Pulgar Verde

Shortly after moving into my new house, I bought a machete. I went to one of the numerous hardware stores in Tactic, picked out one that was neither too small nor too large, and took it to the counter to pay. The employees were more than a little surprised.

“Why exactly do you want a machete?”

“I have a large lawn, and I need to cut the grass.”

“Um, we have lawnmowers.”

“I can’t afford a lawnmower.”

“Uh, okay.”

I could see their minds working—How can this white American girl not afford a lawnmower and why wouldn’t she just pay someone else to cut her grass?

Well, I can’t afford a lawnmower, and while I could further promote child labor in Guatemala by paying some patojo (this is one of my favorite slang words here which literally means “street urchin,” but people use it to refer to children in general) to cut my grass for me, like killing the turkey, I feel that handling my own lawn care with the most rudimentary of tools is a Peace Corps rite of passage that I must endure. I am one with the people…minus the whole white, English speaking, foreigner part.

The hardware store employees offered to wrap the machete up in newspaper for my trip home, but I politely declined. Staple Guatemalan field implement in hand, I walked the blocks back to my house. Every male I passed would first look me in the face, then glance down at the machete in my right hand, and later return to fixate on my face wearing an expression that imparted both bewilderment and slight fear.

The gringa has a machete. What is she going to do with it?

Maim myself is one very real possibility.

Guatemalans make using a machete look easy. With steady constant strokes, they clear brush, cut grass, and chop down trees. But there is nothing steady or constant about the way I handle a machete. I wield a machete as if it were a softball bat, swinging for the fences with every swipe at the grass. My unorthodox method does make lawn care entertaining (as entertaining as cutting grass could be) but, unfortunately, it also causes the task to be much more exhausting and slightly dangerous.

I accidentally macheted the rain gauge my mom sent me from the states (fortunately I sliced it above the 4 inch mark, so barring a monsoon, I haven’t ruined its functionality). I, again accidentally, decimated a small tree, and although I take precautions to ensure the same fate doesn’t befall my own limbs, I never do yard work without my cell phone nearby. Should I render myself incapacitated, I at least want to be able to call my sitemate and the Peace Corps medical officer for help. Before I leave Guatemala I think I will either end up with a green thumb or no thumbs. I am really hoping for the former.