The Last 12 Hours

Last night there was thunder so strong it literally made the cinderblocks that form my walls tremble. From inside my room, through colored glass I could see flash after flash of bright lightening, one after another. The rain fell only a little on my tin roof. I fell asleep contented at the situation, and feeling the energy of the storm outside. Later in the night, I was awoken by urgent mumblings in Kachiquel coming from the next room. I wondered if there was some kind of prayer meeting taking place, as my family practices Mayan traditions. When I heard the groans of a younger voice, I realized what was going on. My Guatemadre is a widwife, and she had mentioned that there was a woman due soon in the community. I looked at my clock, it was 4 a.m., on the dot when I heard the repetitive cries of a new life, and the weeping of a new mother. I listened for a while more, thinking of the new life and the life changed.
When I got up at 5:30, I was invited in to greet the little one. Mother was laying on the cement floor, covered to her eyes in blankets. Her abuelita (grandma) sat next to her, beaming. Baby Oscar was bundled on the bed, sleeping. There were some complications with the birth. He was in the womb with his right hand pressed to his face. My Guatemadre Marta had to assist in stretching that arm out, and Oscar was in fact born in the style of Superman. My friend Nic, who waited for me outside was invited in to say hello to Oscar as well. We both felt honored; gringos, total strangers dressed in flashy running clothes, entering a room where a mother labored for 9 hours and delivered on a cement floor. Nic and I left the house and entered the predawn streets. As we headed towards the campos (fields), the sky turned streaks of white to streaks of red. We run on footpaths, mostly, as the road ends one or two hundred yards from my house. We take a new route each time we run, taking 90 degree turns around fields of corn and radishes and cilantro, hoping we will end near the hills. Today the trail led us to the head of a gorge, deep and green. As it stretched before us it took ragged turns and fog hovered just above the canopy, still below where we stood. At our feet, and continuing down to the canyon floor were piles of trash. We had found the city dump. My heart sank. To our left, flowing down was a stream. Nic and I talked about all the people that lived downstream from here, how they might use the water that came to them to bathe, or even to cook with. We talked about how this morning may be a good representation of the coming years, beautiful highs to be followed by disheartening lows.
And I hope to get up some new pictures soon…

Adjustments

The first few weeks of PC training are a series of adjustments; adjusting to the climate, the language, the foods, the schedules and the cultural customs. Those are the big things. Currently, I’m learning to adjust to the little things. Like the best way to position my headlamp in the shower b/c there is no light, and where to put my towel because there is no rack or hook in the cinderblock stall (I throw it over the rebar that runs near the shower head. But I also had to learn not to touch the showerhead, as I got a shock when I did). Or how to make the crackling sound stop coming from the outlet in my room when I charge my computer or phone (I rubber band the charger to the outlet; it hangs from the ceiling. After that, I prop it with my pillow so the weight of the charger doesn’t separate the casing from the outlet). What to do when kids in the streets stare at you as you walk home (I personally like the old greet-them-with-the-wrong-time-of-day trick. For example, it is afternoon and I say to them, “buenas noches!”. They die laughing). Adjusting to the ayudantes (helpers) on the buses inevitably trying to charge you more for your fare because you are a gringa and having to politely but sternly ask for proper change. Or trying to listen to the guatemaltecos that generally speak very quietly (for that one, you just hope it’s not raining).
Probably the adjustment that I am still working on, and has done me the most good thus far is the ability to laugh off frustrating or humbling moments and maintain a smile on my face. My fellow PCTs here in Santa Maria Cauque keep me laughing, which I am very greatful for, but there are moments when frustration can overwhelm. It is all about a mindset. I try to remember this quote when I’m in a frustrated mood:

I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. I posses tremendous power to make life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration, I can humiliate of humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis is escalated or de-escalated, and a person is humanized or de-humanized. If we treat people as they are, we make them worse. It we treat people as they out to be, we help them become what they are capable of becoming.
n Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

When I am able to come out of the other side of frustration, I am usually greeted with a joyous moment. Like last night, I arrived home wet and cold from working in the garden in the rain and tired from a day of particularly hard Spanish class. I almost told my family I wouldn’t be eating that night, that I would just rest in my room, but decided to push though myself. At dinner, I nearly peed my pants laughing with my family at Estephani, the 2 year old daughter of Irma who had us wrapped around her finger. I fell asleep that night with all the frustrations of the day a memory.

Beuracracy

I wonder if I spelled that correctly....
Legally, or something like that, I have to give a disclaimer. The opinions posted on this blog do not reflect the opinions of Peace Corps. Fin.

On a more fun note, I visited the huerto (veggie garden) my family has today. It is a 25 minute walk (Guatemaltecos stroll, really) to thier land, and they are growing primarily beans; both red and white, and corn. Mixed in here and there is yerba (what we in the US call weeds, but they are in fact delcious), radishes, a small pumpkin called quiskil and a few medicinal plants like chamomile. We harvested a few pounds of red bean and a bundle of corn leaves to make tamalitos for tomorrow. I enjoy the laid back lifestyle here, and find that my efficiently-related tendancies are evident in this culture. I am working on slowing down.

La Primera Semana

Did you forget the rain last night? That cell phone company is a woman, right? Your uncle is an animal! Which is more better?

Language immersion is exhausting. It takes a lot of brainpower to even ask what time breakfast will be tomorrow. It’s a good thing my family feeds me well. I do feel that my language is progressing, although I still speak like a 3 year old and often misspeak (as shown in the above). Slow and steady she goes. Today, while at another volunteers house, his Guatemadre, a 50 year old, toothless and smiling woman was chatting with me. I have a difficult time tracking with someone who is speaking slowly and clearly, let alone a chatty toothless woman. My strategy is generally to smile and nod, and throw in a ‘si’ or ‘bueno’ every now and then. After a few minutes, Anacleta said to me. “You don’t speak much Spanish, do you?” They’re on to me.

As language classes continue every day, we also have begun technical training. Yesterday we cleared a chunk of land with hoes and created raised seedbeds, and tomorrow we plant them with chard, lettuce, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, radishes and carrots. We also made our first tire gardens this week. These portable gardens will live with my family and me and will have broccoli, cauliflower and lettuce. The gardens are made by cutting one face off an old tire, leaving ears for handles and then flipping the tire inside out. This is a comical procedure that requires strength and skill. In other words, Tire Flipper is going on the resume.

Although it has only been a week of training, more and more I am anxious to get to my site and begin life there, wherever “there” may be. I am excited to implement what I am learning and to begin to build relationships with the people.

Las caminetas, or chicken buses have become apart of my weekly routine. These are old school buses from the states that are privately owned and renovated into elaborate traveling catholic shrines and make up Guatemala’s public transportation system. In a country that values formality and respect, these buses are an anomaly. At any point in a ride, there could be no inch of your body that is not pressed against the body of another traveler, aside from your arm which is clinging to the ceiling bar as you stand in the aisle and sway with the curves of the roads. Personally, I love las caminetas.

I am really enjoying my Guate family. They continue to play jokes on me nearly constantly. They keep me laughing. Come to think of it, most of the people here do. Guatemaltecos continue to impress me with their steadfast, content and kind spirits and work ethic.

I have acquired a cell phone. Incoming calls are free, and I think one is able to call on Skype.com for fairly cheap, if not free. You can reach me by dialing 011 502 4092 0787. I am usually available after 8, which is 7 Oregon time. Also, the correct address for letters and packages is as follows:

Katie Mader

Cuerpo de Paz

Apartado Postal 66

Antigua Guatemala, Sacatepequez

03001

Guatemala, Centro America

If you sent something to the first address I gave, it should still reach me. However, use this one from here on out. I hope all is well with each of you and look forward to hearing from each of you soon.

Santa Maria Cauque

After a late dinner of vegetable soup I walk with my new family a few blocks to the park. There, the plaza is filled with lights, live music, rides, games, people dressed in their best and loads of food. It is the day of the town’s patron saint, Mary. Earlier that afternoon when I and three other PCVs arrived in Santa Maria Cauque there was a parade; men and women filing through the streets, surrounding a large wood platform on the shoulders of probably 30 men with a statue of Mary and arranged flowers. Tonight though, the town celebrates. Marta, my host mom and town midwife and I want to ride the Ferris wheel. It was a ride I will never forget; partly because at times I was a bit afraid for my life but primarily because of the view from the top. Below us, the festival packed with sights, sounds, smells. Directly next to us the catholic church with an elaborate bright white façade and gold accents. Over the horizon, next to the full moon, dry lightening bounced through the sky. Next to me, Marta clung for dear life and never looked down. At the bottom of the Ferris wheel, the rest of my family; Marta’s daughter Irma and her husband Iseiyas and their 2 year old daughter Stefani; Marta’s son Edwin and his wife Lupe and their 2 year old son Daniel. I couldn t stop laughing ( I cannot figue out how to make an apostrophe on this keyboard...)Marta said she liked it, and in fact her family concurred that she had gone on it the year before, but her face certainly did not show it (in fact, when I told her I was going to the internet cafe, she said when I return we{ll go on the Ferris wheel again). After the Ferris wheel we went to the plaza to watch live music. The family walked me home around 10:30 and then went back out until 1.
The family I am staying with is indigenous and speak a language that I cannot spell, but phonetically it is ketchikel (Fact: there are 23 indigenous languages in Guatemala, which is the size of Tennesse). They are a very informal and friendly family. They constantly joke together (and with me), but in the most loving manner. I am very excited to be able to live with and learn from this family over the coming weeks and months.
The people of Guatemala have a kindness and genuinity in them that is so refreshing, something that is uncommon in the states. As my PC trainer put it, the goal of Guatemalans is to maintain harmony, and that is evident in the culture. To date, I have not heard a Guatemalan produce a blatant “no” in response to a request, and there is almost always a smile on thier faces.
My Spanish is progressing slowly but steadily, although I{m sure there are 4 year olds that speak better than me at this point. My family is very patient as I flip through the Spanish/English dictionary at the dinner table, and they just laugh.
A few customs that I really enjoy; at the table, once we have begun eating, my host mom will say “come”, eat. It is meant that we enjoy the meal. When someone is done, they say “gracias Marta, gracias Katie, gracias Edwin” etc. to everyone at the table. In response we say “buen provecho”, which essentially means “ may the meal benefit you”.
In my free time I am able to walk around town. There is a sports field just two blocks from my house, so the other three PCVs and I grab a Frisbee or ball and head down to the park. The kids love playing with the gringos and they all dominate us at futbol, but we get them at Frisbee. We just laugh and play with a backdrop of neatly cared for fields over rolling green hills and bright white clouds.
This coming week as language and technical training starts full swing, we will build and plant a garden in Santa Maria Cauque. I will be getting a cell phone in the next week or so as well and all incoming calls are free so I hope you all have a good long distance plan. Mucho amor.

My Blog

I must admit that a blog is an intimidating thing. It feels to me maybe how a poet or author feels when his first works are published, a mix of courage and humility and anxiousness. All that to say, sorry if my posts are dull or, conversely; lofty. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson titled the emotional current that carries each of us through our inner and outer life "the undersong". I felt this an appropriate title for the adventure that I have embarked on as a Peace Corps Volunteer serving in Guatemala. 

It should be understood that although I do hold strong the value in serving others, this one is all about me. PC for me stood as an opportunity to challenge myself, my reality, my beliefs.  Serving others, living in another culture and speaking another language are all bonuses. Big bonuses, by the way. Hence, a blog, an adventure and maybe a new undersong.

 

Departure

After a day of team-building exercises and information overload in a room with florescent lights and no windows, I have arrived at my last evening stateside for an indefinite time. Dinner was a to-go meal from the hot bar at Whole Foods eaten while Jeopardy played on the TV. I sat on the hotel bed, which happened to be nearly invisible under the pile of dispersed  goods that will sustain me the coming 27 months. It all seemed pretty appropriate. 

I am strangely calm. Maybe it's due to the fact that there are but final sips of IPA left in the bottle on this desk, but there aren't much in the way of nerves for this girl. Many of the other PCTs (No, not Pacific Crest Trail, like all you wonderful Oregonians are thinking, it is indeed Peace Corps Trainees) are outside of the hotel sucking on cigarettes talking on cell phones, stressed and anxious. I certainly don't blame them. I suspect that part of my nonchalance is due to the fact that I have committed to myself to take this time as it comes.  I anticipate good things, and challenges and intensity, but I guess I haven't thought much more past that. It is a good thing to feel completely ready for something. If I  am anxious it is because I want to be there now, experiencing what is waiting for me.