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
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