Monday, September 29, 2008

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.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Wal-Mart meets Tactic

I am not about to provoke or participate in a philosophical debate over Wal-Mart. I know better. Few corporations arise such heated emotions in Americans (including my eldest brother and his wife) as does this low price mantra-spouting leviathan. Is Wal-Mart beneficial or destructive? A shining example of corporate efficiency or a glaring case of corporate greed? A godsend to the economically disadvantaged or Satan himself incarnate? I will leave that discussion to university coffee shops. All I know is that Tactic is getting a Wal-Mart, and it has got me thinking.

Wal-Mart Centroamerica maintains five chains of stores in Guatemala under the brand names of ClubCo, Hiper Paiz, Paiz, Maxi Bodega, and Despensa Familiar. ClubCo is like the equivalent of Sam’s Club, Hiper Paiz of Super Wal-Mart, and Paiz of Wal-Mart. Despensa Familiar and Maxi Bodega are smaller “lower end” stores that don’t have their respective American counterparts. ClubCo is located only in the capital. There are a handful of Hiper Paiz stores in the capital and one in Xela. Paiz and Maxi Bodega chains are in medium and large sized cities, as well as the capital. Despensas, the most prolific member of the family, can be found in smaller sized cities and up.

Personally I am elated to have a Despensa Familiar here in Tactic, but I wonder what affect it will have on the community. In the states when a Wal-Mart comes to town there is always the validated fear that it is going to put all the “mom and pop” stores out of business. People protest and community groups are formed for the sole purpose of impeding the expansion of this corporate giant (even though I am eagerly awaiting its arrival, I am considering picketing the construction site—“¡Wal-Mart es el Diablo!”—just for the sheer bewilderment it would produce). But here in rural Guatemala, people, like me, are excited. There are flyers posted all over town announcing the store’s arrival, and there is always a group of intrigued onlookers loitering around the construction site (Honestly, I don’t know if they are interested in the Despensa or just the fact that something really big is going to be built there, but they are interested nonetheless). And as for community deterioration like feared in the states, I don’t foresee that happening here.

Guatemala is a cultural of the personal tienda (store), and a Wal-Mart in town isn’t going to change that. There are tiendas that specialize in plastics, or piñatas, or disposable paper products, or house wares, or used American clothing, but the majority of them “focus” (focus is in air quotes because with the complete randomness of some stores it would be a stretch to say they are focused on anything) on daily consumable items—chips, sodas, candy, basic cereals, gum, chocolates, butter, simple canned goods, toilet paper, soap, toothbrushes, etc. Each tienda has basically the same offering of products, but usually with a twist; this one has chips and little stuffed animals while that one has the sodas and playing cards. It is an everyday flee market adventure.

Dozens and dozens of these little tiendas dot the streets of Tactic, sometimes two or three on the same block. Probably half the tiendas are not making a profit and the majority of their owners are most likely completely oblivious to that fact. But even if they knew, it probably wouldn’t matter, because in rural Guatemala for most people having a tienda is a social venture and not a business one. If you have a room that faces the street, simply throw in some of the standard items and call it a tienda. Then you can sit around your house all day “working” instead of doing nothing.

While opening a tienda can be a social affair, the same holds true for people when choosing at which of the infinitely equal places to shop. Sometimes the search for a specific product is the driving force (“The stuffed bear in that store would be a great gift for my niece”), or proximity (“I really need a stick of butter for this recipe so I’ll go to the nearest place”), but mostly people patronize a specific tienda because they have a friendly relationship with the owners. At times this relationship forms as a result of close proximity, but that is not always the case. I almost always buy what I need from the same store on the central park, exceptions being when I am looking for a specific item (but never stuffed bears). On the way to that tienda I pass five or six other ones where I could get the same exact thing, but I would rather walk the extra distance to give my money to and chat with my friends.

So, you may be asking yourself, if I am intent on patronizing friendly local establishments then why am I so excited about the “evil” Wal-Mart empire coming to town. Well, Skip, there are some things I like that are just not currently available in Tactic. As it stands now, I make a weekly or bi-weekly trip to the Paiz in Cobán to purchase these items, and I would much rather be able to buy them here. My standard Paiz shopping list consists of wheat bread, chicken breasts, Gala apples, and sliced turkey breast. The Gala apples I buy in Tactic when my favorite market stall has them, wheat bread is a foreign substance to most Guatemalans and therefore not found anywhere in town, and, yes, while I could buy a butchered chicken in the market and cut the breasts off it myself (another goal for this year!), I really prefer for the meat I eat to have no resemblance to the animal it once was.

Despensa Familiar will provide Tactic with variety and all things slightly exotic (like mustard). But who needs variety and exoticness if your main diet consists of eggs, beans, rice, and tortillas? I actually question less if the store is going to harm local businesses, but whether it can really survive here. Products like wheat bread and mustard, among many other things, aren’t available in Tactic because most rural Chapines don’t eat them. And unlike in the states where Wal-Mart drives its competitors out of business with its rock bottom prices, products are usually more expensive in the Wal-Mart family stores than in the tiendas and the market. It is the rich and better-off who shop at Wal-Mart in Guatemala, mostly the “higher end” Hiper Paiz and Paiz chains but also to an extent including the Despensa.

I am sure that Wal-Mart Centroamerica did its legwork and feasibility studies before deciding to locate one of its stores in Tactic, but I don’t really see how it could be that profitable here. From some of the vehicles and houses I have seen in town, I know Tactic has its population of wealthy people (wealthy by Guatemalan standards), but is that privileged minority large enough to support a Dispensa? As it stands now there are a total of three Wal-Mart family stores in all of Alta Verapaz, whose population is just a little over 780,000. One, a Despensa Familiar, is in Carcha, while the other two, another Despensa and a Paiz, are located in Cobán, just 18 miles on a paved road from Tactic. Will the Despensa here be profitable at the cost of cannibalized sales in Cobán from the loss of customers, like myself, who would have otherwise made the 30-minute trip to make their purchases? I will employ one of my favorite Guatemalan responses to my own hypothetical questions: Saber?

I suspect Wal-Mart sabe a lot more than this year-old Tactiqueña, so I trust that this Despensa scheduled to open in October will be here for the long haul, or at least until I finish my service (it would be really poor planning if it lasted less than a year). Perhaps this whole post was just the business major in me way overanalyzing the situation. All I know is you can count on me to be one of the customers perusing the isles the first day Tactic’s very own Wal-Mart opens.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Mizzou's J-School

Today marks the 100-year anniversary of the founding of the University of Missouri’s School of Journalism, the world’s first journalism school.

I am a 2003 Mizzou grad, but I did not attend the J-School (as anyone who has read any of my blog could easily gather). However, I am proud of the School of Journalism’s storied history and even more thankful for the countless afternoons of amusement it provided during my years in Columbia.

With its emphasis on hands-on experience, the Missouri School of Journalism allows students to learn by providing content to different media outlets, including the NBC affiliate TV station KOMU, the only commercial station owned by a major university in the United States. While the station has its own permanent and professional anchors, Mizzou students do a lot of the reporting and on-air pieces. And this is why watching the five and six o’clock news in Columbia is so entertaining.

I, by no means, want to belittle the broadcasting J-School students—some of them, including my friend Maral, did an excellent job on camera—but at times the KOMU nightly news is like watching a train wreck. My college roommates and I would often watch the news together just to see what was going to happen—which unfortunate newbie would freeze like a deer in headlights, whose voice would crack, who would completely botch a report, and how the anchors would step in to keep the broadcast moving along. And while I couldn’t help but laugh most of the time, I did feel sorry for the poor students who had difficulties on-air. Hands-on experience definitely has its advantages, but I am sure the J-School students wouldn’t count having their blunders broadcast throughout Mid-Missouri as one of them.

But, then again, what would we have done for entertainment between the hours of 5:00 and 6:30 in Columbia, Missouri were it not for these aspiring anchors?

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Pudding

During training the Peace Corps Medical Officer led a session on the “Emotional Cycle of a PCV.” We were instructed that Peace Corps can be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster with its high times and its low times. The majority of the dips and peaks are dependent on a volunteer’s individual experience, but some of them come at predictable intervals. Right now a lot of the members of my training group are suffering from a mid-service low, but it seems as if my amusement park ride has been downward plunging for some time now.

The whole situation surrounding Mynor’s death and the subsequent “loss” of my project have been the major forces driving me into this valley, but there have been a lot of little things too—“little” things that have not all affected me personally, but are very disheartening nonetheless…


My chairs were stolen from my front porch one evening while I was home sleeping. (The property surrounding my house isn’t Fort Knox, but there is a 9-foot wall on one side and fences on the other three, adjacent to other fenced and walled yards. Traversing through lawns and jumping fences under the cover of darkness without being detected was certainly a planned and not very easy act.)

There have been five murders in Tactic during the past week—10 in the past month—not including a man who was shot but not killed just down the street from my house.

Someone doused the building next to my house with gasoline and set it on fire.

During a visit to the market, a young boy was throwing rotten pieces of fruit at my head from the second floor. (This I might have found slightly amusing at another time, but now it just served as another agitating factor.)


I do love this community in which I live, and I have some great friends here, but it is hard not to get angry at and discouraged by everything occurring around me. I know the United States is far from perfect, but it has been looking rather saintly to me right now in comparison.

The other day I made my weekly shopping trip to Paiz in Cobán. Squeezed into a customarily overcrowded micro, I spent the 45-minute ride thinking negative thoughts about Guatemala. I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t, and they continued to occupy my mind as I walked the aisles of Paiz. Then I happened upon some pudding. And the pudding gave me hope.

Yes, pudding. Glorious boxes of powered non-instant vanilla pudding. Pudding has temporarily restored my opinion of Guatemala.

Powered non-instant vanilla pudding is a key ingredient in my mom’s apple crisp recipe that up until the point of my exciting discovery, I could only find over 120 miles away in the capital. For over a year, since arriving in Tactic, I have written “pudín de vainilla” on the list of suggested products in the check out line of Paiz with no real hope of actually ever seeing it there. (I have also been writing “Diet Sunkist en lata,” but the odds of that product making its way into the Guatemalan market are about as good as Notre Dame winning a national championship in football.)

I love baking, as any of my former roommates, work colleagues, neighbors, and college friends can attest to. With its exact measurements and instructions, baking is a perfect outlet for my anal retentiveness. I enjoy baking (probably my singular domestic talent) in and of itself, but it also serves as a great stress reliever. In the states, whenever I was frustrated or upset about something I would bake—carrot cake, banana bread, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, German chocolate cake (named as such for the brand of chocolate not the nationality), lemon bread, almond bark cookies, apple crisp, sugar cookies, chocolate/oatmeal/caramel bars—for someone else. Doing something enjoyable for someone else prevented me from dwelling on my own problems.

So now stocked up with boxes of pudding (even though the recipe calls for one box, I bought five, because given Paiz’s horrendous stock replenishing management, a sold-out product can take weeks or months before being on the shelf again), I am going to bake myself out of this emotional valley. I am going to bake until I like Guatemala again. And until then, thanks to the pudding, there will be apple crisp for all.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Headstrong

The final leveled-out entrance to Guaxpac.

The back-breaking ascent to Pansalche.

Kids earning 25 centavos (about 3 cents) hauling bricks up the huge Chijacorral hill.

Taking a break...I would too.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Fight against cynicism

I recently finished rereading North of South, a personal nonfiction account of Shiva Naipaul’s travels in East Africa during the mid-seventies. North of South is the most cynical and bitingly humorous book I have ever read. I first discovered it after returning from Africa, and although I have an inexplicable love for that vast continent and its diverse peoples, I found myself agreeing with the book’s poignant criticisms. While I could laugh at the nearly identical frustrating situations I encountered in Africa, I was also disheartened by the fact that in the 30 years since Naipaul wrote that book seemingly precious little had changed.

Now years later working in development in Guatemala, reading North of South not only reminded me of my time in Africa, but it articulated some of my current frustrations and criticisms of the country in which I am living—The near complete lack of planning and thinking of the future. The unbridled greed. The ridiculous absence of logic in decision-making. The absence of logic in general.

Yeah, I know I sound like a jerk.

And I know my broad generalizations are not fair.

I know I can’t paint all of Guatemala and all Guatemalans with the same brush. Nor do I want to. I am friends with some amazing forward-thinking, selfless, logical Guatemalans. But I am terminated my project as a result of a combination of the aforementioned frustrations (among others), and despite my desire to fight it, I feel the creep of bitterness and cynicism.

Idealism to disillusionment to cynicism. A natural progression, or perhaps more aptly put, degression.

But I was never truly idealistic, so I suppose I can never fully be disillusioned, and hopefully I’ll never be completely cynical. And I am putting up a conscious fight.