La Antigua Guatemala

¿Qué le duele hoy?

This past Thursday as a “favor” (it was really no favor at all) for a friend, I served as a translator for a small medical mission team working in nearby Purulhá, Baja Verapaz. The four person medical team came to Guatemala with the organization Partner for Surgery (www.partnerforsurgery.org). Partner for Surgery, or “Compañero En Salud” as it is known here, sends small medical teams to rural Guatemala mainly in the departments of Alta Verapaz, Baja Verapaz, and El Quiché with the mission of identifying patients that need surgeries and then later performing the surgeries at Las Obras Sociales de Hermano Pedro (OSHP) hospital in Antigua. Because the doctors are only in Guatemala for about a week at a time, Partner in Surgery focuses on operations that require little post-surgery in-hospital stays such as hernias, non-malignant tumors, cleft palates, ovarian cysts, prolapsed uteruses, and gall stones.

Partner in Surgery’s goal is to provide life improving and changing surgeries to the poorest of the poor in rural Guatemala, people who otherwise would not have access to these operations and by no means the resources to pay for them. The surgeries for the patients are virtually free, as they are asked only to donate what they can afford, whether it be 5Q or a bag of corn. This insures that the patients will have a vested interest in the operation they will receive.

I spent the day translating for a gynecologist (and now possess a new set of Spanish vocabulary that I will probably never utilize again here). At first I felt a little uncomfortable asking these timid indigenous women very personal questions, but it didn’t take long before I got really into it. I felt like a detective trying to figure out if the professed symptoms were a sign of a falling uterus, or a cyst on an ovary, or some kind of vaginal infection. Probably to the doctor’s annoyance, I started posing questions before I was told what to ask and would carry on lengthy conversations about symptoms before stopping to relay the information back to him.

More than just communicating information between the doctor and patient, though, I really served to try to make the women as comfortable as possible and put them at ease. Most of these women had never had a pelvic exam before, and an already unpleasant exam was rendered even more uncomfortable for them since a foreign male who they couldn’t understand was performing it. I took pains to explain to the women exactly what the doctor was going to do during the exam before he did it.

About a handful of women had fallen uteruses or ovarian cysts and were referred to have surgery. The most heartbreaking case, however, was something for which we (as if I am a doctor) could not do anything. A young indigenous woman in her twenties came in hoping to have her tubal ligation operation reversed. She had her tubes tied after having the desired amount of children with her husband, but her husband had just recently died, and she wanted the ability to get pregnant again.

In rural indigenous Guatemala, a woman’s value as a wife is tied to her ability to bear children. Few, if any, men would marry a woman knowing that she couldn’t have kids. And in a society where economic opportunities for women are extremely limited, it will be very difficult for her to provide a living for herself and children on her own.
Her face went blank and her eyes began to fill with tears as I delicately as possible told her that the operation could not be undone. I can’t imagine the pain and despair she must have felt when those words left my mouth. I can’t imagine it, because my value as a woman will never be tied to having children. I can’t imagine it, because my desire to get married will never be tied to economic assurance. I can’t imagine it, because I am a privileged American.

La asamblea

Bringing in the supplies

Waiting for the meeting to start.

The bean and basket method of voting.

Waiting for lunch.

Sisters enjoying the caldo.

FHS Rocks!

I would like to extend a warm welcome to all of Mrs. Anne Griffin’s social studies students at Fulton High School in Fulton, Missouri. Although I know you all are reading my blog by force, I hope that through it you will learn a little about the amazing country of Guatemala and what it is like to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Please feel free to post comments or questions, and I will try to answer them as soon as possible. ¡Viva los avispones!

Anne and I modeling "frumpy" traje.

Conejo gordito

Every year Nu’Kem has a convivio navideño (like a Christmas party) for all its weavers and their families. In the past it has been more of a subdued event with the women just sharing a meal and some conversation before heading back to their communities. But this last year, Lisa (the girl that works in the store), Estela (a university student from Tactic doing her practicum with Nu’Kem), and I decided to spice things up a bit. We had a soda chugging contest, a competition to get a cookie that was placed on your forehead into your mouth without using hands, and a couple of piñatas (although all in good fun a few women did emerge from the candy scrum bleeding and with twisted ankles) among other games. What turned out to be the funniest and perhaps most disastrous event (depending on how you look at it) was the “chubby bunny” contest.

For all those who are uninitiated to chubby bunny, the contest consists of everyone putting one large marshmallow in their mouth, uttering the words “chubby bunny”, and continuing to add more marshmallows until it is impossible to say anything at all. The winner is the person who can fit the most marshmallows in her mouth. As can be seen in the video, though, what I thought would be harmless entertainment ended up being not so fun for everyone as Josefina subsequently vomited after I stopped filming.

Despite Josefina’s bad experience (or perhaps because of the humor of it), the women love watching this video. Every time there is a large group in the office they tell me, “¡Seño, muestre el video del conejo gordito!” We all gather around my computer, play the clip at least four or five times and laugh until we can’t breathe.

I am planning another party for the weavers at the end of March when my parents and one of my brothers will be visiting. It seems like chubby bunny will be back on the agenda by popular demand. (There is also talk, or more like threats on my part, of a gringos versus Guatemaltecas soccer match). The women are already formulating strategies to pull out a victory, with removing all teeth that can be removed to fit more marshmallows being the most popular one. Once again it should be fun…to watch at least.

A day in Tamahú

Hiking out to the Polochic River.
Young weaver in training.

What's in a name?

I find the origin of place names very intriguing and it so happens to be that both Tactic and its departamento Alta Verapaz (the equivalent of a state in the US) both have interesting stories.

The name Tactic is from the Poqomchi’ language but morphed into its current form and (mis)spelling after the arrival of the Spanish who couldn’t pronounce the name correctly. Taq in Poqomchi’ means “let’s go” or alternatively “the.” (Taq is one of the few words I know in Poqom and it still makes my women laugh every time I use it). Tik in Poqom is “peach” or “peach trees.” So in its current form, Tactic signifies “let’s go to the peach trees.” However, the earliest name the Mayans used for Tactic was Pantaqtik with Pan signifying “among.” So with taq being translated as “the” in this case, the original Mayan name for Tactic meant “among the peach trees.” The irony in the significance of this name is that there is not a single peach tree left in Tactic. Although I don’t know how it would translate into Poqomchi’, perhaps a more fitting name for Tactic would be “let’s go to the peach trees and cut them all down.”
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The name Alta Verapaz has its own interesting history. The Spanish Conquest of Guatemala began in 1523 under the leadership of Pedro de Alvarado. Alvarado entered Guatemala along the Pacific Coast through Mexico and set about brutally and ruthlessly conquering the various Mayan tribes of the Western Highlands. Although Alvarado only had 300 soldiers and 120 horsemen, the large Mayan tribes were no match to for advanced weaponry of the Spanish, and the army rather easily swept across the countryside. Not until the Spanish reached the area around what is present day Cobán and Salamá did Alvarado meet a foe he could not overcome. The Achi, Q’eqchi’, and Poqomchi’ tribes fought so fiercely that Alvarado eventually gave up trying to conquer the area, naming it tierra de guerra, “the land of war.”

At this point the Catholic Church struck a deal with the conquistadors asking for five years to bring the area under control without the presence of any soldiers. In 1537 Fray Bartolomé de Las Casas along with three other friars set about befriending the Mayans and converting them to Catholicism. Within three years Las Casas succeeded in bringing the Mayans under the Spanish crown, and the area was renamed Verapaz which is short for “verdadera paz” or “true peace.” Much later the area was split into two departamentos named Alta (Upper) Verapaz and Baja (Lower) Verapaz. There is a town in northern Alta Verapaz named after Fray Bartolomé de Las Casas, the “Apostle of the Mayans,” which, in another slight irony, used to be the home of my sitemate until the townspeople tried to lynch the director of her schools, and she had to be evacuated. Alta Casipaz?

Hard work