on the line

i project

So, I thought I would let you all know about the little projects I am working on right now.  They aren't vast, expansive efforts carefully researched for their sustainability.  One of them isn't even really related to my program at all.  But they are things I think I can do, that I am interested in, which I think have the potential to improve some people's lives just a little bit.  

Project 1:

As I have written before, the local midwives (comadronas) meet for additional training once a month in the Puesto de Salud, where I lead a charla.  We started out talking about things like hygiene during the birth, giving good prenatal care,  danger signs in the pregnancy, birth and newborn.  Then things got technical.  I began doing a lot of research every month and spoke to them about how to cut the cord and care of the placenta.  Finally, we have started to cover broader topics like domestic violence and sexuality.  These ladies are fun.  They are also very intelligent.  Unlike some other groups, they come to every meeting ready to learn.  They participate and add their own comments.  So, when a women's organization called the Zonta Group out of Sarasota, FL with the motto "Advancing the status of women worldwide" donated kits for midwives, I was very excited.  Because almost everything in the kits is disposable, I looked for things to supplement them, like stethoscopes to hear the fetal heartbeat, and those little mucus-sucker-ball thingys.  The kits, while an amazing and generous gift, were a little disappointing when we realized that each one could probably only used for one birth.  I am still looking for more TempoDOT themometers (so they can tell if a woman has a fever--a danger sign) and some rags.  Even though it's not the most sustainable gift, I think it will help the midwives and raise consciousness about hygiene.  Also, I feel good about giving this donation to a group that works hard and always comes in to charlas.

Project 2:

Because of the scarcity of digital cameras, money to make prints, etc, most people have few pictures of their children.  Also, exposure to the arts is limited.  Likewise, I live in a mostly forgotten corner of the world that is not remarkable enough to merit significant coverage in geography or social studies classes.  So, a couple of months ago, I took pictures of all of the students in the sixth grade, and sent them to an art teacher from my home town, Kathy Thompson.  She found a group of artists and interested youth who will paint portraits based on the photos I sent earlier (most of them are from Epworth First Baptist Church, as I understand it, although there are other community partners as well).  Students here will receive portraits of themselves that will hopefully become a cherished keepsake for them and their families for many years.  The artists will receive some cultural education about life here in this rural Guatemalan village as well as the satisfaction of brightening the life of a child.  The portraits are currently under way and should arrive mid to late June.  

So, those are the long term projects I am working on.  If you are interested in getting involved, there are ways you can help!  Just leave a comment or email me.   Many thanks to the Zonta club, Mrs. Thompson, Epworth First Baptist, Demosthenian Literary Society, Len and Carol Crawford and all other community partners involved in these exciting projects!

no where to run

Today I gave a difficult charla on a very delicate subject—la violencia intrafamiliar, or domestic violence.  I was speaking to the local midwives.  What I was hoping to do more than anything was to just start a conversation about a problem that thrives in secrecy.  As trusted community leaders and health workers in the most remote and underserved areas, these women have a great opportunity to provide counsel to women in distress. 

 

First I told them a story of a fictional couple named Laura and Luis.  Laura began to suffer from Luis’ beatings, threats and intimidation when she became pregnant.  Things got worse and worse until she realized he was a threat not only to her, but to their children as well.  She finally decided to make a plan.  I asked them what a woman in her situation could do. 

 

“Nothing,” they all said.  “She just has to suffer through it.”  There’s an old saying in Guatemala “Si te casas, te aguantas” “If you marry, you put up with it.”  They didn’t like the idea of calling the police or going to the justice of the peace, because of what an irate husband could do. 

 

One midwife shared a terrifying story.  She had a patient who she knew was being abused by her husband, and sadly, the baby was stillborn.  She wanted to go to the justice of the peace about it.  But then the husband began to threaten her, “No matter where you go, no matter what path you take, I’ll find you—and then I’ll kill you,” he told her.  So, the midwife kept her mouth shut about that and decided not to ask so many questions next time. 

 

I encouraged them to look for skills they have already, like cooking, sewing or making handicrafts to earn money outside of the husband, but they were skeptical.  Even as I suggested different approaches, my solutions sounded a little lame. 

 

The midwives even refused to be convinced that violence is never the fault of the victim!  This is perhaps the most important point I wanted to impart. 

 

Basically, it made me realize how entrenched this problem is here.  These women were almost scared to talk about domestic violence in a closed-door room with a group of their friends.  The funny thing is, despite their dismal outlook for women of their generation currently in abusive relationships, they all knew the solution.  Education.  The problems that came up during the charla were always that an illiterate woman with no education and no job training is trapped.  The good news is, the next generation is changing.  More girls are enrolled in schools than the past generation, and thanks to welfare programs like Mi Familia Progresa, enrollment is way up.  

zancudos

I write to you tonight as the cool mist from the first rain of the year is dissipating out over the village, finally relieving the stifling heat and humidity of the past two months.  It is 3:18 a.m.  

Those of you who know me well know that Peace Corps has pushed my bedtime back from around 10:00 pm to 8:00, the same bedtime I had when I was 6 years old.  So what am I doing awake at the witching hour?  

Over the past two weeks or so, I have begun to look forward to bedtime with all the anticipation of a root canal.  What used to be a time to relax and let go of the stress of the day has become my personal hell.  You see, up until today, it is hotter than Hell at night, an unbearable humidity that leaves me sweating til about 2 a.m.  But far worse than the heat are what seems to me like the millions of mosquitoes that come out to play as soon as I turn off the lights.  When it first goes dark, I can hear the chorus of a legion of them whining high above my head.  Within about 10 minutes, the high-pitched drone I've come to dread is a whine in my inner ear, and they are starting to nip at any exposed skin.  While I usually cover up pretty well, they feast on my face, fingers and toes.  

So between the heat, the itching, and the buzzing, the eight hours of restorative sleep I used to enjoy have become an intolerable stretch of tossing, turning, slapping, cursing and scheming of ways to get a Peace Corps-issued mosquito net out here without actually having to go to the office (an 8 hour camioneta ride).  

If you're worried about diseases that the little buggers carry, don't.  I'm taking my malaria medicine every day, and the species that carries Dengue only go on the hunt during the day.  If you're worried about my sanity (even "harshly interrogated" terrorists are allowed to sleep more consecutive days than me--Uncle Sam lets them doze off after 11 days, if you're interested) that is probably a valid concern, and all I can say is, We're working on that.

easter

I know it has been a couple of weeks since Easter, but I wanted to share my holiday experience with you all.  First, I was invited to spend Easter with my friend Elvira in an aldea of a town called Aguacatán.  

I had one jar of peach and pecan preserves from Mercier's that I brought back with me from Christmas to share with the special people in my life.  I put the jam and a small American chocolate bar in a gift bag and presented it to the woman who I assumed to be the lady of the house.  "What?  Do you want to give that to my mother?"  Elvira asked me.  

"Um...yes..."  I said.  

"Oh!  This is my aunt!"  

Whoops.  Elvira introduced me to her mom, and I gave the gift, with a cheesy introduction about it being a present from my family to hers, to thank her for allowing me to stay, etc.  She curiously pulled the jam out of the bag.  

"Is this...food?" she asked.  "Oh, I see.  It's medicine.  Or is it food?"

"Ah...it's food.  It's jam!  You can, you know, put it on bread, or something."

"Hmm...I've never seen anything like this.  But...thanks."  

Well, I thought.  That couldn't have gone any worse.  

Luckily, the weekend got much better from there.  Elvira, who has seven brothers and sisters, is a part of a large, happy and kind family.  It was a real honor to share this most important holiday in Guatemala with them.  

I'm still not sure why, but they celebrate the most on Thursday and Friday.  Thursday is the "dia de comer," the day when neighbors exchange loaves of homemade bread and a dish of sweet, stewed fruit that they only make once a year.  

Friday we went down into the town proper to watch processions.  For anyone not familiar with the Easter traditions of Spain, Portugal and their "subsidiaries," on Easter, many people dress up in a loose interpretation of what the people of Jesus' time would wear--robes, romanesque helmets, etc.  Then they carry large, Easter-themed parade floats through town on their shoulders, flanked by incense swinging youths.  

Resurrection Sunday, which gets all the attention back in the States, is much less of a big deal here, though I'm not sure why.

But this family brought up an interesting question for me.  So, in my project, there are three main technologies we try to bring to people (and two others that are not done as much):  cement floors, better stoves, and latrines.  Now, this family had a latrine and a better stove.  But they were lacking a cement floor, which is, for many people, where you start.  Having a dirt floor makes contamination in the kitchen and all around the house so much more of a problem.  However, this family has invested so much in their children.  My friend Elvira is a nurse.  Her older brother is a teacher who once gained a scholarship for international travel and has visited Norway.  All of the younger children are in school and are motivated to do well.  They have adequate nutrition and good hygiene.  So I ask myself...how much would this family benefit from a cement floor?  Obviously they are way ahead of many other rural families when it comes to education, hygiene and nutrition.  Would it be better if they sold their pig, horse or sheep to purchase a cement floor?  Or if one of their kids had to drop out of school to finance it?  I am inclined to say no.  

This family was a great example to me of how complicated development is.  Having technology does not guarantee better health, and the lack of technology does not damn you to a life of diarrhea and respiratory infection.  

It's more complex than that.  

what decade am i in?

A word here about lynchings:

Vigilante justice is the most common and to be truthful, probably the most effective, form of castigating criminals in Guatemala.  Especially in very rural areas like mine, where there is not a police station for miles around, when someone steals, kills, rapes, extorts, kidnaps, cheats, etc, the community gets together and takes matters into their own hands.  I have heard that there are a variety of Mayan punishments that get employed, like forcing the criminal to walk through town several times carrying large stones, but the only form I have ever heard of or seen in my area is a good old-fashioned lynching.  

Yes, lynching.  That's right, we're in 2009, here, folks.  

The affair generally begins with the alleged criminal being seized from their home in the middle of the day.  From there they are beaten, often with whips or rubber hoses.  Then gasoline is poured on the offender and he is burned alive.  

The most recent case of this happened in my little corner of the Land of the Eternal Spring about a month ago.  Two young men were extorting a family for money in another town.  When the police got wise, there was a shoot-out on main street, in which one innocent bystander died.  The two men from my pueblo escaped unharmed and fled to a community in my town.  Later that day, they met an untimely end at the hands of justice-seeking community leaders.  

The general consensus of the people in my health center was a shrug followed by, "Pobrecitos, but they should have known better."  As recently as last week, several men from within the health center were threatened by community leaders.  As a result, they had to leave town.  

Now, before you go dismissing an entire people as barbarians, I should remind you that lynching is not all that distant from many of our own communities.  And unlike in many of the race and sexual orientation hate crimes in our nation's past, I would say that in most cases here in Guatemala, the criminals seem to be guilty the majority of the time.  

Furthermore, lynchings here are rarely hate crimes.  They are a form of seeking justice in a society where the murder conviction rate is in the single digits, and where security is everyone's top concern.  Who can say that if a family member was brutally murdered, raped or even simply had all their possessions stolen from them, they would not be tempted to take matters into their own hands if the offender walked free?  Of course, that begs the question of whether the vigilantes are really seeking justice or only vengeance, but that is another matter.

Many have speculated that after a thirty-year civil war, preceded by centuries of bloody clashes with the Spanish, what you have is a society that reaches for a gun to deal with its problems before all else.  But with a corrupt government and a broken judicial system, who could blame them?  

Better governance and less poverty are the only solutions to this problem.  

good help is hard to find

Hi Everyone!  It's been so long since my last update.  Here's some of what's been going on:  

In Service Training:  

My old cohorts from Rural Home Preventive Health (my program, for those of you who don't know), reunited for a week of extra training at the Peace Corps office.  This was surprisingly useful!  First, we worked on our technical skills like mixing cement, laying bricks and measuring for stoves, working with older volunteers who are actually completing projects.  The depressing thing was, the old-timers work with and NGO that is less than selective about the families they help.  Because of this, we built better stoves for families that already HAD  better stoves and latrines for families that already had flush toilets!  The benefit of working with such an NGO?  Money.  They have the means to actually DO projects.  The drawback?  Not being able to personally evaluate and select the families.  Our program is the opposite:  no money, total control over the families.  

The rest of the week we learned how to recruit health promoters, make tire gardens, and raise money from the states.  It was great to see my my friends again.  Many of them are having the same problems I am.  Another gratifying thing was that my boss actually admitted that our program has some problems.  It felt good to hear that he understands that.  

Thursday and Friday, the Peace Corps put on a great workshop for us and our Guatemalan counterparts about how to teach HIV/AIDS prevention in our sites.  Here's where things get interesting.   I walked into the Peace Corps office Thursday morning ready to participate in the workshop.  There, sitting alone at one of the picnic tables with a wistful, slightly angry expression, was my counterpart's mistress.*  Oh, no, I thought.  What's she doing here?  I found my counterpart, who will from now on be referred to as Sleazy C, at another picnic table, joking around with some some other men.  "Good morning, C,"  I said.  "How are you?"  

"I'm fine,"  he answered.  "Listen, I need to ask you something.  Since the Doctora couldn't make it, I brought someone else to attend the workshop.  Do you think that's ok?"

"Well...is she a health worker?" 

"Well...she's not, you know, employed by the Ministry of Health...but she's sort of a 'community health worker.'"

And so it came to pass that C tried to get the Peace Corps to pay for his mistress' hotel room, lunch, and two days of technical training.  Needless to say, my boss stepped in and refused to allow it.  The worst part was, someone from my health center could have really used that information.  Instead, it was a wasted opportunity for invaluable education and training pissed away by a womanizing jerk.  

Sigh...something's got to change...soon.  

*If you're wondering how I am sure it is his mistress, don't.  He has no shame about the fact that his wife and children live in another town and he keeps a girlfriend in my site.