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...

Inauguracion Canton Las Maravillas

Inauguracion Canton Las Maravillas

As I mentioned before, during this past week I returned to the aldeas of Nuevo Santiago and Canton Las Maravillas so that Pete could see first-hand some of the work accomplished this year. Every year, HFPF has 6-7 groups that come down from January-June and the staff works not stop to prepare for the groups and ready the projects (this takes a lot of coordination. Imagine trying to pull off a public works project in a extremely poor community with no major power tools, organize hundreds of villagers, and then orient (and prepare for) the gringos that come down to live in the villages for just over a week at a time, for 6 straight months.)

But, all this work is worth it. During my few short visits to the aldeas I have seen (and tried to communicate) how important and impactful HFPF’s work is. On Monday, I got a very special opportunity to share in the community celebration for everything they have received. Canton Las Maravillas is a very poor village. There is no water in the village, so for years the people have had to walk over an hour to the river to wash their clothes and find water suitable to drink. Many households have built contraptions to collect rainwater. But these bins (they look like dog pens built of sticks, lined with black, plastic garbage bags) are only a site of algae growth, mosquito birthing grounds and home to millions of bacteria. This is the water that would be used to bathe in, water livestock, this is the water that would be used to drink and cook. The tinacas HFPF installed provide relatively clean water (supplemented by additional 5-gallon bucket filter apparatuses) and a safe way to store it. Let me put the importance of this project further in perspective. 8 or 9 (this is no exaggeration) out of 10 of the people who come to visit the Clinic Besthesda, where I have been working, have a gastrointestinal infection. They may come for a pregnancy check-up, a sinus infection, or some other health malady, but they may also complain of a stomach pain that has annoyed them for 2 months or 5 months or 2 years. Sure enough, a urine test or a one-time use H. pylori test confirms their stomach infection or stomach amoeba or parasite. The water tinacas allow villagers to drink clean water and wash their hands. The pig and garden projects in Nuevo Santiago diversify their diets and add important nutrients, protein, vitamins, and minerals. HFPF has moved away from treating the medical needs that HFPF originally served through Dr. Aller’s hands and guidance. Supporting a clinic is just too expensive and too difficult. But, HFPF’s work has been a perfect example to me of Public Health in action and preventative medicine. The water, nutrition, and educational projects will lower the number of people who come to the clinic. On Tuesday, when we visited Nuevo Santiago we interviewed the widows of the village and distributed quilts made by a Everett, Wa church (more on this in a later blog.) 3 of the 4 widows’ (or widowers) spouses died from vomiting and diarrhea. What bacteria caused that, they will never know. But, I know that the bacteria came from the unhealthy water or unsanitary conditions in which these people live.



Well, now onto the party. You may seen some interesting pictures on the side bar of what looks like a film set for a commercial for Nanoshine Onestep Wash and Polish, a revolutionary new, nanotechnology washing product that retains the same qualities of a car wax. Well, that because you did. Pete has recently started a new company selling this product, and he wanted to get some before and after material to help his advertising. So, we washed the cars with his product before taking off on our adventures. The roads we visited were the perfect place to test his product. A fun story. Who knows, you may see some of my filming on TV one day soon…

Well, the road up was even worse than before. This time there were 3 cars going up, one with the Barillas mayor (his district contains some 250 aldeas) and some government officials, the second with Marco, Pete, some Barillas Rotary members, and the third with Wily and I. Well, the road just got worse and worse with each car. All the villagers came out with their ropes and ponchos but after 2 and a half hours of driving Wily and I stopped the car, turned around and walked the rest of the way up.

This trip was also a mini-lesson for me of Guatemalan politics. Part of the reason the community invited the mayor was so that he could see first-hand how bad the road was, so that he could experience it for himself. Well, sure enough during the ceremony that followed he “publicly” promised to start working on the road. Next year. When they had more money. It’ll be interesting to see how this project proceeds. Just before you start ascending the last part of the mountain road to Canton, you come across a large river, with a cable bridge. Next to the bridge stands 3 hugs concrete foundational supports for a new bridge. Well, this project was started years ago, and then the money ran out, so the foundations now stick out of the water, supporting air. In Nuevo Santiago, the government brought in large concrete pipe sections to work on a drainage project, but the pieces sit in a field, unused. The government also started a smaller version of the garden project that HFPF initiated in Nuevo Santiago, but never returned to teach the villagers how to take care of the plants. Wily returns every week or two, to show them how to fertilize properly (directly on the plants, not in the middle of the rows) and safely, cover the radishes fruits that become uncovered because the seeds weren’t planted deep enough. The plants in the government garden have either died or the vegetables have grown too long and the few radishes left are only fit for pig feed.

Back to the party…

We were welcomed into the school by a lively Marimba band that filled the air with their sweety airy rhythms. We made our way over to a make-shift platform and a few plastic chairs, and the rest of the open space in the school was quickly filled by school children packed in like sardines. The rest of the village stood at the back or peeked in through the open windows. The ceremony was filled with the welcomes to every party there (the villagers, HFPF, the Barilas Rotary, the family of a Barillas pastor that joined us, the “Corporate Municipality” or local government, Pete and his grandson, myself) by almost every party there (I was the exception) so there was a lot of thank yous and welcomes and a lot of clapping. This was followed by certificates given out to all the various parties by the Corporate Municipality and the Canton Council President, and awards for the best decorated tinacas, best drawings, and the top finishers of the 5k race. (They started at the bottom of the mountain road just as we got there and beat us to the top, the gowing was so slow.) The best part was probably when the winner of the 5k race performed a song he had written himself about the tinaca water project and Marco, Wily, and the group that came to Canton. This funniest part was probably when Marco was explaining to the village how Pete had been the mayor of Everett when Bill Clinton had been president and Boeing had come to Everett. The mayor of Barillas immediately jumped up to have his picture taken with Pete.

Following the long ceremony, there was a great lunch, a soccer game (played in more of a bowl than what you would consider a soccer pitch), and dancing to the Marimba music. I wish I had made it over to the dancing, but I was trying to raise the spirit of the Barillas crowd who was unusually quiet for a futbol match in Central America (for that matter, anywhere outside the US.)

It was a fun-filled day. The people of Canton were so grateful and so happy for everything they had. And while they are so poor they really wanted to celebrate the help they had received. Marco and Wily each received a turkey for their work. Meat is a treat in the diet of the people of Canton. Turkey is a treat even for the more well off in Barillas. Wily’s family turned it into a great lunch which they shared with me, his pastor and his wife, his mother and father, and brother’s family. Marco eloquently explained ‘it’s a gift that’s hard to receive, but even harder to say ‘no’ to.”

The story behind the water project at Canton is particularly striking. Last year a Rotary group came down to build a school in Canton. Every day, they took showers from the water supplied to them by the villagers. At the end of the week, after the school was completed, the villagers told the group what they really needed was water. It took 2 hours to get water and the Rotary group had used up the entire village water supply. This heartbreaking story led to the tinaca project the village has now. The Rotary group went down with the villagers to collect more water before they left, and a year later every home has a tinaca to collect clean water. This project was very expensive and required a matching grant by Rotary International to come to fruition. With the current state of the economy, the number of matching grants has greatly decreased and HFPF was lucky to receive the money when they had. They won’t be able to complete such large projects in the future.

Now, I’m off to bed… Wily and I are going to a new aldea tomorrow, Corosco, and we are going to spend the night in the truckbed. I hope it doesn’t rain! (I’d say there’s a 80% chance…)

You scream, I scream, we all scream for Ice Cream!

Sabado, 18 Julio 2009

The last week has been a busy one, and lots of fun! Pete Kinch, the executive director of HFPF and his grandson, Aaron, joined us here in Barillas. Marco Tulio went to Guatemala City to pick them up and also brought along his nephew, Chris, from San Marcos, which is along the way. I feel bad for Marco, he has made the 11-hour trip between Guate and here (or segments over two days’ time) at least 4 times in the past 2 weeks!

It was great fun to have more people in the Mission House (as Marco stays in the “pilot house” in the back) with two young kids running around and home cooked meals! Lydia, a women who lives locally, came to cook meals for us from Saturday to Wednesday! And boy was the food good! A mix of foods from home (like Spaghetti, though I have had that here once already), food I don’t normally get in the restaurant (like fresh-from-the-oven-homemade bread!!) and always lots of it. I was living the good life!! Though, thankfully, the transition from Lydia’s cooking hasn’t been too rough. Today for lunch I was invited to Wily’s house for Turkey (a treat! and a gift from Canton Las Maravillas, more on that later) and good soup.

And last night, I went to Yupi Café with two friends I have made here- Elise (from Redmond, who will attend SPU next year. Hannah if you’re reading this, I told her to find you!) and Claudia (who lives in Guate but works in Barillas for parts of the year. They took off this morning so we dined out on queso hamburguesas, hot chocolate, and ice cream! Yupi Café has been at times a refuge for me. One particular day, the food at the restaurant was just not very good. (since then, things have been better…) From the first bite of hot cereal at breakfast, there was something wrong. That day I had a measly lunch of PB&J sandwiches and by dinner I was pretty hungry!! It had been raining most of the day and I wanted something warm! I hadn’t been able to find hot chocolate anywhere in Barillas except at Yupi Café, so I headed straight there. I had a huge dinner of a cheeseburger, (I also had a craving for French fries, and while popular in Guatemala Yupi doesn’t have them) tamales, with my hot chocolate-warm, rich, and sweet! Another day, again the cheeseburger and ice-cream topped with chocolate and nuts fulfilled my comfort food craving. I loved eating all sorts of new meals and foods. But at times, ice cream just hits the spot like nothing else. And the people of Barillas appreciate that, too! I've tried a few flavors of homemade ice cream-cocunut and peanut, and a few more "bars" sit up in the freezer waiting for a hot afternoon!

...

So, I thought it might be a nice place to take Elise, not knowing what she had been eating during her 6+ week stay in Barillas. (It turns out Claudia and she cooked in their home; microwave chicken, instant mashed potatoes, rice, etc.) Then, after dinner, we met went next door to get ice-cream (they have better ice-cream than Yupi). In the midst of ordering our cones, we were met by the two little, poor boys I had blogged about earlier, and who I had seen various nights in Barillas. We offered them ice cream instead of a quetzal handout, which they asked for, and then we had a lot of fun sitting and eating with them.

This was the first time I had been able to talk with them. I had bought one of them ice cream before and he ran away soon after getting it. After asking them why they were out so late at night, running around the city, the more talkative of the two responded that “there was no older man in the house to tell him not to” We learned they live with their mother and can’t afford the necessary books, uniforms, and other supplies to go to school. It was a very sad reality. We spelled the various words on the ice-cream advertisements (they were 8 and 10-years old, no schooling, and spoke mostly Q’anjob’al) and they joked around with each other and us. At one point, the little (and more talkative) one, Mura? (I think it’s an indigenous name) went digging in the garbage to find someone’s else left-over ice cream treat to enjoy. I started to stop him, but then realized maybe he didn’t have dinner that night. Like, I said a very sad reality to be in the midst of, to watch and bear. I’m glad Claudia got a few pictures, which they got a kick out (asking for just a picture of their sandals) to remember them by. Though, their memories will not soon slip from my memory.



The Mission House is now empty and much quieter. When Pete (the big jefe) came, the entire house was cleaned, covers taken off of couches and loveseats, and the big dining room table and chairs set up, with a beautiful table cloth to boot. Everything has been packed away, floors swept and mopped one last time and the house is in hibernation mode until groups return in January. It almost felt like a vacation to have other bodies around 24/7. My tocayo, Chris, (Tocayo is a Spanish word used when two people have the same name) was quite a character. Only 8 years old (and skipping school for this trip!), Chris was frank and honest with his thoughts and emotions. For the first few meals, he would get up in the middle of eating, walk into the kitchen and ask Lydia if she was going to come eat because the food was getting cold. Then, five minutes later, after she hadn’t come, he would ask again if she was going to come eat with us. Very sweet and a great personality! He and Aaron (just as all the aldea children do when we visited, the “little princess” at the Quinceanera, and the two little boys we shared ice cream with) lightened up my experience in a very special, fun way!

Stay tuned for more updates about our special trip to Canton Las Maravillas! We returned with Pete for a big party and “inauguration” of the tinaca project. It was a very special day to share with Marco, Wily, Pete, and the people of Canton Las Maravillas.

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

Martes 29 Juno 2009

I have made an agreement with a local restaurant to get my meals at a lower price than normal, 15 quetzales. The exchange rate is about 8.5, so that makes every meal just under two dollars, plus any drinks I order. The restaurant is run by a mother and her 4 daughters (I’m guessing) between the ages of 15 and 25? The mom is out of town until tomorrow (Wednesday). The food isn’t as great as the other Guatemalan food I’ve eaten, but it’s much cheaper and I’ve only just started to test the menu. Who knows, I may start to experiment and frequent other restaurants that don’t look too shady. My other option is to cook. The mission house of HFPF is quite spacious and has two kitchens and all the necessary equipment, but I think cooking for myself would just take too much time. Besides, today we went to the market to buy some fruit and I don’t think I could eat any meat I would buy there as it all sits in the open in the heat of the day with no ice. This is probably the same market that supplies my carne asada and pollo ahumado(smoked chicken) but I least I don’t know about it.

Along with watermelon and grapes from the market, I bought some homemade ice cream to put in the freezer from a house Marco pointed out. I also visited a panaderia for same empanadas y conchas and picked up some Gatorade, cashews, and a packet of cookies at the super (mini grocery store). The Gatorade is to replenish the fluids I am losing from my biological introduction to Guatemala. I don’t know if the diarrhea is just from the new microbes or from my waitress’s sniffles, runny nose, and the use of her all too serviceable hand. !Bienvenidos!

Tonight I had a particularly interesting dining experience. I walked the 5 short blocks to the restaurant from the mission house and along the way passed a group of young guys in el parque municipal, one of whom was playing a trumpet. His music made me think he was snatched from a cool, Chicago sidewalk and landed here in Guatemala. After entering the restaurant with a Buenas Noches the waitress came and listed off the dinner menu. It was the same as last night, but I caught a few more of the dishes. She speaks very softly with the pace of a memorized dining list and at times the choices come out muffled. After ordering carne asada I sat back and watched the last two minutes of Harry Potter, Prisoner of Azkaban, on the restaurant TV. Then I heard from behind me a timid, sweet voice directed at me, “Dame un quetzal.” I turned to find two, very dirty and obviously poor, little boys hanging on the doorway, staring fixatedly at me. Again they repeated, “dame un quetzal.”

When I am driving in the US and I see a homeless person on a street corner I will give them food if I have it and sometimes a few dollars. Food cannot hurt and while the money may go to drugs or alcohol, this may be due to circumstances beyond my control. Maybe this excuse is just a cop-out for my conscience and my thoughtful gift will actually do more harm than good, but I also realize I live a very blessed life and can spare a few dollars for someone who needs it.

However, in this situation, I paused before responding, “No tengo quetzales.” In reality I had 7.1 quetzales in my pocket and two 1 quetzal coins that I could have given to them both, but something held me back. But, the boys just repeated, “Dame quetzal.” Now, the thoughts started running through my head.

They are so poor, they obviously need some money. But, if I do, will they come back every night to ask me for another? I can’t give them a quetzal every night. Well, I can, but is this really doing any good? Does it just reinforce a stereotype that causes them to ask every Gringo this question? Or, have I just created this stereotype in my head and these two boys ask everyone in Barillas this question.

I thought, maybe I could buy them a bit of food. And, after responding again to their pleas, that I didn’t have any money, one of the boys asked for some food. I asked him what he wanted. Well, this didn’t go anywhere for some reason and he reverted back to the “Dame quetzal.” I turned my gaze back to the TV as the two boys continued every few seconds with their plea. Still, the thoughts raced through my head. What should I do? What is really the best decision, what is really the just decision? My head and heart were both pulled in two directions, but something prevented me from reaching into my pocket. (What are your thoughts on this situation? What would you do?)

Then, I heard a deep mumbling from the doorway. I turned to see an old man stumbling into the restaurant, a bit of drool on his chin, hands stretched out for me. I quickly turned back towards the table and replied to what was probably the same question as the boys, I don’t have any money. I was very grateful as the cook rushed from the kitchen and herded the man somewhat physically out of her restaurant. There are various men that sleep on the sides of the road during the day, and I am sure this was one of them. I think this made me feel a little better for not giving the boys money because it seemed like it would only attract more attention. Still, my heart only broke more when one boy left and the other remained there saying (I think), “esperame un quetzal” I will wait for my quetzal.

I was glad to see another young diner come in a few minutes later. Elder? I think was his name, was studying medicine in Cuba and working here in Barillas. We began to talk first about the futbol game on TV between Real Madrid and another Spanish team. Our conversation flowed naturally between Spanish and English, as he was eager to practice his second language, as we covered H1N1 (swine flu), food, school, and more. It was a un placer to meet Elder and I hope to see him in the restaurant again tomorrow. Maybe I can ask his reflection on the two begging boys.

Bienvenidos a Guatemala

A huge blast of thunder just pounded over my head and now the rain is coming down in buckets. The lighting storm hit just over an hour ago, around 6:30pm, just after we got into Barillas. It has been a long two days and I am ready for a shower and a nap. But before that, let me recap the past two days of my trip.

So, my first flight headed for Texas left at 1 in the morning and I was thankfully able to sleep for most of it, if that’s what you call it on an airplane. I laid in the Houston airport terminal with a borrowed Continental travel blanket keeping me warm (Don’t think too bad of me, I’ll return it on my way home) and a face mask blocking the light. However, as airports can be somewhat noisy, I didn’t really “sleep.” I did more of that airplane resting on From Houston, Texas I departed for Guatemala City and arrived at 11 am, a surprisingly short, 2 hour flight.

After proceeding through customs and passing the H1N1 Medical station (there were multiple medical personnel wearing masks and stopping those entering the country who recorded a high temperature on their infa-red TV, and picking up my luggage, I walked outside into the Guatemalan air to be greeted by about 100 of my closest Guatemalan friends. The group ranged from families to taxi drivers to others holding signs for designated arrivals (students, tourists, people like me). Sure enough, Marco Tulio Maldonado, the field director for HFPF, was there to greet me with a smile and a hug. I was also introduced to his brother, William, William’s wife, May, and their two sons, Alejandro and Sebastian. We all piled into a big, white off-road SUV and headed out of the airport to grab lunch, at a Chinese restaurant (of all places!!) in Guatemala City. Well, we just happened to arrive at the beginning of the US vs. Brazil Final game of the Confederations Cup. So, with much gusto I cheered on my team to 2-0 start within the first 35 minutes. However, I didn’t yell “gooooool!!” too loud because there was a Guatemala family sitting next to us that was clearly made up of Brazil supporters. (I didn’t want to cast my fate as an obnoxious gringo on my first day in Guatemala…) I realized later that I should have yelled louder because the family didn’t seem to notice me or think of my feelings when they roared after the next 3 goals scored by Brazil. So, a little disheartened, I left the restaurant thoroughly enjoying my first dining experience in Guatemala. After that I headed for a hotel to take a much needed siesta after my long night of traveling.

This morning I woke up at 5:15 to leave for Barillas. Marco and I were able to hit the road before most everybody else in Guatemala City. As we left the city I saw one man climb up a ladder on the back of a chicken bus (what they call the brightly colored recycled school buses used all over Guatemala) and secure bundles, bags, and luggage on top of the bus, then climb back down the ladder and hold on for rest of the ride. The bus never slowed from its 70 kilometers an hour speed the entire time. I wish I had gotten a picture, but didn’t have my camera close to me. An hour or so outside of Guatemala City we passed Lake Atitlan. Big and beautiful, the lake is surrounded by volcanoes, including one which was enveloped in clouds like someone had covered an ice cream sundae with whipped cream. Again, no photo. After breakfast I got out my camera. The breakfast food was great! I especially enjoyed “El mush” which is like oatmeal, only mostly a sweet, milky liquid with a few, small oats at the bottom. And, the café was similar to my experience in El Salvador, it needed 3 spoonfuls of sugar. It’s not very strong, but bitter. That’s not an insult to the coffee or the country, everyone I’ve seen enjoyed coffee with lots of added sugar to their cups as well, just an observation. (I remember hearing something in El Salvador about how most of the farmers there who grew café did not earn enough to buy their own refined product, but instead had to enjoy instant coffee. Anyone who has been to El Salvador with the Casa program, can you verify this?)

After breakfast we headed back out to the highway and had an adventurous day. The roads in Guatemala are very windy, always. From the plane, I looked down and saw the brown seams in the green slopes and thought, couldn’t they have straightened those out? Nope, the country is just that hilly. Many of the turns are very tight and there is often a chicken bus coming around the corner in the opposite direction at the same time. The buses are the common form of transportation in the country but can also be very dangerous. One bus passed a few cars on one of these blind corners. Luckily, there was no one coming on the other side. Marco is a great driver and handled the roads with a display of skill and experience. Plus, the truck HFPF owns handles the terrain great, which for the last hour consisted entirely of gravel, rocks and potholes, not just pavement, rocks, and potholes.

I’ve included some other captivating pictures of the day, but I want to finish with an image of my favorite part of the day. We stopped at “La Mirada,” a vista overlooking the valley below and were quickly met by six, cheerful little girls. Marco told me they used to bring flowers to visitors of the high point, but this time they offered “12 poemas.” They had memorized 12 short poems engraved on the posts surrounding a piece of art at the stop. I wish I had understood the words that flowed from their small mouths, but the beauty of the scene did not lay in the meaning of the poem. Instead, I was captivated by their smiles, their humorous antics and jabs at each other (2 were obviously sisters). Afterwards, Marco asked them to all line up in order to receive their prize, 1 quetzal each. It was my first encounter with the Guatemala people and a pure and unobstructed interaction of humanity. After rereading this paragraph, it seems that I haven’t quite captured the beauty of these few short minutes. But, I think why they struck me so was because while these girls were obviously much poorer than I, and experienced hardships I knew not (you may be able to notice in the photos that some of the girls have burns on their cheeks and lips from the altitude), immediately there was a connection between us. They wanted to share a poem and I wanted to have it shared with me. I couldn’t understand anything they recited (though I did hear the “gringito” whispered behind my ear as I was showing them the photos I took), but we still had a simple human connection. Beautiful.

Ok, that’s all for now cuz I have to get to bed. Tomorrow morning at 8 am I'm meeting Dr. Gonzalez, who I'll be working with in the clinic. One last thing, my new word for the day, popcorn = poporoz.