Who needs to go to the Peten? I've got jungle in my backyard

Important Peace Corps lesson #1 (or maybe #44331 at this point): you never know when you will be surprised with a really cool experience.

This morning I had agreed to go out to one of the communities where we work to take pictures of their water system for a grant we are helping them complete. This community has only 20 families, and they built their own gravity fed water system out of small PVC tubing and barbed wire. The terrain is mountainous, and in various places, they had explained to us, the tubing was strung across ravines. This manner of construction left the tubes vulnerable to both the natural elements and water thieves who drill holes in the PVC to steal the community’s water. An engineer we are working with on a project in the school wants to replace these parts with sturdier metal tubing.

I arrived at the community with Juan, my trusted taxi driver and friend (there is no transportation to this community and its too far to walk), and expected to see a few tubes and be done in an hour or less. We started off through the few houses that make up the village, through the cornfields, now grown up tall around the houses, and headed into the woods. The woods there look a lot like Florida woods, and the air is clear and crisp. It is beautiful, and I was loving it. Two “bridges,” or sections of tubes spanning ravines, later I was feeling good. So when they told me that from there on the terrain got worse and that they weren’t sure if we should go on, I insisted that I needed the photos and measurements, and we pressed on. We passed through a lush river canon and started to climb. An hour and a half and 5 “bridges” later found me feeling like a novice Avatar on Pandora. I tried to act cool, but there were a few times where my life flashed before my eyes as I pictured myself tumbling down a cliff. “Throw yourself uphill,” advised the wise village mayor. I felt even more foolish when I found out one of our guides had a fractured knee (or something like that, they were all speaking Kaqchikel and Juan wasn’t helping much to translate). I decided it was time to turn around while I still could. At this point, hiked almost 2 hours into the mountains, they informed me that we had only reached the middle of the water system and had covered the most manageable terrain. I am still flabbergasted that this tiny community built and maintains such an extensive and vulnerable water system, and that they were able to engineer a gravity fed system over kilometers and kilometers of mountains.

At one point while we were hiking, a helicopter passed overhead, and Juan made a joke that we were guerillas hiding in the forest from the army. Later I got a chance to talk to the community leaders about the “violence” as they call it, and found out that 7 members of their community were disappeared during that time. Many more left the community and moved into the municipality, where it was safer. In those times, they told me, one couldn’t wander around the mountain like we did today with out the fear of being found and killed by either the army or the guerillas. It’s interesting to note that in many history books and in many circles here in Guatemala these years are referred to as “The Civil War.” Indeed they were ended in 1996 with Peace Accords, as if these years comprised a legitimate war. But here in this community that lived only the violence and sided neither with the guerilla or army, their name for the time period describes their experience. In college I took a class on periods of state violence in Latin America and read multiple books about how Guatemala spent the better part of second half of the 20th century, but being there in that forest and talking to people who can claim that as part of their life and history is an inexplicably different experience.

I arrived home exhausted, full of soda and imitation cheese puffs that we had been served after the hike (the things I do for confianza), but grateful for such an incredible morning. After lunch I headed off to teach English, which is not always my favorite activity even on days when I haven’t been dragged all over the mountains. Last week we learned how to make words plural. So today while reviewing pronouns, 7 year old Wesley solemnly informed me that if “They” were plural, it would be “Theies,” and I was reminded of another Peace Corps lesson: it’s the small victories that count.

Día de los Muertos

This is the first year that I can remember that I haven’t dressed up for Halloween. I am really not sure what my parents did when I was a baby, but that can’t really count. It was strange how un-strange it was. Here in Guatemala we celebrate Día de los Muertos instead of Halloween, and I think I greatly preferred it, minus missing all of the post-halloween-on-sale-candy.

For Día de los Muertos families decorate and visit the tombs of their loved ones, and their own future tombs. My host siblings, who are 7 and 9, already have their own designated tomb space. I believe that wealthier families may build tombs for their children as soon as they are born, which is a strange concept for me- to be so conscious of and prepared for the inevitability of death. This tradition also reflects the importance of family and home in the culture here. Families are all buried together in their hometown; not as many people leave the towns they were born in, and even if they do, the town remains a center for ritual and family. Because of all who return to Patzún for this special day, the town was especially full. At night we went down to the cemetery, where Laura’s host family sells food and hung out in the festival-like atmosphere with the rest of the town.

Another important part of October and November and celebrating Day of the Dead is kite flying. This has to be the best way ever to celebrate a holiday. Better than a bunny, better than lots of presents, and better than green beverages. Tissue paper kites can either be made or cheaply bought, and the whole month leading up to Day of the Dead kids can be seen on the roofs of their houses flying their kites. I tried my hand at kite making with our girls group, and it was a lot harder than it looked (mine came out a bit crooked). All of the boys and some of the girls know the special sticks that are needed, how to measure and build the frame with these sticks and thread, and are more creative in decorating their kites than I have seen them in any other endeavor. I went out kite flying Saturday, Sunday, and Tuesday. I am addicted.

The kids from our world map project all made kites representing different countries that they chose and researched. I hopefully will be able to post some pics soon. They are very impressive. Almost as impressive as the kites that I saw at the kite festival in Sumpango, my training town.

Sumpango is nationally and internationally famous for the giant kites that are made and flown there for Nov. 1st. I had been looking forward to going to see them since training in January, and I was not disappointed. The kites were up to 25 or 30 meters tall and showed elaborate and beautiful designs made out of tissue paper. They are built on huge bamboo frames, and displayed all day for locals and tourists. Then come the attempts to fly them. Before we had to leave we saw maybe 6 or 7 of the smaller kites (my height) try to leave the ground. When one would start to rise everyone would scream and cheer, but most would quickly nose dive, causing a lot more screaming, and a lot of running to get out of the way. As fun as it was to see one of the kites rise way up into the sky and stay there, the crashes were pretty fun too. We left at 3:30 and all of the bigger kites still had to be flown, so I still have no sure answer on whether the huge ones can actually fly or not, but I bet those crashes are a lot more dangerous. Some of the huge kites fell over and were destroyed before they even got a chance to try to fly. Seeing as how it can take 3 months to build these kites, that has to be a disappointment.

I wish I had more information about where this tradition came from. I have heard that the kites come from the influence of Chinese immigrants. Where ever they come from, they fit the holiday perfectly, as November is a time of year with little rain and lots of wind. Since this wind isn’t used for sailing, I guess kites are the next best thing.