it's alive

One thing about Guatemala--there's just so much life here. Let's face it: In the United States, we live in a pretty sterile environment. There is not much microscopic life swimming in the drinking water that comes out of your kitchen sink. Heck, you can even drink out of the garden hose! Not so here. There could be giardia, amoebas or other parasites merrily anticipating a romp around your stomach lining in any drop of unboiled water.
The same is true for people, plants and animals. Due to a mix of machismo, religious tradition and societal values, families here are big--far bigger than the average family in the U.S. It seems no matter where you are, whether its at a city council meeting, in a restaurant, visiting someone's home and especially in the Health Center, there are always a ton of little kids around.
Stateside children are relegated to specific parts of life. They have their own table for meals, and you don't take them somewhere that they could make a disturbance. Even our lives are divided into childhood, adulthood, parenthood and retirement. And unless you actively seek to make children a part of your life, they won't be.
Sometimes it's sad, like when you see a dog that is so skinny it can't nurse its puppies, or you see a kitten with one foot in the grave. Sometimes it's annoying, like when something you left under your bed for a week is already moldy. Or the fact that you have to be so proactive at killing insects and arachnids in your living space.
But I like that it's such a family-friendly society. And, like in all areas of my life, I'm learning to make accommodations for things and people different than what I am used to.

squeaks in the night

I woke up this morning at 3:30 a.m. to the sound of a rustling above my head. After a few sleepy moments, I realized that the unsettling noises were emanating from the big plastic bag where I keep all my food. I had hung the bag from the ceiling to discourage creepy-crawlies from getting in there. As you may have guessed by now, this clever strategy did not work.
I turned on the light, and the noises got louder. I now had no choice to admit to myself that there was something alive inside the bag with all of my comestibles.

Then, all of a sudden, a furry gray blur bolted from the bag, ran up the wall and disappeared into the tin roof. I squealed. I sat on my bed for a few moments, contemplating what had just happened with all the reflective powers I could muster at that hour. My conclusion, if it isn't yet clear, was that a fat mouse had raided my supply of whole wheat bread, peanut-butter and the nutella my sisters sent me for my birthday.

"Ugh. What am I doing here?" I said to no one in particular. "What planet am I on?"

The good news: he only got part of a chocolate bar. And I think I probably scared him more than he scared me.

When I told my friend Ana about the incident, she said, "Well, why didn't you kill it?"
"With what?!" I asked.
"With a shoe."
As much as I hate the little rodent, I cannot imagine killing any kind of a mammal with my bare hands. I am loathe to even smoosh a cockroach. And then what would you do with the carcass? Gross.

Luckily, our cat here is a great mouser.

I have got to get out of this room.

Me gusta tu piel...

I’d like to write a post about another touchy subject: men.

Men were one of the things I got serious warnings about before arriving and during my training. I heard about the aggressive Guatemalan males and their ridiculousness. While I’ve never felt in danger, I’ve definitely felt uncomfortable. Most of the time people leave me alone in my pueblo, but when I go to the city I get constant catcalls. The worst part about it is the noise people use to get someone’s attention here. “Ch ch ch ch…” this means, “Hey! Over here!”
I know it is acceptable in this culture, but it drives me crazy. It just sounds so rude! “Ch ch ch ch” is usually followed by heavily accented calls of “Hey baby!” “How are you, my love?” or my favorite, “Miss Universe.” It doesn’t even seem to matter if I am accompanied by a guy or not. I have to wonder, has this ever worked? Has any woman ever responded to these advances by saying, “Well, hey, what are you doing later?” I think not.
Then there was the one time things got physical. I was walking down the street in Xela with one of my girlfriends when a man driving past on a motorcycle reached over and grabbed my ass! He was gone before I even really knew what was going on. But really! Not only is it rude, degrading, and completely counterproductive to any prospects he may have, but that takes a lot of coordination!
If there’s one good thing about this treatment of women, (and I thought long and hard about whether or not there are any advantages at all), it’s that men here tend not to be flakes. If they like you, they let you know, and they are persistent. There is little of the second-guessing, body language reading that goes on in dating stateside. Of course, this directness does not outweigh the drawbacks to the machismo behavior.
I think if I were giving advice to a new PCV arriving in Guatemala, it would be to be confident and cool. After all, if you’re in a public place, you have all the control in the situation. And don’t forget that even though you are trying to integrate into the community, there are some parts of the culture you don’t have to buy into, and this is one of them.

bad religion

I’d like to try to write a post about religion. This is a very delicate subject in any country, so I will try to use tact and discretion.

I was recently sitting next to a woman during a vaccination campaign. There were many children around us, most of whom would take one look at me and scurry off, giggling. Then they would peek out at me from behind whatever large object was around.
“I think I scare the kids,” I remarked to the lady. “It’s because I’m too tall.”
“Well,” she said, “They shouldn’t be scared. God made the tall ones, and the short ones, and the skinny ones, and the fat ones, the white ones, and the brown ones. God made them all. There’s no reason to be afraid.”
Wow, I thought. What a reasonable and kind thing to say.
The problem is, most statements that I hear motivated by religion are neither reasonable nor kind.

When I hear someone attribute the death of an innocent by a drunk driver to “God’s will,” I get downright angry, though I can’t express it.

My reaction was about the same when someone explained to me that the reason her cousin was born with fluid on the brain, causing permanent and severe brain damage in the baby, was because the child’s mother questioned the Virgin birth during pregnancy.
“God doesn’t punish us…but he does put examples in our lives,” she told me.

Like my own stomping grounds in the deep South, Guatemala is a Christ-haunted landscape. Jesus turns up everywhere: T-shirts, pick-up truck decals, in all sorts of kitsch people use to decorate their homes. Traveling evangelists board the public transportation to spread the gospel via chicken bus. And when someone asks your religion, the question is “Are you Catholic or evangelical?” rather than something more inclusive.

However, as I mentioned earlier, for all Jesus’ ubiquity, his teachings often seem conspicuously absent. Catholics and Evangelicals constantly approach me to hate on the other denomination, using anything at all to assert their superiority over the offending faith.
“You know why the Evangelicals make me laugh?” someone once said smugly, “They use the exact same praise song as the Catholics!” To this young lady, the use of the same worship music was a clear indication of the Evangelicals tacit lowliness.

I’ve never been one to hate on religion in general, and this post isn’t meant to do that either. I go to church with my family every Sunday, and that’s been one of the few things in my life that has not changed since moving to Guatemala. I appreciate the warmth behind each kindly utterance of “Dios te bendiga.” And I know that the most read book here in Guatemala is definitely La Biblia. Any time people are reading, it can’t be a bad thing.

There’s so much more I could say, but in the end I find myself asking the same questions about religion that I asked at home. Why is it such a comfort to people? Is it a force for good or ill in society? Will I ever really understand it?

fun in the oven

Today was a great day. I made a tin oven! Yesterday I bought a big sheet of tin and today a third year volunteer came to visit my site. We cut out the shape of a box and folded it up into an oven! It sits on top of a wood burning stove and a small grill allows the hot air to circulate around the food. I will try to post a picture of it tomorrow.

I wanted to build the oven for a few reasons. So that I myself could make cookies, breads and casseroles, but also because one day I was sitting around talking to a young lady, (who is about my age with a 3-yr-old son), when she said wistfully, "I want to learn how to make bread!" It was so sad to me, because I knew she would probably never be able to.
Sometimes this country reminds me a lot of a line from (don't laugh) the live-action version of 101 Dalmations. The female lead is a fashion designer in Cruella DeVille's firm. When she tells Cruella that she is going to get married, Cruella says:
"Marriage?! More good women have been lost to marriage than war, famine and disease!"
The women here are capable and smart, but they get stuck in these crappy marriages and don't do much with their lives. I know, I know, raising nine children is a worthwhile thing to do with your life. I just wish they had more options. The girl who wants to make bread, for example, is a really smart lady with a wonderful personality. She could definitely run a small business. She would make an excellent teacher. And she's so good with people, if she were even just a waitress, she would make great tips. Instead she wastes away with her son, while living off of her husband's remittances. She hardly ever even leaves the house.

So anyway, I hope the oven might be a new diversion for her. Another thing you can do with this technology is teach women's groups how to make them. They are so easy and cheap to put together, a women's group could sell them on market day for a profit. Then they can use that income to do their own projects or have a little more power in the community.

At this point, though, all this is merely speculative. We'll see if it works tomorrow!

coming unhinged

When I arrived in Guatemala, they all told me to get used to having less privacy. Everyone will be all up in your business, they said. You'll have less personal space, they said.
This advice was fully realized yesterday as I sat on my family's front stoop reading. A man walked out of our house carrying the front door to my room. I silently did a double take. Is that really my door? I recognized the pink paint splatter and the ribbon tied to the window. Yup, definitely mine.
"Doña Ana?" I asked, "Where is that man going with my door?"
As it turned out, he was just going to fix the lock. It was back on its hinges in a couple of hours, but it was such a surreal experience.
For those of you who don't know, I live in a closet. There's enough space for a bed, but practically nothing else. Storage, cooking and cleaning are a daily challenge.
However, I've always wanted to be the kind of person who could live happily in a tiny Japanese apartment. Right now I'm not, but I'm way closer than when I moved in two months ago.
I think it's a good transformation. I really think twice about buying anything, even a new shirt, because it will take up more space.
This is all part of my transformation into a new-and-improved Emily: frugal, patient, capable.