Death is FUN!!

This is by far my favorite business in Tactic. It is both a casket vendor AND an arcade. The place really puts the “Fun” in funeraria. So ingenious. So novel. So…morbid. “Kids, why don’t you sit over there and play games while I pick out a coffin for Grandma.”

Women can too

“In Guatemala it has always been about men—men working and men achieving things. Well, this just shows that women can too.”

These were the words spoken by Yolanda Yat, the President of Nu’Kem, as she thanked members of the sponsoring organizations on behalf of the association for the $6,000 prize we had just won. The statement was met by a round of applause from the more than 100 people in attendance, including members of the press, other finalists, representatives from the Guatemalan government, and directors of NGOs. Standing at the podium in front of a packed conference room mostly full of Guatemalan men in suits, Yolanda, dressed in her finest Tamahú traje reserved only for special occasions, beamed with pride. And I, just as full of pride for her and all the women of Nu’Kem, let my applause and whistles rise above the crowd.

Back in February, along with over 100 other hopeful businesses, Nu’Kem entered the “Premio a la Productividad Rural” competition. The Premio is a nationwide competition sponsored mainly by AGER (Asociación Gremial del Empresariado Rural) and funded mostly by the World Bank that looks to financially reward small and medium sized businesses in rural Guatemala that work to alleviate poverty and are economically sustainable. Two years ago Nu’Kem was a finalist but finished just one place out of the prize money. We were determined to win this year.

So we meticulously filled out all the endless pages of the application, sent in our financial statements, and discussed how we would use the money. To serve as a daily reminder of our goal, I wrote, “¡Vamos a ganar!” on the promotional poster and taped it to the wall (well, actually I hot-glued it to the wall…tape doesn’t function so well in the rainy Alta climate). And we waited.

A little over three weeks ago, we were informed that we had made it past the first cut. We were among the 25 businesses moving on to the next round. AGER sent a handful of representatives out to Tactic. They surveyed the condition of the store and our assets. They poured over our facturas, sales records, libro de actas, client lists, estatuas, and inventory files. They asked questions and we answered them. They left. And we waited.

On May 13th, AGER invited us to participate in the final round and exposition to be held at the Conquistador Hotel in the capital on May 15th. Eleven businesses remained and five would walk away with $6,000 a piece. We packed up the Land Rover with products and promotional material and headed to the capital.

The day of the exposition was long and anxiety ridden. From 8:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m., a panel of five judges individually worked their way around the conference room from booth to booth drilling each finalist with a litany of questions. Yolanda and Hermelinda answered the judges’ inquiries with certainty, charm, and wit not commonly associated with indigenous women. I piped in every now and then to supplement information, but I let them do the vast majority of the talking. They were amazing and had the judges eating out of the palm of their hands.

Interestingly, a question that was posed to us by every judge (who were all men, by the way) was, “We all know that Guatemala is full of machismo. How do your husbands feel? How do they deal with you being so independent?” (Nu’Kem was the only finalist composed completely of women, so I am sure it was a question not asked to the other groups.) Yolanda would answer that in the beginning the husbands saw the association as somewhat of a joke but have since realized the huge benefit of the income the women are generating for their families and are now very supportive. I would always throw out a response along the lines of, “It’s about damn time women in Guatemala have the opportunity to be economically independent. The men can get over it.” I am sure a statement like that would get me labeled as a raging feminist in the states.

After the rounds of questioning, it was time for waiting again—waiting for the judges to make their decision and waiting for the awards presentation to start. The ceremony that was scheduled to begin at 5:00 p.m. “en punto” didn’t kick off until about 5:50. And even after the presentation started it was still more waiting—waiting for every representative from every sponsoring organization to give a speech and waiting for the national anthem to finish. (Now I realize why Lisa, the girl that works in the Nu’Kem store, hated Mondays when she was in school because they had to sing the national anthem. It is torturously long. I think it clocks in at over 10 minutes. Every time I thought it was finally coming to a close another verse would start up again to the point that I envisioned that the rest of my life would be spent standing there listening to the Guatemalan national anthem.) The waiting was killing us. Yolanda was sweating profusely, I was eating every refacción I could get my hands on, and Hermelinda looked on the verge of tears.

Finally the time came to announce the winners. The three of us sat hand in sweaty hand hoping not to hear “Nu’Kem” as the presenter named off the six runner-ups. He didn’t say Nu’Kem! We had won! Yolanda looked in a daze, my heart skipped a beat, and Hermelinda actually started crying. When “Asociación de Artesanas Textiles Nu’Kem” was called (we finished in third place overall), the three of us went to the front together to accept the check and pose for the news cameras. My heart was swelling with pride for the women of Nu’Kem. It still is.

Earlier when the Guatemalan national anthem started playing, I hesitated to put my hand on my heart. I felt awkward giving my allegiance to another country’s national hymn. With a smile, Yolanda turned to me and said, “Usted es Guatemalteca por dos años. Ponga la mano sobre su corazón.” So I might be Guatemalan for two years and accustomed to measuring success by small Guatemalan-sized accomplishments, but this was the American-sized achievement for which I had been waiting. But I certainly can’t take credit for it on my own. This victory was the accumulation of the assistance given to Nu’Kem by many different NGOs and the three years of hard work put in by PCV Jee Kim, my predecessor. But far more than anything, this award was won as a result of the unceasing efforts and determination of the remarkable weavers of Nu’Kem, who are daily proving that women can too.

Volcán Tajamulco

Volunteer Stealing

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your evacuated volunteers yearning to live in safety,
The wretched refuse of Guatemala.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

-The Poqomchi’ Speaking Area of Alta Verapaz


This is certainly not a laughing matter (but making light of serious situations is the way we deal in Peace Corps), but another volunteer was recently evacuated from her site and placed here in Alta Verapaz. In complete contrast to my sitemate’s evacuation from Fray, which revolved around accusations of child stealing, this volunteer, Marissa, was actually the one who was “stolen.” Someone stole her phone and then later used it (with a group of men) to repeatedly call her mom to say they had kidnapped her. Her mom was obviously distraught and called Peace Corps Washington. Peace Corps Washington called Peace Corps Guatemala. Peace Corps Guatemala called Marissa’s sitemate. Marissa’s sitemate called another volunteer who was with Marissa at the time. About 2 hours after the kidnapping calls went out to Marissa’s mom, and only 15 minutes after the phone chain started, Marissa was found safe and sound and not kidnapped.

So after nearly a year of working and living in her site, Marissa was uprooted and moved across the country by Peace Corps as a precaution for her safety. Fully aware of how much time and effort it takes to make small strides here, I know this transition of picking up and completely starting over has been and will continue to be an extremely difficult one for her. But I also know that if anyone in my group is hard-working and strong enough to overcome this setback and capable to make a positive lasting effect on a new community in just a year, it is Marissa.

I know this is certainly not the ideal situation for you, Marissa, but I am happy you are here. In Peace Corps, we are family, and the volunteers of Alta Verapaz welcome you with open arms.

More of the family...

Ziplining in the Peten.
Brochure material.

Fun with duck shaped marshmallows from Williams & Sonoma.

My host mom and my real mom!

Breakfast (with English muffins!) at La Posada de los Leones.

Noshita

Tactic is a thoroughfare for buses heading to and from Cobán, as well as a stopping point for buses coming out of the Polochic Valley. Every micro has its route listed on the front of the luggage rack (Salamá – Cobán, Cobán – Guate, etc.), but they are also identifiable by their individual or association name decaled on the front and back windshields. APROMIAV and Kardamely are two micro associations that run between Tactic and Cobán, while the “New York” micro, whose ayudante never fails to whistle and make a lewd comment, operates between Cobán and El Rancho.

“Noshita” is the name for a micro from Tamahú. When I arrived in Tactic, the Noshita bus was missing the “A.” The other letters were spaced as such that it looked like two words, and I wondered whether the owner had spent some time in the states or simply didn’t know what the phrase meant. Either way, I thought it was hilarious.

After about 2 months, the owners finally replaced the “A,” and the Noshita bus regained its true meaning, an endearing nickname for a woman. Several months later I imparted the story of the A-less Noshita bus to the women of Nu’Kem at a board meeting. I explained to them my surprise at seeing a bus with that phrase given its vulgar meaning in English. I also explained to them the occasions in which the phrase is utilized. Unfortunately, I think I did too good of a job explaining its usage, because the women are now very adept at employing it. Rarely an obvious statement on my part is let pass without a, “No &$@!, Seño,” followed by bursts of laughter.

So I suppose if nothing else can be said after my two years of service, I did teach a bunch of indigenous Mayan women to curse like sailors in English. I am going to count it as completing the second goal of Peace Corps: “Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.” Next up: beer, hot dogs, and college football.

Lost...at Tikal

A year in review

Today marks my one-year anniversary of arriving in Guatemala. It is like my own personal New Year’s—a time to take inventory of the past year’s accomplishments and failures, joys and frustrations, successes and disappointments, prudence and mistakes. These are all just a part of living, but the Peace Corps experience has a strange way of both magnifying and minimizing everything at the same time. Annoyances, matters of tardiness, and dealings with people that would have frustrated me beyond belief in the states are now simply the way things are, and minor things that I would have never considered an “accomplishment” are now the manner in which I measure steps in the right direction.

I can derive joy from finding a good head of cauliflower in the market, and I don’t even notice waiting lengthy amounts of time for service in a restaurant or comedor (that is unless I am with visitors from the states who do always notice). Something as simple as having a meeting start on time becomes a huge success, while traveling 8 hours and switching buses 4 times to cover only 200 miles is completely normal. Tigo triple phone minute days are like Christmas, and I am entirely accustomed to taking bucket baths.

But this said, however, my time in Guatemala has definitely not been an annoyance free smelling flowers simplistically blissful experience. There are things that frustrate me and I know will continue to frustrate me until the day I leave here. The little successes keep me going, but I want some of the big American-sized ones too. It is just such a hard balance sometimes—knowing which battles to chose and how long to fight them, knowing in what areas to work towards change and in what other ones to just resign to the way thing are, knowing when to hold fast to my standards and when to lower them.

I have lowered my standards with disastrous results. I have held to my standards and dealt with disappointment. I have put trust in people who didn’t deserve it. I have not trusted people who merited it. I have argued my point until I was blue in the face with no results. I have bit my tongue. I have given up on trying to change some things. I have beaten dead horses…I have overused cheesy idioms.

But through it all, the good and the bad, I am learning and growing. And I suppose that is all I can ask for. Sometimes I feel like the same 25-year-old that stepped off the plane one year ago today, but I know that I have changed. Although I can’t see it in myself, I know this Peace Corps experience has changed me and will continue to change me for the 442 days I have left (but who is counting).