Xix Kabob

I came to Guatemala to work as the volunteer coordinator for an organization called Constru Casa that builds houses for families that live in extreme poverty. To very briefly describe my job, I help plan volunteers' trips and make sure everything goes smoothly while they are helping with the construction among other promotional and administrative tasks.

Last Sunday (July 25), I was suppose to go to a small town called Xix (pronounced Shish) with two other coworkers, Stefan and Ranferi. A high school mission group was coming, and we wanted to make sure everything went well. Then we would go to Coban, where Constru Casa recently built a school. However, in perfect Guatemalan style, it did not go as planned. At eight in the morning, I got a call from Stefan saying a land slide blocked the way between Xix and Coban. Their priority was to see the school, so Stefan and Ranferi would go to Coban and I would go by myself to Xix. I was excited to have the full responsibility of my first group.

However, at first I was skeptical how I would get along with the mission group since I am Jewish and not religious in any way. When I first entered the bus, they began singing religious songs, and I thought the next few days would be very long. But I was wrong. It was a very accepting group. Of course, they have their own strong personal beliefs, but they are open to many different ideas of religion. One of the trip leaders is a converted Muslim. You wouldn’t guess it from her looks. She has blonde hair and blue eyes and doesn't cover her head. She grew up catholic, but could never connect to the religion, and when she learned about Islam she realized it was what she was looking for.

I also believe religion can be very powerful when used positively. That’s exactly what this group was here to do--to help a community in need. The kids ranged from 14 to 18 years old, and some had never been out of the country before. It’s always interesting to see how everyone reacts differently to these situations. Some adjusted beautifully, with no problem, whereas others struggled with the new setting. One boy shook in his seat as he tried beans for the first time. He stared at the plate for minute after minute, fidgeting with the food in front of him. “Mom, why didn’t you prepare us for this? You said we were all prepared,” he complained to his mom, one of the trip leaders.

I think those that struggled more will probably come away from Guatemala with a stronger feeling of what they saw and did here. It’s exciting to see when kids put themselves for the first time out of their comfort zone. I really hope it makes a lasting impression on them and they remain conscious of the poverty and problems of the country after they leave. It is very easy to get lost in American suburbia, and this trip can open their eyes to what’s outside of a comfortable home, schools that are easily accessible and a problem-free home cooked meal.

We arrived late to Xix because the driver took the long route. It was a gorgeous day with no rain, a rarity for the rainy season, and he thought we should see the beautiful landscape. It was totally worth the extra hours. We drove on windy roads through mountains. Some of the kids were nervous, especially when we passed fallen boulders in the road or half cleaned up land slides. I’m not sure why, but I never get nervous about things like that. I never feel the pressure of any possible danger, which can have its benefits and disadvantages. I trust too easily, but then again, I don’t spend my time worrying and I have many amazing experiences along the way.

On the road to Xix.

After hours of uphill winding roads, we arrive on top of the mountains to Xix around 9pm. It became obvious why every time I mentioned to Guatemalans I was going to Xix, they had no idea what I was talking about. Xix is in the middle of the mountains between isolation and the middle of nowhere.

As we arrived, the director of APRODEFI, a school in Xix with which Constru Casa partners, waited for us with a group of male students. The boys were all ready to take the women’s bags down the steep driveway that our van could not drive down. We had a meal of cold, but to my delight, well cooked beans, plantains and weak coffee.

The next day the students began constructing houses at three different sites. I went back and forth between the three, checking up to see if everything was OK, taking pictures, and my favorite part--talking to the families. I was surprised to hear that every child in each family goes to school. The other day before my trip to Xix, I went with some coworkers to a town to see if we could build a house for any families. In each town, Constru Casa partners with another organization that knows the local families very well. As we walked around the town with two ladies from the other organization, all the kids were home. One of the ladies kept telling them if they didn’t go to school they would not get their gifts. In Xix, forcing kids to go to school did not seem to be a problem. The families all thought education was very important. One daughter of a family that will receive a house wants to become a nurse so she can help those in the community that need assistance. She would have to go to a nearby city called Nebaj for schooling and to work since Xix does not have a hospital.

I joined the race to see who could filter the dirt fastest with the volunteers and some locals kids that stopped by.

I will never forget one of the families in particular. Maria is the mother of six children. The three youngest children were home in the morning when their oldest siblings were in school. The oldest son Cristobal is in school to become a teacher, and will probably continue teaching in Xix once he earns his degree at APRODEFI.

At the house, the kids were so receptive to be around the volunteers. They were a little shy at first, but after about an hour they were hugging and playing with them. The volunteers, of course, loved this. Maria told me, just as the other two families did, how excited she was to live in the new house. The family of seven currently lives in a one-room house with only one bed, which they all share at night. The father lives somewhere in the United States, but he doesn’t send them money back because he has a drinking problem. They have so little, yet every time I was about to leave the house, Maria insisted I have something to drink and bread or a vegetable to eat.

I was visiting one of the houses, talking to Juana the mother of another family when it began to downpour. All the volunteers and construction workers ran into the house. The volunteers struggled to interact with the family because they did not speak a word of English, but they started playing games with the second youngest son Mario. At first, Mario sat in the corner, staring at us and laughing uncontrollably. Slowly he got closer as the volunteers tried to teach him rock-paper-scissors and the hand jive. To Mario and his mother's delight, I snapped pictures of the volunteers and the family. Mario erupted into giggles each time he saw his face looking back at him from my digital camera.

Mario is born to hand jive, baby.

The next day, I helped with construction in the morning. Within an hour, my delicate hands that have done close to no construction work in my life were already starting to get sore. The masons work glove-less with such agility that you think it's a simple job. I twisted metal flexible wires to long metal rods that would go at the foundation of the house. By the time I finished with five rods, the masons had finished the rest. Our next job was to fill the foundation with concrete. I slowly mixed and shoveled the concrete into buckets, feeling the pressure on my back. I felt like I deserved pure wimp status because I was exhausted by lunch.

Lucky for me, the volunteers only worked half the day because they went on a tour of the school. APRODEFI provides classes from kindergarten to professional training. Students can study agriculture, carpentry, textile designs, teaching or how to make break. Classes on different trades are supplemented with training on how to run a business. The school is totally practical, but it seems completely underfunded. The teachers earn less than a third of what I make, and I'm considered a volunteer! I would not even be able to pay two month's of rent with their wage.

The students pay to attend the school, but the director Jose said when money is low, they can't feed the students and sometimes need to close. They have the rights to a large plot of land in the forest, but they still need to pay it back in full. This could be really useful for teaching the students. They could also use the lumber to make money, but they cannot utilize it yet. Big companies want to buy the land for a lot of money, so the school is struggling to keep it in its possession. Currently a Peace Corps volunteer is helping the school, so hopefully she can improve their donations program and publicize the "sponsor a student" program.

After the tour, I became a major entertainment attraction for the kids. Mario from one of the houses saw me and mentioned to everyone about my camera. Before I knew it, children of all sizes swarmed around me begging for pictures. Wherever I walked, I had a group of 20 children surrounding me, all wanting to hold my hand. I never feel tall, but I towered over the kids, which made me feel like a loved deity. Each time I took a picture they huddled around me to pull my camera toward them. Since I was wearing a strap around my neck, I went flying in all directions until each one saw every single picture. When I told them I was leaving to go back to Antigua the next day, they looked confused and sad. Who would have thought that within two days the same kids that hid behind their teacher's skirts at the sight of the group would become so attached?

They may not look thrilled, but seconds after I took the picture, they were jumping all over me.

I left Xix with the group to go to Nebaj. They wanted to see the market, and I needed to catch the minibus from there to take two more buses before reaching Antigua. I got to sit in the front, which was a blessing. As we continued driving, the bus picked up more and more people, cramming them in even though there was little room. I had a spacious front seat view of the road and the passing mountains. For entertainment, I looked out for images you never see in the United States. I saw two women in indigenous clothing running as they balanced huge loads on top of their heads and carried a machete at the same time. This was definitely a new sight for my eyes. Apparently, they never learned the rule that my kindergarten teacher always enforced: never run with a sharp object, and always keep a sharp tip facing you.

Within five seconds, a red truck of men on the other side of the road drove backwards. Another image you would not see in the US. You can't even park on the opposite side of the street if your car is facing the wrong way, let alone drive backwards. The men in the back of the pickup all waved to us and started shouting, "Un asalto! Un asalto!" They told the driver that just up the road a truck was being robbed. We stopped and the people in the minibus called the police. The young girl behind me began to cry. I was thankful the truck stopped us since I have my new camera, and I would definitely have cried if they stole that from me. It was especially a good thing since my fellow passengers were really willing to look out for my well-being. I overheard them talking about how if the robbers came, it would be OK because they would know I was worth the most. Talk about passenger camaraderie--they would have left me for the robbers if they had a chance. But beside the close call, I made it home safe without a problem.

Extreme Cooking 101

As the old saying goes: Beans, beans they’re good for your heart. But today, I am here to dispute this well known phrase. Rather than warming my heart, my run with beans so far in Guatemala has been more of a frustrating process.

Since my new home does not include food, I headed to Antigua’s outdoor market for the first time where the prices are the cheapest. Old women sat behind baskets full of beans, tomatoes, onions and other vegetables and fruits , yelling out the prices to any passerby. I walked up to two women that had three baskets of black, red and brown beans. As I stood deciding which color bean I wanted to buy, I realized I have never cooked beans in my life nor have I ever seen anyone prepare them before. When I have decided in the past to include beans in my meal, I always buy them canned.

I asked how much it was for a pound. 5 Queztales (about 62 cents), they said. What a deal! I walked away wondering why had I never bought dried beans before. They don’t cost much and a pound can last a long time. On the way out of the market, I had my daily run in with Larry, and he instructed me on how to prepare them. First, you soak them in water overnight. Then you boil them until they are ready. Easy enough, right?

Wrong. Apparently it takes years to conquer the skill of bean cooking. I went to work in the morning, leaving my beans as they softened in water. Step one, done. I returned later and began to boil the water in a pot that I later found out was a pressure cooker, a kitchen tool I had never used before in my life. I did not have the lid correctly closed tight and I needed to place a nob on top so no air would escape. Chiky, the lady I live with told me I needed to let it boil and then wait 45 minutes as it cooks. She warned I needed to be very careful when opening because if you do it incorrectly, it will explode in your face and scald you. They should warn you before buying beans that it can be a dangerous activity.

I waited 45 minutes and returned to the kitchen, but Chiky told me the beans needed to cook 15 or 20 more minutes. 20 minutes later she said they still need more time, maybe 10 minutes. And then again, another 10 minutes. I was getting hungry and impatient and when those 10 minutes were up I was ready to open up the pressure cooker, even though she kept telling me it needed more time.

I took of the nob on top, as I thought she instructed me to do and was about to open it, when Chiky screamed, “Karen, no!” She rushed the pressure cooker over to the sink and poured colder water before opening the lid. I was lucky she was around, or else there definitely would have been a bean explosion in the kitchen. It would not have been the first. The other American girl living here painted the walls with beans her first attempt in the difficult task of bean cooking. Chiky tasted them and said, they weren’t ready. But it was 9:30, and I did not care.

After all the time put into my beans, I ended up with slightly undercooked, bland black beans. I didn’t have garlic to make them more flavorful, so I added lots of salt. The pound of beans I was so excited to last me over a week are now the dread of every meal. Ask me what I ate today, and I will tell you the same answer every time: Beans. Eggs with beans. Tomatoes and zucchini with beans. Rice with beans. Beans. Beans. And more Beans. Healthy? Yes. Enjoyable? Somewhat. Getting old? Very quickly.

I now understand the gift Goya has given to families all over America. Just by opening a can and heating the contents, you can eat flavorful, well cooked beans in minutes. Forget hour long waits for a mediocre dish, I am sticking to pre-made. So next time you open a can of beans, say Thank you Goya for saving me time and frustration!

The Beginning of my Guatemalan Adventure

Por fin! After a little over a week of being in Antigua, Guatemala--or ten days to be exact--I am finally starting my blog.

To answer the main question I have gotten so far, yes I am safe and sound. Antigua, in general, is a very safe city, but like any where else you just have to be smart. That means no walking alone too late at night or not carrying more cash than you need.
Antigua is beautiful. I arrived by van, and you can feel the difference the moment you enter the city. Literally. You begin to hop up and down in your seat as the paved roads all of a sudden turn to cobblestone. The view of the city is as captivating as its surroundings. In the city center, the cobblestone roads between colonial buildings paint a picture of the past. But my favorite part are the surrounding mountains, especially when the clouds hover over them. The clouds give it a mystical look, but you always know rain is coming later in the day since its now rainy season.
I had no expectations for my first day. I figured I would be spending most of it alone, walking around and discovering my new home for the next six months. I walked into the entrance of a street market, and a Guatemalan hippy named Larry stopped me to learn to juggle. I told him several times I would not pay for the lesson or the bean bags, and he continued to say he did not want the money. All he wanted to do was teach me to learn to juggle. I semi-mastered juggling two bean bags after 15 minutes, but I could not get three for the life of me, despite Larry’s instructions. “Try again,” he would insist each time I dropped a bag. He had more patience than I did. I gave up after some time and we began to talk.
Larry is, to say the least, an interesting character. He currently has no job. Or as he says, he’s taking a vacation from vacation. Despite his unemployment, he wants to start a nonprofit to help communities to build the projects they think most important. He’s a free spirit who does whatever he wants, without a care in the world what anyone thinks. As a result, he has been essentially disowned by his wealthy family that no longer invites him home for Christmas. But he doesn’t care, he wants absolutely nothing to do with them. He told me this within the first half hour we met.
Since my first day, Larry and I have crossed paths almost every day since. I have noticed he likes to chat it up with foreign women. On my second day, I ran into him talking to a peace corps volunteer. She later told me he stopped her in the street to read her palm. Free of charge, of course.
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I set Friday to be my massive house search day. I had asked a few people questions where I should look for cheap, but safe housing, so my day was spent running to every place I had learned about. I read postings on doors, asked foreigners in the streets where they were staying and if there was anything open, whatever I could do to find something economical.

I felt like I was on a massive chicken hunt. I went to a certain area someone had recommended and asked people if they knew of anything open, and they sent me to a street near by. The families outside told me which houses usually have a room open. They screamed to me when I approached the wrong door, “No, no no! The next one! The next one!” That house was full, so I went across the way to an old couple whose son rented out room. He lived across town. I briskly walked from place to place, trying to find the best deal. At the end of the day, I had an appointment I had made a few days before to look at a place I had heard about through a friend. I decided to live with this family.

The lady I’m renting my room from lives with two younger children and an older boy about 16. I believe they are all related, but I am not completely sure. When I told the four-year old girl my name, she said, “I have two mommies. Mama Chiky and mama Karen.” I don’t think she wasn’t talking about me. Two younger women have stopped by, and I assume one of them is the real Mama Karen.
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Over the weekend I went to the Volcano Pacaya, which is active and erupted in late May this year. The landscape has two contrasting features. Volcanos stand behind green hills that look as if they are guarded by a black barricade, a river of dried lava that just two months ago ran through the grassy area. We hiked through the grass over to the lava. If it weren’t for the familiar background of mountains and trees, it would have felt like we were walking on another planet.
The lava has turned to a massive pile of rocks, so we relied on walking sticks to avoid falling. Although it had hardened, the lava still warmed our feet even through our shoes. Smoke rose from certain areas, making it uncomfortable to breath the thick air. At one point we walked into a huge smoke pile you could barely see the other groups just a few yards away.


Our guide was a young Guatemalan that looked like he couldn’t be older than 17. I was happy running off to experiment with my new DSLR camera, so I caught his speech in spurts. If I understood his Spanish correctly, he told us how sad he was about the recent eruption because of the damage that happened in surrounding towns. He said before the eruption, they incorrectly believed an area on one side of the volcano would be affected, and about 100 children and older citizens died because they could not get away fast enough. Everyone in my group discussed how the news only covered the death of one journalist.

As we wandered further in the lava, our guide showed us certain areas where you could place your stick to create a fire. A group of British girls had come prepared with marshmallows to roast. I’m not sure if lava-roasted marshmallows are my thing, but they excitedly ate and shared their “delightful” treat.


Back in Antigua, I went to a taco restaurant with people who I had met in my group. Six of us devoured a huge taco platter for 6-8 people. It had an assortment of meats, vegetables and sauces that was as big as a table for two. It was a delicious way to rejuvenate our bodies after the hike over Pecaya.


More stories to come soon!