But its effects are everywhere to this day. On Saturday we went to Santa Lucia, a pueblo near the lake, to visit Julio Alva, a man who grew up in Santa Lucia and has created a support group and program for widows from the war.
Julio gave a us an overview of the civil war and how the Mayan people were caught in the middle between the guerrilas and the soldiers. For the most part, the Mayans just wanted to live in peace. However, if the guerrilas thought someone was helping the army they would kill them. If the army suspected someone was helping the guerillas they would torture and kill the whole family and put them on display as a warning to others in the village. Sometimes, they would massacre the whole village. This was happening in the 80s and 90s so nearly everyone I encounter who is over 30 has memories of this terrible and terrifying time.
During our visit Julio had one of the widows give her story. She was a small mild-mannered woman dressed in the traditional Mayan traje. She spoke very softly, looking down the whole time. Our program assistant translated from her Spanish into English for us. One day, out of nowhere, soldiers showed up and took her husband. She left to go search for him and found his body in the middle of the town square, tortured and shot. She had nine children and no way to support them, not to mention the overwhelming grief of losing your husband in such a violent way. She ended up moving in with her parents and a little later the soldiers showed up and her father disappeared.
As sad and terrible as this story is the truly insidious part is that this happened all over the country but no one talks about it. Everyone is still in fear. And they have reason to be. People who talk about the atrocities of the government still disappear or go to prison on trumped-up charges. The worst part of terrorism and terrorist tactics is that they work. People are still living in terror 15 years after the fact. 15 years after "peace."
The other sad part is that there is nothing to support these survivors. There are no mental health services to address the inevitable PTSD and nothing to help support and raise the children left behind.
So keep all this in mind when you encounter the hard-working Guatemalan man who cuts your lawn, or the smiling Guatemala woman who is cleaning your hotel room. You have no idea what drove them to seek asylum, legal or not, in the U.S. What would you do if this happened to you and your family?
This day was very emotional and added a new dimension to my experience in Guatemala.
More later.
kf
miércoles, 6 de julio de 2011
lunes, 4 de julio de 2011
sábado, 2 de julio de 2011
Random thoughts
As I lie on my bed, drinking scotch from a broken Tinkerbell mug while the rain drips methodically from my ceiling to my floor (again), I'm contemplating the end of this adventure. I will be home two weeks from tomorrow. Home to my Tempur-pedic knock-off and my real-life husband. My chickens and my ankle-biting cat. All the things I love and miss.
It's impossible to know if and how this experience has changed me while I'm still here. My new normal is walking uphill about 100 meters to the clinic in the morning. Muddling through some conversations in Spanish with Miriam, perhaps the kindest and most patient person ever, then off to find an Internet connection fast enough to send stuff to Maura so the clinic website can be done. I then wander down to Moonfish to roll my eyes at the pompous people who also enjoy a really good cup of coffee and an unmatched vista. This idyllic scenario is invariably broken by the reality surrounding me. The very young children who are constantly, desperately trying to sell me something. (They can spot a sucker from 50 paces and I am constantly in their sights.) The single moms that Miriam and I visited who are just barely hanging on. The hundreds of feral dogs in San Marcos (as there are in every pueblo around the lake). Many are excruciatingly skinny, some have horrific mange and all have fleas. (They can also spot a sucker. Go figure.)
It's all a bit of a jumble at this point. My family here is exceedingly kind and accommodating. Tonight I made lasagna for everyone, trying to contribute and, to be honest, I wanted to get back into the kitchen. (Anyone who knows me knows that I would typically have to be in a coma to go five weeks without cooking.) The lasagna was a hit (I know this because two-year-old Mimi doesn't have it in her to say she liked it to make me feel okay). It was fun cooking with all the girls in the kitchen. They never use their oven so we had to take all the stuff they store in there out before turning it on. (This is not new to me. My mother has always stored things in the oven because she rarely uses it for anything else.)
I also learned today that my family is supporting a fascist for president in the upcoming elections. Sigh. This guy committed war crimes during the civil war. (Not my opinion - he's on video nonchalantly talking about the army's techniques.) It's probably a good thing that my Spanish is limited. If I could get into it about fascism, not to mention evangelicalism, I probably would have lasted about two minutes here, with these truly lovely people. I think that is definitely one of the most important takeaways from this experience. We all have our biases and those are two of mine, big time. To have that juxtaposed against how fond I am of everyone here reminds me that I have to check my biases at the door. (Note that I said biases, not principles.)
Okay. Enough rambling. Onward. Two more weeks.
kf
It's impossible to know if and how this experience has changed me while I'm still here. My new normal is walking uphill about 100 meters to the clinic in the morning. Muddling through some conversations in Spanish with Miriam, perhaps the kindest and most patient person ever, then off to find an Internet connection fast enough to send stuff to Maura so the clinic website can be done. I then wander down to Moonfish to roll my eyes at the pompous people who also enjoy a really good cup of coffee and an unmatched vista. This idyllic scenario is invariably broken by the reality surrounding me. The very young children who are constantly, desperately trying to sell me something. (They can spot a sucker from 50 paces and I am constantly in their sights.) The single moms that Miriam and I visited who are just barely hanging on. The hundreds of feral dogs in San Marcos (as there are in every pueblo around the lake). Many are excruciatingly skinny, some have horrific mange and all have fleas. (They can also spot a sucker. Go figure.)
It's all a bit of a jumble at this point. My family here is exceedingly kind and accommodating. Tonight I made lasagna for everyone, trying to contribute and, to be honest, I wanted to get back into the kitchen. (Anyone who knows me knows that I would typically have to be in a coma to go five weeks without cooking.) The lasagna was a hit (I know this because two-year-old Mimi doesn't have it in her to say she liked it to make me feel okay). It was fun cooking with all the girls in the kitchen. They never use their oven so we had to take all the stuff they store in there out before turning it on. (This is not new to me. My mother has always stored things in the oven because she rarely uses it for anything else.)
I also learned today that my family is supporting a fascist for president in the upcoming elections. Sigh. This guy committed war crimes during the civil war. (Not my opinion - he's on video nonchalantly talking about the army's techniques.) It's probably a good thing that my Spanish is limited. If I could get into it about fascism, not to mention evangelicalism, I probably would have lasted about two minutes here, with these truly lovely people. I think that is definitely one of the most important takeaways from this experience. We all have our biases and those are two of mine, big time. To have that juxtaposed against how fond I am of everyone here reminds me that I have to check my biases at the door. (Note that I said biases, not principles.)
Okay. Enough rambling. Onward. Two more weeks.
kf
viernes, 1 de julio de 2011
The real Guatemala
On Wednesday I had a very powerful and moving experience. I went with Miriam, the clinic director, to parts of San Marcos I hadn't visited. I finally went beyond the hippie, mystical, touristy main part of town to where the Guatemala of the harsh statistics of poverty, malnutrition and misfortune endures the spotlight of reality.
We were checking in on the single moms that the clinic helps out. San Marcos la Laguna has three barrios. I live in barrio 3 which is near the main part of the town. I had no idea where barrios 1 and 2 were; they aren't visible from the main part of town. The barrios are up the mountain on either side of barrio 3. And when I say up the mountain, I mean up the mountain. There are narrow stone paths that literally go straight up. It takes a good, harrowing 30 minutes to walk up to either barrio, and your calves and lungs protest nearly the whole way.
The vistas in these barrios are postcard beautiful, but the poverty is unrelenting. These women and their children generally live in one room, some also have a very rudimentary, semi-open air kitchen where they cook on a wood stove. The clinic provides mattresses (really foam rubber pads but before they got these they slept on boards), propane and small camping stoves, and tries to help with other necessities.
There are no social services at all in Guatemala. No food stamps, no school lunch, no social security. Without services of organizations like the clinic (which I have found out is funded by an eccentric Swiss guy) or the many church missions that visit the country, these people would have no hope at all.
The women we visited were eager to talk to Miriam. She is clearly someone who is an advocate, someone on their side. She is a Guatemalan woman who can speak to them in Kachikel, the local indigenous language. She helped one woman sort through a problem her son was having in school. She checked to make sure the kids were clean and had enough to eat. It was real social work, and it was very valuable.
This experience has solidified my belief in the work the clinic does. I always embraced the idea of honoring the Mayan traditions while trying to meet the many needs this group of people has. In exploring the herbal approach to medicine, however, I had some real concerns that it was a little too witchy-poo, hocus-pocus and not science-based enough for me to get completely behind. I have since learned that the clinic's holistic approach helps address the roots of the problems the people face. By improving their quality of life through nutrition, education, hygiene and preventive care, the clinic is a vital part of this community. They also provide a first, free access to healthcare and will refer patients with more serious concerns to other doctors, or take them to the hospital.
xoxo
kf
We were checking in on the single moms that the clinic helps out. San Marcos la Laguna has three barrios. I live in barrio 3 which is near the main part of the town. I had no idea where barrios 1 and 2 were; they aren't visible from the main part of town. The barrios are up the mountain on either side of barrio 3. And when I say up the mountain, I mean up the mountain. There are narrow stone paths that literally go straight up. It takes a good, harrowing 30 minutes to walk up to either barrio, and your calves and lungs protest nearly the whole way.
The vistas in these barrios are postcard beautiful, but the poverty is unrelenting. These women and their children generally live in one room, some also have a very rudimentary, semi-open air kitchen where they cook on a wood stove. The clinic provides mattresses (really foam rubber pads but before they got these they slept on boards), propane and small camping stoves, and tries to help with other necessities.
There are no social services at all in Guatemala. No food stamps, no school lunch, no social security. Without services of organizations like the clinic (which I have found out is funded by an eccentric Swiss guy) or the many church missions that visit the country, these people would have no hope at all.
The women we visited were eager to talk to Miriam. She is clearly someone who is an advocate, someone on their side. She is a Guatemalan woman who can speak to them in Kachikel, the local indigenous language. She helped one woman sort through a problem her son was having in school. She checked to make sure the kids were clean and had enough to eat. It was real social work, and it was very valuable.
This experience has solidified my belief in the work the clinic does. I always embraced the idea of honoring the Mayan traditions while trying to meet the many needs this group of people has. In exploring the herbal approach to medicine, however, I had some real concerns that it was a little too witchy-poo, hocus-pocus and not science-based enough for me to get completely behind. I have since learned that the clinic's holistic approach helps address the roots of the problems the people face. By improving their quality of life through nutrition, education, hygiene and preventive care, the clinic is a vital part of this community. They also provide a first, free access to healthcare and will refer patients with more serious concerns to other doctors, or take them to the hospital.
xoxo
kf
domingo, 26 de junio de 2011
Nadie, not even the lluvia, has such small manos
Your daily literary reference in Spanglish. You're welcome.
It's the rainy season here at Lake Atitlan. That means it rains. A lot. The mornings are usually okay. Sunny, temperate, perfect. The clouds roll in after lunch and the rain hits about 4 or 5. The other night it rained so hard that it started raining in my room. We put a bucket under the leak and carried on with our lives. It's a good thing I live in a house in Raleigh that is always on the verge of falling down, one where we've had our fair share of dramatic roof leaks. I was able to cope pretty well.
This morning it is raining so I've ventured out to my favorite place, Moonfish. Moonfish is a hippie restaurant right on the lake that serves lots of tofu, tempeh and other delectable hippie food. The coffee is amazing, and I can get a good Internet connection with my cellular modem. The only drawback to Moonfish are the hippies. Actually, I should say hippie posers. These are those insufferable blowhards that talk about how bad and wrong everything is, like money, work, mankind, the man. (Think the Tim Robbins character in High Fidelity.) What they really are is privileged, lazy jackasses who just want to get high and pontificate. Somehow, they are able to enjoy the relatively expensive coffee and food while "dropping out." Puh-leaze. I've started surreptitiously taking pictures of them for later enjoyment.
I want to note that I love a genuine hippie. I think I have much in common with them - concern for humanity, concern for the planet, embracing diversity. Stuff like that. I have a little more trouble with the composting toilets. I get how great they are in theory. However, here at Moonfish when you go to the toilets you must declare your business before going in. There are two toilets that are not separated for mujeres y hombres, but by what you intend to do. The two basic actions are separated. The whole business makes me a little uncomfortable. Except for this blog, I'm not very public about these kinds of declarations. (I realize that I have spent an inordinate amount of time discussing the various bathroom situations but it's a really important part of everyday life. It has been a daily focal point for me on this trip. My apologies to those who may read this while eating.)
Well, the rain is lifting and I may head out to get my homework done for tomorrow. (Yes, I have homework. It's a study abroad program, not some hippie boondoggle.)
Peace out. More later.
KF
It's the rainy season here at Lake Atitlan. That means it rains. A lot. The mornings are usually okay. Sunny, temperate, perfect. The clouds roll in after lunch and the rain hits about 4 or 5. The other night it rained so hard that it started raining in my room. We put a bucket under the leak and carried on with our lives. It's a good thing I live in a house in Raleigh that is always on the verge of falling down, one where we've had our fair share of dramatic roof leaks. I was able to cope pretty well.
This morning it is raining so I've ventured out to my favorite place, Moonfish. Moonfish is a hippie restaurant right on the lake that serves lots of tofu, tempeh and other delectable hippie food. The coffee is amazing, and I can get a good Internet connection with my cellular modem. The only drawback to Moonfish are the hippies. Actually, I should say hippie posers. These are those insufferable blowhards that talk about how bad and wrong everything is, like money, work, mankind, the man. (Think the Tim Robbins character in High Fidelity.) What they really are is privileged, lazy jackasses who just want to get high and pontificate. Somehow, they are able to enjoy the relatively expensive coffee and food while "dropping out." Puh-leaze. I've started surreptitiously taking pictures of them for later enjoyment.
I want to note that I love a genuine hippie. I think I have much in common with them - concern for humanity, concern for the planet, embracing diversity. Stuff like that. I have a little more trouble with the composting toilets. I get how great they are in theory. However, here at Moonfish when you go to the toilets you must declare your business before going in. There are two toilets that are not separated for mujeres y hombres, but by what you intend to do. The two basic actions are separated. The whole business makes me a little uncomfortable. Except for this blog, I'm not very public about these kinds of declarations. (I realize that I have spent an inordinate amount of time discussing the various bathroom situations but it's a really important part of everyday life. It has been a daily focal point for me on this trip. My apologies to those who may read this while eating.)
Well, the rain is lifting and I may head out to get my homework done for tomorrow. (Yes, I have homework. It's a study abroad program, not some hippie boondoggle.)
Peace out. More later.
KF
lunes, 20 de junio de 2011
Antigua
Last Thursday our group of17 students met in Pana to board two vans to Antigua. A weekend of R & R was the only thing getting me through last week. Antigua is a beautiful town with colonial architecture (which makes it look a lot like Europe), tons of shops, excellent restaurants and many ex-pats. We arrived just in time for lunch and from that moment on it was like a dreamy, perfect vacation.
My roommate Erin and I had a fantastic room - clean, very comfortable beds, satellite TV, WI-FI, and the biggest benefit of all: a shower with tons of hot water. I luxuriated in a hot shower every day I was there. When we went out exploring the first thing that caught my eye was the Mayan Day Spa. They were running a special of a 60-minute massage, a manicure and a pedicure for $58. I think you all could write the rest of this story. I signed up for the works on Friday afternoon. It was amazing. The massage therapist used hot stones and left me feeling like a noodle. After the challenge of living with the parasites, the one bathroom for many, nine kids and the rats (which I know I haven't told you about yet. I just can't really talk about it) a spa day was exactly what I needed.
Later that night I also got a bona fide martini. A delicious, cold glass of gin, perfectly made, in a very large martini glass. I walked miles and miles throughout Antigua, taking it all in and really enjoying the break.
As a part of the trip we visited an NGO (non-governmental organization) called God's Child. It's a comprehensive program that provides schooling, health interventions, housing and other services to the poor in the Antigua area, and, despite its name, is not religiously-based. We toured their very impressive compound and visited the center for malnourished babies. We saw little ones from a very preemie 1 month (who would have been in the neo-natal ICU if she had been in the states) to a three-year-old who weighed 13 pounds and whose hair was falling out. They intervene with these babies, bringing them to the center to get them to 110% of their ideal weight. While the kids are there they have educational programs for the parents, explaining nutrition, sanitation, hygiene and other important skills. (Many of these parents are extremely young - 14 or 15 - and have no education at all. They love their kids they just have no knowledge or skills.) They also will not send a kid home to a house with a dirt floor. They will provide a new house, or at least pour a concrete floor in the existing house so the kids can be reunited with their families. The importance of the floor is that 70% of the bacteria and parasites that make the kids sick come from a dirt floor. This simple change can make a huge difference in the health of the child. It's a great program and I was so glad we got to tour it. (By the way, a "new house" would be the equivalent of a garden shed here. You know, like the ones lining the parking lot at the Home Depot.)
All for now. More later! Tons to tell you.
kf
Guatemala has the second highest infant mortality rate in the Western hemisphere. The only country with a higher rate is Haiti. That should tell you something about how bad the poor in Guatemala have it.
My roommate Erin and I had a fantastic room - clean, very comfortable beds, satellite TV, WI-FI, and the biggest benefit of all: a shower with tons of hot water. I luxuriated in a hot shower every day I was there. When we went out exploring the first thing that caught my eye was the Mayan Day Spa. They were running a special of a 60-minute massage, a manicure and a pedicure for $58. I think you all could write the rest of this story. I signed up for the works on Friday afternoon. It was amazing. The massage therapist used hot stones and left me feeling like a noodle. After the challenge of living with the parasites, the one bathroom for many, nine kids and the rats (which I know I haven't told you about yet. I just can't really talk about it) a spa day was exactly what I needed.
Later that night I also got a bona fide martini. A delicious, cold glass of gin, perfectly made, in a very large martini glass. I walked miles and miles throughout Antigua, taking it all in and really enjoying the break.
As a part of the trip we visited an NGO (non-governmental organization) called God's Child. It's a comprehensive program that provides schooling, health interventions, housing and other services to the poor in the Antigua area, and, despite its name, is not religiously-based. We toured their very impressive compound and visited the center for malnourished babies. We saw little ones from a very preemie 1 month (who would have been in the neo-natal ICU if she had been in the states) to a three-year-old who weighed 13 pounds and whose hair was falling out. They intervene with these babies, bringing them to the center to get them to 110% of their ideal weight. While the kids are there they have educational programs for the parents, explaining nutrition, sanitation, hygiene and other important skills. (Many of these parents are extremely young - 14 or 15 - and have no education at all. They love their kids they just have no knowledge or skills.) They also will not send a kid home to a house with a dirt floor. They will provide a new house, or at least pour a concrete floor in the existing house so the kids can be reunited with their families. The importance of the floor is that 70% of the bacteria and parasites that make the kids sick come from a dirt floor. This simple change can make a huge difference in the health of the child. It's a great program and I was so glad we got to tour it. (By the way, a "new house" would be the equivalent of a garden shed here. You know, like the ones lining the parking lot at the Home Depot.)
All for now. More later! Tons to tell you.
kf
Guatemala has the second highest infant mortality rate in the Western hemisphere. The only country with a higher rate is Haiti. That should tell you something about how bad the poor in Guatemala have it.
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