Sunday Snapshot XX

In honor of our last Sunday all together. :(

Photo Credit: Kat Mueller

Sunday Snapshot XIV

Who would have thought they'd name a boat after one of our summer volunteers?

Credit: Kat Mueller

Sunday Snapshot XIII

With rainy season upon us, these vivid greens are around the corner.

Credit: Kat Mueller

Sunday Snapshot XII

Credit: Kat Mueller

Semana Santa

Here in Guatemala and the rest of Central America, this is a week of excitement and joy in honor of the Holy Week.  This week, towns all throughout the country host enormous celebrations, featuring colorful parades, extravagant floats, and intricate costumes.  Tourists from all around the world come to take part in the festivities.  Of the festivities, Antigua boasts the most extravagant festival in Guatemala.  Beginning Ash Wednesday and ending on Good Friday, tourists and locals alike fill the streets to participate in Catholic processions commemorating the life and death of Christ.

Unique to Antigua is the tradition of “Alfombras de Acerrín,” the Carpets of Acerrín.  Before the procession, every street through which a procession passes is lined with an intricately woven, colorful carpet.  Though preparations for the carpets begin months in advance, the carpets are not woven until the day before the processions so that they will be laid immediately before the floats arrive.  The unique festivities that mark the arrival of Semana Santa in Guatemala are the largest of any religious holiday throughout the year, and certainly a site to see.  Need we mention that work and school is cancelled throughout the country this week, so we are all off enjoying the celebration?

¡Feliz Semana Santa!

Photos taken from:  http://www.aroundantigua.com/culture/easter.htm, http://pambristow.com/2009/08/grand-central-antigua-guatemala/, http://www.flickriver.com/photos/jmilla/tags/antiguaguatemala/

Sunday Snapshot XI

Credit: Kat Mueller

A Final Goodbye

The following is an excerpt from Kat Mueller and Hudson Baird's letter to the Vanderbilt Spring Break trip after they returned to the states.  To read more about their trip and see a video of the trashcans they installed, read their updates here.

A-Team,

As fun as the last three days have been, it was the first half of the trip that was the most meaningful for us, particularly getting to know you guys personally.  We want you to know how proud we are of each of you.  We couldn’t have asked for better people with whom to entrust our reputation in the community.  You guys did such an amazing job interacting with the students, teachers, and community leaders and it's exciting that your work and the moments you shared, specifically with the students, will remain long after Kat and I leave.  The feeling we got watching you guys in the community, especially during the presentation, was something we didn’t anticipate, you each did incredible.

As you get back into life at Vandy the feelings you have right now may fade, but there are three things we'd like to leave you with:


1.     Poverty is complicated.
2.     The world is a lot bigger than your backyard.
3.     Take care of others.

We hope you saw a glimpse this week of Kat and my belief in confronting injustice in the world, and we hope you saw how much of a difference you can make.  It can be by tutoring kids in Nashville, by advocating for environmental issues, or by starting a school in Africa - what matters to us is that you find time in your life to help people who haven't been given the same opportunities.  What matters to us is that you find ways to keep making a difference in whatever community you're most passionate about.

Lastly, we hope to see you guys here this summer.  If you want to follow, friend, like, or subscribe to Manna across the web, you can find us on Facebook, Youtube, Twitter, or on LinkedIn.  I'll send a follow up email tonight with info on getting everyone's pics in the same place.  Finally, add us on gchat - we want to hear about the rest of the year.

You guys were incredible.

Warmly,
 Hudson and Kat

Old Friends and New Memories

Last weekend, an old friend of mine came to visit.  We were exchange students together in Argentina when we were sixteen, but hadn’t seen each other in nearly seven years.  Nonetheless, my friend stepped out of the international airport last Friday morning, and the first thing he exclaimed upon seeing me was, “you haven’t changed at all!”

For old friends, reunions can go one of two ways.  They can either feel as though not a day has passed, or they can be abundantly filled with conversations of moments passed, simply because there is nothing else to talk about.  Lucky for me, my weekend was the former.  It was as though we were sixteen again, getting into trouble and having the time of our lives in Argentina, only this time we’re twenty-two and the mischief was in Guatemala.  The weekend was a whirlwind of old stories, new adventures, and a coming together of my past and present.  Sunday night, my friend left, but not before a somber goodbye.  Amidst "nice to meet you"s and "call you when I'm in Houston"s, I felt comforted by the convenience of travel in the United States, that this would not likely be our last encounter.  Yet as I stood in the doorway, I couldn’t help but imagine what it will be like to leave to Guatemala.

Throughout the last nine months, my emotions have changed like the seasons, going from enchanted by the thrill of the journey before me in July, to painfully homesick in September, back to deciding never to leave this country in December.  These changes of heart are implicit challenges that come with committing oneself to living in a dramatically different culture, but in spite of the difficulty, it is precisely these moments that define this experience.  It is during these bittersweet flashes of time that one’s character, strength, and heart become visible.

Lately, I’ve found myself counting the days.  The days ‘til I pack up my room and hop back on the plane to the States to whatever new and exciting city I choose.  The days ‘til I’m reunited with my family, my best friends, and my love.  The days ‘til my life begins.  But as I stood there, departing from one friend and an entire country at the same time, I was overwhelmed with emotion.  I stopped and realized that this is life at its peak.

Perhaps it was seeing Guatemala through a fresh pair of eyes, or maybe it was reliving Argentina for a brief moment that made me realize how quickly these experiences slip away.  Before we have even stopped to see the beauty, all that’s left is a photograph.

I don’t know what will happen when I leave Guatemala.  I don’t know if I will be remembered by the families I met; if Carmen, the landlady, will miss waving at us from her courtyard while we wash our dishes; or if ever there will come a day when I can’t recall the man’s name who stood on the street corner and yelled “Buenos días, Katy!” every morning as I passed by.  But this weekend, I was able to see the beauty while it was still in front of me.

Un Viaje Alrededor Del Mundo

This Tuesday marked the launch of our summer camp "un viaje alrededor del mundo con Manna Project" (a trip around the world with Manna Project).  For six weeks, we will be leading 115 first through sixth graders from the Central primary school through educational activities in English, science, art, and sports, as well as community projects once a week.  Borrowed from everyone's favorite 90s game show, Legends of the Hidden Temple, the students are divided into four groups based on age: the Purple Parrots, Orange Iguanas, Green Monkeys, and the Silver Snakes.  While these groups have undoubtedly created enthusiasm among the kids, we seemed to have forgotten that the alliteration didn't translate (Silver snakes = serpientes plateadas, orange iguanas = iguanas anaranjadas... doesn't exactly have the same ring.)

Since this week's focus was North America, we kicked off yesterday morning teaching the kids about Halloween and having a bobbing for apples competition between teams.  The kids laughed and cheered as their teammates dunked their entire heads into buckets of water trying desperately to win for their teams.  

Other highlights of the first week include:

1) Karen's team of first through third graders chanting "monos morados" (purple monkeys) instead of their actual name, the loros morados (purple parrots).  Apparently they like alliteration too.

2) When asked "Who knows what continent we're on?" One little boy eagerly raised his hand and shouted "CHAQUIJYÁ CENTRAL!!!"  Other answers included Mexico and Spain.

3) Jared and Hudson acting as the kids' volleyball net after the school principal hid the actual net the day before to keep it safe.

4) A refusal by one second grader to make a dream catcher in art class because he swore he didn't get bad dreams.

After such a crazy first week, we can't wait to see what the next six week have in store.  Until next time!

Perspectives on Life and Death

A beautiful graveside etching.

We arrived in a rush, as usual, after the typical morning struggle to herd all six of us out of the house at once.  One by one, we squeezed our way off of the overcrowded microbus, and before we were able to speak, we were left in a cloud of exhaust as the van scurried off down the Inter-American highway.  We crossed the road, four lanes of sporadic, speeding traffic that spans through all of Central America, only to find that the building where the meeting was to be held was locked and empty. 

“Sí, estoy en mi casa,” was Jesus’s response, on par with the day-to-day confusion to which we have become accustomed, when we called to ask about the meeting.  As head of ASOATITLAN, Chaquijyá’s own community development organization, Jesus is in charge of organizing meetings, and this one had apparently taken place earlier in the morning. In true Guatemalan fashion, ready to change plans at any given moment, we walked the winding road through the community to Jesus’s house, as instructed.

When we got closer, we could see Jesus in his fluorescent yellow button down, waving to welcome us.  After greeting each one of us with a handshake, Jesus began to explain that his uncle was sick.  We were all caught off guard when he then asked us if we wanted to meet him.  Unsure of what to do, we wearily said yes, unable to fathom the awkward silence if we had said no. 

We followed Jesus up a hill to his uncle’s home.  Like most rural Guatemalan houses, this was a row of three rooms, covered in chipped turquoise paint that opened directly to the outside.  Jesus entered the middle room, where the door was already open, and motioned for us to follow.

In the room lay two double beds, one unoccupied but covered in disheveled sheets and blankets, as though someone woke in a rush.  In the other bed lay Jesus’ sleeping uncle, covered to his chin in blankets.  The room was semi-lit with a dull bulb and two small open windows letting smoke in from the kitchen outside.  In contrast with the cold cement floor and walls, faded colored streamers hung from the wooden ceiling beams.  Perched on two plastic chairs in the corner sat a coffin, brand new, made of polished wood and decorated with a painted portrait of Jesus on the front.  A little girl no older than two played by herself underneath it. 

After setting out plastic chairs in the middle of the room for us to sit, Jesus explained that his 64-year-old uncle had a stomach tumor that an operation in Guatemala City had failed to remove.  So there he lay, waiting to die, surrounded by a mix of family members and strangers, next to the coffin where his body would finally be laid to rest.

I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the feeling of morbidity, thinking how awful it would be to see your casket at your side, knowing what looming fate awaits you.  Death is not something that we like to acknowledge in American culture.  Death is private.  It is sterile.  It takes place in a hospital room, separate from the rest of the world where life is lived.  There are machines involved, ventilators and respirators and IVs, tools used to cling to life with every last ounce of hope, even when it bears no resemblance to what it once was.

But there, in that room, a man had surrendered.  He had accepted that his final days had come, that he had reached the end of the road.  And nobody was afraid. 

Though we silently squirmed in our plastic chairs, uncomfortable with the closeness of something we’d learned to fear, I couldn’t help but feel the slightest air of peace by the calmness of those around us.  I still sit in awe recollecting on that short-lived but most touching experience, pondering over what it might tell us about life.  Does understanding death help one live?  Are we in the U.S. crippled by the fear of the inevitable?

The rest of our afternoon was spent exploring a faraway part of the community, though a thunderstorm quickly put a damper on our plans.  As we tried to outrun the fast encroaching rainclouds, we found shelter in the homes of strangers.  One woman let us sit in her kitchen while she told us about her children and showed us how to weave traditional Mayan clothing.  Another family of at least 25 people invited us into one small room to watch their band rehearse for their day to play at church.  As sons and fathers and grandfathers drowned out the rain on the tin roof with their powerful music, I realized how beautifully this scene contrasted what we had experienced just hours earlier.

Though I still ponder over the occurrences of that afternoon, trying to derive meaning from two things so seldom experienced side-by-side, I know that we have been implicitly challenged to open our lives, as well.  That day people we had never met welcomed us in to see life, and to see death.  There was no fear or shame, just honest reality.  Perhaps in a life well lived, the two are not so different. 

  Kat