Noche de Gala

The other half

One of the evenings during the feria was reserved for the “Noche de Gala.” This is the exclusive yearly dinner/dance open only to the high society of Tactic. I was invited because, well, I’m a gringa.

There was a marimba ensemble and a band. The tables and chairs were meticulously decorated and placed. Gorgeous flower arrangements graced the tables. Guests arrived in sparkly dresses and crisp suits. Bowtie wearing waiters served wine and handed out bottles of Johnnie Walker. The Tactic “royalty” of the feria were all honored as well as the visiting mayor from Tactic’s sister city in El Salvador and a handful of local writers and poets. Couples danced to marimba while reporters filmed, took pictures, and conducted interviews.

It was definitely not a typical night in Tactic.

I attended the event thinking it would be fun and interesting to see, but I left kind of repulsed. My mood did not result from having to listen to windy speeches and the marimba for five hours nor from the fact that I had unwisely decided to wear a pair of high heels with a broken toe. I was disgusted by amount of money the municipality poured into one evening for the rich of Tactic most liking at the cost of having funds to do projects for the poor.

A campesino laboring eight hours a day in the fields would have to work more than a week to even afford one bottle of the whiskey that was served. If added up, the cost of the event—band, flowers, waiters, table decorations, marimba, audio equipment, food, alcohol—would easily run more than a typical indigenous family in an aldea could earn in a year.

It’s not that the rich here are incredibly rich (in comparison to the states) but that the poor are incredibly poor. The Noche de Gala wasn’t that fancy. (It actually had somewhat of a prom-like aura.) But against the backdrop of wooden shacks, dirt floors, and child malnutrition, to me it seemed horribly excessive. I felt guilty just being there.

Cachorro Robado

Perdido

For three agonizing hours today Mapache was missing, and I was an absolute wreck.

The disappearance happened early this afternoon. I had spent the whole of the morning in and out of different meetings, and therefore Mapache spent the whole of the morning chewing on a Kong (Guatemalans think I’m crazy for giving my puppy peanut butter) in the house. When I got home around 1:00 pm, I fed him lunch and then let him out to play.

Now, there is a known breach in the fence surrounding my house. It is the place where Houdini used to escape but had since been patched up by my groundskeeper, Quique. Mapache discovered the weak point in the perimeter a week ago and managed to squeeze through the gaps in the barbed wire. The morning of this first escape, I had two houseguests, Gini and Eric (friends of a friend of the brother of the wife of my brother who stopped to visit me during their trip to Guatemala), who, using a large rock and the broken pieces of a poorly made rake, were able to plug the hole. Gracias a los Magnusons.

But being the necio puppy that he is, Mapache soon learned how to maneuver around the obstacles and was out in the neighboring lot again within days. I was concerned at first, but Mapache never ventured out of viewing distance and always returned when called. Mostly he just enjoyed bothering the calf and horse next door. Harmless fun.

Today after being pent up in the house all morning, Mapache immediately went out through the opening to explore the adjacent yards. As he was burning his excess energy, I was busy working on the script for a television announcement. Every so often I would call him just to make sure he was still near the house. At the sound of my whistle and voice he would come running back to the door. But one time I called and whistled and he didn’t come back.

Only 10 to 15 minutes had passed since I had last seen him, so I assumed he had just ventured a little too far away. I grabbed a handful of treats and headed out behind my house to find him. He wasn’t in the adjacent lots, and when I reached the street (I knew to use the gate this time instead of trying to squeeze through barbed wire) I started asking everyone I encountered if they had seen a white puppy. No one had seen him. I called and whistled and knocked on doors. No sign. I spread the search out to a two-block radius surrounding my house. Nothing.

I started crying. Bawling actually, but I was able to hold the worst of it in until I reached the privacy of my home. The reason for my outpouring of tears was that the only reasonable explanation I could think of for Mapache’s complete disappearance was that he had been stolen.

Mapache is a purebred that could easily sell for more than Q1000. From the moment I got him, I had been warned that he is a hot commodity to steal. That is why when he is not with me, he is shut up in the house. But he is with me a lot and consequently has quite a large fan base in town. (He is definitely more popular than I am.) So when the dozens of people who live nearby and know Mapache told me that they hadn’t seen him, I knew that he had to be tied up in someone’s house.

So I called the police. Two officers were at my house within five minutes. They inspected the escape route and asked me about the approximate time when Mapache went missing. The chief of police, Fernando, is actually the owner of the mother of Mapache, so he and the rest of the police already knew what the little guy looks like and needed not ask questions to that effect. After they got all the necessary information, they told me they would do everything they could to find him.

During the officers’ visit I overheard two men talking in the lot behind the adjacent bakery, “She got the police to find a puppy!” You bet I did.

The police put all of their available resources on the case. Both patrol trucks were dispatched in search of Mapache and other officers were sent out on foot. As the police combed Tactic, I set to work on making a missing puppy flyer, of course with the promise of a reward.

About half an hour after the police had started their search, I got a call from Fernando. The patrol trucks hadn’t seen the puppy, but he had spoken with a couple of transit police officers who also know Mapache (como dije él es re popular) but had not seen him pass through their check point in the middle of town. Given that the corner where they work is a block down from the street behind my house, and I had already covered all the territory in the other direction, and the patrol trucks had searched all over Tactic, Fernando believed what I had originally feared—Mapache was being held captive in the one of the houses on the street behind my house.

Efforts were redoubled in that area. I made another pass of the street on foot knocking on the door of every single house and questioning every single passerby while the patrol truck crept behind me. Every so often the officers would flick on the sirens for an added effect. But our efforts were fruitless. Supposedly, no one had seen Mapache.

We came to the conclusion that my only hope was that the thief could be bought off with the guarantee of a reward for “finding” Mapache. The police were going to suspend their full effort search, but promised to keep an eye out for him. I returned to my house to put the final touches on the flyer to have it ready to be printed and taped all over Tactic.

My sitemate, Lorba, came over to my house to give me moral support. She entered my yard at the same time as Quique (groundskeeper). I had already given Lorba the sad spiel over the phone, so I just explained to him what had happened. Quique adores Mapache and was pretty upset at the news. He set out to do a search of his own, and within 10 minutes he came back with Mapache at his side.

After three hours and countless people searching by foot and in vehicles, Mapache turned up on the street behind my house. I had scoured that street twice and the patrol truck had made three passes. There is no possible way we all just simply missed him. Mapache had to have been in the house of somebody who got scared when he realized the gringa had the police looking for the puppy. Stealing an expensive puppy had become more trouble than it was worth.

So Quique did another patch job on the hole in the fence, and now Mapache’s days of exploring outside the confines of the yard are over.

Feria Banda

Here is a short (and poor quality) clip of one of the bands in one of the many parades during the feria. This band is from the private school La Enseñanza.

Princesa Poqomchi'

School of Pain

I noticed something amusing in the background of this picture I took during a parade.


The school of P.A.I.N. in the aldea of Tampó—a place where children learn the hard way.

The acronym actually stands for “Programa de Atención Integral al Niño” (Program of Complete Attention to the Child) in Spanish, and I imagine there is no real physical pain involved in the learning process.

P.A.I.N. for a school is funny, but my all time favorite acronym is that of a special forces unit in the French Army, “Les Commandos de Recherche et d'Action dans la Profondeur,” or C.R.A.P. for short. They changed the name in 1999. Do you think maybe they weren’t getting any respect from English speakers?