Don’t laugh, but I actually have been asking myself that question constantly here. Well, not constantly, but probably about five times a day, or however many times I get whistled at.
I realize that not all the men here are like that (disrespectful, hyper-sexual, cocky, disgusting, like animals...), but enough of them are that I am wary any time any man talks to me in public, unless he’s over 70 (and even then, there are no guarantees, I’m just pretty sure I can out run them if need be). But seriously, even boys who look about 10 will say stuff and blow kisses at me in the market. Clearly, they’re just imitating behaviour of their male role-models, but come on.
I especially hate it when they talk to me in English, although it is at times humorous, like when they tell me “Good morning, baby” at 5 p.m. on my way out of work. Whever someone talks to me in English I want to say “Oh you speak English do you? So you’ll get the message when I tell you to go visit your grandma” (italics signifies a censored phrase).
Then I think, “Emily, come one now. Good example and all that. Rise above.” But then I get another wave of anger and I think, “yeah, what the hell would Jesus do?” Because I’m pretty sure Jesus didn’t get sexually harrassed on a daily basis. Some days I feel certain he would say exactly all the things that run through my head. With love, of course. But he puts people in their places sometimes when need be.
I have noticed I get a lot more attention when I wear my hair down, so I try not to do that, but I really resent having to fix my hair to try and limit the sexual harrassment, to limit the number of "ay canchita” (canchita means blondie), “Oh baby,” "ay mamacita", "mmmm", and "hello pretty girl pretty girl" comments a day.
And possibly the worst part is, I think they think that girls like it! I used to think that the differences between men and women were mostly a result of socially constructed roles and expectations blah blah. Or at least, that more important than our sex or gender was our humanity. But now I’m not so sure....
Monday, February 15, 2010
Food!
My last two posts have been a) really long, and b) not entirely light, so I decided to include a post about one of my favorite things about Guatemala... the food.
Even this topic gets a little complicated, though, because so many of our US eating habits have infiltrated Guatemalan culture, including over-eating, snacking on sodas and chips, and excessive meat-eating. But, as is our culture as well, one thing I love about eating here is the barriers it breaks. It is hard not to share something more than just food when we eat with other people—a conversation, an experience, maybe even a mutual respect. And Guatemalans, like us US Southerners, show love by giving food. “Eat, eat,” they tell me about 4 times a meal. At first I wanted to scream “I AM eating!” But now I realize it’s just another “cultural thing.”
It’s also really rude here not to finish everything on your plate, as I think I’ve written before, which isn’t so bad because I usually love the food. Except chicharron... can’t do chicharron, which is fried pig skin. Also, can’t do duck or chicken, or really any for that matter, feet. Just can’t. But other than feet, I think I’ve tried everything I’ve been offered (even chicharron).
My favorite part of Guatemalan cuisine is the drinks. Hot, sugary, and thick. My family drinks “café con leche” most days... which is about 1 part instant coffee, 8 parts fresh cow’s milk and 5 parts sugar. Delicious. I especially love it with sweet bread that comes from any one of the small tiendas near our house.
While I love the café con leche, though, my favorite drink is arroz con leche (rice with milk). Sounds weird... I didn’t used to like to chew my drinks, but all my family knows now how much I love it, so when they want to make me a special treat they make me arroz con leche. There is also arroz con chocolate (hot chocolate with rice), but I prefer it with milk.
And now that I’m used to chewing my drinks I also love mosh, which is finely ground oatmeal in milk with lots of sugar. Also, just this week I tried atol de pino. (Atol is any hot, non-cofee-or-tee drink). This atol is made by toasting corn over the wood stove then grinding it up into a powder which you then make into a drink with water and sugar and sometimes milk. (You can also sprinkle the powder on oranges or bananas... delicious).
The only drink I really don’t like is atol de masa. Masa is the ground up corn that makes a kind of dough they use for making tortillas. This is a really popular drink in rural areas, so we get it a lot when we go out to communities. I usually take a few sips then trade cups with my grandmother when the hostess isn’t looking.
Speaking of masa, I also love the tortiallas. Mine are turning out pretty much consistently round now, although there is still the occasional egg-shaped one in there. I really don’t know how I ate before tortillas. Silverware is no longer necessary (or a given here), but tortillas are absolutely necessary. I was telling my grandmother here recently that the dog we found on the side of the road won’t eat tortillas. “Really?! She only eats food?” she said, because, clearly, tortillas aren’t even really food. They’re like underwear. Just part of the deal when you’re talking about clothes. They’re a given, and we don’t even really count them as part of the outfit (or the meal, if we’re talking about tortillas).
One of the best things I’ve eaten here is tortillas made from black corn with fresh queso (cheese) that comes from the market (or random ladies walking around with baskets on their heads) and is wrapped in leaves or corn husks.
Some other good snacks that can be bought on the street are:
Rellenitos- plantains mushed up with refried beans shoved in the middle and fried
Pupusas- two tortillas with cheese, beans, meat, veggies, or any combo and fried (actually El Salvadorian)
Chuchitos (little dogs)- balls of masa with meat or veggies inside and wrapped in corn husks and boiled
Fruit- pineapple, tangerines, oranges, at least 10 types of bananas, papaya... and it’s all local, so you don’t have to feel guilty
Licuados- basically fruit smoothies, but they’re sold everywhere
Fresh orange juice from the stands set up on about every corner where they squeeze the oranges in front of you... I just always ask for it to go, because if you drink it while you’re standing there you can see that all they do to wash a glass is dunk it in a bucket of not-entirely-clean water (I also haven’t had the urge to try my orange juice with two raw eggs in it, although lots of Guatemalans swear it makes you live longer).
I think that’s enough... I’m hungry, anways.
Even this topic gets a little complicated, though, because so many of our US eating habits have infiltrated Guatemalan culture, including over-eating, snacking on sodas and chips, and excessive meat-eating. But, as is our culture as well, one thing I love about eating here is the barriers it breaks. It is hard not to share something more than just food when we eat with other people—a conversation, an experience, maybe even a mutual respect. And Guatemalans, like us US Southerners, show love by giving food. “Eat, eat,” they tell me about 4 times a meal. At first I wanted to scream “I AM eating!” But now I realize it’s just another “cultural thing.”
It’s also really rude here not to finish everything on your plate, as I think I’ve written before, which isn’t so bad because I usually love the food. Except chicharron... can’t do chicharron, which is fried pig skin. Also, can’t do duck or chicken, or really any for that matter, feet. Just can’t. But other than feet, I think I’ve tried everything I’ve been offered (even chicharron).
My favorite part of Guatemalan cuisine is the drinks. Hot, sugary, and thick. My family drinks “café con leche” most days... which is about 1 part instant coffee, 8 parts fresh cow’s milk and 5 parts sugar. Delicious. I especially love it with sweet bread that comes from any one of the small tiendas near our house.
While I love the café con leche, though, my favorite drink is arroz con leche (rice with milk). Sounds weird... I didn’t used to like to chew my drinks, but all my family knows now how much I love it, so when they want to make me a special treat they make me arroz con leche. There is also arroz con chocolate (hot chocolate with rice), but I prefer it with milk.
And now that I’m used to chewing my drinks I also love mosh, which is finely ground oatmeal in milk with lots of sugar. Also, just this week I tried atol de pino. (Atol is any hot, non-cofee-or-tee drink). This atol is made by toasting corn over the wood stove then grinding it up into a powder which you then make into a drink with water and sugar and sometimes milk. (You can also sprinkle the powder on oranges or bananas... delicious).
The only drink I really don’t like is atol de masa. Masa is the ground up corn that makes a kind of dough they use for making tortillas. This is a really popular drink in rural areas, so we get it a lot when we go out to communities. I usually take a few sips then trade cups with my grandmother when the hostess isn’t looking.
Speaking of masa, I also love the tortiallas. Mine are turning out pretty much consistently round now, although there is still the occasional egg-shaped one in there. I really don’t know how I ate before tortillas. Silverware is no longer necessary (or a given here), but tortillas are absolutely necessary. I was telling my grandmother here recently that the dog we found on the side of the road won’t eat tortillas. “Really?! She only eats food?” she said, because, clearly, tortillas aren’t even really food. They’re like underwear. Just part of the deal when you’re talking about clothes. They’re a given, and we don’t even really count them as part of the outfit (or the meal, if we’re talking about tortillas).
One of the best things I’ve eaten here is tortillas made from black corn with fresh queso (cheese) that comes from the market (or random ladies walking around with baskets on their heads) and is wrapped in leaves or corn husks.
Some other good snacks that can be bought on the street are:
Rellenitos- plantains mushed up with refried beans shoved in the middle and fried
Pupusas- two tortillas with cheese, beans, meat, veggies, or any combo and fried (actually El Salvadorian)
Chuchitos (little dogs)- balls of masa with meat or veggies inside and wrapped in corn husks and boiled
Fruit- pineapple, tangerines, oranges, at least 10 types of bananas, papaya... and it’s all local, so you don’t have to feel guilty
Licuados- basically fruit smoothies, but they’re sold everywhere
Fresh orange juice from the stands set up on about every corner where they squeeze the oranges in front of you... I just always ask for it to go, because if you drink it while you’re standing there you can see that all they do to wash a glass is dunk it in a bucket of not-entirely-clean water (I also haven’t had the urge to try my orange juice with two raw eggs in it, although lots of Guatemalans swear it makes you live longer).
I think that’s enough... I’m hungry, anways.
On the Road Again
On February 4 we began again our visits to communities for work. The first morning, I met Hermana Carmelina (also the mother of my host mom) in Xela to travel to Toj Alik, one of the more remote communities we work with. We took a micro-bus (a.k.a. a 15 passenger van) for about 45 minutes out of the city into more rural farming areas, until they finally dropped us off in the entrance of Toj Alik. We then had to wait there fore 35 minutes for another micro-bus to pass and carry us up to the town.
It´s the dry season, so this time we made the trip (as opposed to November when it was still raining some) the roads weren’t as scary, but the dust on the unpaved road was horrible. You can smell it and it gets in your eyes and ears and your teeth feel gritty. Plus, I was sitting in the back row of a very bouncy micro-bus, so I started to get nauseated, which was only compounded by the presence of a señora beside me with two chickens in her lap who kept freaking out and flapping around (she had them by their feet).
So we finally arrive to the house where the meeting is to be held about 40 minutes late and none of the 35 women in the group are there except the woman who lives in the house. Eventually, 3 more women show up, so we begin the lesson, and a few more trickle in, one leaves, so that by the end of the two-and-a-half-hour course there are 9 women there.
The lesson went ok... I had had this brilliant idea for an activity, though, which totally bombed. The title of the lesson was “Caring for the Earth,” and, to get the women involved (and hopefully force them to participate), I had printed and laminated all these pictures of things in nature... a bee, the sun, a leaf, flowers, etc. Each woman had to say one or two words that described what their picture looked like and a short description of what it does in nature. The point, I thought, was to show how even the smallest parts of nature have a role and are important and everything is connected. (I also had this underlying philsophy that these things are only here to serve us, but they have inherent value in and of themselves, but I wasn’t going to push it). Failure.
They didn’t get it, or were too shy to talk, or something. Two or three talked, but with the others it was like pulling teeth. Just goes to show how little I know about working with the women I’m working with.
Then came my turn to lead the Bible study part of the lesson. We read from from a couple of the Psalms, one being 139, where the psalmist says “Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go to the heavens you are there; if I make my bed in the depths you are there” etc. So then I ask them, “Where is God?”
Now, granted, I don’t speak perfect Spanish, and even when my grammar is correct I have a strong accent. This, plus the fact that about half of the women there understood Spanish (and about half of the ones who understand it actually speak it) meant we were in a tough spot to begin with.
“Where is God?” Dead silence. Again, I ask the question. “In the sky,” one finally answers. “In the church,” says somebody else. That’s it. So we read the verses one more time. Good. God is in the sky and in our churches, but where else does this tell us that God is? “In our hearts.” When I finally said something to the effect that God is everywhere, but that we often espcially encounter God in nature they nodded in agreement (I think), but that was pretty much the end of that.
I know that language is a problem, especially with the Mam groups, because in the Quiché groups Hermana Carmelina can translate if need be (plus people in the Quiché areas tend to have more formal education which is largely done in Spanish so they’re more likely to speak Spanish as close second, if not first, language). But there’s more to it than that. One problem, which I just said, is that they have very little formal education, and many of their churches don’t allow women to really participate, so they have almost no experience speaking in front of a group. This is obvious, because the ones who can read and write (and therefore presumably went to some school) tend to participate more. So self-esteem is an issue in all the activities that affects the level of participation.
But, speficially in the Bible study I was leading that day, issues with the church and the colonization of Guatemala were crystal clear. Traditional Mayan spirituality was very connected to nature and the earth. One had to ask permission from the Creator and a tree before cutting down the tree, for example. During the process of colonization, however, the Church and Christianity were very powerful tools used to suppress traditional customs and beliefs and oppress the Mayan people. (Before I go on, I need to say that a- I don’t think Christianity is horrible, clearly, because I am a Christian, but that it can and has been used in less-than-admirable ways, and b- that every Guatemalan I have met is a very proud Christian, so I don’t think most Guatemalans would say that they wish Christianity hadn’t come to Guatemala).
This tradition of colonialism and Christianity was really apparent in this lesson with the women of Toj Alik, because these women had clearly been taught not only that God is in the church, but that God is definitly not in nature. Well, maybe not these women specifically, but the tradition of the Church here has largely tried to squash traditional Mayan spirituality. Their failure to really be able to say that God is in different parts of nature was evidence to me of a tradition that has fought against beliefs that God can be found in nature, and it isn’t simply that the church doesn’t talk about God being in nature.
So, once again, just when I think I am understading things, just when I am confidently (if not arrogantly) thinking I am competent and able, I get knocked down, and I realize that just because I am more formally educated than most of the people I work and live with does not mean I know the first thing about what I am doing.
It´s the dry season, so this time we made the trip (as opposed to November when it was still raining some) the roads weren’t as scary, but the dust on the unpaved road was horrible. You can smell it and it gets in your eyes and ears and your teeth feel gritty. Plus, I was sitting in the back row of a very bouncy micro-bus, so I started to get nauseated, which was only compounded by the presence of a señora beside me with two chickens in her lap who kept freaking out and flapping around (she had them by their feet).
So we finally arrive to the house where the meeting is to be held about 40 minutes late and none of the 35 women in the group are there except the woman who lives in the house. Eventually, 3 more women show up, so we begin the lesson, and a few more trickle in, one leaves, so that by the end of the two-and-a-half-hour course there are 9 women there.
The lesson went ok... I had had this brilliant idea for an activity, though, which totally bombed. The title of the lesson was “Caring for the Earth,” and, to get the women involved (and hopefully force them to participate), I had printed and laminated all these pictures of things in nature... a bee, the sun, a leaf, flowers, etc. Each woman had to say one or two words that described what their picture looked like and a short description of what it does in nature. The point, I thought, was to show how even the smallest parts of nature have a role and are important and everything is connected. (I also had this underlying philsophy that these things are only here to serve us, but they have inherent value in and of themselves, but I wasn’t going to push it). Failure.
They didn’t get it, or were too shy to talk, or something. Two or three talked, but with the others it was like pulling teeth. Just goes to show how little I know about working with the women I’m working with.
Then came my turn to lead the Bible study part of the lesson. We read from from a couple of the Psalms, one being 139, where the psalmist says “Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go to the heavens you are there; if I make my bed in the depths you are there” etc. So then I ask them, “Where is God?”
Now, granted, I don’t speak perfect Spanish, and even when my grammar is correct I have a strong accent. This, plus the fact that about half of the women there understood Spanish (and about half of the ones who understand it actually speak it) meant we were in a tough spot to begin with.
“Where is God?” Dead silence. Again, I ask the question. “In the sky,” one finally answers. “In the church,” says somebody else. That’s it. So we read the verses one more time. Good. God is in the sky and in our churches, but where else does this tell us that God is? “In our hearts.” When I finally said something to the effect that God is everywhere, but that we often espcially encounter God in nature they nodded in agreement (I think), but that was pretty much the end of that.
I know that language is a problem, especially with the Mam groups, because in the Quiché groups Hermana Carmelina can translate if need be (plus people in the Quiché areas tend to have more formal education which is largely done in Spanish so they’re more likely to speak Spanish as close second, if not first, language). But there’s more to it than that. One problem, which I just said, is that they have very little formal education, and many of their churches don’t allow women to really participate, so they have almost no experience speaking in front of a group. This is obvious, because the ones who can read and write (and therefore presumably went to some school) tend to participate more. So self-esteem is an issue in all the activities that affects the level of participation.
But, speficially in the Bible study I was leading that day, issues with the church and the colonization of Guatemala were crystal clear. Traditional Mayan spirituality was very connected to nature and the earth. One had to ask permission from the Creator and a tree before cutting down the tree, for example. During the process of colonization, however, the Church and Christianity were very powerful tools used to suppress traditional customs and beliefs and oppress the Mayan people. (Before I go on, I need to say that a- I don’t think Christianity is horrible, clearly, because I am a Christian, but that it can and has been used in less-than-admirable ways, and b- that every Guatemalan I have met is a very proud Christian, so I don’t think most Guatemalans would say that they wish Christianity hadn’t come to Guatemala).
This tradition of colonialism and Christianity was really apparent in this lesson with the women of Toj Alik, because these women had clearly been taught not only that God is in the church, but that God is definitly not in nature. Well, maybe not these women specifically, but the tradition of the Church here has largely tried to squash traditional Mayan spirituality. Their failure to really be able to say that God is in different parts of nature was evidence to me of a tradition that has fought against beliefs that God can be found in nature, and it isn’t simply that the church doesn’t talk about God being in nature.
So, once again, just when I think I am understading things, just when I am confidently (if not arrogantly) thinking I am competent and able, I get knocked down, and I realize that just because I am more formally educated than most of the people I work and live with does not mean I know the first thing about what I am doing.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Real-life Immigration Issues
Each retreat with the other YAVs we have a "discussion topic" that we have to read for, which so far have been really interesting. For our January retreat it was immigration, from both a US policy standpoint and a Guatemalan reality standpoint. Then, ironically, the day after I got back from that retreat an "hermano" from the church came to our house to talk to me about immigrating to the States. He had apparently come to the house to talk to me while I was at the retreat, and Bethi told him I would be back later in the week, but it slipped her mind to tell me that he had come. So when he showed up on Sunday night I was in my room reading and my mom, Bethi, came in to tell me that an hermano was there to talk to me. Thanks for the warning.
I went into the other room, where he and his wife and their very small 5 year old son were sitting. He began to explain to me how he hadn´t been able to find work for a long time. He had even gone to the capital to look for work. And that his wife is sick... something with her leg that I didn´t really understand (but then again, there are a lot of times when people talk about illnesses that I don´t understand partly because of the Spanish, but more because we have very different ideas about what causes a person to be sick, so a lot of times theyll be explaining something to me and we're just on different planes of understanding).
So he finally asked me if I could help him get a visa. He had some of the paperwork with him, and he said it asks for an address and phone number in the US, presumably of an employer. So he was essentially asking for my parents' names and their address and phone number to put down on the form. He acknowledged that it was a lie, but that he was desperate and he had seen me at church and thought I might could help.
At this point, I was shaking. While reading the info for our retreat over immigration I was outraged at US policies that limit immigration, which is the only option for many Latin Americans because of other US international policies meant to bolster our own economies and made in our own self interest at the expense of many of our southern neighbors. And then, here was this very kind, very real man with very real problems of the sort that I had so recently felt so angry and helpless about, and my hands were shaking uncontrollably. So I said I couldn't promise him anything and that I couldn't help him that night, but I would talk to my coordinator and to my parents and I would think about it and could he come back in a few days.
Coward, I thought to myself. Because I knew from the beginning I would have to tell him no. I just didn't want to do it right then. And the truth is, I really can't do much. What the visa application is really asking for is an official employer who will say that "yes, there is a job here waiting for this person." But even if you have that, the US government still gives out only a handful of visa for low-level jobs like that. Then there are a few lottery visas availabe each year, but with all the people applying for and scrambling to get into the US, the chances of getting one of those is slim. There are plenty of visas avaible for "skilled" and highly-educated workers (which the US already has plenty of in its own pool of citizens), but very few for day laborers and workers for "low-skill" (and low-wage) jobs.
And, the thing is, this man was/is trying to go the legal route. Because, really, who would want to enter the US without papers? It's way more expensive to get there... like $2,000 just to get to the US/Mexican border then another $1,500 to cross the desert with a coyote. To put that in perspective, a decent salary in Guatemala for a person with a high-school education (which would be the employability equivalent of a college education in the US) is around 1,500 quetzales a month or about $190. Not to mention, it's incredibly dangerous and becoming even more dangerous, not only once immigrants cross into the States, but also now there are lots of crime groups and gangs in Mexico that prey on immigrants passing through, knowing that they don't know the area well and that they are probably carrying a lot of money on them.
Then, if you cross the border and perhaps even find a job and establish a life for yourself, you're constantly living in fear of being found. And when immigrants are found by the US authorities, they are often moved from prison to prison, making it difficult for them to get in touch with family members or lawyers. And since they don't technically exist in the eyes of the US government, it is often easy for their civil rights to be overlooked.
So for the next few days and nights I worried and didn't sleep well, dreading having to talk to him again. I even began to resent him for even asking me for help, although I'm pretty sure this was a defense mechanism on my part so that I wouldnt't feel so bad about telling him no. And I had a running dialogue in my head for three days saying "Well I can't help everyone"... "true, but here is one person who needs help"... "but if I help this one person, then others will come, and besides, it's illegal." All that to say, I felt like absolute crap when I had to tell this man (who came back with his wife and two more of their five children on Wednesday night) that I was very sorry but I couldn't legally or realistically do anything to help him. And real life is way harder than reading about issues in a magazine or journal.
If you're interested in reading some more about immigration issues from a Latin American standpoint (and some on US policy as well), here's a good website: http://www.migrationinformation.org/index.cfm
I went into the other room, where he and his wife and their very small 5 year old son were sitting. He began to explain to me how he hadn´t been able to find work for a long time. He had even gone to the capital to look for work. And that his wife is sick... something with her leg that I didn´t really understand (but then again, there are a lot of times when people talk about illnesses that I don´t understand partly because of the Spanish, but more because we have very different ideas about what causes a person to be sick, so a lot of times theyll be explaining something to me and we're just on different planes of understanding).
So he finally asked me if I could help him get a visa. He had some of the paperwork with him, and he said it asks for an address and phone number in the US, presumably of an employer. So he was essentially asking for my parents' names and their address and phone number to put down on the form. He acknowledged that it was a lie, but that he was desperate and he had seen me at church and thought I might could help.
At this point, I was shaking. While reading the info for our retreat over immigration I was outraged at US policies that limit immigration, which is the only option for many Latin Americans because of other US international policies meant to bolster our own economies and made in our own self interest at the expense of many of our southern neighbors. And then, here was this very kind, very real man with very real problems of the sort that I had so recently felt so angry and helpless about, and my hands were shaking uncontrollably. So I said I couldn't promise him anything and that I couldn't help him that night, but I would talk to my coordinator and to my parents and I would think about it and could he come back in a few days.
Coward, I thought to myself. Because I knew from the beginning I would have to tell him no. I just didn't want to do it right then. And the truth is, I really can't do much. What the visa application is really asking for is an official employer who will say that "yes, there is a job here waiting for this person." But even if you have that, the US government still gives out only a handful of visa for low-level jobs like that. Then there are a few lottery visas availabe each year, but with all the people applying for and scrambling to get into the US, the chances of getting one of those is slim. There are plenty of visas avaible for "skilled" and highly-educated workers (which the US already has plenty of in its own pool of citizens), but very few for day laborers and workers for "low-skill" (and low-wage) jobs.
And, the thing is, this man was/is trying to go the legal route. Because, really, who would want to enter the US without papers? It's way more expensive to get there... like $2,000 just to get to the US/Mexican border then another $1,500 to cross the desert with a coyote. To put that in perspective, a decent salary in Guatemala for a person with a high-school education (which would be the employability equivalent of a college education in the US) is around 1,500 quetzales a month or about $190. Not to mention, it's incredibly dangerous and becoming even more dangerous, not only once immigrants cross into the States, but also now there are lots of crime groups and gangs in Mexico that prey on immigrants passing through, knowing that they don't know the area well and that they are probably carrying a lot of money on them.
Then, if you cross the border and perhaps even find a job and establish a life for yourself, you're constantly living in fear of being found. And when immigrants are found by the US authorities, they are often moved from prison to prison, making it difficult for them to get in touch with family members or lawyers. And since they don't technically exist in the eyes of the US government, it is often easy for their civil rights to be overlooked.
So for the next few days and nights I worried and didn't sleep well, dreading having to talk to him again. I even began to resent him for even asking me for help, although I'm pretty sure this was a defense mechanism on my part so that I wouldnt't feel so bad about telling him no. And I had a running dialogue in my head for three days saying "Well I can't help everyone"... "true, but here is one person who needs help"... "but if I help this one person, then others will come, and besides, it's illegal." All that to say, I felt like absolute crap when I had to tell this man (who came back with his wife and two more of their five children on Wednesday night) that I was very sorry but I couldn't legally or realistically do anything to help him. And real life is way harder than reading about issues in a magazine or journal.
If you're interested in reading some more about immigration issues from a Latin American standpoint (and some on US policy as well), here's a good website: http://www.migrationinformation.org/index.cfm
Monday, January 25, 2010
Back to Work
I wrote in my last post that I started back to work when Ben was here... that was January 14, so I had almost a month-long break for Christmas and New Year´s, which is pretty typical here, at least in the kinds of organizations like mine.
I was a little bummed to go back to work, just because I had so much fun traveling and hanging out with my family over the break, but I was also ready to get back into a routine. I was also excited to really get to start doing some work, since the first couple months were just for me to observe and see how the organization runs and what I might be able to contribute.
Right now it looks like I´ll still always be working with either Carmelina (the coordinator of Pastoral de la Mujer and the mother of Bethi, my host mom) or the two promoters, who each are responsible for one or two groups in the Quiché-speaking area and were trained by Carmelina. I think, though, that I´ll get to take on some more leadership in the lessons that we give in the communities by leading the Bible study element of the lessons. So far, I have been looking for new passages and verses that go along with the themes of "Land and Ecology" and "Self-esteem" and trying to come up with new activities to engage the women that don´t require reading or writing. I may also work some more with newer groups doing group-building and get-to-know-you activities, which will be really different than when I´ve done similar things in the States, because many of these women don´t speak or understand much Spanish, I am still learning Spanish, and they almost all wear the traditional traje, which consists of a long skirt (so human knots are probably out).
I´ve only had 3 full days back at work (because we had a retreat last week), but I´m excited to see how this year will go...
I was a little bummed to go back to work, just because I had so much fun traveling and hanging out with my family over the break, but I was also ready to get back into a routine. I was also excited to really get to start doing some work, since the first couple months were just for me to observe and see how the organization runs and what I might be able to contribute.
Right now it looks like I´ll still always be working with either Carmelina (the coordinator of Pastoral de la Mujer and the mother of Bethi, my host mom) or the two promoters, who each are responsible for one or two groups in the Quiché-speaking area and were trained by Carmelina. I think, though, that I´ll get to take on some more leadership in the lessons that we give in the communities by leading the Bible study element of the lessons. So far, I have been looking for new passages and verses that go along with the themes of "Land and Ecology" and "Self-esteem" and trying to come up with new activities to engage the women that don´t require reading or writing. I may also work some more with newer groups doing group-building and get-to-know-you activities, which will be really different than when I´ve done similar things in the States, because many of these women don´t speak or understand much Spanish, I am still learning Spanish, and they almost all wear the traditional traje, which consists of a long skirt (so human knots are probably out).
I´ve only had 3 full days back at work (because we had a retreat last week), but I´m excited to see how this year will go...
Ben´s Visit!
So, as usual, a lot has happened since I last updated my blog... I really have tried a couple of times, but the internet cafes in my town are really just front rooms of peoples houses, so when there is a birthday party or they go to church or are eating or something the internet is closed. It also just sometimes closes on random days. So Ive had trouble finding internet lately. BUT the biggest thing that has happened since I last wrote is that my little brother, who is actually bigger than me, came to visit! It wasnt planned, we just decided on a Monday morning I think it was, and he came on Friday and stayed til the next Saturday. It was a little stressful to plan a trip that quickly and involved having his passport overnighted from Oregon to Tennessee, but everything worked out in the end and he got here and back safely!
We spent the first day in Angigua together looking at old church and monastary ruins and then watched the sunset behind one of the volcanoes from a roof-top restaurant. Then the next day we headed to Panajachel on Lago Atitlan... way touristy, but beautiful, and we found a nature reserve right outside of town where we saw spider monkeys! We spent most of the week with my family and in Xela, where we took a trip to Volcan Chicobal, an inactive volcano with a lake in the crater. We also went down to the coast for a morning to the coffee finca where one of the other volunteers works and he gave us a tour and took us on a hike. Then, to relax our sore muscles from two days of hiking we went to Fuetnes Georginas, pools of water heated by a volcano about 30 minutes from where I live. When we went to Fuentes my whole family plus the mother-in-law went, and we had a lot of fun.
Then Thursday I had to go back to work and Ben stayed and hung out with Enrique, my 14 year old brother. They walked all over, had lunch with Bethi, my mom, at the school where she teaches, met a lot of the extended family, and when I got back from work they were playing soccer in the yard, with Mileni and one of the 4 year old cousins cheering for Ben. Cristel, the 4 year old, kept yelling "Go Don Benjamín!", which is kinda like "Mr. Ben."
We had a lot of fun together, and I realized it was really the most time we´d ever spent together without the rents. But we got along well (which is a big acheivement when I think back about 10 years ago:) and I think it was good for us, especially since we probably wont ever live together in the same house again, to spend some time traveling together just the two of us.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Beach Trip to Tilapa
On December 27, I went in to Xela and met Dana and Whitney, two of the other volunteers, who came back with me to my house. My mom, Betty, cooked a big traditional lunch called estufada (stew), which we ate late in the afternoon before all going to the hot baths in the evening. We came back and ate paches for dinner and then the next morning Whitney and I left for Tilapa, an island near the border of Mexico.
Whitney found it in our Rough Guide guidebook, which described the island as an “agreeable beach settlement” with “a real opportunity to get away from it all.” We didn’t really read that last part well enough, because when we got there, after paying a local from the mainland to take us across in his wooden boat with a small motor and being led to the only hotel on the island by a kid of the owners, we looked at each other and said “Well we can just stay here one night and then we’ll go find something else on the mainland tomorrow.” There were no restaurants, just the food at the hotel; our rooms were cement with a bathroom nook (no door) and no towels. So when we got out of the shower we just stood in front of the fan til we’d dried off enough to put some clothes on. Also, the whole island is just sand.
But that night while eating dinner of very fresh grilled fish we ended up talking to a Polish couple and middle aged Italian man for several hours. By the morning we were feeling a lot better about the place and stayed around for another three days. The second day we found another local to give us a tour by boat of the breath-taking mangrove forest accompanied by our new Italian friend. We took long walks on the beach, saw some local kids playing soccer, read lots, took naps in hammocks, ate really fresh seafood, drank licuados (fruit smoothies) and Gallo (Guatemalan beer), and talked to the other (mostly European) guests. The only thing I really missed was getting to swim in the ocean and play in the waves, because on the Pacific coast there is a really strong undertow that carries several people out to sea each year so we didn’t go in past our knees. It was unlike any other vacation I’d ever taken, and after getting over the initial shock of the sparse hotel and very undeveloped island (most of the houses were made of reeds with thatched roofs) I really liked it and felt incredibly rested when we finally left the heat of the coast to climb the mountain in a chicken bus back to the cold of Xela.
Whitney found it in our Rough Guide guidebook, which described the island as an “agreeable beach settlement” with “a real opportunity to get away from it all.” We didn’t really read that last part well enough, because when we got there, after paying a local from the mainland to take us across in his wooden boat with a small motor and being led to the only hotel on the island by a kid of the owners, we looked at each other and said “Well we can just stay here one night and then we’ll go find something else on the mainland tomorrow.” There were no restaurants, just the food at the hotel; our rooms were cement with a bathroom nook (no door) and no towels. So when we got out of the shower we just stood in front of the fan til we’d dried off enough to put some clothes on. Also, the whole island is just sand.
But that night while eating dinner of very fresh grilled fish we ended up talking to a Polish couple and middle aged Italian man for several hours. By the morning we were feeling a lot better about the place and stayed around for another three days. The second day we found another local to give us a tour by boat of the breath-taking mangrove forest accompanied by our new Italian friend. We took long walks on the beach, saw some local kids playing soccer, read lots, took naps in hammocks, ate really fresh seafood, drank licuados (fruit smoothies) and Gallo (Guatemalan beer), and talked to the other (mostly European) guests. The only thing I really missed was getting to swim in the ocean and play in the waves, because on the Pacific coast there is a really strong undertow that carries several people out to sea each year so we didn’t go in past our knees. It was unlike any other vacation I’d ever taken, and after getting over the initial shock of the sparse hotel and very undeveloped island (most of the houses were made of reeds with thatched roofs) I really liked it and felt incredibly rested when we finally left the heat of the coast to climb the mountain in a chicken bus back to the cold of Xela.
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