Tuesday, October 30, 2007

To kiss or not to kiss?

I am closing in on six months in country, and I have yet to figure out the Guatemalan greeting (perhaps I never will). There is forearm grasping, hand shaking, and/or cheek kissing depending on whether the person is a man or a woman, Indigenous or Ladino, urban or rural dweller, or a new acquaintance or a friend. But to my frustration these “guidelines” are loose (and often create contrasting combinations), and I am still at a loss to know which greeting to employ in which situation.

After becoming accustomed to the cheek kissing greeting from the Guatemalan staff during training (Peace Corps is a close family), I arrived in Tactic kissing all the women in my association. I quickly realized that I was making them very uncomfortable which in turn was making me uncomfortable upon seeing their slightly frightened reactions. I stopped and made a mental note not to kiss Indigenous women because it renders them ill at ease.

Soon after I ceased all kissing in general…or initiating it at least. Now I awkwardly wait for the other person to make the first move and simply reciprocate whatever greeting he/she extends to me. Based on the previously mentioned criteria, I try to surmise which advance will be made beforehand with my internal monologue being something to this affect, “Okay. This is a Ladino man living in the muni. Go in for the handshake, but be prepared for the kiss," or “Indigenous women from an aldea. No sudden moments. Just a simple forearm squeeze will do.”

But my assumptions have been constantly proven wrong. Indigenous women whom I have never met sometimes kiss me. Many people I have known since arriving will still only grab my forearm. I often get away with a just handshake from men. I suppose I am destined to fumble my way through the Guatemalan greeting up until I leave…or I can just start kissing everyone again.

Saturday, October 27, 2007

Cooking in Chijacorral


That is a leg of a pig.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Cleanliness is next to…impossible

It has been previously well established in my blog posts that I am an anal perfectionist. This analness evades every aspect of my life, but nowhere is it more visibly apparent than in the lengths I take to organize and clean my immediate physical environment (in the states the shirts in my closet were organized by sleeve length, type, and color, all hanging in the same direction on a certain wooden hanger…as my friends can attest, I always knew when someone had moved something). While I lack in almost all other domestic skills, I do keep a sterile home…well, did.

My definition of a clean environment has been on a steady decline since my arrival in Guatemala and has now reached an all-time low. Dust bunnies are the least of my concerns. I have been battling bugs, insects, and spiders (occasionally the size of my fist) and am now at the point of concession. Previously armed with a can of Raid, I was spraying every living thing that dared enter my line of sight, until I realized I would sooner kill myself from the fumes than alleviate my pest problem. Then I took to keeping a flip-flop or magazine on hand to smash anything I saw crawling, but I just couldn’t keep up. Now I let the bugs infest my walls and floor in relative peace, going on the occasional killing spree to remind them that their whole existence relies on my good graces.

But is it not the bugs and insects that irk me the most. My house and nearly everything in it is covered with mold. With the constant rain of Alta Verapaz, it is a full-fledged mold factory (Dad, is there some way it can be used for biodiesel?). I sleep at night on moldy sheets. I wake up to bath in a moldy shower and dry off with a moldy towel only to put on moldy clothes and moldy shoes. I flip the pages of moldy novels and write in moldy notebooks. Mold is my closest companion.

Fortunately the mold is not causing any health problems (of which I am aware), but it does throw another kink in my personal hygiene maintenance. Getting and staying clean is a bit more challenging than it was in the states. I am extremely thankful to have running water (well, most of the time…there were periods leading up to the elections when there was no water, which I was told was the result of political power plays in an effort to make the current mayor look bad—although I am not exactly sure who has access to the town water switch) and a shower with a heater, but it comes with its own set of quirks. The water rarely gets hotter than lukewarm if that, and I have to shut it off every minute and a half as not to cut the power to my whole house (the switch to turn it back on is outside). Mixing exposed electrical wires and running water is a recipe for disaster, and I have had my fair share of literally shocking morning showers. Given it isn’t a very pleasant experience, I have cut my showering time down to under five minutes—a fact that I am sure my family finds astonishing.

But in spite of the bugs, mold, and electrifying cold showers, I do have a very comfortable living arrangement. It could be better, it could be worse, but, hey, I am in Peace Corps.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Mold


If this is the mold accumulation on my pants, I wonder what my lungs look like.

Friday, October 12, 2007

¿Cómo siente volar, Seño?

“What does it feel like to fly, Seño? Is it like riding in a camioneta?” a woman from Guaxpac asked me yesterday as a plane flew overhead—a rare occurrence here…The question almost made me cry.

How do you fully explain to someone a sensation in which she will never in her life experience? The closest these women have ever been to a plane is seeing them pass thousands of miles above their heads. Most have not even visited the capital, which is only less than 120 miles away (though it takes anywhere from 3 ½ to 5 hours to get there). I have seen more of their country in my five months here than they ever will.

Coming from a country of privilege, there are so many experiences in my life that I take as commonplace—flying being one of them. I have been riding in airplanes since before I could walk, and never once has someone asked me to describe how it feels. People in the States don’t need to ask. They know.

So with 15 indigenous women and their children intently listening, I tried my best to describe in detail the take-off and landing, “And other than that, yes, it is basically like riding in a camioneta…except for the turbulence.”

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Friday, October 5, 2007

We're not that close

Anyone who has taken at least one course in Spanish is aware of the different levels of familiarity for the English word “you”. “Usted”, the most formal, is used as a sign of respect for those older, for new acquaintances, or for addressing superiors. “Tú” is informal and used among friends, people of the same age cohort, or sometimes with children. And in Guatemala the even more familiar “vos” is used, mostly between men, very close friends, or occasionally in families (more often the parents talking to their children). The “rules” are not set in stone, but just through casual conversation, you can pretty much infer the depth of the relationship between two people.

And to make Spanish complex and fun, each “you” form comes with its own set of verb conjugations and direct and indirect pronouns. Not that I worry much with the different forms, though. To avoid any social faux pas and play it on the safe side, I blanket address everyone as “usted”—men, women, children, babies…even my host family’s dog (that is white and named Ebony).

Although it is “usted” all the time for everyone with me, I am very keen as to how I am addressed by others. Women almost exclusively use “usted” with me (I was very taken aback upon first meeting the woman that does my host family’s laundry when she called me “vos”, but I quickly learned she spoke minimal Spanish and didn’t know it was inappropriate). With men it varies and is frustrating. I don’t know if it is because I am foreign or just simply because of my age, but some men will immediately start using “tú” with me, which I find disrespectful. During these frequent occasions I overemphasis the fact that I am using “usted” which will eventually cause some of them to switch over to being more formal. I have yet to pull out, “No tutéeme,” but I just might in the future.

But after over two months in Tactic, there are people here with whom I am friends and probably at the point of graduating into the “tú” form. I am slightly nervous about taking that step, though. I know I am over dramatizing the situation, but I liken my informalizing (I am aware that’s not a word) of a friendship to busting a move to ask someone on a date—“Are we ‘tú’ material? Does he/she feel the same way? Am I ready for this?” Fortunately as a foreigner any premature “tú-ing” would be met with understanding, but, nevertheless, I would rather not jump the gun.