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.
martes, 14 de junio de 2011
Settling in
With the random Internet availability and the intestinal parasites I haven't been able to post lately. Now that both situations have improved I'm back in business. My service placement is a two-minute walk from my house at the Clinica Naturista. It's a medical clinic that focuses on traditional Mayan medicine. There is a large herb garden and they make all of their own medicines.
Since my Spanish is still pretty limited I've busied myself with re-doing their website, with help from my friend Maura. Glad to be able to do something to help out. I'm planning on a little online fundraiser for the clinic once the website is up, so you have been warned. However, any little bit helps - a $10 donation is extremely valuable.
Yesterday I had my weekly field class in San Juan la Laguna. Took a tuk-tuk over there. A tuk-tuk is a three-wheeled taxi. I had mentioned to my host mom that my friend had gotten taken for 75 quetzales for the same ride and she was horrified. When I was leaving to go catch my ride she came with me and made sure, in no uncertain terms, that I was not to be charged more than 10 quetzales. She's awesome! It's nice to know my family here has my back.
A week ago Sunday I got stricken with parasites. It happened in the middle of the Chichi market. Very intense. Running through the crowded market, looking desperately for a bathroom, trying to keep my pants from falling down. Found a bathroom, so crisis was averted. However, it was the beginning of a week of surveying every location I was in to make sure I knew where the bathroom was at all times. (Considerate as ever about some people's delicate sensibilities, I will not go into detail about sharing an open bathroom with 13 people while wrestling with the critters in my gut. I'll leave that to your imagination.)
Throughout the week I kept thinking I was getting better but the parasites would have a different idea and I'd be back at square one. I talked to the people at the clinica and they gave me some tea made out of chamomille, star anise and something else. It did help settle my stomach but did nothing to get rid of my enemies. There was talk of some kind of preparation of papaya leaves that would make my system bitter and coax most of the parasites out. However, by this point I didn't want to play nice. There would be no coaxing. It was kill or be killed. I took the boat over to Pana and with the help of Veronica, our program assistant, got to the doctor. I got a sample (again, I'll spare you the details. I will say just one thing: film canister) and had it sent to the lab. Within two hours we knew what we were dealing with. I got sixteen tablets that are the medicinal equivalent of an AK-47 and went to war. Took 8 last night before bed and I am like a completely new person today. I take the final 8 tonight and the war is over. Shock and awe.
One final note: I read a really interesting book for my field class called Silence on the Mountain. It's a history of the Guatemalan civil war. I can recommend it to anyone interested in learning more about what happened in Guatemala during the last part of the 20th century. (I'll give you a hint: the U.S., unfortunately, does not come out smelling like a rose.)
Love and miss everyone -
KF
Since my Spanish is still pretty limited I've busied myself with re-doing their website, with help from my friend Maura. Glad to be able to do something to help out. I'm planning on a little online fundraiser for the clinic once the website is up, so you have been warned. However, any little bit helps - a $10 donation is extremely valuable.
Yesterday I had my weekly field class in San Juan la Laguna. Took a tuk-tuk over there. A tuk-tuk is a three-wheeled taxi. I had mentioned to my host mom that my friend had gotten taken for 75 quetzales for the same ride and she was horrified. When I was leaving to go catch my ride she came with me and made sure, in no uncertain terms, that I was not to be charged more than 10 quetzales. She's awesome! It's nice to know my family here has my back.
A week ago Sunday I got stricken with parasites. It happened in the middle of the Chichi market. Very intense. Running through the crowded market, looking desperately for a bathroom, trying to keep my pants from falling down. Found a bathroom, so crisis was averted. However, it was the beginning of a week of surveying every location I was in to make sure I knew where the bathroom was at all times. (Considerate as ever about some people's delicate sensibilities, I will not go into detail about sharing an open bathroom with 13 people while wrestling with the critters in my gut. I'll leave that to your imagination.)
Throughout the week I kept thinking I was getting better but the parasites would have a different idea and I'd be back at square one. I talked to the people at the clinica and they gave me some tea made out of chamomille, star anise and something else. It did help settle my stomach but did nothing to get rid of my enemies. There was talk of some kind of preparation of papaya leaves that would make my system bitter and coax most of the parasites out. However, by this point I didn't want to play nice. There would be no coaxing. It was kill or be killed. I took the boat over to Pana and with the help of Veronica, our program assistant, got to the doctor. I got a sample (again, I'll spare you the details. I will say just one thing: film canister) and had it sent to the lab. Within two hours we knew what we were dealing with. I got sixteen tablets that are the medicinal equivalent of an AK-47 and went to war. Took 8 last night before bed and I am like a completely new person today. I take the final 8 tonight and the war is over. Shock and awe.
One final note: I read a really interesting book for my field class called Silence on the Mountain. It's a history of the Guatemalan civil war. I can recommend it to anyone interested in learning more about what happened in Guatemala during the last part of the 20th century. (I'll give you a hint: the U.S., unfortunately, does not come out smelling like a rose.)
Love and miss everyone -
KF
miércoles, 8 de junio de 2011
Chichi
Every Sunday the town of Chichicastanengo (Chichi for short) hosts a huge market that winds through its streets. While it is a mecca for turistas, it is also used by locals to buy anything from live chickens to housewares to jewelry. I set out with a small group of fellow students to explore and buy. As you walk through the market you are constantly accosted by people wanting you to buy things. I cannot count the times I said, "No, gracias, senora." Then when you do find something you are interested in the inevitable haggling ensues. Can I just say that I have mastered the art of Bugs Bunny haggling?
"It's 20 quetzales."
"I'll give you 25."
"30."
"35. And that's my last offer."
Even though I paid embarrassingly high prices by Guatemalan standards I still feel like I made out like a bandit. I have a treasure trove of things and still have some quetzales in my pocket.
The economic downturn has hit the Mayan people very hard. There simply aren't many tourists around. It adds an extra dose of humanity to the plea of an old woman trying to sell woven bookmarks that she needs food. I realize these vendors are well-versed in triggering white guilt and will say anything to pull on your heartstrings so you will open your wallet. However, I am also well aware of the back story: things are really hard for these people, who were so poor to begin with. Is that 25 or 50 cents really worth going to the mat over? Maybe I'm a pushover, but there is a fine line between manipulation and desperation.
Desperate times mean desperate measures. I'm handing over the 50 cents. I hope you all enjoy your bookmarks at Christmas.
xoxo
Kate
"It's 20 quetzales."
"I'll give you 25."
"30."
"35. And that's my last offer."
Even though I paid embarrassingly high prices by Guatemalan standards I still feel like I made out like a bandit. I have a treasure trove of things and still have some quetzales in my pocket.
The economic downturn has hit the Mayan people very hard. There simply aren't many tourists around. It adds an extra dose of humanity to the plea of an old woman trying to sell woven bookmarks that she needs food. I realize these vendors are well-versed in triggering white guilt and will say anything to pull on your heartstrings so you will open your wallet. However, I am also well aware of the back story: things are really hard for these people, who were so poor to begin with. Is that 25 or 50 cents really worth going to the mat over? Maybe I'm a pushover, but there is a fine line between manipulation and desperation.
Desperate times mean desperate measures. I'm handing over the 50 cents. I hope you all enjoy your bookmarks at Christmas.
xoxo
Kate
sábado, 4 de junio de 2011
The kids are alright
This morning, as I was drinking coffee alongside a two-year-old drinking coffee, while a seven-year-old lit a fire by lighting a piece of paper on fire from the gas stove, a twelve-year-old balanced on a second story balcony railing to get clothes from the clothesline and a thirteen-year-old did laundry for 13 people on a concrete version of a washboard, I started thinking maybe kids in the U.S. are a little mollycoddled. I'm not advocating for any of the above activities; I had to actively hide my shock. However, it does seem like there could be some middle ground where kids in the U.S. have chores and responsibilities, and along with that they have certain freedoms from a judgmental and overprotective culture. I'm all for seatbelts, bike helmets, sturdy railings and admonitions to be careful. It's just that kids have to learn to take and manage risks sometime. I fear that too often kids are turned loose at 18 or so, and never having learned how to live without someone protecting them from every possible negative outcome, they end up drinking too much beer as a freshman in college and falling out of a window at the ATO house.
Disclaimer: I know that I have no children of my own so it is easy for me to make recommendations that someone else's child risk cracking his head open by standing on railings.
All of that said, my family here is extremely warm and loving. And funny. The kids are like kids anywhere. They like to tease and play Uno and argue about property rights violations for various coveted items. They are so nice to me I get embarrassed. I'm not used to having someone cook for me every day. I'm not used to someone doing my laundry. It's pretty nice but when I see how hard everyone works, including the kids, I do feel guilty. I've been pitching in where I can. I make the world's ugliest tortillas, but they are getting better. I like to think that my tortilla making is the evening's entertainment. The other day I also bought a pineapple and five mangoes on the street. I've never been a big fruit person, and now I know why. The fruit in the US typically has no flavor and the texture is terrible. Here, I could eat fruit all day long and be perfectly happy. The mangoes are sublime and I crave them.
Being here is like a do-gooder's Canyon Ranch. I eat simply but am fully satisfied. For example, this morning I had beet greens and tortillas for breakfast. What, you say? That sounds terrible. No, mi amigo. You would be wrong There were so good. Eating like that, combined with walking everywhere and no booze has me feeling pretty good. Losing weight, helping people. A perfect program. However, I now have a pair of pants that I can down pull down without unzipping or unbuttoning so I think I will buy a belt when we go to the market at Chichi. I do not want to cause an unnecessary, and potentially damaging, scene by having my pants fall off in the middle of the street.
More later -
kf
Disclaimer: I know that I have no children of my own so it is easy for me to make recommendations that someone else's child risk cracking his head open by standing on railings.
All of that said, my family here is extremely warm and loving. And funny. The kids are like kids anywhere. They like to tease and play Uno and argue about property rights violations for various coveted items. They are so nice to me I get embarrassed. I'm not used to having someone cook for me every day. I'm not used to someone doing my laundry. It's pretty nice but when I see how hard everyone works, including the kids, I do feel guilty. I've been pitching in where I can. I make the world's ugliest tortillas, but they are getting better. I like to think that my tortilla making is the evening's entertainment. The other day I also bought a pineapple and five mangoes on the street. I've never been a big fruit person, and now I know why. The fruit in the US typically has no flavor and the texture is terrible. Here, I could eat fruit all day long and be perfectly happy. The mangoes are sublime and I crave them.
Being here is like a do-gooder's Canyon Ranch. I eat simply but am fully satisfied. For example, this morning I had beet greens and tortillas for breakfast. What, you say? That sounds terrible. No, mi amigo. You would be wrong There were so good. Eating like that, combined with walking everywhere and no booze has me feeling pretty good. Losing weight, helping people. A perfect program. However, I now have a pair of pants that I can down pull down without unzipping or unbuttoning so I think I will buy a belt when we go to the market at Chichi. I do not want to cause an unnecessary, and potentially damaging, scene by having my pants fall off in the middle of the street.
More later -
kf
martes, 31 de mayo de 2011
San Marcos La Laguna
Hola from Guate! Made it to my homestay in San Marcos La Laguna on Sunday around noon. It's picturesque and lovely when you pull up to the dock. Banana trees, avocado trees and beautiful tropical flowers line a narrow stone path up the hill to the village. My host dad, Francisco, and host brother, Mario met me at the dock and the boat left me, alone, in a strange place with people I didn't know, speaking a language I didn't speak, for seven weeks. Okay. What had I gotten myself into now?
Guatemalans are very small people - I tower over my entire family, including Francisco who is about 5'4. However, he took my 63-pound suitcase and threw it on his back and walked steeply uphill for about 1/3 of a mile. That bag was so heavy I could barely lift it onto a step and could never put it in the trunk of a car. (Note to self: pack more lightly in the future). Mario carried my backpack and his friend carried my pillow (it was recommended that we buy a pillow in Guate City because they often don't have them in the homes. Glad I did!!)
When we got to the house I met my host mom, Sebastiana, and several of the other kids. There are nine in total, plus a son-in-law and grandson, living in the house. Fortunately, the house is surprisingly big and looks like they just added on however they could whenever they outgrew it. I have my own room and it's nice. Bed is comfy, have a desk and shelves, and everything is clean. There is only one bathroom and it is in the living room. And when I say bathroom, I mean the living room and bathroom are essentially the same room. The shower is to the side of the living room, with a curtain. The toilet is under the stairs, behind a wall but there is no door. That has taken some adjustment but you do what you have to do.
To break the ice I went into the kitchen and in my broken Spanish said that I was interested in learning how to make tortillas and other Guatemalan food. That's all it took and I was put to work making tamales with Sandra, one of the girls who is about 13. She was laughing at my pathetic attempts but I got the hang of it and they looked pretty good after a while. We did that for about an hour - cooking for 12 people is a full-time job.
The food in my host home has been fantastic. Lots of beans, eggs, some chicken, and of course tortillas. However, everything is flavorful and satisfying. Part of this program is the host family is paid to host and in turn must provide all meals and laundry. Today my host mom is doing my laundry. She doesn't have a washer and dryer so they do laundry in a large cement tub, scrubbing against the side of the tub, then hang everything up on lines all over the house.
I had my first Spanish tutoring session and I had two teachers: Lucas and Luis. They are hilarious. We had a good time and they really push me, helping me see that I know a lot more than I thought I did. They made me explain my political philosophy in Spanish, and we had a long discussion about U.S. power in the world. It was great and I already have a lot more confidence in speaking. I'll be heading back for another 4-hour session in about 15 minutes. It's exhausting but I think I'll really see a difference in my ability to speak.
I have already made some pals, which makes everything so much better. There is a former Duke Hospital administrator who is in the MSW program at UNC-Charlotte who is staying in my town and he's great. We're older than everyone else so we have a different perspective. Everyone else is great and I think I'll have many longtime friends from this experience. I may have been a little snarky in my previous post about the provincialism of the younger folks. I was in their shoes once and I really admire them stepping out of their comfort zone to go on an adventure like this. They will definitely be better people as a result.
Later soon!
kf
Guatemalans are very small people - I tower over my entire family, including Francisco who is about 5'4. However, he took my 63-pound suitcase and threw it on his back and walked steeply uphill for about 1/3 of a mile. That bag was so heavy I could barely lift it onto a step and could never put it in the trunk of a car. (Note to self: pack more lightly in the future). Mario carried my backpack and his friend carried my pillow (it was recommended that we buy a pillow in Guate City because they often don't have them in the homes. Glad I did!!)
When we got to the house I met my host mom, Sebastiana, and several of the other kids. There are nine in total, plus a son-in-law and grandson, living in the house. Fortunately, the house is surprisingly big and looks like they just added on however they could whenever they outgrew it. I have my own room and it's nice. Bed is comfy, have a desk and shelves, and everything is clean. There is only one bathroom and it is in the living room. And when I say bathroom, I mean the living room and bathroom are essentially the same room. The shower is to the side of the living room, with a curtain. The toilet is under the stairs, behind a wall but there is no door. That has taken some adjustment but you do what you have to do.
To break the ice I went into the kitchen and in my broken Spanish said that I was interested in learning how to make tortillas and other Guatemalan food. That's all it took and I was put to work making tamales with Sandra, one of the girls who is about 13. She was laughing at my pathetic attempts but I got the hang of it and they looked pretty good after a while. We did that for about an hour - cooking for 12 people is a full-time job.
The food in my host home has been fantastic. Lots of beans, eggs, some chicken, and of course tortillas. However, everything is flavorful and satisfying. Part of this program is the host family is paid to host and in turn must provide all meals and laundry. Today my host mom is doing my laundry. She doesn't have a washer and dryer so they do laundry in a large cement tub, scrubbing against the side of the tub, then hang everything up on lines all over the house.
I had my first Spanish tutoring session and I had two teachers: Lucas and Luis. They are hilarious. We had a good time and they really push me, helping me see that I know a lot more than I thought I did. They made me explain my political philosophy in Spanish, and we had a long discussion about U.S. power in the world. It was great and I already have a lot more confidence in speaking. I'll be heading back for another 4-hour session in about 15 minutes. It's exhausting but I think I'll really see a difference in my ability to speak.
I have already made some pals, which makes everything so much better. There is a former Duke Hospital administrator who is in the MSW program at UNC-Charlotte who is staying in my town and he's great. We're older than everyone else so we have a different perspective. Everyone else is great and I think I'll have many longtime friends from this experience. I may have been a little snarky in my previous post about the provincialism of the younger folks. I was in their shoes once and I really admire them stepping out of their comfort zone to go on an adventure like this. They will definitely be better people as a result.
Later soon!
kf
sábado, 28 de mayo de 2011
¡Guatemala!
Made it to Guatemala City, or Guate as it is known here. Looks pretty much like any large city in a developing country. Lots of traffic, crazy driving, a little dirty. Hooked up with my group, which includes students working in social work and anthropology students. It's true that I am by far the oldest participant but it's all good. Just have to try to get back into the swing of being a college student. You know, like being afraid of foreign food, squealing because they put lime on the salad, fearing the locals. Stuff like that.
First challenge was realizing we had to share rooms for the night in Guate. Fortunately, I had made friends with two young women, Elyse and Linesy. We got a triple room so at least I wasn't left with no one wanting to be my roomie. No matter how old you get, you never get over that dread of being picked last. I truly feared being the Jerri Blank on this trip. So far, I've managed to avoid that fate.
One thing I've noticed is if you boldly say "Hola!" people assume you can speak Spanish, which I cannot, at least not very well. Hopefully my Spanish tutoring, which starts on Monday, will remove some of the terror of not having any idea what someone is saying.
The group - there's about 40 of us - went out for pizza last night. It was delicious. I met some people who will be staying in my town - San Marcos La Laguna. We've agreed to all go together to daily yoga at 7:15 a.m. once we get there. Awesome!
I'll get some pictures posted once we leave Guate and head up into the mountains.
More later.
KF
First challenge was realizing we had to share rooms for the night in Guate. Fortunately, I had made friends with two young women, Elyse and Linesy. We got a triple room so at least I wasn't left with no one wanting to be my roomie. No matter how old you get, you never get over that dread of being picked last. I truly feared being the Jerri Blank on this trip. So far, I've managed to avoid that fate.
One thing I've noticed is if you boldly say "Hola!" people assume you can speak Spanish, which I cannot, at least not very well. Hopefully my Spanish tutoring, which starts on Monday, will remove some of the terror of not having any idea what someone is saying.
The group - there's about 40 of us - went out for pizza last night. It was delicious. I met some people who will be staying in my town - San Marcos La Laguna. We've agreed to all go together to daily yoga at 7:15 a.m. once we get there. Awesome!
I'll get some pictures posted once we leave Guate and head up into the mountains.
More later.
KF
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