Baking and Breaking Bread

The days continue to stream by, faster than I imagined. Today started out beautifully with this as my first sight this morning. 

Hamburgers were on the schedule, but with nowhere to buy ground beef I had to improvise. In stead, we made pita bread. I had a record seventeen women show up today; so many that we moved outside for more room.  

This little guy had this concerned look on his face the whole time. Was he discerning world politics? How yeast functions? Or just what a giant white girl is doing in his town...

Working away...

Doña Juana tackles kneading the dough con fuerza!

Manuela and her daughter Lucy observe the process. Manuela is one of my favorties, she has such a joyful spirit in her and her daughter inherited the same demeanor, always playing peek-a-boo with me during class.  

Hendrick Does It Again

I walked down to the house to get Estuarto’s number from Ela. I saw Isabel in the yard; she was watching Hendrick and Fernandito play at the end of the driveway, nearly in the road. I walked up the three-cinderblock steps to Ela’s house, stood in the doorway and called  “con permiso”. Chochi, Ela’s younger brother who is living with Ela and her family while he studies for medical school, stepped out of the bedroom with the TV remote in his hand and into the light of the hall. “She went to church, she should be back in an hour”. 

I stepped back outside and found Isabel again. We caught up on life and watched the kids play in the fading orange light of the afternoon. I glanced over at her house and saw brown handprints on her peach-colored walls. I knew it was Hendrick immediately. “What happened with you wall?” I asked, assuming she had seen them before. Isabel turned around and when she saw the brown handprints took her breath in. She started in, “Hendrick! What did you do? You spotted my house? Is this what you like to do? Spot my new house? When your mother gets back you better stand up! When did you do this? You like to spot my new house with your hands?” The reprimanding stream continued to spill from Isabel’s mouth and towards the back of Hendrick’s head. He was sitting on a spare tire, his back towards us pretending to be a ship captain. I walked over to examine the handprints.

 From afar they looked like mud, not paint. I looked closely and saw that they were gooey. I touched one and the goo came off on my fingertip. “What is this Isabel? Mud? Putty? I don’t think it’s paint…”. Isabel finished her reprimanding and, taking a deep breath joined me at the wall. She, as well, touched her first finger to the gooey spots on the wall. She looked at it closely with a puzzled look on her face and then put her finger to her nose and said, “No! It’s choco-banano!” (Choco-banano is a favorite snack here in Guatemala. Take a banana and freeze it. Once frozen, dip it in a thin chocolate sauce. Choco-banano). I could not help but let out a small laugh. That Hendrick kid is pure mischief. Isabel again started in on Hendrick, who was now an army sergeant. 

I wondered where on earth Hendrick got enough choco-banano sauce to put a myriad of handrprints on his Aunt’s wall. After another minute of so, and with the back of her hand to her forehead she ended her punishment with a “Dios mio” and began to walk away. “Aye, cuesta, Katy. Dolor de cabeza. Cuesta!”. 

We Are Four

I had seen her many times before; in the markets, in the streets of town, even at our meetings. She has always stood out to me because I always imagined how she used to look; before the wrinkles, before the rough hands, before the grey hair. I imagined that she was one of the more beautiful ones. I always had seen her with small kids and I was never sure if they were her own or her grandchildren. She looked too old to have kids that age, but life in rural Guatemala is hard on the women and one can never be sure of age by looks. I greeted her in K’iche and her eyes lit up. She greeted me back.

This time I saw her in the back of a pickup truck. It was a hot, clear morning and we were waiting to leave. We were headed to the market in the next municipality, Nahualá; the closest market to Chirijox. It was only about a fifteen minute ride and this morning I was in love with Guatemala.

As we entered the hiway, the back of the truck was full. A dozen women, half as many children and a few men. I saw myself from someone else’s eyes and saw how different I was in the back of that truck. I was tall, blonde, fair-skinned. They were small, sun-tanned skin and long black hair, tied in a knot at the crown of their heads. They had their traditional shirts; their guipiles, painstakingly hand-woven and embroidered; thick with meaning. I was in a plain red t-shirt. They had their legs tucked snug under their long, wrapped cortes; their skirts. I was in jeans. Each had a brightly colored piece of fabric, about a yard square that they place on their heads for sun-shade. Later they would wrap their purchases from the market in this fabric and again, place it on their heads. I had a baseball cap and a re-useable shoulder grocery bag. 

Through the ride my eyes drifted from the Guatemalan countryside, the hills brown from six months with no rain, to the faces of the women in the truck. The wind whipped our hair and the women seemed content; some dazed, lost in thought, others taking in the beauty of the day.

I caught one of the women looking at me; examining me the same way I examine them. She kept her eyes on me and said something to The One Who Used to be Beautiful. In what she responded I heard the name Atalin; which is the K’iche name for Catarina. I glanced up at her when I heard this, knowing they were talking about me. They smiled. The One Who Used to be Beautiful pointed at me and said “Atalin”. I smiled and said in K’iche, “Yes, my name is Atalin”. The other women in the truck began to giggle. The One Who Used to be Beautiful pointed to her self and said “Atalin”. Then she pointed to two other women in the truck and said “Atalin, Atalin”. The other women were smiling broadly. “Cuatro", she said with her four fingers pointed to the sky. “Yes, we are four”, I replied in K’iche. “K’o cuatro”, the women repeated. 

Dental Clinic

Every year a dentist from the capital comes to Santa Catarina Ixtauacan Vieja, a neighboring village, to do a clinic on her own accord and from her own pocket. I went to meet the dentist so I can assist this year and hopefully the coming years as well. 

Although there was numbing, these were some tough patients. And for some, the dentist extracted the last of their remaining teeth.  

We brought them in three at a time so the numbing could set in while looking at other patients. 

This woman had a wisdom tooth pulled.

Carpets and Processions

Antigua is not the only place for Semana Santa festivities. Nahualá, just 15 minutes away had both alfombras; carpets, and processions on a local scale. 

Communities and groups come from all around to make alfombras. Most are made from dyed sawdust. Here, a community from the lake makes their mark in Nahualá. 

The alfombras are laid on the route the procession will take. In Nahualá, the procession left from the church in the plaza and circled town. There were carpets nearly the entire route.

This alfombra was made by a youth group. They used dyed sawdust for the base and adorned it with fresh flowers and fresh seed pods.

Here is a natural alfombra made from flower pedals, pine needles and palm leaves. 

Notice the two youths on the left hand side. They both have a board on post. On the post where the board is attached there is a ribbed section, and when the board swings around the ribbed section; as one might imagine, it makes a loud clicking noise. Somehow, this has become the traditional music of Semana Santa. Men, youth, children have these in all shapes and sizes. All wear a look of pride on their face as they swing the boards; some quite large, over their heads, swinging their hips to help with the momentum. Crowds gather around, just to listen to the noise.  At one point there were probably twenty men with these boards gathered in the plaza making a nearly deafening noise. From the plaza, these men entered the streets to lead the procession.

This was the lead man of three carrying loud speakers that played processional music. Behind the last man was a man with a wheelbarrow carrying a generator. 

The procession was made up of local members of the Catholic church, walking together through the streets...

During the civil war here in Guate, the Mayan culture was oppressed greatly. As a result Mayan beliefs were integrated into the Catholic churches and its practices. This tradition still carries on even though there is now freedom of religious practice. Here, Christ is carried on a bed surrounded by Mayan symbols. On the front of this bed there is a Mayan prayer. Behind him are small figures depicting a Mayan ceremony.  Christ is even dressed in traditional suit. 

The priests as well wear the traditional suit of the region. 

The tail end; the procession making its way through the streets.

Semana Santa

Semana Santa; Holy Week, started last Sunday. However, in Antigua is started about a week before that so we were able to catch a bit of the festivities. Alfombras, or carpets, are made from colored sawdust, flower pedals and pine needles and laid in the streets. 

Leading the processions are elabortaly costumed Roman soldiers and Catholic devotess robed in purple

The keystone of the processions are these wooden boxes, 15 feet long and carried on the shoulders of men. Atop are elaborate scenes of Christ's crucifixion. Behind marches a live band playing very dramatic music. 

A little more down to Earth: groups of families put up 'arcas' around Chirijox adorned with palm leaves and fruit. There are quite a few a them around town, each different.  I asked Benancio what they represented and he wasn't sure...

There are probably hundreds of banana bunches hanging around Chirijox this week. 

It is tradition to eat dried fish on the Thursday of Semana Santa. This prehistoric looking fish is apparently hard to find and very expensive. Doña Ana warms it on the plancha before putting into a soup. It was really tasty. 

Generations: Hendrick, his grandpa Don Juan and his little brother who he calls "Googies" and who I call the cutest kid in Guate; Elkin. Can you tell they are related? 

A La Playa

Recently Nic and I took an official vacation and headed for the beach. First we visited Sipacate, a only-boat-accessible small village with sand streets surrounded by the Pacific on one side and an estuary on the other. We camped there and swam in the warm sea and walked down the black sand beaches with no other soul in sight. It was great until...a water pipe burst at our camp and we couldn't flush the toilet or rinse off after a swim. When this happened, we decided to move on. But here was our one sunset at Sipacate; stunning. 

We caught a ride to Puerto San Jose, a much larger and more exciting town. It was kind of the Guatemalan equivalent to Myrtle Beach. There we ate ceviche, sat on the beach (avoiding the crazy 4-wheelers) and also visited a water park; complete with slides.  

Here is the main strip in the morning. Lining the beach was restaurant after restaurant, each competing for our business. As we walked down the beach it was a symphony of "pasen adelante"; come in. 

After one night in a terrible hotel we found a nice hotel near the end of the beach. A small family-run place with a pool and a fan in the room and beach views. Here, little kids get excited over what's happening in the pool. 

The breezeway in front of our room, looking out onto the street.

Nic takes a dip in the pool, right under the room windows. 

A view of the place from across the pool. So charming.