Sweat

Fall is truly here. Friday was the first rainy day we have had since we’ve been here. Throughout the summer we had a few thunderstorms; dark clouds rolled in announced by thunderous cracks followed by flashing bursts of light. Heavy rain might shower down for 15 minutes or so but never any longer than 30 minutes. In contrast, the Friday sky was grey and cloudy all day and reminded me of the beautiful fall weather back home that makes you want to curl up by a fire with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate.

After a few hours of training at school (we’ve been learning self-defense and use of force to defuse violent situations by a former cop. I thought it was going to be a class that would teach us methods of de-escalation (i.e. non-violent forms like mediation) to defuse tension, which in my perspective would have been more helpful. Instead the course was geared towards those situations you avoid where a student resorts to violence. At times this may happen, and has happened to various degrees, in the school here. Remember, these kids come from damaged homes where physical violence or at least verbal abuse is common. Often, our students may not learn the healthy forms of self expression we all take for granted. In some ways, this class was a direct consequence of Columbine, and the factors that contributed. In that sense, it is important. Also, knives and guns are very common in the rural Montana culture because the majority of people hunt-and usually to put food on the table. I am not trying to make a moral judgment of that culture in any way. However, I think the majority of our time and effort, including our training, should focus on what we do during 99.9% of our work hours, if not 100% of the time on the job: Creating an environment where kids learn healthy, non-violent ways to deal with intra- and inter-personal conflict, stress, and emotion. We need to set our students up to make the good decision, so they do not feel they have to resort to a situation where violence is necessary.) Anyways, enough about that… So once again, we journeyed to Billings to run errands, shop for groceries and to pick up Meredith’s Mom, Diane, and her friend, Carol, for the weekend. The entire time it drizzled and we had a cozy drive in to town.

On Sunday, we went trail riding for a few hours. I had so much fun-it was one of the best things we’ve done so far, and I could not get over how beautiful the country is-the Cottonwood leaves were dressed in their Autumn best-shades of orange, yellow, red, green and brown, and the green pines stood out against the golden wild grasses. We climbed a bluff West of the school to a beautiful lookout where you could see both valleys stretching out below. To our East you could make out the Tongue River, snaking its way below, lined with blooming Cotton woods, and to the West the golden valley floor stretched for miles and miles until it reached a “mountain range” in the distance (the mountains in SE Montana rise like the foothills in Washington). My horse, named Max, was a little antsy, so when I first got on he was a littler ornery and didn’t want to listen to directions. He trotted off in all different directions and I had to really rein him in. But, this just got my blood pumping and made the experience a little more fun. Most of my housemates had never ridden before, though one of them is a pretty experienced rider. She and I would hold back occasionally, giving our horses plenty of space to take off and trot or lope for a bit. It tried our horses’ patience, but I hope they also had fun getting a little speed. We both also offered to help out around the rancher’s place, take care of his horses, and even ride them (hint, hint… ;) ) if need be. He thought he could find some work for us, so hopefully there will be more riding in the future!

Richard Tallbull took us to Medicine Rock on Saturday and also coordinated the trail riding the following day. Richard is a Southern Cheyenne Indian who was born and raised in Oklahoma by white parents and Indian grandparents. As such, he did not really learn about Cheyenne culture until he moved out to Montana and the Northern Cheyenne reservation. Since then, he has learned the language, culture and history of the Cheyenne people. Medicine Rock is the site of numerous pictographs, pictures and symbols left behind by Indians who lived near here or passed through the area. Richard showed us all number of animals: elk, deer, bear, turtles and lizards, human people, teepees, medicine bags and other symbols. The tribal identities of human figures are differentiated so that Cheyenne are distinct from Arapahos, women are distinguished from men, and holy men from warriors. One of the more “famous” pictographs on Medicine rock is the depiction of a vision Sitting Bull had at a Sun Dance ceremony before the Battle of Little Bighorn: “Soldiers and some Indians on horseback coming down like grasshoppers, with their heads down and their hats falling off. They were falling right into [their] camp.” Sitting Bull interpreted this as a sign of success in the ensuing Battle of the Little Bighorn, Custer’s Last Stand.

Richard has also invited us to participate in sweats in the local community. Sweat lodges have been used in numerous cultures throughout history. When I traveled in the NW highlands of Guatemala two summers ago, I saw concrete and earthen sweat lodges used by the indigenous people. In contrast to the Plains Indians, it is my understanding that the Guatemalan people use their lodges to relieve pain, hitting themselves with reeds in sore areas. The sweat lodges of the Native American people are places of prayer, chapels of God’s creation close to Mother Earth.

Richard estimated that sweats have been around since the 16th century. The lodges, where the sweats take place, are round domes made of willow branches lashed together and covered with some type of insulated material. Historically, sweats were only used by medicine men; these ceremonial sweats, as Richard calls them are much smaller, fitting only a few men. They are still in use today, “off in the hills” for certain ceremonial purposes. Often, these spiritual men pray for the tribe or the needs of certain individuals. With time the modern co-ed sweat evolved for warriors who desired a place to pray before heading out on a war party. The young man’s sweat, as Richard commonly refers to it, is much larger (fitting 12-15 individuals if everyone slides in together) and is a place for all to pray: men, women, young old, Indian, white and everyone in between. It has been a very special privilege for me to attend the sweat that Ernie and Mary Jane Robinson put on every Sunday. Mary Jane is a teacher at St. Labre and Ernie works at the Cheyenne tribal housing authority.

Historically, sweat lodges were covered with buckskin. The Robinson’s sweat lodge is covered by large blankets and comforters and the dirt ground is lined with carpet. Everyone sits around the edge of a three foot pit that is dug in the center. The hosts of the sweat sit near the front door that faces to the East and the women sit on the Southern side. Going around the circle, the men sit on the Northern side, and any holy men sit on the other side of the Eastern door, along with the rock man. The rock man uses a pitchfork to gather large lava rocks that have been heated for a few hours in the fire and brings them in the center pit before each of the four ‘rounds.’ The rocks are called the Grandfathers, because they are so old, too old to really know their age, born long before any of us. Ernie reminds us that they will also live long after us, part of the Maheyote’s (God) creation. Each of the four parts of the circle (the hosts, the women, the men, the holy men and rock man) takes a round to pray. One may thank and pray for the host, the rock man, those who helped to prepare the sweat (chopping wood, gathering rocks, etc.) or prepared food for the potluck afterwards. One may also pray for their own needs and special intentions.

I have found this experience to be so special. Whatever is said at the sweat remains in that circle, and MJ often reminds us that the rocks are so old that they have experienced more than anything we will tell them and so we should not have fear. A deep sense of community is created as people bring their vulnerable selves-sharing their needs and brokenness, as much or little of their humanness as they choose to. Cedar is sprinkled on the rocks, emitting a fragrant smoke for everyone to bless themselves and the doors are pulled shut, sending everyone into complete darkness. The men lead the prayer songs, shaking a gourd to keep time and singing in their native language as the women sing along, while members of the circle give their pray aloud, or in silence, whatever they desire.

The heat reaches higher than any sauna I have ever been into. We estimated the temperature from 125-130º. (On a side note: I know you’re probably thinking, “Is this safe?” This is spiritual practice that has been around for hundreds of years. In fact, it is believed the Native people even used sweating as a form of medicine; I read somewhere that bacteria and viruses cannot survive at a temperature much higher than our internal body temp. The organic ingenuity, the practice of sustainable practices (like the respect for Salmon that causes Indian to return the filleted body to the streams, enriching the forest and stream beds with important nutrients) or medical knowledge they have accumulated, of Native cultures continues to astound me.

Richard has often reminded me to pay attention to what we are here for in the sweat, to our prayers and to whom we are praying to, God. I have found this focus on my prayers or the music helps to make the heat more bearable during the 6-10 minute round. My first time in the dark and music of the sweat was a surreal, almost psychedelic experience. The stark contrast of complete darkness shocked my body as I began to feel the extreme heat waves flow over my body. Then, the music began; songs that sounded as if they had been around from the beginning of creation, in a language that was as organic as the rocks in the center of the pit, the gourd shaking moving these prayers out of our bodies as the sweat ran down our skin. I found my head starting to spin from the sensory overload and I had to close my eyes (most of the time now I sweat with my eyes closed), and focus on the rhythm of the music so I would not pass out. The heat feels much less harsh after 3 weeks of sweating and in a way, is therapeutic. Every sweat is different. Sometimes the rounds are longer, sometimes the heat is more intense as an entire bucket of water is poured over the rocks. Richard tells me that for him, certain sweats may be draining if not everyone is singing and he feels like he has to sustain the entire circle for four rounds. I can very much see how that could be, and am very grateful for those who sustain the sweats-Richard, MJ and Ernie- though for me (and this is part of why I am so grateful), every sweat rejuvenates me and heals me. They say the sweat exiting our pores is the poison and bad spirits leaving our body and soul. I find this to be very true, similar to how a good run or workout can rejuvenate you mentally and emotionally, though I do not diminish the spiritual importance of the sweat.

Again, I just have to say how grateful I am for the invitation to this community-the sweats, the culture, the lives of this people.

First Impressions

October 3, 2011

I know I’ve been since August 14th (50 days already), so this blog doesn’t exactly capture my first impression of Ashland, but the additional time since I’ve arrived has given me a better perspective. The one thing that stood out to me during the first two weeks of our stay was the hospitality, kindness and welcoming of everyone here in Ashland. We have multiple communities, the St. Labre school community (made up of the students, teachers and parents), the St. Labre Mission church community (these families often overlap with the teachers, but also include other members of the community that we don’t typically interact with during a school day), the Ashland town community (folks we normally see when we go “uptown” for various errands, and the Indian communities on the reservation.

Just a quick note as to political correctness of the terms “Indian” and its counterpart, Native American: Most of those living on the reservation refer to themselves as Indian, though Native American is also used. I will use both terms interchangeably while I blog. Other tribes in the U.S. may not embrace the same language as the people here on the Crow and Northern Cheyenne Indian reservations. Interestingly, the Canadian tribes have come together and identified themselves as the First Nations or First Peoples.

Back to Montana: Montana hospitality stands out. Many individuals made an effort to introduce themselves following our arrival. Everyone is interested to hear where we are from, and an especially interesting question is: “Why did you come to Ashland?” (many people point out that they would not choose to come to Ashland over other locations and want to know what we think of their home. As for me, my journey to Ashland was a result of both my choice and placement by JVC Northwest. It was an interesting process, that I’ll cover in more detail later. What I think of Ashland? Beautiful, rugged country. Isolated, definitely, but a great place to be for a year.) We are very lucky to also have numerous individuals that make up our support team, some fill a formal role while others are just great neighbors.

The Sisolaks are one of our main support families. Ed teaches high school Math at St. Labre, while Luz works part time at the Heritage Assisted Living Center. (2 JV’s work at the school, 1 in the middle and 1 in the high school, 2 work at the group home on the St. Labre campus and 2 of us work at the dorms after school, while 1 of my housemates works at Heritage). They have 3 children, Joshua, Jacob and Sara, who all go to St. Labre. Ed and Luz met in the Philippines where both were working for Maryknoll. They meet with us at least once a month to guide conversation on various topics that are central to a JVC year (spirituality, solidarity, community, etc), and have also invited us over for dinner, bon fires, etc. Tony Uceda is one of our main contacts at St. Labre. He makes sure all of our logistical needs are met and also invites us out when we need to get away. We spent this past weekend in the sleepy town of Story, Wyoming (pop. 828, so still bigger than Ashland) at a cabin he has access to. Mike and Karen Scott are members of the St. Labre parish community and dropped off food for us on multiple occasions after visiting Costco in Billings, lent us their fishing gear and generally look after us.

There are many other individuals I won’t name here, but who have also played a role in our experience thus far. I know they will come up later.

One of the defining experiences in our first few weeks was an invitation to Crow Fair. Crow Fair is the largest powwow in the US and is appropriately nicknamed, “Teepee Capitol of the World.” We were invited to stay in the camps of Ivan Small, the St. Labre Director of Schools, Linda Brien, the Middle School Academy principal and Garla (her last name is escaping me), the principal at the St. Xavier Pretty Eagle school. Families camp in the same sites every year, until the group gets too large and they have to split up to find a new site, so it the gift of a camp to stay in was very considerate. Moreover, we fed heartily and included in the weekends’ events. We watched Ivan and his family perform in the rodeo, and sat with Linda as her grandchildren rode by in the parade. Each day, notched full of events, started with a parade of Native handiwork and art. Most individuals rode by on horse, dressed in full regalia-beautiful beading, tailoring and artistry for both rider and horse, though some also rode on “floats,” their pick-up trucks dressed with blankets, furs and animal skulls, great antlers or horns protruding from the bone. A few hours after the parade, Grand Entry would commence and more than a hundred dancers (all who would dance that day), again in beautiful garb, would process into the Dance Arbor. Grand Entry was led by a military Color Guard. Indian people value military service very deeply; and respect veterans at many public ceremonies. I think this is very interesting, both as a reflection of their culture and also in light of the history of United States governmental oppression of Native peoples. After Grand Entry, dancing would begin and continue until past midnight. People started to camp early in the week, Monday or Tuesday and the weekend’s events began on Friday. Every day got bigger and bigger, culminating in Monday’s celebration of native culture and the addition of many Crow-specific ceremonies. Some religious ceremonies and the tribal council voting followed the weekend’s festivities. We stayed at the powwow from Friday morning until Saturday night.

It was an experience unlike any I’ve ever had. I don’t know if I have witnessed a celebration of culture quite like this, with the number of people there, the beautiful garb, individually beaded and decorated, and the setting of the tipis on the prairie landscape. Not to mention the great food-fry bread and buffalo stew! The element that made the biggest impression on me was the intimacy of it all: staying in camp, playing with the kids and swimming in the Little Bighorn river, buying pie and ice cream for lunch from the Amish stand at the rodeo (because Meredith and I missed lunch while we were moving the car) :(, walking through the stables and petting the horses, standing an arm’s length away from the drum circles, so close that I could feel the music resonate off my chest. The pictures only capture one part of the experience, but hopefully they will bring this weekend to life for you, as Crow Fair brought native culture to life for me.

Our discussions this past weekend, when we met with the Sisolaks, centered on how we shared our stories with our friends and family back home. Something proposed to our group was that the people here did not share their culture with us just for our direct benefit, but also in hope that we would share the beauty of their culture with the world. That assumption emphasizes a greater privilege in my experience here and also places an even greater responsibility on my shoulders to share the unique experiences I have throughout this year.

Just two weeks ago, Native American Day was celebrated across the country. In the days leading up to that Friday, St. Labre held Native American week, where they invited a number of guest speakers and elders on to campus to educate their students about the ways of Indian life. I was able to attend a number of classes, including ethnobotany (the cultural and medicinal use of plants), knife sheath making, meat cutting and drying, and cooking. In my cooking class, I learned to make fry bread and choke cherry (a small, tart cherry that grows on large shrubs usually by creeks and streambeds). Fry bread is a relatively new part of Native American life, as are many other facets of their culture I ignorantly assumed have always been so. Fry bread began when Indians were moved onto reservations and received large quantities of flour and oil in the distribution of commodity goods by the Indian agencies. They learned to make an extremely delicious, but unhealthy food: just as it sounds, sweet dough deep fried in oil. The use of horses by Indians on the Great Plains is also a moderately new development, introduced to North America by Spanish explorers to the New World. Even the beautiful bead work exhibited on many buckskin clothing, moccasins and other garb is a result of the influence of the white man. Traders offered beads, whiskey and other white goods for the beautiful and highly sought after goods that the Natives could provide. Most clothing worn at powwows today are no longer made of buckskin, as the process takes too much time and energy. Instead, dresses are made from cloth. Teepees, for example, are no longer made from buckskin, and have not for years. Instead they are made of canvas. Much of the regalia displays the influence of outside forces on Native life. Patterns and styles that once identified certain tribes have meshed together, and cheaper, manufactured goods are now used. So, the culture lives on, but it continuously changes and evolves, as do all cultures, with the forces of time. Now, even globalization plays a hand. The elk teeth that once covered traditional Crow elk teeth dresses have been replaced by manufactured plastic elk teeth, probably made in China.

I do not think it is appropriate to label this change with the judgmental terms of “good” or “bad.” Sometimes, it is out of necessity that these changes are made, so that the culture may live on. For example, sweats or prayer lodges (I will dedicate an entire post to talk about these later), were original a place only for the prayers of ceremonial men. Now, however, sweats are built to accommodate “lay” men and women, so that they may also pray and engage their heritage. Even, white men, outsiders and symbols of historical oppression, are invited to sweats. I have been to two now. It will be difficult for me to express the gratitude I feel to be invited to such a special place and into such a special ceremony with such kindness. I can only say it is a blessing and grace.

You know you’re a JV in Ashland, when:

-You live in a ski chalet called Tall White Man Lodge
-Everyone in town knows who you are even though you don’t know them
-Your local restaurant, the Justus (pronounced “Justice”), only has 7 menus to share amongst customers
-You drive 45 mi. just to pick up pizza
-Your bath is really just a swim in the Tongue River
-You learn to tell the difference between a rattle snake and a bull snake, which just mimics a rattle snake
-Kids know you’re a JV because “you have that JV smile” (one of my favorite)
-You star gaze on the top of your roof
-School is closed not for snow days, but for “cold days” when the temperature drops below -25
-You shop at the local Amish store, where dented cans sell for 10 cents and expired chips sell for a dollar
-You go “worming” down by the river to find tenants for your worm bin
-You save your recycling in your garage for the next trip to Billings
-A two-hour drive is no longer a road trip, but just normal
-You stop swatting at flies or bugs around you because it won’t make a difference
-Grasshoppers fill the air like a swarm of bees when you walk through your “lawn”
-You think somebody you know waves at you as you drive 70 mph down the highway before you realize that’s just Montana courtesy
-You have buffalo for every meal at the cafeteria because the school owns their own buffalo ranch
-You’re invited to watch a naming ceremony, eat fry bread and stay up ‘til midnight watching drum circles and dancing at Crow Fair, the “teepee capital of the world”
-You eat honey-flavored processed “real white meat” chicken fingers and instant mashed potatoes every day for a week because its what the old JVs left in their house
-You make homemade yogurt and labna (greek cheese) from the expired milk that is given to you by the community
-Everyone invites you to their house to watch TV because they know you don’t have one
-Cleaning the toilet becomes a “social justice issue” because you let it mellow when its yellow
-You've eaten fried grasshoppers, just because

I'm sure there will be more to add as the year goes on...

Don't Blink

August 29, 2011
“Welcome to Ashland, don’t blink because you might miss it!” That’s what Tony Uceda told us as he drove us through downtown, the two-block long section of highway 212, where the speed limit slows to 35 mph and then 25 mph before picking back up to 70. There’s no stoplight and not even a stop sign, just a few buildings. That’s not to say I haven’t found everything I need here. There’s two restaurants in town, the Justus and the Hitching Post, the Community Bank, the Post Office, the Clinic, one gas station, two souvenir stores, one grocery store, a new movie rental and greasy snack shack, a coffee and wifi booth, one hardware store, six bars (hmm, that’s a larger number), a ranger’s station and even one of two county sheriff’s offices. All on first street, well Highway 212. And, I can’t forget one of our favorite places to go, the Amish (yes, real Dutch Amish) store, where you can buy dented cans, expired food and 5 lightbulbs in a six pack for real cheap! So, this is where all that stuff goes if it doesn’t sell in the store…

When I introduce myself, I always say I’m from a small town called Snohomish (which as someone recently pointed out to me, is actually a larger place that likes to act like a small town). Ashland really is a small town. Wikipedia says there around 450 people in Ashland according to the last census. However, a local told me it’s closer to around 350. It’s like the Cheers theme song, except instead of a place where everybody knows your name it’s a place where everybody knows who you are. From our porch you can see all the buildings in Ashland, so it doesn’t feel as isolated as I know we are.

Since we’ve been here, we’ve gone swimming in the Tongue River, started a compost and garden, gone to Crow Fair, the country’s largest Powwow, experienced a week of forest fires (smoke filled the valley every morning-it was like living in a cloud), spent a Friday morning at the diner in town like a local, gone hiking, gone worming, (haven’t gone fishing yet, though the Bighorn, a national blue ribbon fly fishing river, is not far away), gone to mass at the St. Labre Teepee Church, and spent a lot of time in community. Check out my “You know you’re a JV in Ashland, when…” list for a more comical synopsis of our first two weeks. I hope to update it throughout the year so stay tuned.

I just started work in the dorms last night. The fires delayed the start of school until today and the kids arrive Sunday night before school if they stay in the dorms. It was nice to get to know the campus in emotional safety of peace and quiet, but it was great to experience the energy the kids brought. This is my first day of school as a non-student after 17 years as a student! No more homework! But, just as much excitement for what lies ahead. Kathryn Cody, another JV, and I will work in the dorms after school from 3pm to 9:30pm Sun-Thurs. Our time will be filled with study hour, dinner, games and conversation, organized activity and spontaneous fun, and something I’m really looking forward to: JV Night. JV Night will be something Kathryn and I plan, a space for reflection, fun, relationship building and who knows what. Every night will be a little different. My goal is to create a space where the kids feel safe and comfortable to share things that reside deep inside themselves. I have heard from Ivan Small, the Director of Schools, that sometimes these kids aren’t listened to at home. Last night, Kathryn and I were talking about the importance of affirmation, acknowledgement and respect in our lives. I hope to offer as much to the middle and high school kids I’ll be working with.

It should be a really interesting, challenging and exciting journey! I hope to share it with you.

There's no place like home.

Tuesday, August 4th, 2009

I write from the comforts of the big red chair in the living room of my home in Snohomish, Washington. In the beautiful Pacific Northwest. The NW really is so beautiful. It is so great to be at home again with my family, my dogs, to walk around the beautiful garden, water the apple trees, to have fresh raspberries for my cereal and plump blueberries that I eat write off the bush.

I got home Sunday night around 10:30pm and have since spent the time relaxing.

My final destination in Guatemala, Lake Atitlan, was supposed to be filled with relaxation. However, while on a hike to Indian Nose (a mountain shaped in the pface of a person with a prominent nose), I was robbed and assaulted by 4 young men, 2 of whom were carrying machetes. I am okay :) but the experience was quite scary.

I had asked 2 people (one of whom was a guide) at the place I was staying if it was safe to do the hike alone. The response I got: "Yeah, you'll be okay. You're a man, they shouldn't bother you." Well, after hiking up the road for about just over an hour I started to catch up to a group of youth who were walking behind an older man. As they approached a blind corner, one looked back, spotted me and motioned to the others to stop. I noticed this and started to call out loudly (so they knew the older man knew I was there-or that was my intent), "Hey, how's it going? What are you guys up to?" One of the teens immediately pulled out a machete, pointed it at me and stalked towards me, saying: "Give me your money." I purposely didn't bring any money so this wouldn't happen and told him that. That didn't stop them from pulling my shirt up and sticking their hands under my belt (looking for a money belt) and into my pockets. I let them do so, out of pure shock and hoping that they would see I had no money and walk away. After repeating that I didn't have any money, the boy then said, "well, the backpack then" and another boy started to try to cut the straps off my backpack (which I was wearing) with his machete. This bolted me into action as my backpack had my camera in it. (My nice, new camera, but more importantly a lot of pictures that I had yet to save somewhere else) So, I grabbed the first thief's machete (which was inches from my face) and pushed away and tried to get away from their grasps. After a few attempts to run(it was impossible with 4 people holding onto different parts of me (trying to take off my watch) and my backpack I started to yell, "Thieves! Thieves, help me!" With this, I was able to break from their relaxed grasps and they ran off, up the hillside taking my room key and a bandanna from my pocket. I yelled in fury after them, "Hacen falta" (it's what fans cry after a foul in futbol, but I think I got my point across)

I am very grateful that God protected me during this incident and nothing worse happened. Their are stories of strong, grown men losing their shoes and shirt right off their back in past robberies.

A hundred meters up the road I met worker who offered to take me up to the top in safety for 5 bucks (the thieves don't attack when you're with a local), which I agreed to. We made it to the top and back down, without further incident. Though along the way we saw a few other young boys with machetes who Pablo, my guide, said were likely other potential thieves.

This was a horrible way to end my trip. I know the Guatemalan people are a beautiful, humble, giving people and they have shared so much with me even in the midst of their poverty. But, it is one part of the reality of this country, where corruption prevails in government and many people don't have jobs. Some of these people resort to theft. Maybe it is out of desperation to feed their families. In this case for these boys about my age, it was more likely out of want to buy an iPod or cellphone. Even in a country as poor as Guatemala, these modern symbols of luxury are everywhere.

Stories from Corozo

Lunes, 20 Julio 2009 - Martes, 21 Julio 2009

Monday morning Wily and I left for a new aldea, Corozo, where HFPF recently completed a stove Project. Many families in Guatemala cook over open fires in their homes, which is very dirty and unhealthy. It leads to respiratory problems (like asthma and bronchitis) and also affects pregnancies (birth weight, etc.)

This past Spring, Santa Clara University’s Ignatian Center and the Santa Clara Community Action program (SCCAP) helped me attend Unite for Sight’s Global Health Conference at Yale University. (At first read, you think “Wow!,” but it was actually so-so) But, there I met a nursing professor at UC Berkeley who is currently researching the effects of open, wood-burning fires on childhood respiratory health in Guatemala. Interesting stuff.

HFPF takes pride in their philosophy of working with the people, not just giving them donations. During the trip to Corozo, I witnessed the importance of the philosophy firsthand, multiple times. HFPF has an 80-90% success rate with their projects. This compares with an approximate 70% success rate with other organizations (such as those who build the stoves and then just install them in the villages w/o the relationships that HFPF takes pride in building).

The purpose of our trip to Corozo was to check every stove in the village (all 71 of them!) to make sure it was working properly (wasn’t broken), answer any questions, clean out the stove (and teach the families how to clean out the stoves for themselves), and make sure people were using them. Also, Wily had to check in with the villager’s payment plans. Corozo (like many other aldeas) has developed a culture that is used to receiving gifts from organizations that are trying to help the poor of Guatemala. However, this well-intentioned effort has had malicious consequences. Many of the previous projects do not last (one reason is because they are not taken care of, this could be to lack of education or lack of personal care and attention) In order to give the people of Corozo a sense of responsibility, pride, and ownership for their stoves, every stove owner must fulfill the contractual obligations of 5 monthly payments of 20 quetzales (for a total of 100Q or about $12.50 with the current exchange rate). Some people had yet to pay, so Wily had to remind them of the contract they signed. To help with his work, Wily hired two of the village council leaders to help assess each stove’s condition; each stop lasted 10-15 minutes. At the end of the day, one of the workers was trying to convince Wily to pay him 150Q instead of the 100Q they had agreed on previously. 100Q was the “just” wage for the day, but due to a culture affected by years of gifts (and maybe coupled with my presence as a Gringo- “someone who light skin, usually from the “other side,” and someone who can be counted upon to have money or valuables”) Gaspar thought he deserved more. Eventually, he and Wily worked things out after Wily offered Gaspar his “perspective.” Another interesting scenario resulted when (after dinner) we drove up to the school where we were to sleep for the night. A outside/open air meeting was just finishing up as we approached. Immediately after we parked, a few men swarmed the truck, picking through the stuff in the pick-up bed (our sleeping bags, mattresses, Wily’s bag, a pelota-soccer ball for the children) to see if we had brought them anything. One man asked (I don’t think he had seen the pelota), “Did you bring a pelota for us?” Wily replied that we hadn’t and just had one for the kids.

I offer the stories above as cultural observations. There could obviously be more factors to each situation and this is by no means a catch-all picture of all Guatemala. But, it offers some interesting insights to how we can best help those who are in need.

I want to share a few other experiences I had over the past two days:

Buda (pronounced “Bue-da,” means widow)


Pete brought some quilts from Faith Lutheran Church, which he attends, in Everett, Wa. These beautiful, warm quilts had been made by woman in the church and were meant to be given to widows and widowers in the villages HFPF works with. Every hand-made quilt carries the message, “Made With Love.” As the quilts were given to the widows, Wily gathered some information about the widow(er): his/her name, age(many villagers can’t remember their age and have to check their id card or just guess), number of children, when his/her spouse died and what happened. One woman shared a very poignant story. Her husband had died 25 years ago.
He had planned to go to the United States but didn’t tell his wife. He made it to San Mateo, a small city outside of Barillas. One day, after drinking, a bus drove by and he was pushed underneath and died from the accident. He left his wife to raise 7 children by herself. The death of a spouse not only steals a companion and lover, but in Guatemala it also leaves the burden of raising children, cleaning, cooking, gathering firewood, and farming all on one person. Many people’s spouses die after vomiting and diarrhea for days on end. Many families don’t have the money to take the patient to a see doctor. A few patients have come into the clinic and haven’t had any money to buy medicine. They return their village, knowing what disease plagues them, but not able to do a thing about it.

How hot is your Chu?


One of the most interesting parts of Monday was learning about Chus, small saunas, built with rocks to waist height. There were a few scattered around the homes of Corozo. As Gaspr explained it, Chus are a bit of indigenous medicine, to ease the pains and sores of a hard day’s work. Just like any other sauna I’ve been in, there is a small pile of rocks which are heated and to which water is added to create steam. There is small bench inside, but I don’t think I could sit up straight inside because the ceiling is so low. Usually the people will carry in a handful of reedy plants and hit the sore parts of their body (sometimes, they will just use their hands.) I wonder how saunas developed in Guatemala, if it is a cultural tradition that has been practiced for ages or if the notion was brought here from elsewhere (East Asia, the Mediterranean, etc.) It would be very interesting anthropological connection indeed if this human invention was born in various parts of the world by people who had no knowledge of each other.

A sad story
As we walked around the village evaluating the stoves, we were approached by a drunken man, who waved a piece of paper at us (which turned out to be a contract for an HFPF stove.) Wily explained to me that when the stove project was being organized in Corozo, the man got drunk and beat his wife. The village leaders decided that the stove should be placed in her name (most of the stove owners are the men/husbands.) So, she moved to a different house and how retains possession of the stove. I couldn’t understand a word the man sad (he was speaking in Q’anjo’bal), but apparently he was trying to get ownership of the stove.

The pools of Montenegra


On our way back from Corozo, we stopped to go swimming in a series of beautiful pools that have been molded from the rock by a flowing stream. The place was beautiful, a small sampling of Semuc Champey for those who have seen pictures or visited. The water, a brilliant, celeste-green color, flows from pool to pool and is quite warm. I imagine it must have been doing so for centuries to have sculpted the rock as it has. One can jump from pool to pool or sit under the small waterfalls at a pools’ edge for a massaging effect. It was so relaxing and refreshing!

One of my favorite parts of Guatemala has been the constant presence of nature wherever I have been. Rugged mountains hug the shoulders of Barillas, there is always a snack nearby hanging from a banana tree or shooting from the ground in the form of a sugar cane stalk. Last night was a very special experience. Not a single cloud was in the sky (surprisingly) and the stars came out by the thousands. The Milky Way streaked across the dark sky, untainted by light poisoning from any nearby human city, where lights are never extinguished. I was even wished goodnight by our friend “ratón” who stalked the rafters of the schoolhouse and I was kept warm at night by a friendly little snake that curled up right under my mattress, though I didn’t realize it until the morning.

Barillas Time

It seems like I am always behind on posting.

On Friday, Wily and I went to Canton (=aldea) Las Maravillas. It was a LONG day! HFPF recently finished a water project there, installing 84 tinacas (LARGE-like 200 gallon or more, black plastic tanks) and roofing system to collect clean, rain water. Before, community members (usually women) had to walk 2 hours or more to a river to get water because there aren't any springs nearby. Think of how big a deal this is! (What time and energy the people have back in their lives! And the water is so much cleaner!) The slogan of the company that makes the tinacas is "mas y mejor agua" (=more and better water). Now every family has a tinaca and the community has 42 to share as well when it doesn't rain as often. In order to follow up with this project, everybody decorated their tinacas and added a "thank-you" message to HFPF, the volunteer groups who went down and built the concrete pads and roof system, and installed the tinacas, and the various Rotary groups who helped sponsor the project (Club Rotarias Huehuetenango, Club Rotario Everett-Port Gardner, Club Rotario White Rock Peninsula). Wily and I went around and took pictures of all of them and then we "calificar"-ed them (picked the best ones) today.

But, before we even got to Canton it was an adventure. The last 2 km of the road to Canton is the worst: mud, hilly, sharp (as in 180*) turns, rocks. We barely made it to Canton. 40 of the villagers had to push and (literally, with ropes) pull us up the mountain. And, we almost didn't make it down alive because it had rained a lot in the afternoon before we left. I said over 50 prayers yesterday.

The houses are pretty spread out so we had to walk a ton; it was really hot early on in the day and I was sweating! The situation turned comical though, as we were offered hot milk and a rest at one house. A hot drink on a hot day! Only in Central America!! Then, we had a lunch of hot pollo criollo soup (it's chicken that has only eaten corn-so it tastes better in a broth with a few big vegetables). To top it off I added some picas (hot peppers) to taste the real cultural thing. I couldn't cut open the green, less ripe (and less spicy) pepper with my spoon as Wily was, so I chose a more mature, red pepper which was softer. And as they say, pica mucho!! Still after a hot and spicy lunch on a hot day, I was able to sit back and rest for a while, and really just be with the people and experience life as they live it. But, there in that wood hut, after eating lunch while sweating and with my nose running, I was able to sit back and estuve contento pincho (another indigenous term I learned that day, it means that I was content to the depths of my heart...)

We finally finished all the houses at 6 and got off the bad mountain roads before it was completely dark. It felt to get back and relax, shower, do laundry. I woke up a little late today...

But today was also a lot of fun. After grading the tinacas this morning and a short English lesson I left for Claudia(a new friend)'s house at 3:45 (like I was supposed to so we could leave at 4 for a wedding). Our ride didn't show up until 4:30 and we got to the wedding at 3:45 where of course they gave seats in the very front row by placing seats right in front of the bride's parents. Bizarre, I know. I didn't realize where the ushers were leading us until it was too late. It was very embarrassing but there was nothing I could do but try and enjoy the ceremony. Three gringos (I was also with Elise who is from Redmond and Chris McCormick from Snohomish, who I have met down here), front row center at a traditional wedding where the bride and bride's maid and multiple flower girls were wearing traje tradicional. We left the wedding early (in the middle of a HUGE rainstorm, it was like being under a waterfall) for a quinceañerawhich was supposed to start at 5:00, but didn't start until 7:15 when the birthday girl showed up. I was joking with Wily who is a padrino (god-father) about being on "God's time." (we only had to wait for a little while cuz we got there at 6:40). And then we didn't eat until 8:45...

I had a lot of fun after the formal ceremonial part of the quinceañera was over. During dinner I sat next to 10 year-old Gabby, who was one of the attendants. She was beautiful in her pink dress and curls. We talked, clowned around, and played with squishy balls in the flower vases. I was happy that I got a few pictures with the princess afterwards.

The events of today have given me a new appreciation for my family who is consistently late to large, significant events. Though to everyone's credit, we are getting better...

Marco Tulio brought Pete Kinch, the exec. director of HFPF into Barillas today from Guate. (That's an 11-hour drive, which he has done 4 times in just over the past 2 weeks!) I was describing my day and he put it perfectly, "There's Guatemalan time and there's Barillas time!"

Lunes 6 Julio 2009

Lunes 6 Julio 2009

I realize it’s been a ratito since I’ve posted anything (and I also realize I’m inserting Spanish words periodically throughout my blog. This is not because I speak Spanglish here in Barillas or some other language problem of deficiency. I am simply trying to inject a little of my experience into the blog. And I know this is not that effective. Pues…) I think I will begin with my journey with Wily to Nuevo Santiago, a small aldea outside of Barillas. Other news may come in a later blog... (I mentioned aldeas in an earlier blog, they are the small communities that surround the town of Barillas.) I learned from one of the children’s school reports that Nuevo Santiago has 102 “fathers of the family” for lack of a better term. (I also learned there are three ethnic groups in Nuevo Santiago, Q’anjob’al, Chu, and Ladino (I first read this term in Rigoberta Menchu: Ladinos are the people of mixed ancestry-indigenous and Spanish blood.) I was pleasantly surprised to see this in the child’s Nuevo Santiago report (which was quite extensive; with a little about him, a table of contents, an introduction and a conclusion!) The school has one teacher for about 100 children at least. They are split into 6 grades and a preparatory (kindergarten) group and come at two different times of the day. The village is very poor (as you will soon understand) so I thought it was great that they have such a comprehensive approach to their education. I guess when you are a such a small country with 23 colorful and vibrant ethnic groups that are naturally tied into the daily life, awareness is naturally a part of the education as well.

Nuevo Santiago is about 35 kilometers by road and takes two hours. After conversion (I know from my high school cross country days that 5km is 3.1 miles; 35 kilometers= 22 miles) that figures to about 11 miles an hour. The first hour is on a decent dirt road, the best example is a logging road in the Washington Cascade range. Then, for about a 5 kilometer stretch there is a section of paved road where the road would otherwise be impassable when it rains. This is the consistently steepest part of the trip. There are some parts where it is only paved in one lane as the government is actively working on the road, so you hope that no one is coming in the opposite direction. After an hour, we left the highway and turned onto to another dirt road. Now, in order to understand this road picture the worst sections of dirt, logging roads you have ever driven on: the steepest, rockiest, bounciest parts where you feel like you are riding a bull and where water has consistently dug channels across the road and created 6”-12” discrepancies between the normal road height and the channel depth. Picture this horrible stretch of logging road and then think of driving on it without rest for an hour. That is what the road to Nuevo Santiago is like.

My first glimpses of Nuevo Santiago were of recently logged forest and looked nothing like a town of 4 or 5 hundred people. The town is only 3 or 4 years old and the jungle around the area has recently been cleared by the residents to make the land farmable. I don’t know that I would say the land is exactly “farmable” now, but nonetheless the people are farming it. They have planted corn and coffee amongst the stumps, felled trees, and low undergrowth. While the soil is very fertile, it will be a few years before they will have very successful harvests because of all the work it will take to care for these early crops. After I stopped wondering at how much work it must take to clear a jungle and convert it to farmland, I began to notice the homes of the people. While there are over 102 families in Nuevo Santiago, there are less than 70 homes. Often, two families inhabit one home. And many homes consist of four walls made of sticks tied together and covered by black plastic roofing or the grass roofing you see on tropical huts in movies filmed in the Bahamas. But, these homes also have to stand up to the storms, rain showers, thunder and lightning of the rainy season of Guatemala. It does not rain in Central America like it does in Washington. It rains with the strength of Mayan gods.

We then climbed a steep, steep, steep road to the school and were quickly surrounded by many children having their afternoon snack, probably their lunch, of mush (“mosh”) and cookies. This government sponsored meal supplements the diet of corn and beans that these poor families consist on for every meal, day in and day out.

As I got out of the truck, I brought my camera with me and was immediately swarmed by ninos chanting, foto! foto! The kids were so close that I couldn’t take any decent shots, but snapped a few quick ones anyways so I could show them fotos. Every child was mesmerized by the digital photos and they all gathered in close around me, almost knocking me over with the force of their bodies (though no child weighed more than 50 pounds.) They took great pleasure in pointing and laughing at someone who was caught with a silly expression on their face or who acted out for the camera. I got some great shots and hope to be able to send printed pictures back to Guatemala when I get home.

Another that struck me was the malnutrition, and lack of medical care. So many children had brown, stubby teeth, with dark stains of decay from their high sugar content diet based in corn. Also, many kids had open wounds on their hands, feet and faces. I doubt any of them had ever seen a band-aid or Neosporin. And yet, while I could have easily picked up any of these kids (mind you they were only in 2nd grade) they all had smiles on their faces, that is unless they were hiding from me and the camera.

From the school, we (we being: Wily, the schoolteacher, Velasquez-the “president” of Nuevo Santiago, myself and a pack of children) went to one of HFPF’s latest projects, a pighouse for the four pigs that Nuevo Santiago currently has (three females, including one who is pregnant, and a barron). HFPF’s work in Nuevo Santiago emphasizes educating the children. So, down at the pighouse Wily explained how it is important to clean out the pig’s quarters, give them clean water and food, and take care of them. Then, Wily and Zelasquez gave the pigs injections of antibiotics and vitamins. Wily explained why it is important give the pigs shots (similar to the shots they need for their own health) to help them grow big and strong and healthy. I was very impressed by this philosophy. This project to help the village not only provides a varied contribution to their diet and a means of financially supporting the village but is also an important form of basic education for the kids, lessons of responsibility, health, and sanitation. It made me think of how my Dad would help us kids raise pigs, goats, cows, chickens and turkeys. Often, it was him doing the raising and us watching and learning. But, these basic lessons in animal care and outside chores around the “family farm” were so important for me to learn a sense of responsibility, basic lessons in health and nutrition, and to value hard work. I am so grateful to my parents for raising me so well and realize how much a childhood of hands on experiences contributed to who I am today. Needless to say, HFPF’s project made an impression on me and I am so hopeful for this small village.

This feeling only grew as we all got in the truck (imagine 25 kids piled in the back of a pick-up truck. They were having a great time! Can you remember your first horse ride, your first bike, your first time at the carnival that only comes once a year? I imagine it was all of these things to this group of very poor children) and drove down to the other part of HFPF’s recent project: a small seed nursery and a LARGE swath of newly planted seeds-radish, cabbage, corn, and carrots. This community garden will help to diversify the diet of the villagers who up til now have only planted corn, coffee and beans, and is also so important in education-both for the kids and the adults. Down at the garden Wily explained to the kids how they needed to water the plants, spray fertilizer and weed the plants. He also talked about how the kids needed to protect themselves from the odor of the fertilizer when they sprayed it. (At first I thought it was insecticide, and I was worried because after it was sprayed the kids proceeded to work in the garden, weeding and moving dirt to support the seedlings. Later, after talking with Wily I learned that they will spray insecticide, but that they have a buffer period of two weeks for the insecticide to wash off before harvesting) And to the adults, he described the importance of caring for the plants like caring for any other animal, or like their children. That those seeds which weren’t planted deep enough and sprouted very quickly and spindly needed a little extra soil around their base for support to continue to grow strong. (This is such a strong metaphor for the how to care for young, misguided children) The hope is that other farmers will start to plant their own small gardens. And indeed, one man who lives right next to the community garden has already cleared ground, built raised beds, and planted his own new vegetables-just from watching the HFPF group work on the community garden. Wily came to check on his garden, gave him some extra advice on how to take care of the vegetables as well as how to grow healthier crops of beans and corn by rotating crops, and how important it is to select seeds from the healthiest plants and best looking fruit to plant for the next crop. When we returned to the school, there were a few other farmers there who had started their garden but wanted to know if it was good enough or ready to plant. Wily gave them advice too, as well as some starter seeds. Those seeds, while so small, are more valuable than gold to these farmers. They can’t grow food with gold or feed their families (while they could buy food with it), but they can plant seeds and harvest the sustenance which will take care of their families.

The last part of HFPF’s work has been installing water filters in the village homes. Every family has a filter system, which consists of two mounted five gallon buckets, (the top one has a filter and the bottom bucket holds the clean, filtered water). Wily went around to a few homes, asking if the family had cleaned the filter. A few families had, but all of the filters were still coated in a layer of dirt and grime like I have seen on our hot tub filter at home (what a juxtaposition, a hot tub filter and a basic water filter that provides the clean drinking water these families need to clean their water of dirt and bacteria). Velasquez told the story of one man who found the taste of the clean water to be so good that he was drinking so much more water it made his stomach hurt. Whereas before he only drank when he was hot and thirsty from working in the fields, hist stomach wasn’t used to holding so much water at one time-from drinking from pleasure. What a great blessing for him and was a great thing for his health to be hydrated sufficiently. Wily explained to me that HFPF is so proud of their work and their philosophy of checking back in with families after they have completed projects. This is what makes their work so effective, they follow up with families to make sure filters are clean and working properly and making sure that plants are growing healthily and that the kids and adults are learning how to take care of these investments in their future.

Earlier today, I “calificado”-ed (that’s how it translates, I know it’s a weird verb I think they made up…) or judged drawings from a few of the village’s children. After the completion of all the group projects (about 10 groups from January through June), Wily and Marco visit all the projects again. Pete Kinch, executive director of HFPF and former mayor of Everett is coming on Saturday to see the results of all the group projects this year. On Monday we will go to one village to have a big fiesta for the inauguration of their new water tinacas (LARGE plastic tanks for holding rain water). Along with piñatas, food, and special presentations by the children, the boy and girl winner of the drawing contest will each win a prize (and all the children will win a prize for participating.) And there will be a contest for the best decorated tinaca, judged by Pete, Marco, Wily and I. We will go visit every house (over 80!) to see which is most beautifully decorated by the family. This visit will also check the installation and function of each tinaca and shows that HFPF truly cares about each individual family. It will be an opportunity for questions from the family and for reinforcement of advice from Wily and Marco Tulio. This is HFPF’s philosophy; to ingrain a sense of pride in these families, to educate them how to better care for their pigs, their plants, their tinacas, water filters, and their children.

Just call me Dr. House...

I haven't exactly been able to post my thoughts as I write them. This is from yesterday.

Jueves 2 Julio 2009

It’s 7:30 at night now. Because I’m not too tired I think I will try and give a brief description of the Mission House, my experience the last few days in the clinic, and the other things I’ve been doing. I feel like every day thus far, I have woken up with the sun and have been busy until I am serenaded to sleep by the music pouring from the Taberna across the street. What great neighbors! Good thing I have earplugs…

First, I’ll go over Barillas. It’s a town of about 6-8 thousand people apparently, though it doesn’t seem like it at all. There is a elementary school, high school, a few clinics and doctors, and a public health office (also functions as a clinic). There is the main road into Barillas which is lined with both houses and businesses. Often, one building serves both purposes. I bet somewhere along this avenida one could serve whatever interest they had: food, auto repair, supermarket, ice cream, clinic, police station, army outpost and ferreria (bus stop, really more of a bus hub; the sidewalks are usually lined with people waiting for a bus, van, or pick-up truck to somewhere. Many of these people are indigenous Indians that have come into Barillas to pick up something, see the doctor, etc. There are over 250 aldeas (small towns or villages) that surround the vicinity of Barillas. And many still wear the “traje tradicional,” the traditional dress complete with hair wrap, long skirt, belt and shirt. It is not uncommon to see someone carrying a baby wrapped in a large piece of fabric and slung around their back, balancing water or food on their head, or hauling a bag of good on their back or strapped to their forehead. The fabric of the traje tradicional is brightly colored with beautiful patters.). There are also a few busy streets that branch off from the main street that are filled with restaurants and stores. I don’t think any of the streets have names and if they do I haven’t seen any street signs to identify them. There is an open air market about 5 blocks off the main drag which is surrounded by many stands selling clothing, toys, food, etc. And business is certainly not constrained to any official store building. Many houses blocks from other business centers sell firewood, homemade ice cream, and more.

The Mission House, where I am staying, is just 4 blocks from the main square-park, Centro Municipal (town center, I don’t know exactly what goes on there, probably tax and business information, but this morning there was a long line to get in) and ferreria. And like I said, there is a tavern kitty corner to the house. Today I explored the furthest into Barillas that I have been to find a restaurant that brought food to a Rotary meeting I was at last night. I only knew its location because when a family drove me home in the pitch black night during a HEAVY rain storm and we stopped on the way to pay. I was lucky though because I walked past the President of the Rotary club and his wife, who let me know I was a block off and a few blocks past the restaurant. The food hasn’t been that great at the restaurant I am at, my waitresses cold has been a little unsettling and I just couldn’t finish the breakfast yesterday morning so I needed a change of scenery. I had ordered fried and breaded chicken breast, what I think was a lunch dish, and it came with cold beans and rice. Furthermore, the hot milk in my cereal (similar to the sweet milk in the mush) seemed overcooked and the coffee tasted a little off. Usually I am fine with meals in foreign countries, but this meal was just a little too foreign. But, enough about food…

For the past three days I have been working with Dr. Guillermo Gonzalez. Gonzalez lived in El Salvador but was born in Guatemala. He is now married to a woman of indigenous blood. Today we went to his clinic in San Mateo, a neighboring town about an hour drive on the dirt road out of Barillas, and stopped at her family’s house on the way back. While his wife wears no indigenous dress and speaks both Spanish and Q’anjob’al , the local indigenous language, everyone in her family over the age of 12 wears the colorful indigenous dress and speaks mostly Q’anjob’al. This also happened to be all women, the men and older boys were out working. I have noticed at least in Barillas that the indigenous dress is mostly conserved by the women. The characteristic indigenous, Guatemalan outfit for a man consists of a cowboy hat, and colorful (though less so than for women) cowboy outfit. I have seen the hats on many men, but not so much the rest of the traje. I began in the clinic on Tuesday (we spent all Monday traveling) at 8 am and worked until noonish. It was a ferriadia (sp?), a holiday for banks and schools and the clinic was only open half the day. Dr. Gonzalez works in two clinics in Barillas and we even drove between the two to see different patients. The clinic founded by Dr. Aller and HFPF is called Clinica Medica Bethesda. It’s a pretty large operation for such a small town. Gonzalez has two nurses, one indigenous woman who has translated for one patient who knew absolutely no Spanish. This was a surprise for Dr. Gonzalez, but there was more translation needed in San Mateo today; the people there speak Chuj. Gonzalez has hired a woman of indigenous decent in San Mateo to help, but his wife can also translate ads Chuj and Q’anjob’al are somewhat similar. There is also a young lab technician who runs all the tests in a room down the hall. He is equipped with pretty basic equipment, a microscope, centrifuge, microcentrifuge, test tubes and pipets, and a handful of commercial tests, dies, and chemicals.

Most indigenous patients have come in with some sort of gastrointestinal infection accompanies other pain that is the real cause of their visit. For example, one woman today had pain in her forehead, especially when she looked at the light, felt a little dizzy at times, and a cough with phlegm. But, upon palpation she also had pain in her stomach and a positive urine sample confirmed a stomach bacteria. There have been a few pregnant women who have had ultrasounds which I have watched. It is so neat, wonderful, and amazing to see another human being living inside of a woman and see its heart beat; and then to measure their head and femur to figure out how old the baby is and when the projected date of birth will be is astounding! After performing the ultrasound on one patient Dr. Gonzalez used a tool (I forget what it is called-it uses radio waves) to project the heart beat, which I then counted as a check of normal heart size and growth development. 137 beats/minute, wow! It sounds really high, but don’t worry, babies have higher heart rates. (There was an interesting case yesterday- a women 29 weeks pregnant, who was bleeding and have slight contractions. Gonzalez prescribed medication to slow both in hopes that the baby would have more time to develop. Babies born before the 36-37 week normally don't live and before the 40th week are considered premie. All of their organs are underdeveloped and they haven't had the proper time to grow and strengthen. The woman will return in a few days. I hope the drugs work...)I was able to watch an electrocardiogram of an overweight man, not common in Barillas at all, which measured the electric activity of his heart. For this procedure, the nurse attached cuffs to his wrists and ankles and then 6 metal electrodes around his heart. Then, Gonzalez analyzed the results and showed me where the indicated block occurred in the heart beat image. I have been able to watch a lot; consultations by Dr. Gonzalez, lab procedures, other examinations and even been able to check some blood pressures and pulses and listen to a few irregular breathing sounds in patients’ lungs and see a few ear infections. It's very interesting to see the entire medcal procedure all happen in one place, from consultation to medical administration and prescription "pick-ups." I can actually see the tests occur that confirm whatever diagnosis Gonzalez determines from his examines. (The eliminated wait time is very helpful for this. He can order a urine test for H. pylori, a common intestinal bacteria and have the results in 15 minutes. It is also very interesting to see globalization at work. The clinic does not have sufficient supplies or the latest models of equipment because it is things can be so expensize. The lab techinician may wear the same set of thin, latex gloves all day, and today (Friday) the nurses inserted an IV and none of them wore gloves to do it. However, drug companies have been able to make simple and expedient, one-time use tests for things like H. pylori, E. Coli and AIDS that they use here in the clinic. Today, Friday, there was a SIDA test. Thankfully it was negative!) Dr. Gonzalez also takes care to explain everything he’s doing, why he’s doing it (what symptoms he’s checking for and how he does this, why it might lead to a certain diagnosis), what drugs he’s prescribing, why and what they do. He’s even had me read through a large dictionary of pharmaceuticals that contains the indications for why one might prescribe a certain medicine, what drugs it contains (if multiple), what it does and side-effects. It has been a very FULL experience. The one challenge has been that it has all been in Spanish and much of it that I don’t understand, because of lack of Spanish medical terminology, a limited Spanish vocabulary, of just handling a conversation. The hardest part is that many Spanish medically related words don’t translate to similar sounding English words, and I don’t have an in-depth Spanish-English medical dictionary. Still, because of my past exposure to medicine, medical and scientific procedure, and limited medical and scientific education I understand for the most part what is going on.

Today was an especially interesting day. Usually the clinic in Barillas opens at 8am, but today we left at 7am for San Mateo. We drove into town and parked at the edge of a stretch of market, right next to a crowd of people. It wasn’t until we got up to the clinic and looked down from the porch that Dr. Gonzalez explained that the well dressed man in the center of the circle was selling some yellow solution (probably a mixture of water and oil) as a cure-all medicine for ailments commonly endured by the indigenous people, skin irritations and other infections. A complete scam. As it was early and no patients had arrived yet, we walked down between a few buildings and through the rest of the market where you could find fruit, vegetables, spices, clothes, baskets, toys and more, to an old, old Catholic church. The architecture was not spectacular, but I wish I had gone inside to see what the church held as it was so old. Outside there was a metal cross mounted upon a large (about 10 feet tall) metal stove with open sections about stomach height. A older couple was adding some sort of oil or grass to the fire as a form of prayer. I don’t think it was exactly Mayan, but there are still some people who practice Mayan rituals in and just outside Catholic churches. As Gonzalez said, the conquistadors came with the metal armor and swords and if you didn’t convert you were killed, but the result was a somewhat intertwined faith at times. Now, there is an evangelical Christian movement sweeping the country. Gonzalez also pointed out a overgrown area of grassy mounds a few blocks away that he said were Mayan ruins that the people have not protected from all foreign exposure and exploration, archaeologists and anthropologists. It would have been cool to see up close… Still, Gonzalez also told me the hills in the area have gold and showed me proof at his house which I could swear is fool’s gold (though I didn’t question it openly). Still, he may be right. Above all, I wish I had brought my camera as the scenes were beautiful and would have made captivating photos. Maybe another time…

That’s all for now.

Spanish word of the day: ear of corn=elote
Q’anjob’al word of the day: Ish-sman=man Ish-sall=woman