new digs

Where the magic happens.



The Peace Corps shelves.



Possibly the most hilarious thing in my room. The nursing students who lived here before me left this up on the wall--and have asked me not to take it down until they can come and retrieve it. Just in case you don't understand it, it's a poster that explains the various methods of family planning. Attached to it are: an intrauterine device, a packet of birth control pills, a vial of Depo-Provera, a condom and a "collar" that is supposed to help you count your fertile days, but which I think doesn't really do anything to prevent pregnancy. "Eso no es muy confiable," I always say. It's great waking up every morning to a diagram of a sterilized man.



The stove that was so much trouble to get.

at last...

Some fabulous freedom toast cooked on my gas stove.

de mal humor

Monday I returned home from a trip to Huehue to find my door ajar. Now, I was certain I had locked it on the way out. I went to ask my neighbor, "Who went in my room?"

(It should probably be stated here that at this moment there were many people outside my front porch. Most of them were Señoras who were efficiently killing and starting to cook over ten turkeys. The rest were the mayor and the auxiliary mayors from the surrounding communities. No one would give me a straight answer about what they were doing with the turkeys.)

"Well, we needed to get into the room adjacent to yours, and the key to the outside door wasn't working. So we went in your room."

"Um...well...if you do that again, could you close the door afterward?"

"Oh, but we were all out here. Nothing bad would have happened."

Given the fact that we were in front of all of the local government, I contained myself, and went into my room, shutting the door behind me. I uttered an oath. Then there was a knock on my door.

"Yes?" It was the girl who had rented my room before I moved in.

"Can I come in?"

I let her in. She seemed to just want to shoot the breeze for a few minutes, and informed me that she is probably moving into the adjacent room (the one that my neighbor got into) next month. I was still trying to keep my cool.

On her way out I asked, "Ana, why are they killing all those turkeys?"

"Yes." She said. And she left.

As she shut the door, I uttered another oath and made some disparaging remarks about...well, I'm sure you get the picture.

Then I saw it--the open bottle of wine from the difficult night before, sitting on the table in the middle of the room. If they didn't think I'm a hard drinking, loose American woman before, they surely will now. I swore again.

Security has warned me against going into too much detail about my valuables and possessions on this website, but there are plenty of things in my room, including my new stove and tables, that I would hate to lose. My room ought to be my room--not an entrance into another area of the building. I know this culture is a communal society that doest put a high premium on privacy. I'm trying to make concessions. But I need people to respect the lock on my door. I'm still pretty incensed about it, but I'm not sure what to do yet. Pissing off the wrong person, especially on the mayor's staff, could mean death to projects I want to do later. On the other hand, as Marcelino warned me, "es una inseguridad."

And the fact that no one would tell me what they were doing with the turkeys was just annoying. I mean, if a bunch of people showed up and started hacking up poultry in front of your door, wouldn't you be a little curious as to what was going on?

The truth is, I've been in a bad mood ever since the incident. I felt like there was a big deficit in respect for me personally, as well as my privacy. And my intelligence. Ideas on how to delicately handle the situation?

smells like volunteer spirit

I have never in my life gone so long without bathing.

Tomorrow it will be over a week with little more than a sponge bath every few days to attend to my personal hygiene.

I'd like to describe my bathing situation. For the past four months, to wash myself I have had to wake up extra early, heat up water on the stove, and then carry it into an outdoor shower stall. There one uses a small bowl to throw water over oneself, a little at a time. Lather, rinse, repeat. It's not the most comfortable way to bathe and I don't really think it's as effective as a shower, but it more or less gets the job done.

Bathing this way takes a lot of energy and motivation. Sometimes it's hard to summon the drive to heat up the water, haul it where you need to go, and be constantly dousing yourself instead of letting manmade technology do the work.

But never has it taken more energy than the past week. You see, I recently purchased a gas stove for my new residence. One has to buy the stovetop and the propane tank separately and then attach them with a hose.

When I finally got all the needed parts, I realized that the salespeople had forgotten to include burners for the gas stove. This meant yet another trip to the "state capital." While there, I bought vegetables and spaghetti in anticipation of a working stove an access to cooking.

When I got home, I realized that I couldn't connect the gas tank to the stove. The valve on the hose wouldn't fit. This means no spaghetti, no stir-fry and worst of all, another day of no hot water to bathe in. It also means that it is impossible to boil water (which is necessary before drinking anything that comes out of the tap).

Which brings me to why I have finally opened that bottle of wine I was saving for an especially hard day.

Today I sat through a lunch where I didn't understand a word that was said, was the butt of many jokes re: my marrying any of the other men at the lunch, and choked down a soda (I hate carbonated drinks).

My neighbor forced me to ask for leftovers, even though nobody else at the party did.

And I smell like a person who hasn't showered in a week.

Readers, raise your glasses with me in a toast to Guatemala--may she live in peace, justice and prosperity forever.

on the board

Yesterday I went to a neighboring larger town, Ixtahuacán, to buy three long wooden boards to make shelves. The "Peace Corps shelves" are made by stacking wooden boards over cinderblocks. Having already procured enough cinderblocks for three levels, I was in need of the wood, which is unfortunately not sold in my village or anywhere immediately accessible.

Going out of town to other little towns always makes me a little nervous. In the larger cities there is some tolerance for outsiders--they have at least seen or been exposed to gringos before. But when you are just going to a neighboring town you stick out like a sore thumb without the saving grace of living in the village on a benevolent mission from the US government. I asked around and found a carpenter and got a good price on the wood. A young man carried the three boards outside of his shop and leaned them against the wall.

The next challenge was to carry the three boards to the center of town where pickup trucks left all day. I realized there was no way I could carry the three boards all by myself. I pondered the situation for a minute and was about to start awkwardly lugging them the 100 yards to the town center one at a time when a woman approached me. It was she who had earlier pointed me in the direction of the carpintero.

"Do you need a hand with that?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. together, we were able to carry all three boards without too much trouble.

About half way there, she asked to take a rest for a minute. She went into a tienda for about 15 minutes. I was half expecting her to be rounding up an ambush. But after a long while she came out and helped me carry the boards the rest of the way into town.

I turned around and was about to offer her some quetzales for her trouble, but she was gone.

I have since spent a lot of time thinking about this interaction. With all due respect to those who have been so kind and generous to me, unsolicited acts of kindness like that are rare (although less so all the time). Some people have a karmic attitude about helping Americans. If they have children there, they believe that helping an American here might bring good karma to their kids in el Norte, and maybe an American family will help them in their hour of need. Maybe she was related to the carpenter, and wanted him to have another loyal customer. Or possibly, my guardian angel is a middle-aged indigenous woman from San Ildefonso Ixtahuacán. I don't know.

Little lady from Ixtahuacán, thank you, where ever you area, whatever your motivation.

work that

So, today I had a long talk with one of the most eloquent and educated people in my health center, Marcelino. We talked about what the community needs. A few months ago, I was convinced the best thing I could do would be to build improved wood-burning stoves in all the community schools. Then I was advised that the best thing I could do with my time would be to put cement floors in all of the homes in an aldea. Today Marcelino was saying the really hot deal would be microloans and job training to empower people and increase employment. Beekeeping as a source of income was also suggested. And the thing that the people themselves actually keep saying, over and over again at community meetings, is that they want a trash system. But no one in Peace Corps seems to have a great idea about how to implement such a system.

It's so frustrating...My village has so many needs, I don't even know where to start, let alone looking for funding or gathering community support.

Technically, my program does not advocate starting projects until the second year of service. But I am antsy. My village has waited a long time for development, and I don't want them to have to wait another year. Also, I am insecure about my role here. Building something or organizing a large project would earn me respect and credibility and endear me to them.

Also, I told a joke today that went over like a cement balloon. I was in a meeting with all of the staff of the Puesto de Salud where I work. They had decided to buy a tank of gas for everyone to use in cooking on the stove, and decided that everyone should chip in for the gas. Then someone suggested buying a big tambo of Agua Salvavidas ("lifesaver water"-- a popular brand of purified water) for everyone to drink from. With community money, of course. Someone else then noted that only three of the health center staff are paying for the cable that everyone enjoys. Really, we should all throw down some quetzales since we all like watching the soccer games and telenovelas.

I stood up to make an announcement. "Well, personally, I think we all should pitch in some money for a nice blender. That way, we could all have smoothies every day." Dead silence. Some generous souls even nodded as though it was a reasonable idea. "I'm KIDDING." I said. "I"m just kidding." Nervous laughter all around. "No, but seriously, December 16 there will be a workshop about educating the public on HIV/AIDS..."