Birthdays and Good-byes

So it’s been a crazy last few months. I can’t believe we’re already done with September. Once we got back from all the crazy vacationing with the witches I felt like, if my phone didn’t tell me the date every day I’d think we were still in July. I’ve been absent from the blog for quite a while, stewing away over many many things. But now I’m tired of the stewing, so here goes:

All the confusion and misunderstanding between us and the villagers here in August left me feeling pretty confused and really and down. Suddenly I began to worry, and still do a little bit, that there’s always a quiet discontent about what we are doing and how we’re doing things here. I’m sensitive to this sentiment. I don’t want to be doing things people don’t want me to do. The problem here is that people aren’t ever at all, in any way, forthcoming with their opinions. I think I spent a lot of time feeling stupid about what had befallen us, but I also could see no way to have known in advance how to avoid the problems. I am undeniably a brooder. So I brooded, and tried not to let myself fall into homesick traps or wishing my time away, which was (hm, and in reality continues to be) a little difficult. I feel a good way to beat these things is to accept invitations and throw yourself into cultural activities, so I tried it out. It just so happens that our host-family has a very heavy concentration of August of birthdays, sort of like May for my family at home, so we made a lot of birthday cakes. Chalio turned 10, Delvin turned 3 and Delmy hit the big 2. Chalio’s birthday was by far the most low key. Delvin’s mom had spent months fattening up a big, so they killed it and made some tasty tamales for his celebration. His other grandparents came from far away and spent the night after the party. Reyna wanted to do something fun for Delmy and was inspired to have Fletch bring a big piñata back from Soloma. This last party was a pretty big hit for the neighborhood, which consists mostly of relatives both close and distant to the family. Delmy was the least excited of everyone and generally absent from the festivities, go figure.

These celebrations were a lot of fun, and I’d leave feeling pretty good about things. But somehow I would always end up brooding some more in the quiet of our home. What are doing here? What should we be doing here? What can we do that we haven’t tried already? What would be the best way to make these things happen? I came up with some answers, but hadn’t reached the point of being fully convinced by any of them. It sometimes takes a very long time for me to convince myself of a thing. And then it was time to leave the village again. The witches were coming! So I put my brooding on hold, in search of some adventure.

I think Fletch did a nice job of summarizing what happened on the visit. We had a great time with Ann and the aunties. It was fun getting to know them better, to hear family stories and (for me, I don’t know if Fletch noticed) it was fun to see Ann with the sisters she grew up with instead of with the all the boys she raised. While we were out galavanting around, my August birthday also transpired. I’m sure the host-family was a little sad there was no cake this year, but when we brought the US family up to meet with the Guatemalan host family, Reyna gave me a gift so that I knew they hadn’t forgotten. They’re pretty great.

I must say our two days with family in the village were insane. People never stopped knocking on the door, and Fletch and I did actually manage to do our job in those days, giving a health talk. But it was also a little disorientating because I knew that things with the community hadn’t really reached any conclusion and I still felt on edge. But then we took off again, for the second half of our Witches Adventure. I was ready for it. I was exhausted and a little ill, so arriving to at the Lake felt like a mini sort of salvation. Hello cleanliness! Hello amenities (flush toilets right near the bed and hot showers and delicious food and a breathtaking view)! I think it turned out to be just what the Witches needed at the time too. The problem with all this loveliness was that I was quickly becoming addicted to it while I was simultaneaously trying to ignore everything work related, and I was mostly, but not entirely successful. We went from one the lake to Antigua, landing right back where we’d started in, to wind down the trip. We enjoyed a nice few days of touring the city (The horse and buggy was the way to go! It just felt right in such a historic city, bouncing over the cobblestones), and then it was time for the Witches to get on their broom sticks and head for home.

Fletch kept saying, “We need to get our room with Vera. We need to call her and tell her we need a room. We should call her soon.” Vera’s place is a good place for PCV’s. It costs about $5 a night and there are hot showers, which is usually all we need. But I was kind of ill, again, and he was saying this to me in the loveliest, spacious room WITH A BATHTUB! just off a courtyard with a gurggling fountain and loads of beautiful flowers. The thought of going to Vera’s and sharing a room with the cockroaches again just made me want to cry. Not a little cry, but a dramatic “I can’t handle life!” kind of cry. I begged him to let me stay just a little while longer in our room with a bathtub, and eventually he caved—I think mostly because he was afraid of the big cry. Usually I pride myself on not needing too much and being pretty flexible, so I was a little embarrassed by the feeling of absolute need to stay in this room. Let me tell you, I enjoyed every second. And anyway, all things must come to an end, right? That’s how we found ourselves bouncing along on the Inter-American Highway in a crowded chicken bus once more, feeling all urbanized comforts steadily recede behind us.

I was reading A Mayan Life by the time we arrived home and started to set up shop once more. It was a strange juxtaposition to the goings on, everyone gearing up for the Independence Day Celebrations. On one hand it was comforting knowing that Independence Day meant our full time job that week was purely cultural exchange, on the other hand this opened up a lot of free time and the brooding set in. My brooding was no longer productive, rather it was turning into some sort of full on funk. I promised myself I’d accept all invitations for the week. I needed to keep getting out of the house, but I still had plenty of time to sit and read.

I was reading about the oppression of the Mayan people as the Mayans outside of my window were decorating the Community Center/ School and retrieving their torches from their attics for the big run. The torches in our town are usually old cans nailed atop nicely carved poles, so they look like they’re sitting on the missing leg of an old dining room chair. This is what happens in a town full of carpenters. Talking with other PCV friends last year after the 15th we all wondered what some of these communities were celebrating. The people we live with don’t speak spanish, but they mumble along valiently to the longest national anthem (sung in Spanish) that I’ve ever sat through.Yes, Guatemala is an indepedent nation, but a nation that seems to have quite a lot of difficulty helping out its citizens, especially the poorest of the poor, for many many reasons, so that our villagers aren’t experiencing a lot of freedoms. I still feel this way and it was magnified by the reading I was doing. So much of what the author talks about hasn’t really changed; I was getting depressed. The education they receive is sub-par and still so many kids don’t even finish elementary. They hear promises from the government, local, state and national, (though I have my suspicions that these “promises” begin as wishes and turn into official government promises as they travel through the local gossip train) that aren’t delivered. While Fletch’s mom was here we heard there was a big protest in Santa and the president, Alvaro Colom himself, was going to come. Afterwards people came back disgruntled that he hadn’t bothered to show up. If you read the book, you’ll know what scene this mirrors. This is the second time we’ve heard the president was coming and he’s had the gall to stand everyone up (just for clarity: read sarcasm here).

I was sitting in our sky chair reading a book as it rained outside thinking, Independence Day is sort of a landmark for us. It was the first big festival in which we participated as the local volunteers last year. Weeks before the event we were formally invited to participate as judges for the beauty contest. I was thinking about how, in the middle of a particularly strong downpour, Fletch looked out the window to see a throng of school kids running out of the school yard and down the road towards town. We had no idea what was going on. “I’m going to follow them!” he said as he ran out the door and into the rain storm. That time I chose to stay in the sky chair and continue reading. This year we were both going to run with the kids, but we were not going to be beauty contest judges. Fletch ran out to help gather the kids in the school yard. I stayed behind reading a little while longer, because in the year I’ve been here I learn and re-learn and re-re-learn that there is a significant amount of waiting involved in these sort of events. Almost an hour after Fletch left I walked down the road in the nice quiet, looking out over the valley. The rain had stopped in good time and while things were a little muddy they weren’t dreadful and the sun was pretty dazzling in its fall that day. A van containing most of our host family pulled up to me and yelled that I get in, so I did. They were headed into to town to see Lucia and Galindo run into Santa with their torches before coming all the way home. It was funny to be riding along with all these people I know and like rather than squished in a van full of people I don’t know getting awkwardly much closer than I would like. They dropped me off with the local elementary kids waiting in the next community.

Everyone seemed happy I’d shown up, “Jaime, said you were too lazy to run with us today,” they said laughing. The headmaster announced that there was still a half hour or so before the bus carrying the torch arrived was going to arrive so the kids should go off and play. A group of five or six girls sort of sequestered me and we ran to the next tiny community over to “practice” for a valient run back home. They wanted to see if they could keep up with me, so they’d tell me to go faster, and I’d sprint away and they’d catch up or almost catch up and I’d sprint farther ahead. Then they’d tell me to slow down until they caught their breath and then they’d tell me to go fast again. Our inability to communicate effectively on any significant level with most of the population turns so many of our interactions into games, but it’s kind of fun. They were laughing and enjoying themselves. Suddenly shouts went up. THE BUS WAS SIGHTED! THE ANTORCHA WAS COMING! We ran back to the meeting spot. All the kids filed into line with their torches and parents tipped jugs of diesel into the cans stuffed with rags and the lit the torches for the kids. This would never be done in America, I thought laughing, because what else can you do? A little girl handed me a torch, and we were on the move.

Last year I stood waiting at the school for the procession, a long line of light snaking across the mountain. So these pictures are a year old, but they illustrate the going’s on quite well. This year we were right in the thick of it. And we formed a torch arch for everyone to run under on their way in so that we ran into the school yard last rather than first. It was a good time, but when it was over I felt the need to get out of there fast before someone asked us to judge the beauty contest. I had a feeling it might happen. But seeing as how I was all filled with spirit of independence day celebrating I didn’t want to go sit at home either, so we invited ourselves over to the neighbors’ for dinner. Jaime: “Did they invite us?” Me: “No, but Reyna says we should never wait to be invited, and home is depressing me.” Jaime: “Alright then, let’s go.” I had a weird craving for…tortillas. I think I was feeling a little sad that at this time next year we won’t be there. You gotta get your tortillas while they’re hot. So we headed through the milpa and up the hill to sit around their kitchen fire.

As dinner finished up and Nas was relaxing with his barefeet up on the hearth, he started telling us stories. He said when his father started working, he earned 5 cents for a days work. Nas’ mother died when he was very little and he didn’t have a step-mother to replace her right away. He said it was job to go to market on Sunday and buy salt and sugar and whatever food he could get for the family. “There was no road from here to there, then, just little paths. It took me all day to go to Santa and come back.” Apparently there was some coin that was equal to a quarter of a cent. He told us he’d go to market with 2 quetzales and come home with his morrale full of avocados and sugar and salt and maybe some apples or potatos. I asked him what he earned for a days wage when he began working, 20 cents. I asked him if he’d ever gone to the coast to work on the coffee fincas. He said they realized that unless there was absolutely nothing here, no food at all, then it wasn’t worth going because one didn’t make enough extra money for it to be worthwhile. “We went five times maybe?” He looked at Lina to confirm, she nodded in agreement. “We went five times, but only out of necessity. Those were times when there was nothing here. But can you imagine walking from here to Huehuetenango with a morral on your back and a child on top of it? That’s how it was in the days before the highway. We all had to walk. The coffee finca trucks would only come as far as Huehue to pick us up.” Keep in mind we live 4 hours by bus from Huehuetenango, and it involves going up and over the tallest mountain range in Central America to get from here to there. We listened to him telling stories until things started to wind down.

We were tired and sweaty from the run, ready to go home, bathe and go to bed. We started the long process of excusing ourselves just as a school teacher showed up at the door. I was so sad. I knew he’d come for us. “Good evening, excuse me, I have an errand with these two,” he said coming in and putting his arms around our shoulders. So so sad. “Two of our judges didn’t show up for the beauty contest tonight. We were wondering if you two could help us and fill in for them.” Really, unless you want everyone to think you’re the worst person ever there’s no way to get out of an invitation like that, and I would have been breaking my rule “Right now?” Fletch asked. “No, in mm, half an hour or so,” he said. He left. The family laughed at us, since we’d just said we were going to go home and bathe and go to bed. We’d told them we were too tired to go to the dance that night, but now we’d be the ones starting off the dancing. “You should have told them you wouldn’t do it since they only asked you because someone else didn’t show up,” Reyna said laughing. Ha, I wish. Fletch had been blowing off my fear of being asked all night, but I didn’t get much satisfaction out of being right. We ran home to change, stoke up our fire so the house would be warm when we got home, and bring in bath water to warm on the wood stove while we were away. Then we changed and were off to the community room.

I do love their tradition of throwing pine needles all over the floor for a party. The kids had worked hard to make all the blue and white decorations hanging from the ceiling. The “runway” for the contestants was made of all the kids’ tables pushed together and covered in bright colored cortes and more pine needles. Perhaps because I already knew what to expect, this year’s events seemed to go much faster (gracias a dios) than last year’s. That didn’t stop Fletch from falling asleep in the middle of the contest. I hadn’t realized he was so tired. The student acts between the contestant’s showcases were interesting. There was a lipsync rendition of a popular banda song, so the little girls accustomed to wearing their rather conservative cortes donned denim mini-skirts and blue jeans. Their “modern” dance involved a lot of Shakira leg shaking and flipping their long long ponytails in circles over their head. It was pretty goofy, but at the same time, it takes a lot for them to have the courage to get up in front of their whole community and do something like that. I had to wonder, what do their parents make of all this? Is it ok that they’re wearing miniskirts? What do the grandparents out here think about all of this? And then, of course, as Fletch mentioned in an earier post, they played the most inappropriate song ever for the contest, Bloodhound Gangs “Bad Touch”, and it was hard to stop myself from laughing hysterically. The beauty contestants did a nice job. Each one is expected to make a speech on a different topic as their last act. They talked about education, women in politics, respect in the community, and alcoholism. They had to make the speech once in Spanish and once in Q’anjob’al. The oldest girl gave her speech on alcohol last, and as she was talking, the town bolo stood just outside the door yelling drunken slurs. This man drives me crazy. It’s rare that I see him sober. I gave the girl the highest marks, and so did Fletch. She won. Her walk also had a lot of attitude, so it wasn’t just the speech that won it for her.

It’s pretty easy to think these beauty contests are a ridiculous tradition. To us, they seem pretty ridiculous on the surface, but I think, over all it’s a good thing. The contest is run by the school teachers. There’s a lot of emphasis throughout the contest put on the importance of the education and in particular the education of girls. Maybe it’s just that we’ve got a progressive school director, and not all contests are like this? I had the same thought while watching a group of kids practice jumping jacks on the basketball court. They were all completely off time with one another, and I thought, man, my gym teachers had us whipped into way better shape than this. But you have to keep everything in perspective. I think ever little step they make toward more education, better education, and education for girls is probably a step in the right direction. So in the end, I was happy to have come and supported the teachers and students in their one big show of the year.

Once the competition was over, the marimba dancing started. We had the honor, as judges, to start the dancing off for the evening. As we waited for the teachers and students to quickly deconstruct the runway and make room for the dancing, Fletch fell asleep standing. We only made it through two sets of marimba before we HAD to go home for the evening. We were itching from being sweaty and tired beyond belief.

While the 15th is full of activities at the school, we didn’t make an effort to get over there. We slept in and worked around the house until the afternoon when it was time to go into town. We’d been invited to yet another birthday party. The wife of a man who works for the local radio station. She’s a midwife who attends the monthly talks we give, and Lorenzo, her husband, speaks very fluent English after ten years of working as a janitor in Nebraska. Lorenzo told us not to worry, he owns a truck and would bring us home well after public transport had stopped. I was a little afraid that there would be drinking involved in this party and that we’d have to refuse a ride home and be stuck in Santa, but it didn’t turn out that way at all.

I didn’t know until after we arrived that his family is Carismatico, a strict sect of Catholicism that doesn’t allow drinking or dancing or listening to any music that isn’t religious. So there was no drinking. There was, however, some very delicious food. He began to ask us questions about how we lived in the states and how we live here. He’d explained to his wife that men in the states do more work in the house. I told them Fletch has to wash his own pants here. This is always big deal. The women are always aghast to see him working at the pila. I’m sure they think I’m a terrible wife. In fact, as we both worked to do our laundry while Fletch’s mom was here our host mom asked, “Do you think Jaime’s mom would get mad at you if she knew Jaime was over here washing his pants?” I assured her she was the one who’d taught him how to take care of himself, and then I muttered to Jaime, “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like her nearly as much if she got mad at me for that.” He laughed. Lorenzo’s wife was well impressed. She said maybe Lorenzo should start washing his own pants too. “Oh Amelia, but that’s in the United States, not here,” he said laughing. I still don’t know if I was reading to far into it, but she seemed to sigh through her smile.

We talked some about education here, and about how his wife promotes natural medicines. We talked about their cultural traditions. It was a pleasant evening. I realized, or maybe re-realized, that a part of our job is just validating people. The tone of the conversation is one in which they seem to be asking for reassurance. So I reassure them that using natural medicine is a good idea when it’s possible. They like to hear that bilingual education is a good idea because children should learn their Mayan dialect as well as Spanish. I agree with that. Who doesn’t like to hear that they’re doing something right? These interactions form the non-quantifiable parts of our work. If we somehow help the people around is gain confidence from these exchanges I think it can only help. I would say that’s true anywhere.

Unlike many parties we’ve been to, this one wasn’t long and drawn out. We were there for less than 3 hours. We ate dinner, and we ate cake (they had me help cut it; I guess they thought I’d do a particularly good job because they know we like cake in the US), and then they said good-bye to all their guests. When everyone had gone his wife gave us a bag of oranges and 3 plantains to take home, then we all piled into his truck to drive out to our house. The marimba was blaring and the schoolyard was full of people when we left home. We came back to absolute silence and a sky full of stars. It was nice.

The next day was Nas’ birthday, so Fletch woke up early just to set off a special round of firecrackers for him. Reyna was the only one moving about the house as she got ready to go to work, and knowing that her dad was mildly hung over from the events the day before, she thought it was a hilarious idea. We also baked our fanciest cake yet, special for the occasion. Little Delmy is now speaking enough to demand I give her cake any time she sees it, “Lo pastel, Emily!” It’s pretty funny. We had a good dinner of chicken soup and tortillas, again, and handed out cake. Kids took turns bringing him small gifts and then everyone in the family gave him a birthday hug. For once, we hadn’t brought our camera, and everyone seemed a little annoyed about that.

Just as things were winding down, Manuel, who’d come with his wife and oldest son to eat dinner with Nas, stood up to make an announcement. His son Roble, was leaving for the U.S. early the next morning, and he’d come to say good bye to everyone. The speech was very solemn, and then as everything went quiet I heard a sob behind me. Nas was crying, and once he started, everyone let loose. It was a really strange experience. I hadn’t even seen Nas cry when Galindo tried to kill himself. And then Reyna was in tears, another who’d been very stoic with Galindo. Yet here was Roble, alive and well, but his going away was as good as if he’d died. Roble is this tall skinny kid with a squeaky voice. He hardly speaks any spanish and the next day he was on his way to the states? I kept thinking, he’s got to be scared to death, all the while feeling like I was watching people at a funeral. Even Galindo broke down crying when he hugged him goodbye. “We don’t know if he’ll be lucky or unlucky, but he has to test his luck to find out. So let’s all hope he makes it north alright.” So I began to think about A Mayan Life again, and this cycle of having to send your children away so they can make a decent living. At one time, it was very definitely the case, but I do think this has changed very gradually. It used to be that going to the states could make people rich by local standards, but even that seems to happen less and less. Manuel doesn’t send his kids to school, but he could. He could encourage them to study and work here, but he doesn’t. If they worked here they’d probably never be rich by local standards, but they’d contribute to their own society and have a regular source of income. But we know from what he’s told us that he tells them they should go to the states if they want to make a living. It’s kind of like he’s behind the times and hasn’t figured it out yet. The whole thing was both sad and annoying at the same time. Why can’t they see what they’re doing? It feels like they’re just being sheep, following all the people that went before them. Throughout the Independence Day celebrations we had various people tell us they were leaving; they just had to get that one last party in. One was a woman who makes bags for the co-op, another was a woman who translates at the local health talks, another was the bus driver (the only one to go legally), and now Manuel’s son. It’s pretty demoralizing to watch the flight out of town when we’ve invested time in working with each of these people, hoping some day they’d help make a difference in their community. And it was definitely a bummer of a way to finish up the birthday party. Fletch ran back to house for the camera, so the family would have some pictures of Roble when he was gone. And then all of Nas’ children took advantage of the situation to get a picture of with their dad. They wanted us to have a picture with him and Lina also.

The birthday parties have been the bright spots in an otherwise downer couple of months. I haven’t given a health talk since the first week of August here in the community, which makes me feel very out of touch with the women I’d grown accustomed to working with. I feel like I’m twiddling my thumbs. We’ve tried to organize leaders meetings, as a follow up to the, we thought successful, one we had before leaving on vacation, to no avail. We can’t have a meeting because, as Nas told us, “Manuel is too sad to leave his house because of his son’s leaving.” Somehow the guy finds a way to manipulate all situations. It drives me up the wall. Every day that goes by where we’ve done nothing leaves me feeling like there’s no way we’re going to build any infrastructure here. The Projects, as they’re referred to, are turning out be like speaking English; everybody wants projects, everybody wants to speak English, but no one wants to do the work for either those things. Its’ frustrating. As long as I was teaching I felt I could keep the frustration at bay, but now that I’m not doing that either, I’m beginning to feel kind of useless. I experienced a brief reprieve from this with the midwife conference on reproductive risk and family planning that I set up with the help of a few other organizations. It was definitely a success, but then it was over. Now what? I hear going through a mid-service slump is pretty normal, but that doesn’t make it more fun or less difficult for me personally. It’s just part of the job, and one that will come to end sooner rather than later I hope.