Living the Guatemalan life... even if only for a few days

As travelers, we love to say we were able to see the "real" place where we have traveled. Of course, many realities exist within one country. We don't all live the same, eat the same, speak the same, even within the same country.

Cities like Antigua, my current home, are most definitely not considered part of the "real" Guatemala because it is a huge tourist magnet. The guidebook specifically says if you are looking for the real Guatemala, Antigua is not the place to go. Currently, I am sitting in a cafe, where only one out of six people in the room is Guatemalan. The rest are from the United States, and more keep coming in! Honestly, it is sometimes hard to feel like I am in Guatemala. This has made it more difficult for me to completely surround myself with a pure Guatemalan experience, although I think I have definitely made an effort to meet and spend time with Guatemalans. It is so easy to meet Americans or foreigners that speak English because they are everywhere and I can communicate 100 times easier. BUT I am NOT here to meet Americans in Guatemala. If I wanted to do that, I should have just stayed in New York.

Luckily, I have my job that has let me see how the majority of Guatemalans really live. Yet I still feel like an outsider, peaking my head into their lives. I ask questions, take pictures, sometimes eat with them. And then I leave. The interaction is short lived and at times unfulfilling. The best experiences I have had with the families we work with are when I can talk with them for several days, not just in a short few hours in one day. When I went to Xix with my first and so far only big volunteer group, I had an amazing time going back and forth to the houses to talk with the families, interacting with the school children and speaking with the school director. I decided this past week to go back to visit the houses in their newly constructed homes, not only to see how the families are, but also to give them the pictures I had taken that they were so excited about.

The trip ended up being much more than expected. I don't know how else to explain it. Much more exciting? More interesting? More frustrating? More "real"? More informative? The list can go on. Read on and you will understand how much more ____ it was.

Bryan and my Scottish friend Suzanne joined me to Nebaj, the largest city in the Quiche area that is en route to Xix and another village Tzotzil where we built one house. Bryan tagged along to see Domingo's house in Tzotzil since he had raised money for the house while he still worked in Constru Casa. It seems whenever I travel with Bryan, we have little luck with transportation. On the way there, our bus broke down and we had to wait about an hour for a bus from the same company to come our way. This didn't cause much of a problem, we just arrived later in the evening.

The next day we woke early to get to Xix. We had to take a minibus to Rio Azul, and thought we would be able to eat breakfast there. Unfortunately there are no restaurants or comedores, so we went to a tienda, a regular store with basic canned items and cookie type goods. The owner had his mother make us eggs and opened canned beans so we could eat a decent breakfast. We hiked about an hour and a half uphill to Xix. The scenery is just as stunning as my first trip to Xix, but I got to see it at a much slower speed. We greeted each person we passed, and the children either stared, giggled or ran when they saw us.

Striking a pose in our hike to Xix.

When we reached Xix, Jose the APRODEFI school director, gave us the same tour of the school I had seen two months ago. After the tour, we went to see the houses. We first visited Mario, the little boy that was a little ham and wanted me to take every picture of him. The moment he saw us walking up the hill, his face lit up, but he hid his emotion with a shy smile. When I showed the three pictures I printed of him, he proudly showed his brother and sisters, and they all pointed at his face in the pictures and happily giggled. I felt a little bad that I didn't have any pictures for them, but no one else wanted to be in the pictures when I took them. All the families reacted the same when they saw their pictures.

We went back to the school and sat by the Civil War Memorial as Jose told us part of the war's history in Xix as I translated for Suzanne. The Quiche area was the most affected in all of Guatemala. The army came into the villages and slaughtered the villagers. Xix is no exception. The plaque is "in memory of the over 113 massacred, assassinated, and disappeared people. For those who died of hunger, thirst, and for those who suffered psychological traumas in the village of Xix during the armed conflict. From February 16 1982 to 29 of December 1996."

Plaque outside APRODEFI school in Xix, Quiche, Guatemala.

Xix's history is as brutally sad as ones in many other surrounding towns, but that does not make it less horrific. The army came to the village and forced everyone in town into one wooden house. They burned that house and the entire village down, killing over 100 people. Those that survived fled into the mountains. Jose was part of that group of survivors. They lived off whatever they could, and had to move locations every 15 days so the army could not find them. For three years, they remained out of their home village, eating the animals and plants they could find, with no salt, sugar or any added spices or seasoning. About 150 people, or half the population, returned after three years. The army was still in place, and whenever anyone left for work the army had to check their belongings to see what the villagers brought out and back into the community.

Now, Jose said, problems still exist. "Oppression without guns," added Bryan. Exactly, Jose said. The guns are gone, but now they don't give the indigenous communities the roads, schools, transportation system and general infrastructure they need. We had seen the lack of buses that pass by to go to Xix. Although we preferred to go on our hike, locals have no other options even if they need it. Xix, may even be more developed than other areas. They have two schools, one public and one private, and a fifteen minute walk leads to a health center. Some places don't even have a school or a health center near by.

The public school does not teach the whole history since it is run by the government. Bryan asked if people still hate the army. Jose said a without a doubt, "Yes, people hate the army."

Jose talked with a somber expression. His face showed no sadness, remorse or any kind of emotion. It was as if his expression said, this is what it is. We all sat listening, with the same blank expressions. "This is horrible," Suzanne said, shocked. "It really makes you appreciate what you have at home," a statement she repeated many times later in the trip.

After the Xix visit, we moved to Chajul, one of the other bigger cities in Quiche. It is a very traditional city, and I have never been so uncomfortable walking in the streets before. Everyone stopped, turned around to stare at us. We created a wave similar to ones you see in sports stadiums, but it was of confused faces rather than a joyful arm lift. It felt almost threatening. One lady asked us, "What are you looking for?" in the tone that didn't say, can I help you, but instead what the f*** are you doing here? Other women only approached us to sell us textiles. Although the city is mentioned in the guidebooks, the people acted as if they had never seen a white person before in their lives.

The next day we woke up early to make a bus to Tzotzil to visit Domingo at his house. We were prepared to stay the night because Jose said the bus that returns to Nebaj only leaves early in the morning and we would not be able to make it. When we asked about getting to Tzotzil, people had told us every possible time the bus could leave and where it would depart. "It leaves at 9 am from the second terminal (bus station)." "It leaves at 10." "10:30." "There is no second terminal." "There is only one bus that leaves at 12." "You have to find a pickup truck." "It's a minibus that leaves at 11:30 in the street."

And the actual way to get to Tzotzil? (Drum roll please.)

To get to Tzotzil, a pickup truck leaves from the second terminal at supposedly 9am. On Thursday morning, they decided to wait til the last minute to add two spare tires and had to move them various times in the back of the pickup truck. We left an hour late. When we arrived at Chajul to pick up more passengers, they waited again another hour for what seemed to me to be no reason. Again, they moved people's bags around. The guy asked me to get up about 10 times so he could put the same bag in a different spot each time. Frustrated, I got up to go for a walk since I knew it wouldn't leave anytime soon. I went to the church around the corner and stopped in the closest store for my favorite chocobanano.

Finally (!) an hour later, the bus was on its way to Tzotzil.

Traveling in the back of a pickup truck through the mountain ranges with a group of Guatemalans makes it sound romantic. It was far from it. Usually I like a back of the pick-up truck ride, but we were jammed in packed. I first sat down below everyone, but the smell was unbearable that I had to stand. The bars I held onto shoved into my stomach and arms, and my feet were stuck in ballet fourth position between various people sitting and standing. I would switch from one position to the next, but each time found an equally uncomfortable spot. The unpaved roads made us constantly bounce up and down and back and fourth. I kept thinking about the idea of "oppression without guns." There is no other way for people who live in these communities to get to the market and back home, except in an awfully uncomfortable ride on unpaved roads. Next time I visit Tzotzil I highly doubt I will return by public transportation. If the locals ever want to leave their town, they have no other choice. After two hours, we arrived at our destination with some bruises from banging into the bars.

Bryan and I are happy campers sitting squished in the back of a pickup truck.

Domingo's house was on top of a hill that looks out to the other side of the village. He hasn't moved to the new house yet because it has been too difficult to get the windows and doors to Tzotzil due to the recent rains and mudslides. We found it difficult to connect with Domingo, particularly because his Spanish was not the best. His first language is Ixchel, a Mayan dialect. The communication difficulties became very humorous when we asked Domingo any question, and his answer was always a shake of the head and "si." Domingo, why have you not moved into the house yet? Yes. Domingo, when will you move to the house. Yes. Domingo, when does the bus come? Yes. Domingo, would you please jump up and down and wiggle around for us? Yes. For yes or no questions I wondered if he actually meant his response.

Since we had come with no food and there were no places to eat nearby, we asked Domingo to prepare some food for us. To pass the time while we waited, we kicked a soccer ball around in the new house with Domingo and kids that live nearby. I wondered if we were being rude, but Domingo didn't seem to mind. He kicked the ball as hard into the walls as the kids. The boys wanted to kick the ball extremely hard in my direction. They erupted into laughter anytime it almost hit me. After kicking the ball around for about an hour, they gave us bowls of broth with pasta. I would say the nutritional value equaled about a two on a scale from one to ten, and didn't fill us up as much as we had hoped. How can they live on this, I thought. I'm hungry already and I ate a big breakfast.

We went for a walk through the town, and again were welcomes with stares, giggles and unexpectedly a massive following of children. One child after another joined our walk until we looked like the town parade, led by some strange looking white people. They all stared at us, but the moment we looked at them to talk, they blushed and turned away.

Suzanne started taking pictures of the kids, and they got just as excited as the Xix kids to see their faces in the camera's screen. I have never seen anyone so intoxicated by seeing their pictures. They huddled around whoever had the camera and pushed their way in to see the image. All of a sudden a burst of high-pitched squeals rose at the same time. They posed for us and whenever the camera came out they were ready for their beauty shots. I am surprised anytime the kids are so excited about getting their photos taken. I heard the indigenous population does not like you to take pictures of them because they believe it takes away their soul.

We went back for dinner at Domingo's house when it started to become dark. The children turned around with us. You could tell they trusted us more. They began talking to us and even held my hand. It began to downpour as we walked back, and they mostly wore short sleeve shirts and did not have umbrellas.

We passed an old man that asked us if we had seen his house. "Yes, It's very nice," Bryan said. But the man replied, "no, it serves no purpose." Apparently, he found out that the people who build houses arrived to town. It is very common for people to ask for a house whenever they hear their neighbors are living in a new brick home. The need is so much bigger than we can ever give, which is always frustrating.

Dinner that night was another light meal of eggs. I have never been a huge fan of the tortillas here. They are very popular and everyone eats them at almost every meal. But I find them pretty bland. However, that day I realized the appeal of tortillas. Although they have little nutritional value, they fill you up. When you don't have much food, tortillas can make you feel like you are satisfied. We sat talking with the family for a little before bed.

That night, hungry and tired, we slept on wooden planks. They family gave us blankets and shirts to act as pillows. I am a fussy sleeper and I had trouble falling asleep. I sat there exhausted but unable to pass out. I also was paranoid I was surrounded by bugs, and constantly scratched my legs, face, arms, and stomach. I did eventually fall asleep, but I woke up with many bites all over my stomach.

A wooden bed with no mattress is not my first choice for a bed, but at least we had a roof over our heads!

We got up at 5 to make the 6am bus Domingo and his family had told us about. Domingo came in the room and said two trucks had already passed and another one wouldn't leave until 8. Hmph. We began to walk, thinking if we got closer to a main road, more cars would pass by. We imagined an hour or two hour nice hike. Instead, we hiked for five hours. It began to drizzle a few minutes into our walk, and slowly increased to a steady down pour.

At first, I didn't mind. I came to Quiche not only to visit the families but also because I wanted to go hiking. By the time my shoes were soaked through, I had enough of this adventurous hike. My legs were exhausted, my stomach rumbled and no cars were in sight. I had officially turned into a crank-pot. By 10:30 we reached houses that had a store in front. We bought four breads and ate them like we had never seen food before in our lives.

They invited us into their house to warm up by the fire. Although the heat was exactly what our soaked selves needed, the smoke from the fire was almost unbearable in our eyes. Most houses do not have stoves, but use an open fire with no chimney, which causes many of the families' illnesses, especially for young children. Yet, they barely notice the smoke.

With only bread in our system, our stomachs grumbled for more food. We asked the lady if she could make us something to eat and offered to pay. They shut the door to keep out the cold wind and started heating up water for coffee. Five minutes after sitting down, I heard an engine vroom outside. We opened the door just in time to see a pickup truck pass by, and the lady didn't put much effort into trying to make it stop.

This is when my breakdown kicked its way out of its shell. I wanted to cry. I felt like screaming on top of my lungs. How could we have walked for five hours straight and not a single car passed, and within 15 minutes of sitting in a warm house the one and only truck goes by without us in it? My breakdown took form in hysterical laughter as I shakily said, "I want to cry. I just want to cry. How could this happen?!"

So instead of getting home earlier, we sat and ate our one egg per person with a cup of coffee. I walked back and forth between the fire and the doorway to make sure we would not miss the next truck or bus that passed. Within an hour, six trucks came heading toward Tzotzil, but nothing came that was going to where we wanted. We ate our eggs and dried off as much as possible until a big truck came our way. I waved it down like a madman. Finally, a spark of hope came our way that we wouldn't have to walk another 3 1/2 hours to Chajul.

The truck was used to transport goods and several people sat silently on sacks that probably held rice or beans. It looked like the trucks you see in movies that haul illegal immigrants. It was not the most comfortable ride. We were pushed up and down like we were in a bouncy house any time we went over a bump, but compared to what we had been through the last five hours, we were very happy with a tarp over our heads.

Give me a bumpy ride on the back of a truck over a soaking wet 5-hour hike any day.

We arrived to Nebaj with only enough time to quickly change into dry clothes and then ran back to the bus terminal to get on the last bus that would take us to Quiche. In Quiche we caught the last bus to Chimaltenango just by a second. In Chimaltenango we made the last bus to Antigua. It seemed in a moment our luck had flipped.

A medley of the last two weeks

My mind has undoubtedly turned to mush. This past week I have lost anything of importance. It started with my passport. I tried to find it one night to show a friend my visa picture I had for Spain that looks like a mugshot. I searched my room five times over with no luck. I figured it may be at work, although I had no memory of leaving it there. Luckily, in the morning before going to work I found it jammed in the back of my case that holds all my adapters. The night before I had opened the case each time I searched the room, but the color of the passport almost matches the case's color.

Next was my keys, which was nothing more than an annoyance just because I would have to shed some cash to buy the copies. That was until I realized that the key to my New York bike lock was attached. I would have had to saw off the lock and buy my fifth lock purchase when I returned back to the States. But it wasn't necessary since I found the keys under a pile of clothes in the corner of my room and immediately removed the key to my bike lock.

On Guatemala's día de independencia (Happy independence day a few days late!), I almost lost my umbrella in a minibus, but someone gave it to me as I was leaving. The next day, I put money in a mini-wallet. It probably held no more than $10, but that has yet to be found. And my most recent absent-minded loss was a scarf that I left at a construction site. Good thing volunteers left the site after me, and it is now sitting safely in my room.

I would like to know why my brain has diminished to one of an old lady with dementia. It would be nice to have some sort of excuse, like for example, an extreme intake of drugs. At least then a reasonable solution could maybe change this obnoxious pattern that has started... I could stop taking the toxic brain-eraser and all would be well. However, I have not inhaled, swallowed or absorbed any form of drugs beside alcohol, which I have not even had in large quantities (for the most part). Hopefully this is a weird phase of the week that will quickly disappear. Seriously, it's getting old REALLY fast.

Besides my bird brain, everything has been going well. This past week we (finally!) had two volunteers arrive after a three-week hiatus. A volunteer coordinator without her volunteers is a lonely life, especially because it meant I spent about 80% of the past weeks in the office sending e-mails to spread the word of Constru Casa to alternative spring breaks and possible volunteers. Let's just say this was not the most thrilling job, and any chance to get out of the office was a welcome field trip. I did get to visit a few communities to meet families that either have received or will be receiving a house in the future.

One of the trips was around the time I realized the flea problem in my other house had not gone away. I woke up stressed to find more bites that made me want to rip my skin off. The whole day I was plagued by thoughts of how to get rid of the little devils. I felt trapped and had no idea what to do. I felt like whatever I did made no difference and I would be stuck with them the rest of my life. It put a damper on a day that I could have otherwise really enjoyed.

My coworkers Stefan, Ranferi and I drove to a town close to El Nispero, which was our final destination. We met Nina, the director for an organization that provides health, education and social work services to remote communities, including El Nispero. Since the roads had turned to a muddy mess in the rainy season we had to take a different pick-up truck toward the town that could pass the roads with no problem. However, the truck could not take us directly to the houses because the roads basically were nonexistent halfway through our trip. The rain washes this road away every rainy season. We had to walk the rest of the way. Not a problem, I thought. The view was incredible, so it was like a day of hiking while I worked. I did not realize we would have to hike for about six more hours going from house to house.

Nina pointed out a waterfall that is El Nispero's main water source during the dryer summer months. She told us to pay attention to how much more we had to walk to reach the first house. About a half hour later, we arrived at the house of Sara, one of the women who works on Nina's project. From there, we had another half hour walk to meet the first of five families that would receive a Constru Casa house. Our day of hiking that was a hassle is the reality for these families that have to walk a long distance during the dry season to get their most basic need, water.

This family's house looked like many I have seen since working in Guatemala. It was a two-room structure that included a kitchen and a bedroom where the whole family crams in to sleep. They did not even have a bathroom of any sort. As far as I know, I had never met a family before that completely lacked any form of a toilet. The other four houses we visited that day had at least a hole in the ground that made up for a toilet, but this family did not even have that.

Despite visiting the families and seeing all that they do not have, I still was preoccupied about my bug issue. I realized how obscure my problem was compared to the daily problems these families face. If the worst thing they had to deal with were fleas, I have a feeling they would be extremely thankful. I felt selfish and foolish, but I couldn't stop thinking about what to do. I was like a bratty child that could only think of herself amidst other people's suffering. What impresses me so much about Guatemalans is that no matter their circumstances, they always give the impression that things could be worse. Whether they actually feel that way or not, I am not sure.

Since the volunteers' arrival last weekend, I have been to the work site every day to visit them, except Wednesday, Guatemala's Independence Day. Constru Casa works with a school in a town called El Esfuerzo. They built a house for the director of the school and his family. Miriam the director's wife is talkative friendly lady who felt it her duty to make sure that me and the volunteers stayed safe this week. She walked us every day to the site, even when I said it wasn't necessary. She insisted, saying it was not safe and Ranferi would get mad at her if anything happened to us. She invited me back to her house a couple of times for food. It still amazes me that although these families have so little, they always try to give back to friends and guests. It almost makes me feel guilty, but at the same time I don't want to be offensive and say no.

On Tuesday, I asked Sarbelio one of the masons how he planned to celebrate independence day. I did not get the answer I expected. "What is there to celebrate?" he said. "We are independent from Spain, but we aren't independent." He said the only people who have power are the small percentage at the top. "To me it's a day that I don't have to work, and nothing more," he said. I didn't know how to react. I wondered what he thinks of me, a well off American who has the luxury to travel all over the world and see places in his own country he will never see in his lifetime.

Although Sarbelio did not think much of Independence Day, I was excited to break up the week with a day off. I went on my first trip to the coast in Monterrico with Bryan. We woke up at 4am, since they had told me the day before that the direct chicken bus to Monterico leaves at 5 in the morning. They apparently did not think it was important to mention that the bus does not leave on holidays. Instead, we had to switch buses three times, which, according to the guidebooks, is such a headache you should instead pay over double the price for a private bus. In actuality, it was slightly annoying, but not as difficult as they made it seem.

We spent most of the day as most Guatemalans, relaxing watching the parades go by. It's mostly students wearing different outfits, dancing or playing instruments. Guatemala also seems to love fireworks that don't actually have a colorful explosion. You can hear the fireworks throughout the year, not just on Independence Day. Personally, I can't stand them. They are in no way beautiful since they have no color and they sound exactly like gunshots. The first time I heard them in Guatemala, I froze in a panic, thinking someone was shooting.

Since we were on the coast, we naturally thought we could go for a swim. However, Monterico has violent waves that drag you under, and it is pretty dangerous. One of the waves pulled me in and dragged me right into Bryan, and I knocked him over like a bowling pin. By the end, we were full of sand. Later, we could wash off and go for an actual swim when we went on a boat tour through Monterico's natural reserve. We went through a shallow river that was covered by trees that made a túnel natural. My one disappointment of the day was we never saw the turtles that Monterico is famous for. But overall, it was a very successful Independence Day.

Photos up on Facebook

If you want to see more pictures from Guatemala, check out the link on facebook: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2768486&id=8643076&l=b0706625ee.

They are completely out of order due to some uploading problems I had yesterday on my home internet, but you get the idea.