Las Fiestas

In a culture that is so family oriented, it comes as no surprise that holidays and birthdays are large celebrations. Just in my short time here I have already attended two such events: a Mother’s Day dinner and the birthday party of Kelly’s 2-year-old host brother.

Mother’s Day (el día de las madres) is a much bigger holiday here than in the States. Children only have a half day of school or don’t attend at all, and most people don’t have to go to work. The celebration in my village began at around 4:30 in the morning with people shooting off fireworks in the streets (this continued all day long) and a truck driving around town blaring an ‘I love my mom’ themed song through a megaphone. (Hmm, I don’t know of a lot of mothers in the US who would appreciate being awoken before 5 am by loud music and fireworks.) In the evening I attended a dinner with my host mom and four of her sisters (she has five sisters all living in this village, but the one she lives with had a separate dinner at our house) at the house of her niece.

Although he is only two and won’t remember any of it, the party for Kelly’s host brother, Daniel, was quite an ordeal. There was cake, tostadas, tamales, and fresca (the word used for all homemade cool beverages). The family rented out an outdoor banquet type area, and there were about 100 guests in attendance.

The funniest occurrence of the evening was an incident that could have had a very bad outcome. After having one piñata for the children, the hosts strung up another one for the adults. Myself and a couple of others had a go at it, and the bluebird was on its last leg when the stick and blindfold were passed on to Michael, another volunteer. After a few swings he sprung a hole. Blindfolded and not really comprehending the directions being shouted at him in Spanish (like “Para! Para!”—“Stop! Stop!”), Michael continued swinging as a hoard of children rushed in around him to pick up the candies. Fortunately someone grabbed the stick from behind before anyone was wounded…I can just imagine the ill feelings that would arise from having your child beaten with a stick by a gringo at a birthday party.

Birthday Party

cohetes y chuchos

It does not do my town justice to entitle this entry ‘fireworks and street dogs’, but as new member of the community the ubiquity of both these things cannot go unnoticed. Not a day goes by without someone setting off fireworks of the Black Cat variety in the street to celebrate a birthday or some other event. Usually birthday pyrotechnics begin around 5 in the morning and are often accompanied by bombas—super loud fireworks translated literally as ‘bombs’. The first time I awoke to bombas, I thought for sure there was a gunfight transpiring in town, but no, it was just the Catholics parading a statue of Mary through the streets on a cart. ¡Gracias a Dios!

And then there are the chuchos…In Spanish the word for ‘dog’ is ‘perro’, but here in Guatemala exists the word ‘chucho’ specifically for dogs that live in the street (when used in the feminine form it can also mean ‘prostitute’, but it all depends on the context). The quantity of chuchos in a town is often stated as a distinguishing factor. These dogs roam the streets in packs living off scraps, barking at people, and impregnating each other (I find it fascinating that despite all the interbreeding there is still a wide range of different looking dogs). Late afternoon is usually naptime for the chuchos, and it is often difficult to discern the live ones from the dead. Nighttime is when they come alive as the town falls to sleep to a chorus of barks.

For the most part, I find chuchos a harmless annoyance. Sadly, they are so accustomed to being beaten that the simple act of raising an arm as if to throw a rock is enough to make them scatter. The other day, however, walking home from the training center, I was certain I was going to be attacked by a very persistent chucho that had been tailing me for a couple of blocks growling and barking at my ankles. At the time I was unable to make any threatening gestures as both of my hands were occupied carrying bags, so I resigned to the fact that I was going to be bitten and started running through the steps I needed to take when it happened: calling the on-duty medial officer, securing transport to Guate, receiving post-bite rabies injections. Fortunately none of this came to pass as the dog eventually tired of following me. I am just thankful that I am vaccinated against rabies.

Despite the chuchos and cohetes, I do really like my town and enjoy living here. The town has been host to PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) for many, many years, so being a gringa here warrants little special attention. In fact the only time I have really been “harassed” in the street was while walking by a construction site a few days ago…hmm, must be universal. Overall, the people are really friendly and not terribly curious, which makes me feel less like the complete outsider that I am.

There are about 4,00 people living here, most of them working in agricultural jobs. In the mornings and afternoons I pass many men carrying their machetes to and from work. There is also an ice cream factory and a clothing factory owned by Koreans in town that employee quite a few people. While there isn’t a supermarket here, there are numerous small stores selling pretty much the same mix of basic foods and junk food, and there is a small open air market with fresh fruits and vegetables.

The town sits nestled in the mountains with a spectacular view of three volcanoes in the distance: Agua, Fuego, and Acatenango. By mid-morning they are usually obscured by clouds, so I love to step outside before 6:30 am after bathing to enjoy the view. Agua and Acatenango are dormant, but Fuego is still active, and there is an almost continuous stream of smoke spewing from its crater.

My absolute favorite part of town is the Parque Central. It is not what Americans would really consider a park, but more of like a concrete pavilion area interspersed with small gardens containing all different types of flowers and small trees. While there is trash in the streets everywhere else in town (fortunately not an ungodly amount), the park is kept immaculate. The paths are swept regularly, the flowers and trees are watered and pruned, and it even has garbage cans (public trashcans are a rare site in this country). The park also contains a basketball court, but unfortunately it only has one hoop, and it is used more often for soccer than for basketball. I am not complaining, though.

The pictures in the following entry are of some random shots around the town, Volcán Agua, and the park.

My community

¡Soy una tia!

When you sign up to serve in another country for two years, you are bound to miss important events in the lives of family and friends—things for which you really wish you could be present. Yesterday was one such day. My brother and his wife had their first child, Reilly Claire, and I have become an aunt. Congratulations Aaron and Whitney. I am so happy for the two of you. I wish I could be there to see your little girl, but Reilly will just have to wait for a couple of years before she is spoiled by Aunt Kate.

Father & Daughter

Mmm...

Chili rellanos my mom made for a church gathering.


Tamales for a birthday party.

La comida

At my current rate of intake, after two years in Guatemala my consumption of beans and tortillas would most appropriately be measured in tons and thousands respectively. Beans and tortillas are a staple of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and there is, of course, the occasional bean sandwich as a snack.

There is actually a whole life cycle of the bean (frijole) of which I was completely unaware before I came. When the beans are first cooked in water, they are served whole as frijoles purados and are soupy. The left over beans later get served as frijoles colados, which have been purified in water. Last, but not least, our remaining bean friends are fried with lots of oil and become frijoles fritos. The essential gas cutting ingredient in the preparation any form of beans is garlic, but sometimes I doubt its effectiveness. So although I know I will be eating beans, the surprise is discovering which kind.

The monotony of the frijoles, however, is more than made up for by the amazing variety of fruits and vegetables grown and available here. Güicoy, a gourd type vegetable similar to zucchini (which I have eaten a lot of here too), is quickly becoming one of my favorite vegetables. My host mom makes an assortment of delicious salads with different mixtures (not all together) of lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, broccoli, mango, pineapple, green beans, peas, onions, and peppers. Some kind of fresh fruit is usually worked into the meal also: watermelon, bananas, oranges, apples, papaya, plantains, peaches and the aforementioned mango and pineapple.

After a couple of weeks here, I have adopted the personal slogan of ‘More greens less beans’ and have recently successfully cut down my bean ingestion to only dinner time without offending my host mom (I think). Now my breakfasts consist of fruit, usually a banana, and lunches are typically chicken, boiled not fried, with a salad or rice, some fruit, and tortillas. Accompanying the beans and tortillas for dinner can be a number of things like veggie or cheese omelets, tamales, rice and/or vegetables. Dinner is frequently followed by a fruit served as desert like peaches (from the tree in the yard) cooked with sugar or fried plantains. Guatemaltecans believe eating meat at dinner is bad for digestion and, therefore only do so for parties or other special occasions.

Just because I have been eating traditional Guatemaltecan fare on a daily basis is not to say that there aren’t other foods available. There is actually an astonishing (well, I am astonished at least) amount of familiar brands in large supermarkets in Guate (nickname for the capital) and other bigger cities like Antigua, but these items require a bit of traveling to obtain and are out of the price range of the vast majority of the people living in the small villages. With its heavy foreign influence, Antigua also has an impressive range of specialty foods in stores, cafes, and restaurants owned by gringos.

All the big names in American fast food are also present in Guatemala: McDonalds, Wendy’s, Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, Subway, Sbarros, Burger King, and Dominos. Today, on the way to Guate, I even saw a Casa del Wafle (the Waffle House). I have yet to try it, but Dominos will actually deliver to my village, and being a Peace Corps volunteer I get the deal of buy one pizza get one free every day of the week. A group of us living in near-by towns are already planning a pizza party.

With a whole post on food, I think it is fitting to mention Guatemaltecans tendency to nickname people based on their physical characteristics—the most popular being, ‘el gordito’ or ‘la gordita’, meaning ‘the fat one’. ‘Ito/a’ in Spanish is usually added to the end of a word to convey either smallness or affection, so even though in the States it would be completely offensive to call someone fat, here it is perfectly normal and there is no maliciousness in the label. After constantly hearing my family refer to a male volunteer in the next town over as ‘el gordito’, out of curiosity I asked my host sister what my nickname is here…and sure enough, I am ‘la gordita’. Damn beans and tortillas.

Mi casa y la pila

Mi nueva familia

Instead of packing one post full of information about different things, I am going to write a series of entries on specific topics—the first being my host family.

I don’t think I could have gotten a better placement for these first three months in terms of compatibility. It is a really good balance between having some privacy and personal space and getting to interact with a very warm and friendly family. My family consists of Doña L. (the mother) and her 16-year-old daughter sharing the house with her sister and her twenty-something daughter.

Our house is located on the edge of town. It is a simple construction of brick walls covered in plaster with a tin roof. As to PC stipulations, I have my own room. Both Doña L. and her sister have their own kitchen and living areas but share the bathroom and the pila. Usually made of concrete and located either inside or just outside the home (ours is concrete and inside), the pila is comparable to a sink in the US. It consists of three separate compartments, the middle one for holding water, and is used for washing clothes and dishes. We have running water but only for a couple of hours after 6 pm and some days not at all. During the time the water is working, Doña L. fills the middle pila basin, a huge plastic container next to the pila, and a handful of plastic tubs for bathing, cooking, and flushing the toilet.

Bucket bathing it will be for the next three months (maybe more). I was first introduced to the bucket bath during my travels in Africa. For the uninitiated, the process simply consists of scooping water out of a large plastic container with a smaller one, splashing it on your body, soaping up, and splashing on more to rinse. Washing hair is the tricky part, as it is a bit difficult to get all the shampoo out (I have ceased conditioning). The only slightly unpleasant thing about bucket bathing is that it can be quite cold. My village is located above 7000 feet in the mountains and the evenings and mornings are pretty brisk (I sleep in a sweatshirt and long pants with a couple of blankets), so even though I use water heated on the stove, the surrounding air makes it a chilly experience. Every morning at approximately 5:40 am, Doña L. yells, “Kaaati, su agua está liiisto!” This is my wake-up call announcing that my hot water is ready for bathing. It is always delivered with the ‘Kati’ and the ‘listo’ drawn out (for Spanish speakers, I thought going by Katarina here would be easier to pronounce, but little did I know that Kati, which sounds like ‘Kathy’ is a commonly used nickname…I hate being called Kathy).

One of my favorite things about my living situation is that being on the outskirts of town, my house is surrounded by little fields of vegetables. Doña L. grows mainly lettuce, but also some güicoy and beets (only my family would appreciate the irony in the fact that I helped Doña L. gather beets the other day) to sell in the market in the capital. There is a variety of trees by the house: lime, orange, and peach (two varieties that are much smaller than the ones found in the states). Doña L. also has a handful of beautiful rose bushes that produce flowers year round and some other vegetable plants that I am not quite sure what they are yet.

Families that host volunteers are given a stipend by Peace Corps. This money goes to providing us meals (I am planning a whole post on food in the future), lodging and doing our laundry. Having lived alone for while, it is a bit of adjustment getting used to having someone cook, clean my room, and wash my clothes for me. Another major adjustment is the restriction on being able to leave the house alone after dark, especially since the sun goes down around 6:30. According to the other volunteers with whom I have spoken, this seems to be a pretty much across the board family rule. Even though Doña L. says that my village is not at all dangerous (“Gracious a Dios!”), and she often goes out alone at night, I think he is just overly cautious about my safety (like PC in general).

The host family situations in which volunteers have been placed really run the gamut–anywhere from having private bathrooms with hot running water (like Kelly my village mate), to sharing one bathroom with 13 family members, to having to use an outdoor latrine. And even though my home is pretty basic, I think it is the perfect placement for me and expect an enjoyable three months here with my Gutemaltecan family.

Nuts & Bolts

As of today, I have been in Guatemala for one week, but it feels like it has been months given the amount of information with which we have been bombarded since stepping off the airplane. The following is a basic summation of what has occurred since I departed St. Louis a little over a week ago:

On April 30th, I departed for our Staging Event in Washington D.C. There we spent a day and a half learning about Peace Corps in a macro sense (kudos to JFK) and getting to know each other through the standard array of quasi-cheesy ice-breaker activities. My group consists of 27 volunteers working in the program areas of Small Business Development, Youth Development, and Appropriate Technologies. Along with four other volunteers I will be in the Small Business Development (SBD) program. At this point, my understanding as to what SBD volunteers actually do is still a bit murky, as they are phasing out the program (we will be the last group) and merging it with Agricultural Marketing in the future.

We departed D.C. very early (as in leaving our hotel at 4 am) on the morning of May 2nd and after a layover in Atlanta, we arrived in Guatemala City around noon. From there we headed straight for the Peace Corps’ training center in Santa Lucia Milpas Altas, a small town in the mountains on the road between Guatemala City and Antigua, for a short 3 day “retreat”. In the past PC conducted the entirety of its three-month volunteer training at Santa Lucia in a collegiate type atmosphere where volunteers attended classes on language, health, safety, and technical skills Monday through Saturday at the center. My group, however, will be just the second batch of volunteers to go through the new Community Based Training (CBT) program. Now just one day a week will be spent together at the center for joint sessions, while the rest of the time we will be undertaking language and technical training in small groups in the eight different villages in which we were placed to live. Peace Corps’ reasoning behind this change is to accelerate our apprehension of Spanish and to lessen the shock on being on our own when we are put on a bus and pointed in the direction of our permanent site in three months time.

I am sharing “my” village (the Peace Corps asks that we not publish our exact whereabouts as a safety precaution—as if some terrorist somewhere is searching through blogs looking for an easy American target stationed in the middle of nowhere) with only one other trainee. As previously stated, I will be here for three months for the duration of training. At the end of June, I will find out my site placement and on July 20th I will depart for my new home. PC has already chosen its sites but uses the training period to access our skills and taken into account our preferences before deciding which volunteer will be assigned to which site. Our rule to live by here, “Be flexible.”

And so I will end this dry, information-packed blog with some tidbits about Peace Corps Guatemala…

There are 165 volunteers in the country, not including our group (we are not official volunteers until after we finish training), serving in 9 different program areas.

Established in 1963, it is one of the oldest programs, and amazingly it never suspended operations during Guatemala’s long and violent civil war.

It is one of only a few programs that still allows volunteers to ride (not drive) on a motorcycle. Not that I will probably ever need to, but for some reason this little freedom makes me happy.