Exciting Updates from the Life of a Peace Corps Volunteer

It’s raining. It has been for a while now. We are on stand-fast because it is raining so much. That’s Peace Corps terms for happy weekend; don’t leave your site. A volcano erupted Thursday, covering the capital with black sand and not so much as a peep from Peace Corps, but it rains without stopping for a day or so and we are on lock-down. So much for my plans for a haircut.

The rain makes me feel extremely lazy, which is a bad thing because we are only one month in to a five month rainy season. The rain also makes the water muddy. I get water at my house every other day, and the past few days my pila has been brown. Four days ago we didn’t even fill it up the water was so dirty, today it was a translucent light brown. I just made sure to dry my dishes really well. Apparently this is normal for the first month of rainy season as the rain water is washing up all of the dirt…or something like that. I guess that explains mal de mayo (aka excessive stomach issues in the month of May).

So for now I am rained in. Tonight I took advantage of this situation to watch gross amounts of West Wing and make home-made pesto. If I come away with only one thing from Peace Corps it will be cooking skills, aka “the importance of a blender as a cooking implement.” I haven’t been able to find basil in the market, and was giving up hope when my landlady gave me a tour of our garden and I discovered a GIANT basil bush right outside my back door. We also have parsley, mint, eucalyptus, and various fruits. When it is not raining at night (rarely), the fireflies come out and I feel as if I live in an enchanted garden.

Another exciting thing to update you all about is my trip to the dentist. I’m sure it isn’t just my mother who has been worried about my tooth that was chipped in the line of duty while accompanying my site-mate to the hospital. I was a little nervous about getting my tooth fixed here because I have seen how most people come out after a trip to the dentist. But after more experienced volunteers assured me that I would emerge from the experience without any extraneous gold adornments in my mouth, I sucked it up and made the appointment. Everything went smoothly until the end when she let me hold the mirror to see how I liked my newly repaired tooth. All I can say is thank god for that mirror; otherwise I would have come out like some character from Twilight. From there it went something like a hair cutting appointment: a little shorter, a little off the back, oh my gosh too short! Etc. I was a bit nervous when the dentist answered her cell phone while drilling down my tooth and the assistant failed to register the panic in my facial expression, but I came out alive, and those who have gotten bored by now and stopped reading will never know the difference.

So as you can see, life here is pretty exciting. And, if I haven’t made it clear enough already, it continues to rain. Maybe I should look into getting a boat instead of a bicycle.

A Long Blog for a Long Week

This week was a week of highs and lows.

Let’s start with a high:
Laura and I finally figured out how to become celebrities over night. I’ll admit- it was a stroke of genius. I’ll also admit that it wasn’t our idea. This week was feria in our town, which is a town fair every municipality celebrates in honor of their patron saint. On the Tuesday before feria, the department of education planned a big parade for all of the schools, and seeing how Laura and I work within the municipal office of education, our supervisor invited us to walk with his secretaries. On the big day, Laura and I arrived at the rendezvous point ready to go. Now when I think of walking in a parade, I think practically about my attire- jeans and tennis shoes. But we were instructed to look our finest, so I bumped it up to a skirt and flats. I’m glad I did, because when we lined up to start marching we found ourselves right behind the feria’s beauty queens. They certainly did not share my concept of practicality, as they arrived ready to walk the route in what my host mom termed “tacones (heels) de table dancing.” How she knew that word in English I don’t really want to know. The beauty queens, in turn, came right after the Mayor and City Council. And this is how Laura and I found ourselves almost at the head of the parade. Turns out I wasn’t exactly born for parade walking. The marshal in charge of our line kept reprimanding me for either walking too fast or getting distracted by taking pictures and not walking at all. I also managed to trip more than all of the women in heels. Our supervisor, however, seemed happy, walking along with his harem of women.

Another high:
Corn-on-the-cob-on-a-stick, and…
The muni hired a marimba band to play for feria that is renowned throughout all of Guatemala- the Conejos Internacionales. Rough translation: The International Bunnies. In their powder blue suits they were quite impressive. One of them even tried to pick up one of my friends using the seductive “bunny ears” symbol, which basically looks like a peace sign when you pulse the two fingers to resemble rabbit ears. I know. I can’t believe it didn’t work. There were also fireworks, which were quite impressive for Guatemala.

This brings me to my first low: Close Calls during Feria.
The last fireworks were beautiful. They exploded right above our heads like a proverbial umbrella, and the sparks appeared to be raining down on us. But then there was one that didn’t burn out. As it got closer and closer, my sense of panic increased. But this is a “close call” section, so you will al be relived to know that the flaming piece of whatever fireworks are made of fell on the tin roof of the stage, and we were only showered with a few sparks.

The next close call begins with what was an insane idea anyway- riding the Ferris wheel. Laura’s host sister managed to convince me that I wouldn’t die or pee my pants, so I got inline with her and bought a ticket. As we neared the front of the line, the Ferris wheel stopped turning. I didn’t really think much of it until they got out the wrenches to try to repair the tractor. Yes, the tractor. The Ferris wheel was run by an honest to god tractor. When they put the tractor in reverse, the Ferris wheel went backwards. And fast. Instead of calling it the “Rueda de Chicago” they should call it the “Rueda de Muerto.” When that tractor broke down I was out of that line in a flash. If that broke, how do we know other more crucial parts of the monstrous ride wouldn’t break? Not a chance I was willing to take. Not to mention that I was about 5 people away from being stuck on the top of a very tall Ferris wheel for an indefinite amount of time. Here is another idea to ponder… Ferris wheels in a lightening storm??

We’ll go ahead and sandwich the lows in the middle of this extremely long blog entry. Low # 2: Injuries sustained by Laura and me while defending our site-mate’s honor (well, what’s left of it after the whole town watched him dancing to the music of the International Bunnies).
Some may tell you that it was a refrigerator that ruined the actual day of Feria for Laura and I, sending Laura to the hospital with a bump on her head and causing me to return from accompanying her minus part of a tooth, but we stand by our story and Colin’s honor. Please don’t worry, Laura is fine, I got to go shopping at a huge supermarket in Guate City, and thanks to Peace Corps, I have great dental insurance.

Mixed high and low: Taking my host-grandmother to the airport.
This Tuesday, the day finally came when my host-grandmother was to depart for the US. She went to visit her daughter who she hadn’t seen in fourteen years. She packed all kinds of Guatemalan food to take to her daughter, and we had multiple send off parties. When the time came to take her to the airport, we all piled into two cars to drive to Guate. Guatemalans have an art of fitting an infinite number of people into a finite amount of space, and we fit maybe 15 people into two cars. At the airport, the send off party numbered over 20, and it was both a joyous and sad occasion. Abuela hasn’t ever really traveled anywhere, and it was obvious that her kids and grandkids would miss her greatly, even though she will be back in three weeks. If any of you see a woman wandering around Los Angeles in traditional Guatemalan dress, that’s my abuela!

Final high of the week: A school visit.
This one is not quite as glamorous as the others, but we had a really wonderful school visit on Wednesday. The school we visited had about 20 students and is located in a small village about 20 minutes by car out of town. The road to get there winds through the mountains and overlooks deep ravines. Electricity in this school was once run by solar energy, but the solar panels donated by some NGO have long since been stolen, probably to sell for scrap metal. About 10 parents from the community came to meet us, and then gave us a tour of their village. It turns out that these few parents represented a majority of the families in the community. They proudly took us to see all of their houses, some of which were perched on a hill looking out over the mountains, and others which were located down winding paths through the woods. I was impressed with the openness and hospitality that these people shared with strangers in their community. I was also happy to see all of the students and teachers brush their teeth after snack, even though the school has never worked with the Healthy Schools program!

Mother’s Day: A cultural comparison.

Today here in Guatemala we are celebrating Mother’s Day. Or, at least some people are. Some schools celebrated on Friday, on Saturday I went to a Mother’s Day dinner and on Sunday, a Mother’s Day lunch. But today, May 10th, is the official holiday. After learning a bit about how this special day is celebrated here and comparing certain aspects with our traditions in the US, I have begun to ponder if we really love and appreciate our mothers enough back home.
In a decidedly practical American fashion, we in the US have opted to celebrate Mother’s Day every year on a Sunday. This way the festivities do not interrupt work or school. Both the economy and the education system forge ahead, unimpeded, perhaps even somewhat enhanced, by our recognition of these special women in our lives. Here on the other-hand, when Mother’s Day falls on a Monday, all mothers get the day off work. This means that all of the mothers who are teachers cancel classes all day, while at the same time most schools have some sort of celebration that they invite all of the children’s mothers to. I haven’t quite worked out the logistics of all this, but what a better way to show mom you love her than giving her the day off work and a show at school. The only potential problem I can see is that “sons” or “daughters” might mysteriously appear once a year to allow “mommy” a day off of work.
A day off of work is all well and good, but these moms can forget about their sleep-in and breakfast in bed. Here it is also deemed appropriate to show your mother how much you love her by waking her up at 5:30 am with a stream of fire-crackers and loudspeaker announcements to let her know just how special she is. I don’t know about your mothers, but it seems to me that my mother would consider this a form of torture, and not the highest form of appreciation. So what says “I love you” more to you, 4 days of celebratory meals and performances and a day off of work, or a fire-cracker free sleep-in?

Fat and Happy in Guatemala

When the bus drops me off at the entrance to the community I think I am entering Neverland. The fog is so thick that it looks like I am going to walk off the end of the world in the next 10 feet. As I wind my way up the dirt road, out of the fog appears a fence post, then a horse tethered to it, the blurry edges of fields planted with vegetables, and finally a small school. The kids here are talkative, and the teachers engaged. Recess is extended as we digress in our conversation about the Healthy Schools Program to discuss new immigration laws in the US and my disloyalty to my country in my World Cup top picks.

Walking down from the school later that morning, the fog has cleared and the landscape unfolds before me like a green patchwork quilt on a lumpy bed. The mountain breeze feels familiar, like it knows me, although I can’t be sure from where. Is it the breeze that filled my sails on chilly days on the James River? Or is it the wind that whipped my hair around on Lake Michigan’s beaches? Either way it gives me a feeling of nostalgia that I can’t quite place. The mud-brick homes I pass are the kind that 6 months ago I had imagined myself living in in Peace Corps. Not that I am complaining about the painted cement walls that I am so lucky to have. It is 12:30, so when I greet a woman with a “Buenos Dias” and then quickly correct myself after consulting my watch, she laughs and stops to chat with me. I think how lucky I am to have this job, and how much I love walking.

It is a good thing that I am doing so much walking. Everyone seems to want to feed me here. This wouldn’t be a bad thing, except that all of the veggies I bought at the market over the last two weeks are going bad. And my host-aunt is continually forcing bread from her bakery on me. Today she entreated, “Just take one piece to make a bean sandwich for tomorrow’s morning snack.” “I don’t have any beans.” I replied pragmatically. “Ham?” she pondered. “No… but I do have jam.” “Perfect. A jam sandwich. I don’t want you getting sick from not eating.” Ha. That should be the least of her worries.

The moral of these stories is that I may be getting fat, but at least I am happy.

Good Morning

Its 6:30 am. Music starts blaring from loudspeakers in the street. I groan and roll over, thinking it will pass as normal. But the truck is parked in just a location so it seems to be inside my bedroom. Fireworks explode. More fireworks explode. Apparently they are not moving. I go out to my kitchen and then outside to see what is going on. I can’t hear the music quite as well out there as I can in my bed. There are no such things as public noise ordinances here. The sailing team would love it, but I don’t right now. So here I am, unfortunately awake on my first morning in my new house. Too bad I stayed up so late watching Lost episodes.
Yesterday I bid a fond farewell to my host family and moved two blocks down-hill into my casita. My landlady is very nice and I have two neighbors, but it is quiet with no kids running around. Although they did both call and text me last night to tell me they missed me. On my first day in two months choosing what I wanted to eat I cooked myself eggs and rice and beans. Hmmm… is this a bad or a good sign? Shopping for myself was fun, even though my host-mom actually did most of the bargaining and I came home with enough veggies to feed a small army.
On our one-month anniversary here in site things continue to go well. Laura and I visit schools when they don’t cancel on us. We are figuring out slowly how we are going to work. We continued to half-assedly train for our half-marathon which is in 3 weeks, and we enjoy running in the beautiful countryside here. Next on the list of things to buy is a bike. The hilly countryside would be so much fun to ride, and I could take it out to some of my schools. Then maybe I’ll buy some ear plugs.

Kaqchikel Lessons

Although studying Kaqchikel, the local Mayan language, is hard, after two weeks we are already seeing that it is worth the effort. When we present ourselves to parents in our rural schools in horribly pronounced and broken Kaqchikel we get a good laugh at least from all of the mothers. Then they start talking a mile a minute to us in Kaqchikel that we cannot understand.

Learning the language also gives interesting insight to the culture. For example, in Kaqchikel there are different words for brother and sister that specify a sister of a male, or a brother of a female. In Spanish and Kaqchikel there are specific nouns that differentiate between a married and unmarried man or woman. The difference is even more marked in Kaqchikel than Spanish. In English we have “Miss” or “Mrs.,” but these titles are rarely used unless addressing a specific person, and only apply to women. These aspects of the language show the importance in this culture of family to define identity.

Another cultural aspect reflected in the language is the generosity of the people here. I have been wondering for a while now why, when I am offered something, like say- a mango, they say “Quiere uno su mango?” (“Do you want your mango?”), instead of just “would you like a mango?”

Today I learned that in Kaqchikel every noun is preceded by a possessive pronoun. Instead of saying “I don’t have a brother,” one says “I don’t have my brother.” To ask for tortillas, one would say “Do you have your tortillas?” This grammatical structure has carried over to Spanish, resulting in “Do you want your mango?”

According to my gringa logic, if I needed a possessive pronoun to offer something to someone, I would have guessed that it would be “my.” As in “Would you like my mango?” Its mine and I am offering to give it to you. But here the transaction of offering something to me begins grammatically with it already being mine.
This idea is so beautiful and unselfish to me. I may be reading too much into it, but it seems to say that by offering something to another, nothing is taken away from the giver. I have time and time again met people here who live the idea that giving does not impoverish. No matter how much or how little they have, they are always ready to offer.

Guatemalan Logic

Sometimes I just don’t get Guatemalan logic. It’s worse than Cajun logic. Sometimes it turns out that they are right, like when they told us to add water to water-based paint so that it would go farther. But sometimes, it is just confounding. Like today when our mini bus that we take to school got stuck in the mud. The bus got stuck the first time on the way to school. We were instructed to all move to the back of the bus to weigh down the rear so the front of the bus would come up and let us escape the mud. This logic worked out well enough in this situation, and with a bit of pushing from some men that appeared out of nowhere, we were free.
But then came round-two on the way home. You would think that a lesson had been learned earlier in the day and that we would either A1) go around the deepest and wettest mud on the fairly solid mud to the side or B2) all get out so that the van would be lighter and could pass through like it did on its way to pick us up. But the driver revved his engine and we went straight through. Or, more correctly, straight in. Once again we tried the never-fail-everyone-to-the-back strategy, but this time it failed. Since the back tires were the ones that were stuck in the first place, with all the weight in the back we just sunk in farther and farther every time we tried to get out. Even when another truck tried (and failed) to pull us out, it just didn’t seem logical to any of the teachers for us to get out. Finally Laura took the initiative and climbed out the window where the mud was more firm. I followed and we finally cajoled the others out of the side door.
The situation looked bleak, and we were hungry, so we all started walking. I felt a little bad for leaving the driver there, but we weren’t helping any, and women don’t get dirty so…off we went. The countryside was beautiful and some nice man finally picked us up in his pick-up. When we finally got to highway, we sat ourselves down to wait for some kind of transportation to pass that wasn’t a moto. But lunchtime cravings overtook us, and we soon found a nice woman with a watermelon stand who forced her poor child to practice English with us. Finally someone’s dad arrived to give us all a jalon back home. As we rode back with our lovely new friends and enjoyed the last of our delicious watermelon, I thought, “why does the world have to be logical?” maybe a bit of illogical aberrance is what makes life beautiful, unpredictable, and interesting, even if it does make us late for lunch.