Sunday, May 16, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
My Life at PLQ
I’m the student coordinator at a Spanish language school in Quetzaltenango. A school that has a social justice focus. We are considered the most “political” in comparison to the other language schools because we put an emphasis on educating students about the social and political realities of Guatemala. Our mission statement was born in response to two murders that took place in 1987 in Quetzaltenango. René Leiva Cayax and Danilo Alvarado were student activist at the university in Xela. They were kidnapped by 6 police officers (at the time the police department was under the control of the military regime), tortured and murdered for their roles on their university campus.
In 1988, a group of teachers got together to create a school that would not only offer Spanish instruction but also denounce these murders and raise international awareness about Guatemala. Therefore, every Monday morning I give a 90 minute orientation to new students focusing on the last 100 years of Guatemala, highlighting major historical events and statistical data about present day and stats regarding the 36 years of internal conflict where over 200,000 men, women, and children were murdered, 440 villages massacred through a political campaign called "tierra arrasada" or "scorched earth" and 1.5 million people displaced. And I never forget to tell these new students how the United States fully supported this war, the repressive climate, and oppressive military regime. The US carried out a coup in 1954 ending the democratic spring and democratic government and later the US provided financial assistance, military weapons and equipment to the Guatemalan army, and provided training to the military dictators at the School of the Americas (today currently known as the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation). The number one enemies of the state at the time were the “guerillas.” This term is used to refer to the men and women that went and trained in the mountains to fight against the military regime. The war ended in 1996 with the signing of the Peace Accords but although there is no war, people still die at the same right as if there were a war going on. Violence, poverty, and hunger are common realities in this country.
After orientation students start classes and I head to the office to respond to an inbox full of emails, questions, and registrations from future students. During the rest of the day, students come in and out of the office to pay tuition, to chat, ask questions, complain or give thanks because they love their teacher. Some things I hear are “I think I have bed bugs, look at my legs?” Or “Where can I volunteer?” or “I started dating my host brother and now we are having problems, should I move out?” Every Friday night is graduation night where we have music, dinner, and singing. Its tradition to sing “Bella Chao” and have the whole school singing “Soy communista toda la vida!” Ha!Ha!
The school plans daily excursions and hikes within the area and show documentaries and films in our presentation room. I translate conferences (or guest speakers) three times a week. Conferences are different every week and are geared toward educating students about Guatemala. Some conference titles include; The Guerilla Radio Station “Voz Popular,” Women in Guatemala, Mayan Spirituality, the Politics of Rios Montt, or The Damage of Mining Companies. The most touching and difficult conferences are personal testimonies. Those who come to talk about a massacre they witnessed, their experience living in the mountains as a guerilla, or an experience as a refugee. The most difficult one thus far was today with the story of Don Pedro. Don Pedro was a leader (and still is a leader) of a cooperative of campesino workers in 1985. His cooperative offered people credit to purchase, provided training to people on human rights and helped organized his community. During the civil war, the military targeted various groups and individuals that were suspected of being “against” the state, for being “subversives” or “communist” so this included union workers, university students, professors, lawyers, and community leaders, even priests and nuns. If you were caught or even suspected of giving food or medical attention to anyone in the guerilla front, this was an automatic death sentence. The army had control over the state and governed the country so there was no such thing as having a trial or investigation into crimes committed by the army.
Don Pedro was suspected of being part of the guerilla front and in 1985 he was kidnapped from his own home by the army, tortured and held captive for 14 days. By some miracle he survived for returning after capture was unheard of. He came to the school today to share his story. He was honest and vulnerable and humbly narrated his experience. As the translator, I repeat everything using first person. For example, he said “Sacaron mi ropa, estaba desnudo en el piso, mis manos y pies atados, y me golpearon.” And I would translate “They took off all my clothes, I was naked on the floor, my hands and feet were tired, and they beat me.” As he went deeper and further into the story, I wasn’t sure if I was capable of repeating such cruelty. I’ve never had any formal training on translating so nothing could have really prepared me for this. Listening to a story is one thing, but having to repeat in front of a group is another. “They bit both my ears and then took a machete and kept hitting my face with it. They put me into this hole about the size of this room. And every day they would interrogate me demand that I talk. They would beat me some more. One day, they took a noose and put it around my neck…they would hang me and then they would drop me. Another day, they dropped big rocks onto my stomach. Another day, they said they were going to burn me if I didn’t give up information. So they put a gallon of gasoline and firewood next to me. Once they asked me if I was thirsty and then urinated on me and said “Drink this.” After 8 days of no food or water, my entire body was black from bruises and not an inch free from a wound...I would ask God to kill me and end this hell. When I was finally released I realized that I was being held in a parish and I saw a huge crucifix on the front of the building.” He told the details of his story for about an hour and a half and ended by telling us that his family fled to Mexico when he got word that the army was coming back for him. And after this intense story the only thing he asked of his audience was "to speak to others in your home country about what has happened here."
Don Pedro, you are so brave to tell your story in front of strangers. To relive those horrific moments, the details of your torture. You inspire me. How do you still believe in God? How are you not bitter? How do you not want to kill? How do you still have hope for Guatemala? I would have asked you these questions myself, but didn’t have the strength to do so without crying profusely. I didn’t think it was fair to cry and take any attention away from your story. I am just the messenger and translator and my only goal was to make sure I conveyed your story how you told it. But that wasn’t easy Don Pedro because when you started to cry and when I saw your mind was back in that place, back in that hole, all I wanted to do was stop writing and stop listening and give you a hug, tell you how great you are...but again this is not about me. So I just continued. I held back the lump in my throat but couldn’t help the tears welding in my eyes. I hope I didn’t fail in telling your story and I hope you saw my tears as a symbol of my solidarity to you in that moment. All the students in the room were patiently listening, suffering inside, and completely present with you. Though language was a barrier for many of the beginner Spanish students and though not everyone understood your words, they understood your story. Thank you Don Pedro.
We put away the chairs in our small conference room and the students individually thanked Don Pedro for his story. The light chatter in the room gently shifted to the upcoming soccer game that night and students headed back to class. “Can I take a picture with you?” One of the students asked Don Pedro. “Yes” he says. As the room empties, I look at the new mural up on the wall and remember why we chose that quote located in the center. For people like you Don Pedro, who cannot be defeated and who continue to have hope. For people like you that believe in the Guatemalan dream. “Podrán cortar todas las flores, pero no podrán detener la primavera.”- Pablo Neruda
In 1988, a group of teachers got together to create a school that would not only offer Spanish instruction but also denounce these murders and raise international awareness about Guatemala. Therefore, every Monday morning I give a 90 minute orientation to new students focusing on the last 100 years of Guatemala, highlighting major historical events and statistical data about present day and stats regarding the 36 years of internal conflict where over 200,000 men, women, and children were murdered, 440 villages massacred through a political campaign called "tierra arrasada" or "scorched earth" and 1.5 million people displaced. And I never forget to tell these new students how the United States fully supported this war, the repressive climate, and oppressive military regime. The US carried out a coup in 1954 ending the democratic spring and democratic government and later the US provided financial assistance, military weapons and equipment to the Guatemalan army, and provided training to the military dictators at the School of the Americas (today currently known as the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation). The number one enemies of the state at the time were the “guerillas.” This term is used to refer to the men and women that went and trained in the mountains to fight against the military regime. The war ended in 1996 with the signing of the Peace Accords but although there is no war, people still die at the same right as if there were a war going on. Violence, poverty, and hunger are common realities in this country.
After orientation students start classes and I head to the office to respond to an inbox full of emails, questions, and registrations from future students. During the rest of the day, students come in and out of the office to pay tuition, to chat, ask questions, complain or give thanks because they love their teacher. Some things I hear are “I think I have bed bugs, look at my legs?” Or “Where can I volunteer?” or “I started dating my host brother and now we are having problems, should I move out?” Every Friday night is graduation night where we have music, dinner, and singing. Its tradition to sing “Bella Chao” and have the whole school singing “Soy communista toda la vida!” Ha!Ha!
The school plans daily excursions and hikes within the area and show documentaries and films in our presentation room. I translate conferences (or guest speakers) three times a week. Conferences are different every week and are geared toward educating students about Guatemala. Some conference titles include; The Guerilla Radio Station “Voz Popular,” Women in Guatemala, Mayan Spirituality, the Politics of Rios Montt, or The Damage of Mining Companies. The most touching and difficult conferences are personal testimonies. Those who come to talk about a massacre they witnessed, their experience living in the mountains as a guerilla, or an experience as a refugee. The most difficult one thus far was today with the story of Don Pedro. Don Pedro was a leader (and still is a leader) of a cooperative of campesino workers in 1985. His cooperative offered people credit to purchase, provided training to people on human rights and helped organized his community. During the civil war, the military targeted various groups and individuals that were suspected of being “against” the state, for being “subversives” or “communist” so this included union workers, university students, professors, lawyers, and community leaders, even priests and nuns. If you were caught or even suspected of giving food or medical attention to anyone in the guerilla front, this was an automatic death sentence. The army had control over the state and governed the country so there was no such thing as having a trial or investigation into crimes committed by the army.
Don Pedro was suspected of being part of the guerilla front and in 1985 he was kidnapped from his own home by the army, tortured and held captive for 14 days. By some miracle he survived for returning after capture was unheard of. He came to the school today to share his story. He was honest and vulnerable and humbly narrated his experience. As the translator, I repeat everything using first person. For example, he said “Sacaron mi ropa, estaba desnudo en el piso, mis manos y pies atados, y me golpearon.” And I would translate “They took off all my clothes, I was naked on the floor, my hands and feet were tired, and they beat me.” As he went deeper and further into the story, I wasn’t sure if I was capable of repeating such cruelty. I’ve never had any formal training on translating so nothing could have really prepared me for this. Listening to a story is one thing, but having to repeat in front of a group is another. “They bit both my ears and then took a machete and kept hitting my face with it. They put me into this hole about the size of this room. And every day they would interrogate me demand that I talk. They would beat me some more. One day, they took a noose and put it around my neck…they would hang me and then they would drop me. Another day, they dropped big rocks onto my stomach. Another day, they said they were going to burn me if I didn’t give up information. So they put a gallon of gasoline and firewood next to me. Once they asked me if I was thirsty and then urinated on me and said “Drink this.” After 8 days of no food or water, my entire body was black from bruises and not an inch free from a wound...I would ask God to kill me and end this hell. When I was finally released I realized that I was being held in a parish and I saw a huge crucifix on the front of the building.” He told the details of his story for about an hour and a half and ended by telling us that his family fled to Mexico when he got word that the army was coming back for him. And after this intense story the only thing he asked of his audience was "to speak to others in your home country about what has happened here."
Don Pedro, you are so brave to tell your story in front of strangers. To relive those horrific moments, the details of your torture. You inspire me. How do you still believe in God? How are you not bitter? How do you not want to kill? How do you still have hope for Guatemala? I would have asked you these questions myself, but didn’t have the strength to do so without crying profusely. I didn’t think it was fair to cry and take any attention away from your story. I am just the messenger and translator and my only goal was to make sure I conveyed your story how you told it. But that wasn’t easy Don Pedro because when you started to cry and when I saw your mind was back in that place, back in that hole, all I wanted to do was stop writing and stop listening and give you a hug, tell you how great you are...but again this is not about me. So I just continued. I held back the lump in my throat but couldn’t help the tears welding in my eyes. I hope I didn’t fail in telling your story and I hope you saw my tears as a symbol of my solidarity to you in that moment. All the students in the room were patiently listening, suffering inside, and completely present with you. Though language was a barrier for many of the beginner Spanish students and though not everyone understood your words, they understood your story. Thank you Don Pedro.
We put away the chairs in our small conference room and the students individually thanked Don Pedro for his story. The light chatter in the room gently shifted to the upcoming soccer game that night and students headed back to class. “Can I take a picture with you?” One of the students asked Don Pedro. “Yes” he says. As the room empties, I look at the new mural up on the wall and remember why we chose that quote located in the center. For people like you Don Pedro, who cannot be defeated and who continue to have hope. For people like you that believe in the Guatemalan dream. “Podrán cortar todas las flores, pero no podrán detener la primavera.”- Pablo Neruda
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Dream
Last night I dreamt I was leaving a concert. There were people everywhere; I saw a few of my cousins, an old friend from high school and Justin Timberlake. I have absolutely no connection or infatuation with Justin so as to why he was there, who knows? Anyway, on my way back “home” I walk thru this large building with several corridors, salons, and hallways. I realized that I lost my back pack and quickly start to panic. Where is my back pack? I search all over the place and I can’t find it. I’m upset and enter this room where a person was awaiting me, sitting behind a desk. I told this person, “I can’t find my back pack.” I suddenly realized I was being rude and that I did not introduce myself. “So sorry, I’m Tiana, excuse me for not remembering your name, but I can’t find my back pack.” This person already knew who I was and told me “That’s not a problem, Tiana. There is nothing in your back pack that you need.” He places a mirror on top of his desk in front of me and I look at myself. I'm crying with tears running down my face. I look so sad and I try and figure out why he placed this mirror in front of me. “But I really want to learn Spanish” I told him. He replied “That’s not a problem either” and he shakes his hands in the air at me as if I’m being ridiculous. “And why are you worried about your brother and sister? That does not do you any good.” I look back in the mirror and calm myself down until the tears go away and my face looks refreshed. “Oh, ok” I replied “I guess I don’t have any problems.” His words were simple and brought me back to the present moment. No need for tears or that sad girl in the mirror. There was nothing I needed that I didn’t already have. “I’ll see you tomorrow at 1:30pm” said the man. As I turn to leave his office, my back pack was on the floor in front of me. I picked it up, put it on my back and left. What’s the moral of the story?
Why Guatemala?
Many people ask me, why Guatemala? If you could be anywhere in the world, why there? There is political corruption, poverty and violence. It’s not your typical tourist spot or vacation destination. it’s dangerous! Last year, 5,975 people were murdered in the country (about 16 people die daily here from violence, and this does not include death by natural causes, disease, or hunger) But I think that it is more dangerous to live in the routine of unconsciousness and complacency. So why Guatemala? The same thing could be asked about our partners. Why do we fall in love with our spouses, boyfriends or girlfriends? For some unexplainable reason, I am attracted to this country for both its beauty and tragedy. For how I feel when I walk through the streets of Xela or when I listen to the language. It’s the food, the air, the cobble stone roads, the mountains, the children, the narrow sidewalks and street vendors. In a way, I did not seek Guatemala, she chose me. She appeared to me in an email and called to me like a child tugging on her father’s pant leg. “Hey, look at me, I want to show you something!” I came to Guatemala with no expectations, no preconceived notions. I came to her naked and desperate. In search of my language that was lost as a result of assimilation in the US. I came in search of my grandmother’s native tongue. My actions often are not driven by rational or logic. I’m a “feeler” that is intuitive and spiritual. It just felt like the right thing to do. I’ve been called crazy, bold, naïve, and fearless. I’m not sure what I am but I just know that us humans do drastic things sometimes to follow our hearts. And I have faith that at the end of my life, I will confidently say “I have no regrets.” That I will have had lived to the fullest, took chances, loved deeply, failed and succeeded all while helping a few people live better along the way. How many people can say that?
Encounters with Death
Numero 1: The day after Christmas, I went to the beach with a couple friends to Playa Tulate. While my home state of CT was cold, cold, cold at the beginning of its winter season, I was sipping tequila and pineapple soda in the sand. Aside from the perverted, ice cream attendant that was taking cell phone photos of the gringas in their bathing suits, I was quiet content laying in the sun, listening to the ocean waves. Lunch was a plate of fresh grilled fish seasoned with garlic and salt accompanied with a side of French fries. After lunch, I decided to go for a quick dip before laying out in the sun. I was alone in the water about waist deep, day dreaming about ordering another grilled fish, but this time maybe I would try the tilapia. Without knowing how, the water was up to my neck and the shore seemed really far away. I started to swim back, but realized I wasn’t making progress, in fact I was moving further away from shore. The waves got stronger and stronger, pulling me back so I tryed different swimming strokes to beat the current. I was getting tired and I didn’t think anyone noticed me. The waves kept coming and coming, and I kept struggling and struggling. I tried to do the international symbol for “help, I’m drowning out here.” But I don’t know if anyone saw me. After a couple minutes I thought to myself “I’m going to die.” I was getting tired, I was running out of breath, I didn’t think I could hold on much longer. Out of nowhere, like a knight in shining armor, appeared 45 year old Guatemalan life guard in a little, red Speedo. I lived to see another day.
Numero 2: A few days after the destructive earthquake in Haiti, Guatemala got shaken by a strong earthquake as well. Around 10am, I was in the office standing over my desk looking at some papers. I thought I lost my balance because I fell into the desk but in reality the entire school building wobbled back and forth and I could feel the ground beneath me move. Will everything collapse? I thought to myself “Today is a nice day to die, but I’m still not ready yet.” There was little to no damage in the country and I lived to see another day.
Numero 3: Monday night seemed like any old night Monday. After dinner and a shower, I got into bed with a book. I was looking forward to a good night sleep because I had to get up early the next morning for work. My roommate hopped in the bathroom after me to shower as well. Within a few minutes, I heard this crackling, hissing sound. The lazy part of me tried to ignore it but my instinct told me I better get up and see where the sound was coming from. I followed the sound to outside the bathroom door where the gas tank was located. Our shower water is heated by gas. One must turn on the gas, light the pilot, and the furnace turns on. I looked closely under the furnace just in time to see one of the pipes smoking and melting. “Shut the water off” I yelled and quickly looked down to turn off the gas. As I switched the gas off, something burst and exploded in my face. I don’t know where it came from nor did I look because my first reaction was to back away and run. There was a loud hissing noise and it sounded like some type of air was spraying all over the place. I thought to myself “Oh shit, The pilot light is still on, that is gas and the house is gonna explode.” “Get out of the shower!” I yelled again, this time with urgency and worry. The air blowing thru the second floor like a rocket ship lifting off to outer space got louder and louder. A burning, rubber smell filled the air. “Get out of the house!” For whatever reason my roommate thought it was best to take his chances inside that bathroom. Just as I was exiting the house, the noise and air stopped. I wasn’t sure if it was safe to go back upstairs but I did. We were left with a broken pipe and a mini flood on the second floor. During the next few hours, my roommates and I soaked up the water on the second floor with towels and buckets. Where is a water vacuum when you really need one?
Numero 2: A few days after the destructive earthquake in Haiti, Guatemala got shaken by a strong earthquake as well. Around 10am, I was in the office standing over my desk looking at some papers. I thought I lost my balance because I fell into the desk but in reality the entire school building wobbled back and forth and I could feel the ground beneath me move. Will everything collapse? I thought to myself “Today is a nice day to die, but I’m still not ready yet.” There was little to no damage in the country and I lived to see another day.
Numero 3: Monday night seemed like any old night Monday. After dinner and a shower, I got into bed with a book. I was looking forward to a good night sleep because I had to get up early the next morning for work. My roommate hopped in the bathroom after me to shower as well. Within a few minutes, I heard this crackling, hissing sound. The lazy part of me tried to ignore it but my instinct told me I better get up and see where the sound was coming from. I followed the sound to outside the bathroom door where the gas tank was located. Our shower water is heated by gas. One must turn on the gas, light the pilot, and the furnace turns on. I looked closely under the furnace just in time to see one of the pipes smoking and melting. “Shut the water off” I yelled and quickly looked down to turn off the gas. As I switched the gas off, something burst and exploded in my face. I don’t know where it came from nor did I look because my first reaction was to back away and run. There was a loud hissing noise and it sounded like some type of air was spraying all over the place. I thought to myself “Oh shit, The pilot light is still on, that is gas and the house is gonna explode.” “Get out of the shower!” I yelled again, this time with urgency and worry. The air blowing thru the second floor like a rocket ship lifting off to outer space got louder and louder. A burning, rubber smell filled the air. “Get out of the house!” For whatever reason my roommate thought it was best to take his chances inside that bathroom. Just as I was exiting the house, the noise and air stopped. I wasn’t sure if it was safe to go back upstairs but I did. We were left with a broken pipe and a mini flood on the second floor. During the next few hours, my roommates and I soaked up the water on the second floor with towels and buckets. Where is a water vacuum when you really need one?
Friday, December 4, 2009
Lago Atitlan
I visited Lake Atitlan this past weekend. It was a relaxing weekend in one of the most beautiful places in the world.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
The Past Few Weeks
Happy belated Thanksgiving! It’s been a few weeks since I have written. Lets see if I can recap. Overall, everything is still going well. My only complaint is that I have lost weight and I didn’t think it was possible for my breast to get any smaller; but they have. Maybe that is God’s plan to keep me humble? Or a curse bestowed upon me the morning I was born when my father asked my mother “Do you think she will have breast one day?” I still don’t know if that story is true and one might think that it is odd and somewhat perverted that a father would ask such a question. So I’m just going to change the subject and move on to my next thought.
During the past few weeks, I had the chance to visit “Fuentes Georginas” which is a natural hot spring with Jacuzzi like pools cut out in the mountains. The steaming, medicinal water was very relaxing and by the end of the day my hands and feet looked like prunes. It’s the closest thing to a bath I have had since I have been here since all the homes only have showers.
One night my legs and stomach were attacked by an unknown predator. I woke up one morning, itchy and with red bumps on my body. My host mom thought I had an allergic reaction to food, I thought I had creepy crawlers in my bed. Whatever the case may be, I bruised myself scratching too hard. I changed my bed sheets immediately, washed all my clothes, and luckily within a few days the bites went away.
On November 3, I participated in a Mayan ceremony on the anniversary of my grandmother’s death. Without going into detail, I told Sergio about it and he thought that this was a really bad idea. He is Christian and believes that it’s possible that this priestess put a spell on me or something. I’m not too concerned about this woman wanting to eat my soul. I enjoyed the ceremony and found it quit therapeutic and peaceful. But I’m sure he is praying to Jesus for me right now. He grew up in a very religious home so I can understand his concern. On Halloween, his mother told me to ask the Lord to cleanse my body and rid it of any bad spirits before I entered her house that night. I told her “ok, no problem.” I mean, who wants bad spirits following them? I believe in God and I think there are many forms of worship, meditation, or prayer. As long as my head doesn’t start spinning like the girl in the exorcist, I think I’ll be fine. I’m open to learning about other religions and spiritualities.
Translating conferences continues to be a challenge but I can tell that I am improving. Some of my new vocabulary this week included the following words: clandestine operations, neo- liberalism, trans-culturalization, bio fuel, agrarian reform, impunity, patronage, extra judiciary, legislative chamber of labor, open pit mining, paleolithic, vindicate, African palm oil, fair trade agreement, and gross domestic product…some of which I have no idea what they mean in English. I’m not complaining, just pointing out why this process might take a while.
I know I’m happy because the usual annoyances that would typically bother me; don’t. I don’t mind the fact that my shower only has two temperatures; cold and scolding hot. Or that my bathroom sink has two speeds; dribble or fire hose. I don’t mind that sometimes the electricity goes out or that there is no running water in the house for hours. My bank account was over drafted by $400 last week but hey whatever’s… My sister is mailing me packets of Swiss miss hot chocolate. Its freaking cold at night. Xela is located about
Some of the things I really like about living here: Life is simple. I know I speak with someone with a lot of privilege, as a
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Laundry Time
Most families here wash clothes by hand or if they have a washer, they dry all clothes outside on the line. Since I didn’t want my underwear blowing in the breeze for the whole family to see. I chose to bring my clothes to a laundry mat the other day. All laundry mats here are full service; You can’t do your own clothes. To wash, dry, and fold, it costs about 15Q ($2) per small load. I dropped off my bag and a few hours later I returned to pick up my laundry. This guy handed me my bag with a big smile. I said “Gracias” and I headed home. I put my clothes away and felt a little weirded out at that fact that this man was probably the one that hand rolled each one of my panties into perfect, little, palm sized balls. I could have juggled with them. Although this guy may have experience folding women´s undergarments, I’m gonna look for a female lead laundry service next time.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Full Service
The other day I woke up to find a yound mayan woman mopping the floors. "Buenos dias" I said and she politely smiled back and said "Buenos dias." Its not uncommon for families to hire someone to help around the house. But the mere fact that this woman/girl didn´t look any older than 15, completely disturbed me. Shouldn´t she be in school? Why is this child cleaning the house? I left that morning and returned home for lunch and as I walked in the kitchen, I saw her again, this time eating lunch by herself. I sat at the kitchen table with grandma. I was completely bothered at the fact that the "hired help" was sitting in a separate place, facing the wall, sitting at the counter. Why am I so upset at the fact she sits at a different table? Is it because I never had a maid or servant growing up? Is it because I think everyone should have the right to sit at the same table regardless if you are the hired help? WTF!!! She is a human being, let her sit at the table like everyone else! Do I invite her to the kitchen table? Do I say something to the family?Its not my house or family to be making such decisions. I am merely a guest. The next day at lunch, I sat at the kitchen table and there was Leticia or "Lety" sitting at the counter with her back to us. I had the great idea to play stupid and ask questions. When Leticia finished lunch and left the kitchen, I asked my host mom "Why is she sitting at the counter and not the table?" "Becasue there is no room at the kitchen table." She said. I thought to myself.....Rigghhhttttttt....there´s no room....lets just keep it real and not make excuses. To give her credit, that day there technically was no space because me, grandma, cousin, and mom were at the table. (its a really small table) but yesterday the table wasn´t full nor was it full the day after. So I retreated and said nothing more, knowing very well that the maid doesn´t and shouldn´t sit with the family. Come to find out, Lety is really 15 years old and will be living with us for a while. Lety is in school, but its school vacation time. What a way to spend winter break, being a personal servant! Maybe its her young age that bothers me? Someone her age should be at art camp or something else during break. Maybe its how they sometimes refer to her as "Niña" (girl) instead of by her first name. Maybe she is really happy she has a job, and I should just stop analyzing it? I asked her if she likes to read and she said yes. The only book I had on me was "Guatemala Nunca Mas" which is the story and history of Guatemala, kinda the real version, written from a progressive and leftest perspective. So I gave her the book and told her she can keep it as long as she wants. Maybe she will read it and become an activist or something. Maybe she will grow up and teach others that everyone should be welcome at the same table... because I don´t know how to do that.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
My Address and phone number
Proyecto Linguistico Quetzaltecto
5A Calle, 2-40, Zona 1
Apdo. 114
Quetzaltenango, Guatemala
Central America
phone number: Dial 011 than country area code (502) my number is 4881-5115. Once again it is 011-502-4881-5115
5A Calle, 2-40, Zona 1
Apdo. 114
Quetzaltenango, Guatemala
Central America
phone number: Dial 011 than country area code (502) my number is 4881-5115. Once again it is 011-502-4881-5115
Sunday, October 25, 2009
My Mother
One year ago today, I remember your death. And before that, I remember the last night the nurses came in to the room to change your gown. I saw your naked body; yellow and swollen. You lay cramped and stiff. I wiped the mucus foaming in your nose and heard the gargles in each breath. Your final stage of life reflected the years of damage and neglect. How you drank and drank and drank to come to such a point. How you gave up, how you must have felt so alone, how you questioned God’s existence. I will not judge your decisions or pretend to know what it was like to be you. I will not be ashamed that you were my mother. You purposely slipped away in the early morning hours while I was resting my eyes. And I awoke to the peace in the room, your body still, warm. I remember how your left arm and hand felt and how your face was smiling. It was just me and you in the room along with the grey light humming thru the hospital window. I was with you in the end, did you see me watching you?
I’m sitting outside in the community of Santa Anita and it’s about 6:15am. Volcano Santiaguito has just erupted and I can see the smoke in the distance. The smoke reminds me of your cigarettes. As the clouds drift across the sky, they cover the glorious mountains. I am reminded that although I can’t see you, that doesn’t mean you aren’t there. Where have you been the past year? There are birds chirping, dogs barking, crickets singing, roosters cocking, bugs buzzing, and a gentlemen sweeping the patio; preparing to lay down coffee beans in the sun. With a few deep breaths and a clear mind I hear “Yes, I saw you watching me and I’ve been waiting in the mountains. “
I’m sitting outside in the community of Santa Anita and it’s about 6:15am. Volcano Santiaguito has just erupted and I can see the smoke in the distance. The smoke reminds me of your cigarettes. As the clouds drift across the sky, they cover the glorious mountains. I am reminded that although I can’t see you, that doesn’t mean you aren’t there. Where have you been the past year? There are birds chirping, dogs barking, crickets singing, roosters cocking, bugs buzzing, and a gentlemen sweeping the patio; preparing to lay down coffee beans in the sun. With a few deep breaths and a clear mind I hear “Yes, I saw you watching me and I’ve been waiting in the mountains. “
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Spirituality
I´m happy to say that i´m in a very peaceful place here in Quetzaltenango (a.k.a Xela) After a rough couple years, I feel stronger than ever and i´m just going with the flow. One of the students at the school, Wendy, has agreed to help translate workshops with me. Before every conference, I research the topic and review potential vocab. And if I don´t understand something I just think to myself "There are worst things in life than not understanding Spanish." I´m also learning alot about Mayan religion/spirituality from Willy. According to my birthday, my Mayan spirit or "nahual" is the owl carring a lot of wisdom from my ancestors. Mayans believe that humans live a total of 13 lives throughout history and that I am already on my 10th life. Willy is only on his 7th life so I told him he has to listen to me because i´m his elder (Ha! Ha!) I felt a little sad at the thought that I only have 3 lives left and at the same time thought my many lives could explain why I feel connected to so many people on this earth. When I was born I also inherited all the pain and characteristics of my four grandparents. "That´s a lot of baggage!" I told him "What am i suppose to do with all that?" "I don´t know, I´m just telling you how it is." Willy explained some Mayan mathamatical calculation on how every26 years there is a change in a person´s life and that every 52 years a person is born just like you. That this happens within families and is connected to DNA. I didn´t really understand this concept but thought to myself, who was 52 when I was born? The first person that came to mind was my grandmother that passed last November. She was born in 1928, I was born in 1980, which means she would have been exactly 52 years old when I was born. Willy said "Yes, you are your grandmother." I was completely amazed. For one, it was too much of a coinsidence. Willy had no idea about my grandmother´s age or that I was very close to her. And two, because when she passed many people compared me to her. I am able to love, because she loved me dearly. She will always be one of my favorite people. Willy also talked about how Mayan´s believe that the human societal cycle is every 5,200 years and the year 2012 will be year five thousand two hundred. Now that doesn´t mean the world is going to end it means that a new cycle will begin and that our universe will actually shift, move and occuply a different space in the universe. The last 13 years of this cycle (representing the 13 lives of a person) will become more and more intense as we approach 2012. Which we have already seen in terms of natural disaters, wars, crisis etc.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Weekend
Last Saturday morning, Willy, Jessica, Miguel and I visited one of the counties of Quetzaltenango named Cajola. Cajola is an area made up of 95% "Mam" which is one of the indigineous, Mayan groups in the country. 34% of this community (mostly men) migrated and are currently living in the US. The leaders of the community are former immigrants of the US and are active in developing their community socially, economically, and politically. Cajola has a huge chicken farm that produces 40,000 eggs per month and the 23 women that run the farm earn more than a college professor. Miguel is from Canada and will be teaching computer classes there. Jessica is Guatemalan but spent the majority of her life in the US. When I told her I was from Connecticut, she said in English "Hey, we are neighbors, I´m from Providence." She is currently working in Guatemala as the international liason for the University of Virginia and she is studying psychology at the University of San Carlos. For her thesis she will be working in Cajola and will examine the pscycological effects in women whose spouses have immigrated to the US. She has done a lot of youth and activist work in the states and in Guatemala. I´d like to work with her on a project sometime, she is "buena onda." Seems like a great person!
My friends from Guatemala will appreciate this next experience i´m going to write about. Sorry i´m not gonna give much context, but i wanted to let you know that on Wednesday night i went to check out the salsa club scene. And there I ran into Werner! He was very surprised to see me and gave me a big hug which slowed turned into a head lock and eventually spun out into a salsa turn. Don´t ask me how, it just happened! "I can´t believe you are here!" he said. I danced a lot with him the last time I was here. Things haven´t changed much with him... he is still flamboyant in his dancing, tall, big smile, and still smoking crack. yes, that is not a typo, the guy is on the pipe. He is very talented musically and has the potential to be gorgeous minus the sweat, blood shot eyes, and shakes. The whole bar scene, loud music, alcohol, and crowdedness was really fucking with my inner light. I don´t think i´ll be doing much dancing this time around. Though I love salsa, I´m just not in the mood for that environment. I´m gonna look into singing. Werner did take me home later that night, but like all good crack heads...he bummed 20Q off me.
Monday night, I went to see the band "Los Guaraguao." Originally from Venezuela, they were/are considered a revolutionary band and have been around for 36 years. They are well known for their songs of protests. Some of my favorites songs include "Casas de carton" (cardboard houses) that talk about the poor people of the country living on the street. "No basta rezar" (Its not enough to pray) meaning in the movement for change you have to take action. Many other songs I heard that night were fun and upbeat. During the Guatemalan civil war in (1960-1996) if someone was caught with the music of Los Guaragua, (especially during the 80s) you could easily be shot and killed by the army. So for them to be playing live, inside a former military base, stirred up a mix of emotions expressed by some of the Guatemalan activists that were around during the most oppressive years of the war. Overall, it was a good time with great music. And I always admire bands that after so many years they "Still got it going on!"
My friends from Guatemala will appreciate this next experience i´m going to write about. Sorry i´m not gonna give much context, but i wanted to let you know that on Wednesday night i went to check out the salsa club scene. And there I ran into Werner! He was very surprised to see me and gave me a big hug which slowed turned into a head lock and eventually spun out into a salsa turn. Don´t ask me how, it just happened! "I can´t believe you are here!" he said. I danced a lot with him the last time I was here. Things haven´t changed much with him... he is still flamboyant in his dancing, tall, big smile, and still smoking crack. yes, that is not a typo, the guy is on the pipe. He is very talented musically and has the potential to be gorgeous minus the sweat, blood shot eyes, and shakes. The whole bar scene, loud music, alcohol, and crowdedness was really fucking with my inner light. I don´t think i´ll be doing much dancing this time around. Though I love salsa, I´m just not in the mood for that environment. I´m gonna look into singing. Werner did take me home later that night, but like all good crack heads...he bummed 20Q off me.
Monday night, I went to see the band "Los Guaraguao." Originally from Venezuela, they were/are considered a revolutionary band and have been around for 36 years. They are well known for their songs of protests. Some of my favorites songs include "Casas de carton" (cardboard houses) that talk about the poor people of the country living on the street. "No basta rezar" (Its not enough to pray) meaning in the movement for change you have to take action. Many other songs I heard that night were fun and upbeat. During the Guatemalan civil war in (1960-1996) if someone was caught with the music of Los Guaragua, (especially during the 80s) you could easily be shot and killed by the army. So for them to be playing live, inside a former military base, stirred up a mix of emotions expressed by some of the Guatemalan activists that were around during the most oppressive years of the war. Overall, it was a good time with great music. And I always admire bands that after so many years they "Still got it going on!"
Friday, October 16, 2009
Arrival in Guatemala
Sergio’s sister, Andrea, and her boyfriend, Venicio, picked me up at the airport. Instead of taking a bus to the city of Quetzaltenango , I got the VIP treatment of door to door service. They greeted me with kisses and smiles. They are a cute young couple, she being only 18 and he, 24. The relationship is very new and as they make conversation with me, they flirt and play games with each other the whole way there. They are at the honeymoon stage; excited, happy, not a care in the world, which honestly just makes me want to vomit, more so out of jealousy because I wish I was there again; falling in love. The ride up the mountain to the city is beautiful; filled with green, rolling mountains, fields of corn, and your occasional restaurant and roadside stand where you can buy a cup of hot, atol or an ear of corn from a Mayan family. Atol is a creamy, sweet, corn drink. Though I didn’t think I would enjoy drinking corn, it was quite tasty.
When I reached the house, Sergio’s mom, grandmother and youngest sister, Gabby, welcomed me. I was exhausted from the trip and all I wanted to do was unpack and sleep. Before doing so I used the bathroom, completely forgetting that you can’t throw toilet paper in the toilets, you have to put all paper in the trash. “Shit” I said, flushing the toilet anyway praying for some odd reason, it will go down at least this once...but it didnt. For fear I will ruin the whole plumbing system, I quickly reach into the toilet and pull out my used toilet paper(Gross!)…followed by a thorough hand washing.
The next day, I went to the school, Proyecto Linguistico Quetzalteco, to meet with the director, Carlos. Carlos and the teachers were very happy to see me and to finally have a permanent student coordinator for the school. For months the school has been working with varias people filling in. He put me right to work and asked if I could translate a workshop in the afternoon. “I can try” I told him knowing that I would probably struggle in front of everyone especially being that the topic was about land reform and politics in Guatemala. There is nothing like some good old fashion embarassment to break you into the job. There´s a lot of difficult vocab in that subject. Needless to say, in front of the class, I fumbled a lot and at times said “Sorry I don´t understand.” The merciful, more advanced Spanish speaking students in the audience helped translate the conference.
In the afternoon, I met my friend Willy and we walked to café La Luna for hot chocolate. I met Willy two years ago in Guatemala when he gave a conference at the school on the status of Guatemala immigrants in the US . He is filled with historical and political knowledge. Willy is the epitome of an activist and human rights organizer. So much so that when I asked him if he had a girlfriend, he told me “No, Guatemala is my girlfriend and I want her to be divorced from the oppression husband she is with.” And though he was married to a US citizen for 10 years he refused to become a citizen himself in protest to the US government and their participation in the repression and violence bestowed upon the indigenous people of Guatemala . He is an activist and leader in both Guatemala and across the US , organizing people and working for the economic, social, and political development of Guatemala. Aside from years of work that accumilate to a list too large to write, he recently started the organization----- and is currently working on 8 different projects in Guatemala, mostly targeted at youth groups. ---- mission is to create economic development by building an international network of community-run cooperatives in Guatemala , provide work-skills for Guatemalan immigrants in the US and to educate the American consumer interested in Fair-Trade and Organic principles. After we drank hot chocolate, he proudly showed me the new office. For about an hour he shared with me a brief history of his life story. He is brilliant, witty, and kind but in the depths of his eyes it is evident that he is heavily burdened and plagued by the horror, war, death, fear, and untold stories that live inside him. For a moment, any pain or sadness I’ve ever felt seemed like a simple, pinch in the arm. It was no surprise when he said he has trouble sleeping every night.
Later on in the evening he said ¨Tiana, I´m going to help you with your Spanish.” (He went to the conference and witnessed my first attempt at translating) I was very excited about his offer to help with my Spanish and wanted to offer something in return. I told him “I can help you cry… like help release some of the stress you carry.” He said “Yes, that’s a good idea; I think you were sent here to help me with that."
I end the day with a late dinner at the home of my former host family; Carmen, Hector and their two daughters Cecy (18 years old) and Maria Jose (10 years old). We laugh the whole night, recapping the times I used to live with them. Our dinner consisted of eggs, beans, platenos, and bread. Carmen assured me that she would be calling me to come over for dinner often and that I am welcomed to come over anytime. "Come take a shower, take a nap, or visit" She said. The family also told me they had no problem kicking out their current guest if I should want to live with them again.
When I reached the house, Sergio’s mom, grandmother and youngest sister, Gabby, welcomed me. I was exhausted from the trip and all I wanted to do was unpack and sleep. Before doing so I used the bathroom, completely forgetting that you can’t throw toilet paper in the toilets, you have to put all paper in the trash. “Shit” I said, flushing the toilet anyway praying for some odd reason, it will go down at least this once...but it didnt. For fear I will ruin the whole plumbing system, I quickly reach into the toilet and pull out my used toilet paper(Gross!)…followed by a thorough hand washing.
The next day, I went to the school, Proyecto Linguistico Quetzalteco, to meet with the director, Carlos. Carlos and the teachers were very happy to see me and to finally have a permanent student coordinator for the school. For months the school has been working with varias people filling in. He put me right to work and asked if I could translate a workshop in the afternoon. “I can try” I told him knowing that I would probably struggle in front of everyone especially being that the topic was about land reform and politics in Guatemala. There is nothing like some good old fashion embarassment to break you into the job. There´s a lot of difficult vocab in that subject. Needless to say, in front of the class, I fumbled a lot and at times said “Sorry I don´t understand.” The merciful, more advanced Spanish speaking students in the audience helped translate the conference.
In the afternoon, I met my friend Willy and we walked to café La Luna for hot chocolate. I met Willy two years ago in Guatemala when he gave a conference at the school on the status of Guatemala immigrants in the US . He is filled with historical and political knowledge. Willy is the epitome of an activist and human rights organizer. So much so that when I asked him if he had a girlfriend, he told me “No, Guatemala is my girlfriend and I want her to be divorced from the oppression husband she is with.” And though he was married to a US citizen for 10 years he refused to become a citizen himself in protest to the US government and their participation in the repression and violence bestowed upon the indigenous people of Guatemala . He is an activist and leader in both Guatemala and across the US , organizing people and working for the economic, social, and political development of Guatemala. Aside from years of work that accumilate to a list too large to write, he recently started the organization----- and is currently working on 8 different projects in Guatemala, mostly targeted at youth groups. ---- mission is to create economic development by building an international network of community-run cooperatives in Guatemala , provide work-skills for Guatemalan immigrants in the US and to educate the American consumer interested in Fair-Trade and Organic principles. After we drank hot chocolate, he proudly showed me the new office. For about an hour he shared with me a brief history of his life story. He is brilliant, witty, and kind but in the depths of his eyes it is evident that he is heavily burdened and plagued by the horror, war, death, fear, and untold stories that live inside him. For a moment, any pain or sadness I’ve ever felt seemed like a simple, pinch in the arm. It was no surprise when he said he has trouble sleeping every night.
Later on in the evening he said ¨Tiana, I´m going to help you with your Spanish.” (He went to the conference and witnessed my first attempt at translating) I was very excited about his offer to help with my Spanish and wanted to offer something in return. I told him “I can help you cry… like help release some of the stress you carry.” He said “Yes, that’s a good idea; I think you were sent here to help me with that."
I end the day with a late dinner at the home of my former host family; Carmen, Hector and their two daughters Cecy (18 years old) and Maria Jose (10 years old). We laugh the whole night, recapping the times I used to live with them. Our dinner consisted of eggs, beans, platenos, and bread. Carmen assured me that she would be calling me to come over for dinner often and that I am welcomed to come over anytime. "Come take a shower, take a nap, or visit" She said. The family also told me they had no problem kicking out their current guest if I should want to live with them again.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Packing
My flight is in a few hours and i'm still packing, going over the list in my head, checking it over and over again. I'm anxious in a way I haven't felt since I was 18 years old when I was packing to go away to college. What do I bring? Who will I meet? What is going to happen? I've traveled before, lived in various places, started new jobs, met many people along the way and somehow this adventure seems different. I'm returning to a familiar place, but i'm excited for some unknown reason as if there is a gift waiting for me. I had dinner with a few friends this evening and my friend Jackie asked me to name the feelings i'm having. The first thing that came to mind was the musical West Side Story, where Tony sings "Something's coming, i don't know, what it is, but it is gonna be great!" I'm Tony; dancing in the alley ways, smiling, looking up at the sky, thrilled at the fact that 'something great' is coming. I know...i´m a dork!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Los Monólogos De La Vagina
Some of you may or may not know that i had the wonderful opportunity to co-direct and produce "Los Monólogos De La Vagina" (The Vagina Monologues) here in Guatemala at "El Centro Popular de Cultura Luiz Cardoza" (the cultural center attached to a progressive spanish language school in Quezaltenango). We had 24 women participate from ages 9 to 69. The majority being Guatemalan women with a mix of students and volunteers from around the globe.
I don´t think I knew what I was getting myself into when I was first asked to do the project. The buzz of vaginas soon spread throughout the school and the town. My co-director and I also had the idea of interviewing guatemalan women about their vaginas to include in the show. We traveled to various towns to interview and talk to women. We were a little nervous at first, with our thoughts being that this type of "talk" is "progressive" and "risky" in a conservative culture. But we were wrong and were able to connect and begin dialogues with women in unexpected places. The women really enjoyed talking and we often read monólogos together. One group of women were so inspired by a three hour dialogue and from reading some of the monologues that they rented a mini van to come to the show (they live an hour and a half away from Quezaltenango) My co-director and i decided to write the story of an ex-guerilla who had her first sexual experience with her boss during the civil war. We named it and I quote her "Mi Cuerpo Era Una Revolución" (My body was a revolucion) I have attached the monologue in case you want to practice your spanish. The show was this past Saturday March 1, and it was amazing! We have gotten a lot of positive feedback. We created a stage in the cultural center and set up about 140 chairs. We found this guy "Nati" from Israel who happened to be a light technition to install lights. We filled the center and then some with many people standing where ever they can find space. We raised almost 3,000 quezales for "Nuevos Horizontes" the only women and children´s shelter in Guatemala who have fled violent spouses. Though 3,000 Q is about $400 US dollars, here 400 dollars is more than a teachers salary for a month. To put into context it may be the equal to about $2,500 US dollars.The beautiful part of the project was working with every women and seeing their progress. They were awesome at developing their characters and gave their best. Hearing the audience laugh, pay attention, and listen. I loved working and not feeling like I was working. A truely proud moment for me. I wish many of you could have been there to see it. I will be flying home on March 7 and land in Boston around 11:59pm. I was hoping to do some last minute traveling this week to see Guatemala. I haven´t had the chance becuase I have been busy with this project the past month in a half. But Saturday night I sprained my ankle and now I am stuck in the house. No exciting story about how I sprained my ankle. Yes, i did it walking and fell over one small step in the park. I´m in the middle of saying my good byes, a cliché of bitter sweetness. I "graduated" from the language school this past friday and was blessed with many kind words and thanks for the work I have done at the school. My host family gave me roses and a card at the graduation. My 9 year old host sister told me she is going to break my other ankle so I can´t leave on friday. I will definately miss many people here. Brief update for you all. Words can´t always express....See many of you soon. Attached are some pictures of the show. I´ll leave you with my favorite quote for this week said by my friend, Marissa. "Cristo viene pero la vagina ya esta aquí" (Christ is coming, but the vagina is already here" It may be funnier if you lived here because there is a huge sign at the top of mountain that says "Cristo Viene." Anywho....Much love
I don´t think I knew what I was getting myself into when I was first asked to do the project. The buzz of vaginas soon spread throughout the school and the town. My co-director and I also had the idea of interviewing guatemalan women about their vaginas to include in the show. We traveled to various towns to interview and talk to women. We were a little nervous at first, with our thoughts being that this type of "talk" is "progressive" and "risky" in a conservative culture. But we were wrong and were able to connect and begin dialogues with women in unexpected places. The women really enjoyed talking and we often read monólogos together. One group of women were so inspired by a three hour dialogue and from reading some of the monologues that they rented a mini van to come to the show (they live an hour and a half away from Quezaltenango) My co-director and i decided to write the story of an ex-guerilla who had her first sexual experience with her boss during the civil war. We named it and I quote her "Mi Cuerpo Era Una Revolución" (My body was a revolucion) I have attached the monologue in case you want to practice your spanish. The show was this past Saturday March 1, and it was amazing! We have gotten a lot of positive feedback. We created a stage in the cultural center and set up about 140 chairs. We found this guy "Nati" from Israel who happened to be a light technition to install lights. We filled the center and then some with many people standing where ever they can find space. We raised almost 3,000 quezales for "Nuevos Horizontes" the only women and children´s shelter in Guatemala who have fled violent spouses. Though 3,000 Q is about $400 US dollars, here 400 dollars is more than a teachers salary for a month. To put into context it may be the equal to about $2,500 US dollars.The beautiful part of the project was working with every women and seeing their progress. They were awesome at developing their characters and gave their best. Hearing the audience laugh, pay attention, and listen. I loved working and not feeling like I was working. A truely proud moment for me. I wish many of you could have been there to see it. I will be flying home on March 7 and land in Boston around 11:59pm. I was hoping to do some last minute traveling this week to see Guatemala. I haven´t had the chance becuase I have been busy with this project the past month in a half. But Saturday night I sprained my ankle and now I am stuck in the house. No exciting story about how I sprained my ankle. Yes, i did it walking and fell over one small step in the park. I´m in the middle of saying my good byes, a cliché of bitter sweetness. I "graduated" from the language school this past friday and was blessed with many kind words and thanks for the work I have done at the school. My host family gave me roses and a card at the graduation. My 9 year old host sister told me she is going to break my other ankle so I can´t leave on friday. I will definately miss many people here. Brief update for you all. Words can´t always express....See many of you soon. Attached are some pictures of the show. I´ll leave you with my favorite quote for this week said by my friend, Marissa. "Cristo viene pero la vagina ya esta aquí" (Christ is coming, but the vagina is already here" It may be funnier if you lived here because there is a huge sign at the top of mountain that says "Cristo Viene." Anywho....Much love
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Mi Hermana de Guatemala
There is something so special about my nine year old sister, Maria José, and have grown to dearly love her. Her innocence, contagious laugh, her silliness. I couldn´t help but smile inside when one night she borrowed my diskman, and I overheard here singing really bad, off key, in broken English "No one, no one, can ge waaa what feel fo yyouuuuuu" by Alicia Keys. Yes, I have created another fan! It has become an ongoing joke to try and scare each other randomly when we are not expecting it. I often wish adults were as observant and honest as children. One night while the whole family (five of us) were eating dinner...Maria José looks at me and says "whats wrong with your eyes, have you been crying." The whole table looks ups and the mom gives Maria José a look like she shouldn´t have said that. She is the reason why i now understand why parents want to spoil their children.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Feliz Año Nuevo
(written by my friend Jessica Fyles. We spent the holidays together) I knew Christmas was here when I went to buy vegetables at the open air market (a series of vendors lined on the street). It was no longer the market I knew. The market had exploded into what felt like a minature tent city. I was blinded by the glistening sparkle of tinsel draping the vendor stalls and mesmerized by the flashing Christmas lights for sale. Everyone was out selling something....cookies, candies, music, shoes, clothes, apples, fireworks, more cookies...seriously. whatever you could possibly want to eat, wear, look at- it was there....at very reasonable prices. Walking into the market that day (and more importantly, finding my way out) was a test of my sense of direction....which I am proud to say I have. No, bright and shining green exit signs above doors here. Although I was able to find my way in and out, if I had more trouble it wouldn´t have been so bad. Reggaeton, Bachata, Salsa, Norteno (add in the accent above the second n) music snaked it´s way down each and every corridor of the market. Being lost sucks....but being lost to a beat, well I figure that ain´t so bad.
One of the greatest parts about Christmas and New Years here is fireworks and firecrackers. There are stalls and stalls and stalls of people selling crazy fireworks. These are illegal in San Francisco. Therefore, it was only natural that I felt compelled to buy many of them. I set mine off at around 10:30pm on the street in front of my hostel, without fear of police interference. I was pretty tired, so I went to lay down at 11:45pm. As I began to doze I heard a loud thunderous crack and felt a reverberation through my chest that shot my eyes open. Then, I heard more rapid cracks and through the window I could see the sky light up green, yellow, blue, red....Was it the apocalypse? No. It was the birth of Christ. Yes, at midnight, the tradition in Guatemala is that everyone sets off fireworks in front of there house to bring in Christmas Day. Á whole city lighting up the sky and awakening the night for like an hour. We are talking loud firecrackers, fireworks that shoot into the sky, sparklers....everything. It was awesome.
I had heard word that New Years Eve would be similar. That at midnight, the sky would light up a second time. My friends and i headed to a club around 11pm thinking that we would be ¨late.¨ We show up, and there is no one (and I mean no one) except the dj and security guard in this joint. At 10 min to midnight there was no one. Turns out that part of the tradition in Guatemala is that people spend midnight with their family. After midnight is when people go out to the club. (I think this is a great tradition....it seems like you get best of both worlds family and then friends. I think this kind of tradition might have saved me (and probably many other teenagers out there) a lot of unnecessary confrontation with the parents.) Anyhow, at midnight there was no official countdown, people were still sober, and we realized that we had just experienced one of those subtle cultural differences between the US and Guatemala. So, we went to the Parque Central and did our own countdown. There were lots of families and kids in the park too. And then like clockwork, at midnight, the sky lit up, the boom of firecrackers shook the ground. It was beautiful, and kicked the ass of watching a ball drop in Times Square on TV and probably in person. Absorbed in the moment, we spotted a vendor out selling her last firecrackers-works. So, of course, we bought some and got in on the action. Afterwards we went to go shake it in a club....everyone seemed to be out. We were sardines in a can. The club closed at 7am, but I only made it to 4am....We then ate cheese steak sandwiches and walked home satisfied.
Random Thoughts:This is really dumb but true. i actually miss..of all things.... big fat sidewalks. 3ft wide minimum, with no obstructions, long, good old San Francisco sidewalks. The kind of sidewalk where you can (more or less) confidently look ahead and space out a little, with the moderate glance down to avoid the really nasty stuff, and be surprised when you trip over something. In Xela (city in Guatemala), there are some really nice (but more narrow) sidewalks. However, sometimes the sidewalk takes a bit more attention- wholes appear or street light posts are blocking your way and you gotta step into the busy narrow street, sometimes there is a 1 to 2 ft step to get to the street. i can be a klutz, so all i can say is that it´s good i have strong ankles. anyhow, it made me realize what a lazy walker San Francisco had made me. I had to teach my feet and legs how to adapt, be responsive and be more versatile. They used to be less aware of their surroundings. I guess I actually don´t miss the sidewalks, i guess i just want to indulge in the privilege of walking without thinking so hard. I suppose in the end, I´m in gratitude for this experience because I´ve become a better skilled walker.,,when i get back to the States taking a stroll will probably seem way too easy. Anyhow, next time you step out of the house, take a step for me..
Sunday, January 13, 2008
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