Lessons in generosity

While the majority of my days are spent in the Nu’Kem store/office, I greatly enjoy my little outings to the communities to spend time with the weavers. The store is in Tactic, but the women live in the poor(er) outlaying aldeas and the neighboring municipality. My visits usually consist of walking from house to house with the community representative, talking to the weavers (trying to at least…most of the women speak very little Spanish or none at all), and watching them weave. I field questions about the states (no, not all people from Missouri are brown), my family (the women think my brothers are very handsome), and of course my marriage status (in Tamahú I was betrothed to a boy who is still nursing). They talk about me in Poqomchi’, and I smile.

It is during these excursions that I am repeatedly humbled by the generosity of Guatemalans. I am from one of the richest countries in the world living in one of the poorest, and yet these women give me the best of what they have. In every house I am greeted with a beverage and food (I probably exceed my daily needed caloric intake in just liquids). The women scramble to find me a seat and make sure that I am comfortable. I leave loaded down with fruit, bread, and tamales.

During one trip to Tamahú in which I had planned to just visit houses, I was surprised to find all the weavers in the representative’s home preparing a huge lunch in my honor. I was served first (as always) and given the best piece of chicken, larger portions of rice and soup, my own basket full of tamalitos, AND an eating utensil. Later when all the Coke Lights caught up with me, Yolanda sent her son out running to find a “door” for the outhouse (semi see-through plastic sheet) and a role of toilet paper (I could have used the near-by newspaper, but I wasn’t exactly sure it wasn’t meant for reading). The women found the situation very amusing.

That day in Tamahú, I received an invite to one of the weavers’ birthday party. After over an hour ride in the back of a truck on a dirt road through the gorgeous Polochic Valley and a near hour hike up into the hills through banana trees and a coffee farm, we finally reached Zoila’s one room, dirt floor, wood house—the poorest house I have seen in Guatemala. Even though it was Zoila’s party, I was treated like the guest of honor and superfluously received more attention than the birthday girl. I ate tamales, sipped instant coffee (they can’t afford the good coffee growing all around them), chatted with the women, and played marbles on the dirt floor with the barefoot children. And yet amid the joyfulness of the gathering, I was overcome by a profound sadness and an even more acute sense of purpose here—sadness for the poverty surrounding me and purpose for the charge I have been given to work to alleviate it.

These women who have so openly accepted me and so munificently given to me are counting on me to find them clients. My ability to find them buyers directly affects their ability to work and provide for their families. For all the generosity the women of Nu’Kem have shown and will continue to show me, I desire so greatly to succeed in that task.

Zoila's Birthday Party

The last portion of the near hour hike to Zoila's house.

Posing for a birthday picture.

Grandma, daughter-in-law & kids.

Yolanda and her new chicken.

One of many pictures of the kids during the walk back.

Ironies & Observations

A country that was once a “banana republic” is now home to Banana Republic clothing factories.

It makes you lose trust in the authorities when they are the ones who whistle and honk as they drive past.

If the Guatemalans think a bus is being driven to erratically to board, their caution should be heeded.

Never buy a dog in the market. You’ll most likely end up having to tranquilize it to death to put it out of its sickly misery. Just ask Marissa.

A store in Tactic that sells pirated CDs and DVDs has a sign that reads, “God bless this business and all those that shop here.”

I brought a pair of dry clean only pants. They are dirty now and I can’t wash them. Bringing them wasn’t a very good idea.

If you see a damp spot next to a wall or bushes, it is most likely urine (human or canine) and should be avoided.

Never give your trash to someone who kindly offers to take it on a bus. He will only throw it out the window.

Consuming “copious amounts of mold” is not good for your digestive health. Another lesson learned courtesy of Marissa.

In the town where I lived during training whose patron saint is Doubting Thomas, the slogan on the football stadium reads “Hasta no ver, no creer”.

“Ahorita” actually means anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour from now.

There is not a book, magazine, or shoe in my possession that isn’t smeared with goo from smashing bugs in my room.

The middle right side of a camioneta is the best place to sit. It is least likely to be ripped off in the event of a collision.

Whatever it is, it’s probably not just dirt.

Mujeres de Guaxpac

Yo soy Kathryn presidente.

While Guatemala was engrossed in its elections, Peace Corps was holding elections of its own (slightly less tumultuous and bloody) for the Volunteer Advocacy Council—the representative voice of the volunteers to the administration…and I am to be the new president of VAC.

I would love to be able to say that my election to the presidency was the result of my impeccable character, my carefully crafted campaign, my sound platform, my steadfast refusal to resort to political mudslinging, my riveting stump speeches, and all the hands I shook and babies I kissed, but the humbling truth is that no one else ran, so I won by default (a fact I probably won’t be including on any future resumes).

So even though I don’t have a mandate (read my post “90 days” for more details on that subject), I am nevertheless excited to take the helm of VAC. Hopefully after my year of service the volunteers here can say they were pleased with the performance of the president for whom they never voted.

[And contrary to what the title of the post may lead you to believe, I am not actually conceited (as if I have a reason to be). It is a little nod to a certain annoying Guatemalan political jingle that will forever be etched into my memory. My fellow PCVs (thank you Kelly, Mo, Laura, and Bryan for your loyal readership) probably share in my joy that Pablo shan’t be advancing to the next round.]

Las elecciones

Sunday was election day in Guatemala. Every governmental position was up for grabs—from the President down to the mayor for every municipality in the country.

Just a quick glance at a sampling of the world headlines over the past couple of months tells the story of what the election process has been like here:

BBC News
“Bullets overshadow Guatemala ballot”
“Guatemala campaign deaths mount”

The New York Times
“Guatemalans Choose President After Bloody Campaign”
“Drug Gangs Use Violence to Sway Guatemala Vote”

The Economist
“Ballots, bullets, and business”

Reuters
“Bloodshed hits Guatemalan election campaign”


Each article tells basically the same story, which can be nicely summed up in a quote from The New York Times, “It is election time in Guatemala and that means rallies and banners -- and body bags.”

This has been the bloodiest campaign season in the history of Guatemala with over 50 politically related murders leading up to the elections. Drug trafficking is big business in here and rumors of political parities being tied to drug gangs abound. Corruption is also rife—votes are bought and last minute projects have been undertaken to sway the vote.

As a safety precaution Peace Corps put us all on Standfast—no volunteer was to leave his/her site for the day before, the day of, and the day after the election. While violence hit home in other volunteer’s sites (one mayor’s house was looted and burned, while in another site the mayor was assassinated), fortunately Tactic was calm—calm as in no violence. As in all across the country, Tactic definitely had its fair share of political rallies, marches, and parades…even a UNE sponsored bicycle race (in which I unwittingly participated in the leg between my house and the Nu’Kem store).

Fortunately, election day itself was relatively peaceful with major disturbances occurring in only 15 municipalities in the country—4 of which were in Alta Verapaz (with 16 munis in total). With members of the army toting their M16s posted inside and around the voting stations, the day passed without incident here in Tactic.

Quite the opposite from the States, Guatemala is heavy on political parties (14 participated in the Presidential election) but light on political ideology. Since no single candidate won the required 50% majority vote, there will be a runoff in November between the two front-runners, Álvaro Colom of the Unidad Nacional de la Esperanza and Pérez Molina of the Partido Patriota. So Guatemala’s bloodiest election season just got a month and a half extension.

Chi-ixim

90 days

Three months is all I have left until I turn 26 exceeding the maximum marriageable age, doomed to spend the rest of my life as a lonely spinster—this according to my new Guatemalan friend. He also claims that Hillary Clinton used to be a lingerie model, so I am not exactly taking what he says as fact.

He lives right next to the Nu’Kem office where I go to work everyday. We first met about four weeks ago when he stopped by the store with a bottle of medicine for me to translate. Vitamin C…hmm, “Vitamina C” in Spanish. Now whenever he sees me he likes to strike up a conversation. Usually he talks about his days working on the Chixoy dam comparing the work ethic of the different European nationalities assigned to the project (Germans: hard workers and very intelligent; Italians: beautiful women but are tied to the mafia). This past Friday our chat in which marriage was discussed started like this:

“You are very pretty.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“You just need to wear some make-up.”

“I am wearing make-up.”

“Well, maybe you should wear more.”

Now was I a sensitive person or remotely concerned about getting married, I am sure his comments would have cast me into a slight depression. Fortunately I am not—which is a very good thing given the frequency in which the subject of marriage and my lack of being in that state is brought up. It is extremely rare in Guatemala, especially in indigenous communities, for a woman in her mid-twenties not to be married or at least to have a couple of kids. My declaration of singleness is usually met with a look of shock or pity and followed with, “Well, you’ll just have to find yourself a Guatemalan boyfriend,” (something I know the women in my association are already plotting in an effort to get me to stay for more than two years).

So I am down to my last 90 days with no prospects. Had I previously been made aware of this 26-year-old marriage cutoff, perhaps I would have put a little effort forth in my early twenties. But probably not. Happy single I am. Happy single I will be.

See you in consolidation...

The second category 5 hurricane of the season made landfall in Central America earlier this week and for the second time in less than a month all the volunteers here in Guatemala were back at their consolidation points to weather the storm…that never came.

The Guatemalans thought we were crazy for fleeing to a hotel for Hurricane Dean and I’m afraid our consolidation for Felix has only furthered that notion. I must admit I scared the wits out of a fair share of indigenous women with talk (and maybe a few frightening computer diagrams) about Dean, but with Felix I slunk out of town informing as few as people as possible of my reason for departure. “Oh, yeah, there is a hurricane coming, but I am sure nothing will happen here. Peace Corps is just really cautious.”

But I do not fault Peace Corps. Once again I think they made the right decision to consolidate (a point I wish to make clear in the event any bored Washington desk officers are browsing through volunteers’ blogs). Felix left a wake of death and destruction through neighboring Honduras but fortunately dissipated before making it to Guatemala. Predicting the future can sometimes be a difficult task.

If anything our tri-weekly hurricane consolidations have become a great bonding time for the volunteers in the Verapaces. After Dean’s Enrique dance party, this time we had Felix’s marathon charades game. The overall friendly competition did have a tense moment during the “Battle of the Sexes” round when the clue Anna Karenina (submitted by the girls’ team) led to a heated debate and the later banning of books as a category. I should note that we would have won the match even had the boys correctly guessed the famous novel—a fact that in no way lessened their bitter anger.

With predictions of potentially four more hurricanes during the month of September, we were already planning possible diversions to pass the time at the next consolidation. Capture the flag and hide and seek were thrown out as options, but of course any outdoor activities would have to be suspended in the event a hurricane actually hit during hurricane consolidation. But I think the odds are in the favor of capture the flag.

Pics around town

My rooftop view of Chi-ixim.

Chi-ixim from the cemetery.

Women from Tamahú weaving.

Women from Baja Verapaz selling baskets in the market.

The reason why I don't buy meat in the market.