Life of contradictions

The highly anticipated (on my part) arrival of high-speed wireless internet to Tactic has really made me think about the paradoxical world in which I live. Tactic is definitely poor by American standards and its aldeas, where the women with which I work live, are extremely poor, but at the same time there are many goods and services available to which I never thought I would have access in Peace Corps. The means to purchase these goods and services is what separates the small (almost exclusively Ladino) elite from the masses. Even in a small indigenous town in rural Guatemala there are the “haves” and the “have nots,” though the vast majority of the population falls into the later category. Here are just a few of the inconsistencies of which I have taken note in my everyday life:

I have visited many a house with dirt floors and rudimentary outhouses, while the mayor lives in a house surrounded by an electric razor wire fence (a recent addition after the failed assassination attempt) that would be considered large by American standards but easily could be labeled as a mansion here.

Using the pila is the customary way to hand wash clothing, but for 40Q (about $5) I can have my clothing picked up at my house, washed and dried in a washing machine and dryer, and returned the next day.

I walk by an area on the way to work where hired men train expensive horses that are probably worth more than half of the houses here.

Tactic is located on the paved highway to Cobán with transportation readily available at all times during the day, but it has many outlaying communities that can only be reached by foot.

I can buy deli sliced turkey breast at the Wal-Mart owned Paiz in nearby Cobán, or I can raise and kill my own turkey with a machete.

To get to Cobán I take overflowing micro-buses packed full with machete toting men going to and returning from the fields, baskets full of produce, and the occasional chicken, while I have seen at least two BMWs in town.

I live in a simple block house full of mold and bugs…but I have wireless internet.

La torre

Connected

As I type there are 6 men on my roof constructing a 50-foot tower to mount two large satellite dishes that will transmit high-speed wireless internet throughout the entirety of Tactic. Though I can barely believe it myself (and won’t completely until blistering fast internet is pulsating through my Mac), it is the truth. This tower is real and really large. Christmas has come about a month late.

To my astonishment and the envy of many volunteers, I have actually had wireless internet in my house since arriving in Tactic. The family that owns my humble abode has its own house directly in front of mine and runs an internet café out of it, from where I receive my signal. Never would I have imagined that in Peace Corps I would have internet in my home. Before arriving in Guatemala, I was hoping just to have internet in my site.

So when Miguel (my “host father”) told me last week that he planned to improve the internet service, I was naturally excited. But I really had no clue as to the magnitude of his project until I saw the gigantic tower on my roof yesterday. Obviously giddy with excitement but trying to contain it, Miguel explained to me how the soon to be attached satellites are going to blanket Tactic, all the way from the outlaying aldea of Tampo to the Nu’Kem store (which is about ¾ of a mile from my house), with wireless internet three times faster than it currently is. I am giddy with excitement now too.

Now Miguel is an intelligent man and perhaps more forward thinking than I am, but I have trouble seeing how this expensive undertaking is going to be profitable. It would be a safe estimate to say that less than half of the people in Tactic even know how to use a computer and the percentage of those that have a computer in their home must be extremely small (I have never been in a house here with a personal computer). But as a life long resident of Tactic, Miguel possibly has a better idea of the potential market than I do, and I am certainly not going to throw any doubts his way.

And besides just my personal self-interest (which is very high…I have visions of eating refried beans and sipping instant coffee at a comedor while reading the newest articles from The Economist), this project is extremely exciting to me because of its novelty and possible transforming impact. Tactic will be the first small rural community in Guatemala and perhaps in the entire developing world to be completely wireless. Knowledge is power so saith Sir Francis Bacon, and there is certainly a lot of knowledge to be gained through the internet (Facebook notwithstanding). I probably won’t get to see the effects during my time here, but I have no doubt that the development of Tactic will be accelerated with Tactiqueños having easy access to such a vast resource of information—information that will be radiating out from the tower on my roof. I just hope I don’t get cancer.

Promotional video for my association!

This short video highlights my association, the weavers, their communities, and Nu'Kem's products. DVD copies of the video including a slideshow can be made upon request.

La Navidad en Antigua

Dying Poor

Towards the beginning of December, a man came to the Nu’Kem store looking for me. Although I had never seen him before, he knew my name and what I was doing here. He needed to speak with me and asked me to step outside. Full of embarrassment with a voice barely above a whisper so the others inside couldn’t hear, he told me his situation—His wife was very sick. She had stomach cancer. They needed to go to the capital to see a doctor. The priest in town had found them a car to use, but they needed money to pay for the gas. He wanted to know if I would buy his TV.

During training we were cautioned about giving out money. As Americans living in Guatemala we are already viewed as being exceedingly rich (which in world wide standards we are), and having spare cash to hand out would only solidify that assumption. I know I was sought out because I am the gringa in Tactic, but what touched me was that this man did not come to me asking for money; he came trying to sell his belongings. I told him I had no need for his television, but I would loan him the money. I gave him 300Q ($40), and he gave me a slip of paper with his name, address, phone number, cédula number (equivalent to our social security number), and employer’s name with a promise to pay back the loan with interest within a month.

But having been nearly a month since I gave him the loan without seeing or hearing from him, I was beginning to wonder if he was actually going to pay me back. It wasn’t the money that bothered me (although as volunteers 300Q is a good chunk of our monthly living allowance) but the thought that I had poorly judged his character. But just as unexpected as his first visit the man showed up at the store today.

The first words that came out of his mouth were an apology for not having paid me back yet, and then he told me his wife had died. The cancer was too advanced, and there was nothing the doctors could do for her. He is left to care for their children. Fighting tears and filled with shame, he asked if I would please give him an extension on the loan. The cheapest casket he could find for his wife was 700Q, and he had to pay for all the funeral arrangements. I wanted to hug him but knew it would be inappropriate in this culture. All I could muster was, “Lo siento. Lo siento. Tome su tiempo con el dinero. Lo siento.”

After he left I went behind the store, sat on a concrete block, and cried. I cried for his wife who I never knew, and I cried for all the poverty that I see here daily that I had yet to cry for. I couldn’t stop crying. Were they not so poor, this man would not have to try to sell me his possessions to have the money to go to the hospital. Were they not so poor, they would not have waited to see a doctor until the situation was critical, and his wife could have been saved. Were they not so poor, this man would not have been choking back tears begging for my graciousness in extending a loan. But they are that poor, and all I can do is cry.

Convivio de las tejedoras

No hands cookie eating.

Serving the kak'ik.

Post piñata candy scrum.

Chubby bunny contest.

Displaying their new scissors (thanks mom).

Shades of cultural capital

After spending Christmas in Belize, I returned home to Tactic last week with quite a tan (in Puerto Barrios a Guatemalan asked me if I had been in Belize visiting my parents). Varying only in delivery and tactfulness (or more appropriately lack thereof), the across the board reaction I received from my host family, women in my association, and friends in town was, “Wow! You are dark. You looked better when you were whiter.”

Guatemalans are very blunt when it comes to commenting on a person’s physical features, and I didn’t (don’t) take offense to these statements. But what disheartens me is their root. In Guatemala being brown signifies being indigenous. Being indigenous is associated with being uneducated and poor. Being brown (although the majority of the population is) is a bad thing.

While my skin tone was the envy of many in the states and the enigma of many in Africa (I was taken for Ethiopian, Rwandan [Tutsi], Egyptian, Moroccan, and Brazilian among other nationalities), here in Guatemala it just produces bewilderment. Why is an American that dark and why would she want to be darker? No one here wants to be darker.

As the average American woman is working on her tan, the average Guatemalan woman is working just as hard to avoid the sun. While in the states, bronzed skin is something usually coveted (that is as long as the bearer of that skin doesn’t speak Spanish—we have our fair share of racism too), here it is the whiter the skin the better. Being white (or fairer skinned) signifies being Ladino. Being Ladino is associated with being more educated and economically better off. Being white is a good thing.

While these stereotypes categorically don’t always hold true—there are educated, successful indigenous people and there are definitely a lot of poor Ladinos—they drive Guatemalans’ preferences (whether conscious or unconscious) for lighter skin tones. I suppose if I were Guatemalan, and my perceived self worth was heavily based on the lightness of my skin, I would take measures to remain whiter too. But as an American I am not subject to be looked down upon for being brown, so I will continue to confound Guatemalans by soaking up the sun every opportunity I get.