Guatemala does Amurica

Like any self respecting Southerner, the Fourth of July is my favorite holiday. Yup. I went there. Not the traditional fan favorites of Thanksgiving with the mountains of casseroles, or Christmas with its secret santa exchanges but the Heartland’s birthday. That being said, you can understand why I was more than a tad crestfallen upon the realization that I would not in fact be in the Land of the Free for the holiday.

Luckily, nearby Panajachel is home of the infamous Palapa, an ex-pat hot spot, who was hosting a Fourth of July cookout/pot luck! With spirits rejuvinated, I quickly occupied myself with constructing the perfect patriotic get-up with the limited resources at my disposal. Additionally, and nearly equally as important, was my contribution to the pot luck. After a cursory perusal of Pintrest, I stumbled upon what seemed the only doable option considering there isn’t exactly a Sololá Whole Foods. Andrea, a fellow Manna vol, and I agreed upon these adorable strawberries you dip in white chocolate and then blue sugar, creating a nice layering effect while incorporating the three colors of the day into a healthy(ish) dessert! While I soon realized that white chocolate was out of the question, we managed to throw together some blue sugar and white icing dipped strawberries which, while not exactly pin-worthy, were still delicious.

Well, the big day arrived and I blasted my “Cuatro de Julio” country playlist throughout the Manna manor. We readied ourselves (3 out of 5 wearing red, white, and blue plaid) for an Independence Day extravaganza at a local high school where we were to serve as the token Americans and thus guests of honor. Seated front and center, the children delighted us in their “English Day's” (the apostrophe is not a typo) shows depicting their thoughts on America. These lovely vingettes tackled controversial issues such as racism, abortion, domestic violence, teen pregnancy, cheating, bullying, etc. All clearly communicating their positive opinions of their friends to the North. All in all, despite (or perhaps due to) the unsettling content, it was positively hilarious.

Super spirited!

As far as the party outfit quandary, anyone who knows me knows that at twenty years of age I still shamelessly sport bows on the daily. So, with bows on the mind I stopped in an amazing ribbon shop and purchased 9 yards of bright red, navy blue, and shimmery silver ribbons only for 12Q (about $1.50). Anyways, after a group nail painting sesh, bow making, and primping, we were decked out and ready to take Pana by storm. After an initially awkward arrival (no one else dressed up), the night took off with many a sing along to “American Pie” and the like. While I was quite nostalgic for my classic Fourth of July festivities, the night was fantastic and singin’ the classics with other gringos felt, for a moment, like I was right back home in the US of A.

God Bless Los Estados Unidos,

Christina

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

The Aftermath of Hurricane Agatha

When the storm subsided and the rain finally let up, I looked out my window expecting to find chaos.  Instead, men and women were lining the streets with shovels and brooms cracking away at what Agatha left.  Within hours the muddied streets were lined with piles of garbage ready to be picked up.  I thought the immense lake would be a different story, only to find people of all ages up to their waists in still turbulent water fishing out fallen trees, mounds of plastic, and trash. 

I was really taken aback, and filled with a sense of patriotism for a country not even my own.  No one was being compensated, or even commended for their day's work.  People took it upon themselves, altruistically, to fix something that was not really theirs.  It is refreshing to finally see what I only read about once in my environmental studies textbook-- people coming together to successfully prevent a tragedy of the commons.

Here are some pictures I took yesterday:

 

 Mud piles that once covered the streets.

Two women lending a hand to help clean Lago Atitlan

The no longer "bather exclusive" public beach.

The bruised dock.

More on MPI-pertinent activities soon.

Dana

....and We're Back!

I am so happy to be back, and so excited for the next months of preparation before our founding team of Program Directors and my wonderful co-country director comes down to also discover the wonder that is Guatemala.  Right now I am in Panajachel, a lovely town on Lago Atitlan, staying in Hostal Montufar.  It is a cute, homey place run by a friendly family.

My DELICIOUS first breakfast in Panajachel... You can see how excited I am for it.

As it stands, Miss Annie Freyman is due to arrive on June 3rd to help out with the initial site set-up.  Annie is newly graduated from none other than Vanderbilt University and served as VP of Global Initiatives for Manna's largest campus chapter there.  In her experience she organized eleven spring break trips to either Nicaragua or Ecuador!  We will definitely be putting those organizational skills to use, and are so lucky to have her help for 2 weeks till she sets off to teach English in Colombia as a Fulbright Scholar.

Next comes Kat Mueller!  June 9th I will finally meet the legend and I couldn't be more excited!

On a heavier note, if any of you have been reading the news about recent Hurricane Agatha and Volcan Pacaya, I am safe and dry.  These past two days, Guatemala has received almost two feet of rain... the most since 1949!

More news soon.

Dana

Gettin' better all the time...

Since we decided to focus our efforts solely on Chaquijyá, we've been spending the majority of our time in Sololá due to the proximity.  Our site lies only about 30 minutes northwest of Sololá.  Great news in terms of hospital access, grocery needs, etc.  This week we met with various people who helped us out on the logistical side.. finding a house, safety precautions, cultural sensitivity specific to our community, etc.  Amidst our meetings, Maddie and I dipped out to Panajachel and took a romantic boat ride around Lago Atitlan so people would stop gasping when we said we hadn't been there yet.

Told you it was pretty...

Miss you Maddie!

Maddie left us this past Saturday to start grad school in a few months.  I wonder if she's still reading..

Anyway, when we went to meet with Jesus again on Sunday, it turns out he had really invited us to his cousin's wedding (?).. so although we were under-dressed, it was a great time and great chance to meet some more community members.  Jesus has surpassed my expectations with every meeting we have with him, and I am so excited to work with him in the future.  If that wasn't good enough, this morning we attended a community leader meeting with the school director, mayor, various project teams, teachers, and local development organization. Turns out this community breeds organized, proactive members of society.  They were all so welcoming and cautiously optimistic of us.  In my eyes cautious optimism is even a step better than complete excitement- it shows thought and consideration of the pros and cons of our presence, and makes me feel like they don't see dollar signs in my American face.  It really makes me want to work for their acceptance and trust.

One week left, but much more to come,

Dana