body as I watched cockroaches scurry across the room.  I didn’t want to see or know that the silverfish was, yes, crawling on the wall alongside my bed.

FEAR FACTOR OF BUGS before (out of 10) = 9.7

In Guatemala, I’ve seen and lived with more bugs than I can remember.  Families of spiders, beetles, and numerous insects that I have never seen before.  To add to the constant familiarization of insects in my room and daily walks to and from work, one friend is a University student studying agronomy.  For class, he has to collect 200+ different species of insects.  He invited me to go to the river with him to collect them (embarrassingly, I had to be reminded that no, spiders aren’t insects).  That was the first step of breaking the barriers of my fear of bugs.  Second, in the family I moved into, I have three younger brothers and a sister who do NOT have a smidge of fear of bugs in them.  In fact, they grab insects and bring them to me to show them to me…………..  Once they found out my friend needs to collect insects, they constantly brought bugs into my room so that I could then give them to my friend.  I have slept with so many bugs in small plastic bags in my room.  Of course, they don’t like being the plastic bags and try to escape. The butterflies and moths make lots of noise as they flap their wings in the enclosed space.  One scarab actually escaped from the bag using his incredible strength, horn, and sharp protrusions on the legs.

For “Día de la Biodiversidad,” I asked my friend to give a presentation on insects.  He did a great job with the kids and also had them go around the fields and forest to capture more.  Really, these kids do NOT have fear of bugs.  The girls too!  They brought a myriad of insects, big and small, ones that bite, ones that are harmless, ones that look really ugly, and ones that are actually very beautiful, with shiny exoskeletons.  I can catch bugs without freaking out now!

One more bug story.  I had no idea cockroaches could get any bigger than 3 inches.  They can.  I really don’t know the exact species of the cockroaches that are here, but they are HUGE.  I have seen several that are 8+ inches – no, I am not kidding.  They are reddish brown and make a lot of noise when they flap their 2 pairs of wings (a harder, bigger pair to protect the small pair inside) and fly.  Their antennas are long and thick, moving about.  My host family has a cat named Capulina.  She is not like house cats in the States – she catches and eats rats and mice for meals.  She also catches and eats insects.  One evening when there were several of these cockroaches loitering around the house, she caught them and…. ate… them… In the morning, we found remnants of FOUR cockroaches. Apparently, the head, antennas, and exterior pair of wings don’t taste too good.  She left those.  One pair of the antennas was still moving.  It was like the headless chicken that ran around, only this time, the head was the part that was trying to find its way.

FEAR FACTOR OF BUGS now = 3.6

Another fear I had was of hiking down because it’s so easy to slip and fall.  Hiking up is more tiring, but easier than going down.  Walking in the States is really easy.  Sidewalks are nicely paved and flat.  There are stairs for inclinations.  It’s really hard to trip up and fall. Even the trails that I used to go on were relatively easy; those park rangers really do a good job of maintenance.  Therefore, I wouldn’t find myself falling on my bum too many times.  I rarely tripped or fell.  Here, however, walking is not really easy.  I had to learn how to walk again.

The roads are not paved.  Stairs?  HAHAHAHAHAHA! What stairs?  Now, I have to walk on dirt roads and rocky trails with a myriad of things to fall on, slip on, trip over… pebbles, sticks, dry pine leaves (the worst), vines, etc.  The first time I went on a walk with my friend to the river, I was in for a surprise because I had the impression that there would be a nice trail.  There was no trail – we hiked in the woods/mountains and across the very slippery rocks in the river.  I slipped into the river several times and fell on my bum many more times, especially when we had to walk down a very steep incline.  Seriously, I thought I was going to die.  I thought I was going to slip, slide down on the pine leaves, and over the edge, plunging 20 meters into the river.

FEAR FACTOR OF WALKING DOWN before = 8.5

But, fears diminish and disperse, little by little, if they happen… everyday.  Falling becomes something acceptable (especially when you’re alone and your students don’t see you).  There is no pavement.  The roads aren’t flat.  Need to go up; need to go down.  Losing your footing?  Normal.  There’s no reason to be afraid of slipping on loose pebbles or a peach seed because it’s going to happen anyway.  I’m not going to die.  The worst that can happen is that I’ll soil my pants or sprain a wrist.  What’s the point in getting all flustered over it?  Six year olds walk these paths to school everyday.  I’m allowed to fall on my butt.  If you’re wondering, yes I slipped walking to school this morning.  And the peach pit?  I slipped on that in my backyard while walking to the cows.  Apparently, my younger brother spit that one out after eating a juicy durazno.  Homework for the rest of my service: learning to walk.

FEAR FACTOR OF WALKING DOWN now = 0.1

So, thank you Guatemala, for helping diminish two fears. Fear changes. Fears change. Let’s see how much more changes in two years.

Reading: A Beautiful Mind by Sylvia Nasar

Listening to: “Ya no es igual” by Frankie J

It's been a long time...

without internet. So I haven’t been up to date with blogging, but here I am! Still alive, breathing, enjoying life, getting up early and going to bed at 9AM. I feel like an old lady for going to bed so early but it does me good and I can get up feeling refreshed. =)

Drip drop Pour.

Rainy season has started. For those of you who don’t know, we don’t get the 4 seasons of spring, summer, fall, winter like in the NE. We get the dry season and the wet season. Therefore, each and every day, the clouds gather and water pours from the sky. Sometimes it pours and thunders and strikes lightning like there’s no tomorrow. But after half an hour, all turns quiet and it’s back to being tranquilo. Only, after a rain, the leaves shine a brilliant green and the bark a dark coffee brown, and the ground, soft and mobile under your feet. Sometimes it just drizzles in fifteen minute intervals, continuing throughout the afternoon and into the evening. The air turns crisp and cool and I put on the sweater I thought I would never use in a “hot” Central American country like Guatemala. Should have done more research which would have told me that yes, it does get cold, especially when you’re 2100m above sea level. There are many sites that are even colder than mine; it gets below freezing, as high as 4000m above sea level. So, back to rain. When it rained in Philly or NYC, I would feel grimy and, well, dirty. Here, I actually enjoy getting wet. It feels fresh and kind of fun. Just need to make sure my laundry isn’t still out on the line when the water starts to pour.

Ironic how when it pours water from the sky, the water from the choros (faucets) runs dry. There’s no water to drink, wash the dishes, do laundry or take showers. We went longer than a week without potable water because the rains actually clogged up the tubes that carry the water to the houses with debris. My family has huge buckets to collect the rainwater and a tank underground as well. However, this water is usually filled with dirt, leaves, sticks, bugs, etc etc and is not used to drink. This does not happen to the whole community, however. The houses in the Center did have water during this period. The houses where I live didn’t. Something I never had to think about when I was living in the States because 99.9% of the time, water flows from the faucet. Clean water, with varying temperatures, flows from the faucet. Yes, I was involved in PGWI (Philadelphia Global Water Initiative), but it wasn’t until I got here that I’m appreciating how precious and sacred water really is.

La comida.

I’ve shared my food experiences with many of you because, well, I love to eat. I love food. Here, the main staples are maiz and frijoles. So, that’s what I get everyday. Thought I’d get sick of it—and did in the beginning—but now I’m used to it and actually crave tamalitos. Tamalitos are made out of the same masa as tortillas but are wrapped in leaves or the corn husk and steamed. Food here tastes different too. For caldo de gallina, my host brother and sister got two chickens from the coop and my host mom snapped their necks and prepared them to eat. The meat is chewier and tougher but tastes absolutely amazing. When, not if, I prepare my own chicken from scratch, I’ll definitely write a whole blog about it. We actually made our own granola! It’s pretty easy after you’ve peeled out all the seeds for the granola. I want to learn how to make jam from my host mom. She uses the peaches, blackberries, and zoico? from trees around the house or in the forest to make them. Sorry, I have no idea what zoico is in English and don’t think I’m spelling it right either. Rather than using a stove or an oven, most of the families here have what you call a plancha in which you make a fire with wood and cook on top of what looks like a metal table. One evening, I was home by myself and had to prepare my own dinner. I had the pleasure of failing to start a fire with the wood and one match that I could find. Apparently, they keep whole new boxes of matches in the cupboards but I didn’t open those up. Now, I know for next time. In fact, my 10 year old brother showed me how to start a fire. Sighs. Also, can’t complain about eating fresh fruits and veggies from the farm. In addition to the obvious corn and beans, there’re avocadoes, tomatoes, lime, clementines (incredibly tiny), apples (definitely not perfectly shaped like they are in grocery stores but still perfectly tasty), onions, cabbage, lettuce, peaches (lot smaller than the ones in grocery stores), blackberries, chilacoyote, guicoy, and others which I’ve forgotten the names of…….

Yesterday I had the pleasure of cutting some zacate, a grass, to feed the sheep. My host brothers and sister always help out on the farm and I wanted to try some of the work they do. It was fun the first time, but definitely is physically hard. No wonder they don’t get fat off all those tamalitos. I’ve got to say, even though I walk a lot (30 minutes up and down unpaved hills and roads), I am getting a bit round in the middle. We also prepared a lunch and took it up for a picnic! It was a beautiful day with a bit of a wind to keep us cool from the sun.

Education.

One of my jobs as a PCV in the aldea is to give environmental education to the elementary school and middle school and to the community. When I brought up the idea to the two directors of the schools, they both showed a lot of interest in English classes. Actually, many people in the community have interest in learning English. So, I’ve started giving English and environmental classes to two 4^th grade classes, 5^th grade, 6^th grade, and the three grades in middle school. There is no high school here and the middle school is just three years old. Every time I step into the class or encounter my students outside of school, I learn something new. First of all, lots and lots and lots… LOTS of patience. Not only on my part but the students as well, especially when I have to explain things in Spanish with my accent. I need to learn how to adjust my teaching methods with each grade and each class because they all have different dynamics. One 4^th grade class is absolutely rowdy and hard to get quiet. The 9^th grade class has very good behavior but is also very shy and hard to get to talk—even in groups with each other.

In the beginning, I was very frustrated with the fact that many of the students arrive to school late or don’t come to school at all. There are many parents who don’t push education on their children. I know of several people who stopped their education before completing middle school. For some, they cannot afford the uniforms or books and therefore, stop going to school. Others (females… girls) get married. Still others don’t want to go. But now, with the kids who do go to school and who I work with… because there are plenty of students who have dreams of being teachers, police officers, environmentalists (woot!), secretaries, businessmen, etc. and want to continue their education. To go to high school, they will need to move out (usually at age 15 or 16) and go to a city. Same goes for university.

Looking back, I definitely took my education for granted. Really. Other than the Cold Stone job I had senior year of high school and the little bit of tutoring I did here and there, I never work-worked before college. And even then, work study does not compare to the work some of the kids here do. During school hours, they want to play soccer and want to talk about dramas during school because when they’re home or even during the weekends, a lot of them have to work. The kids who live in the Center (thermal baths, hotel, schools, salon… where the tourists go) work in stores, selling chips, candy, ice cream, soda, French fries, and other snacks. The kids who live on the outskirts of the Center aren’t exempt from work either. Fourth graders wash the dishes. A six year old washes her own clothes and shoes in the pila—which is hard work, MUCH harder than stuffing the clothes into a washing machine. I never washed my own clothes when I was living at home with my mom. The kids plant corn and beans, feed and give water to the dogs, pigs, chicken, sheep, cows, and whatever other animals they have. They clean the animals’ houses and cut firewood. They sweep the floor. I was horrified when my 12 year old sister told he she could sweep my room here; I said No no I can do it. I had been sweeping everyday anyway. It’s amazing how much dirt gets indoors here. It would be better to understand if you could imagine a house with a front, dirt yard, and the rooms with doors that all face the front yard. The rooms don’t connect from the inside. So, to use the bathroom, go to the kitchen, or go to a bedroom, you need to walk outside. With wind, rain, and the fact that people wear shoes here, dirt definitely gets into your room every day. The other day, I was shocked to see one of my 4^th grade students sanding a bench. Found out he works for the carpenter. Two of my middle school girls work at the hotel, cleaning the rooms, cooking for the restaurant, and caring for the baby. For working and living at the hotel, the owner pays for their education. I’m not saying the parents don’t work at all. They do! The kids just work too. In other towns, bigger towns or tourist spots, I see 6 or 7 year old boys walking around shining shoes. I see them selling ice cream. In Panajachel, I saw a girl who literally looked 5 selling bracelets. There are many kids walking around, selling artesan products such as paintings, jewelry, and woven cloths.

Definitely, family dynamics are different here. Families are bigger (7, 8, 12?!?!?!?!?! Kids) – there are more mouths to feed, more work to do, more laundry to wash, etc. So, the kids help out with the work by doing their own laundry, taking turns washing dishes and cleaning the floor. My host brothers and sister rotate who feeds which animals because, I’m assuming, it’s a lot harder to feed the four cows than it is to feed the two sheep. One of the 6^th graders has his own four sheep so they’re his responsibility. Simply put, there are students who are smart and want to pursue further education. They also have a lot of chores and work to do outside of school. That affects how much time they spend on homework and studying. Up until high school, I had all the time in the world to study, go to hakwon, and spend hours chatting online and going to Starbucks. The students here are definitely tough. BUT, they are absolutely sweet and love going on hikes with me, taking pictures, and laughing at my mistakes in Spanish. Loved it when they gobbled down the three bags of marshmallows I bought so we could make smores. Had to make them on grills (a bit unconventional, yes) but we kept pushing the day back because it kept raining. So I said, “We’re going to make smores on grills.” And it was rico.

There are a few other issues I have with the schools such as the fact that frequently, the teachers find reasons why they cannot teach. They need to go on strike for two weeks or have a meeting in the city or it’s Mother’s Day so the kids need to miss three days of classes to spend.. all.. day.. preparing for that. Or it’s the school’s anniversary, so the students need to prepare a full week for it and then spend another week with the show and then rest and take the day off on Friday. There is no consistency and either one teacher is not available to teach or the whole school gets random days off. BUT, that’s for another day. I’ll have to dig into it a bit more.

Reading: I… Rigoberta Menchú: An Indian Woman in Guatemala by Elisabeth Burgos-Debray.

Listening to: Julieta Venegas

Guatemalan differences

It’s not all about the outer appearances. The traditional Mayan clothing, the darker skin, prominent noses, dark and thick black hair, gold on their teeth to signify wealth, earrings that I see on all baby girls and females…

It’s about the things you cannot see. The way people behave and react and live. It’s when you schedule a meeting with people and start an hour late, hora chapina. It’s when you can blast music and scream at the top of your lungs and no one will stop you. It’s when kids can fire up firecrackers in central park without anyone thinking it’s dangerous. It’s when you sit down and eat a meal with everyone in the family and then talk for a couple of hours afterwards. It’s when you can see the first lady 100 feet away from you in an open area without the military or security personnel thinking you’re going to cause commotion. It’s when you can greet everyone out in the streets. It’s when girls get chh’ed at and mothers breastfeed their babies anywhere and everywhere.

It’s when you’re thrown responsibility for 150 kids during a volunteer event and expected to come up with activities. This past Sunday, the municipality at one of our training communities decided to celebrate International Women’s Day and have activities for 1500 women. Randomly, about a week ago, two other volunteers and I bumped into Sonia, a very strong and confident woman in charge of the women’s group, and she asked us if we could help out with logistics, tables, and chairs. We agreed. However, on Friday, we went in for a meeting for more information and received information that we would not be setting up chairs. We would be taking care of 150 (or so) kids. My friend and I were doubtful though; with 1500 women, would we really only have 150 kids? To make it even more surprising, they asked us what we would like to do. We were like… Uh.. Well, how old are the kids? What’s the space like? What materials do we have? The whole thing was very unorganized and the more I thought about it on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday morning, the more I thought this was going to turn out really badly. My friend and I quickly called the rest of the SCT volunteers to see if anyone else could help us out because the Muni had 3 people. Most had other plans already and we only had one confirmation.

Day of… we saw the space at 11AM. The event was from 2-5PM. The space was a rectangular area covered with dirt and rocks, outside, in the hot sun. First, we tried to get rid of as much of the rocks as we could. The Muni set up one tent for shade, a few tables and chairs, and music. We also had a tarp to put under the shade. Fortunately, we got 7 volunteers in total to help out. The Muni also pulled in a few more people so we had a total of 12 adults.

Truthfully I expected a lot of kids but we actually did have 150. Apparently, not all women want to bring their children to events such as this. And some had their kids stay with them in the gardens while they did their own activities. Looking at the area, I told one of the Muni people that the kids would need water because it was hot and the kids would be playing sports, soccer, games, etc. outside. Apparently, the kids here are accustomed to drinking juice and soda and don’t really go for the water.

Thankfully, the day turned out really successful. With the exception of a few rowdy boys, the kids were well behaved, listened to us, and played the games and activities we had for them, all of which we made up on the spot. It was great. We had betted that 3 kids would get bloody knees. No one got hurt. Other than the fact that ‘washing hands’ only included using water and that one boy ran over to the stream to pee (which is not uncommon), I felt that we were able to teach or show a little bit about throwing trash in the garbage bag. 

Up until plastics and inorganic waste made their way to Guatemala, it was okay for Guatemalans to throw their organic trash out the window of buses, in the rivers, and over cliffs. Now, it’s not okay. There is garbage and trash everywhere. The stream that goes under my house used to have fish and be clean. Now, you see plastic, Styrofoam, aluminum, and more, and no fish. Therefore, it’s not a surprise that the kids tossed their candy wrappers, napkins, cups, and plastic bags onto the ground. We busily walked around with garbage bags, reminding the kids to put trash in the right place and complimenting those who did so. It was definitely a new experience and I hope even some of the kids will continue to practice good waste practices….. O_O

I learned a lot on Sunday. While we were doing yoga and playing duck, duck, goose on the tarp, I had the kids take off their shoes. Some were hesitant and one boy sat really far away from everyone else. I told him to join us because he was sitting at the edge. He had seen that everyone else had taken their shoes off and he didn’t want to. I asked why and he said they were his only pair. He had one pair of shoes. One pair. The municipality gave out TOMS to as many kids as they could. The only problem was that it was very unorganized. One of the boys (who only has one pair of shoes and peed in the stream) got two shoes for his right foot. Another boy got two shoes of different sizes. Several of the older siblings (and by older, I mean 7 or 9 years old) were also taking care of their younger siblings between 3-5 years old. It felt odd because I’m not sure my own sister took care of me by herself like that.

Before volunteering at this event, I wanted to go to Antigua to watch the Vagina Monologues. I didn’t want to watch 150 kids in the heat outside and in the dirt. Now, I’m really glad I was there. “Planning” for the day, working with people at the Municipality, having more PC trainees come to help out, doing exercises and yoga with the girls, playing soccer, having to dance and model in front of the kids, playing “Simon Says,” always being goose because I was the gringa, talking to the kids, encouraging usage of garbage bags, and seeing some of the kids step up to help us out with blowing balloons or with game ideas was more than what I would get from the Vagina Monologues.

problemas con fotos

I have given up on trying to upload pictures. But I'll try to get a few on FB now and then. XD

Experiences:

-          Black spider in my ear. Really weird. But at the same time, thankful that he didn’t bite me. ^__^

-          Translating for a group of volunteer doctors from the States at Puesto de Salud. Pretty cool.

-          Waiting under a public pila for the afternoon rain to pass.

-          Playing soccer on a field of pure dirt.

-          Getting multiple bug bites, each day.

-          Change of plans during field-based training because of a blockade à which led to staying at a hotel and having my first shower ever in Guatemala.

-          Feeding a chucho my leftovers.

Prayer Requests:

-          Health and safety as always.

-          Improvements with Spanish – time is ticking.

After FBT

Had a fairly successful Field Based Training – a schedule jam-packed with environmental education, marketing and business, emergency plans, aviturismo, cultural tour, interpretative trails, zipline, freezing weather, and even a change of plans when we couldn’t get through a blockade. I won't complain about the hotel we got to stay in due to the blockade. ^__^

Thought I’d share the interpretative writing exercise we wrote for our tech trainer. We had to write something to recruit 18 year olds / recent college grads to PC:

Are you still trying to identify yourself?

Do something different.

See the world while making a difference.

Typical day? Traje típica.

Stock market? Market day in Antigua.

Train to work? Work to train.

Remembering to recycle a plastic bottle? Building a much-needed school from recycled bottles.

Drinking your daily orange mocha frap? Harvesting shade-grown coffee.

Readjusting the thermostat? Collecting your own firewood.

Ordering take out? Feasting on the community’s kill.

Dominating noobs on WOW? Conquering a volcano before lunchtime.

Interpretimg your math problem? Constructing an interpretive trail that others will walk on.

Being just another player? Being a PCV getting schooled by Chris Mayer.

PC Guat.

We know who we are. Who are you?

-         Ben, Grace, Kim

Ahh.. my fingers are freezing right now. All you people who thought/think Guatemala is warm just because it’s in Central America, you are VERY VERY WRONG!!! I was very wrong and definitely did not pack correctly for this weather.

Hope ya’ll are doing well.