Recipe for the Good Life

Take a hard boiled egg. Wrap in mashed potatoes until 1 inch thick all the way around. Fry. Top with lots of Picamas, red or green variety. Serve with carne asada, hot tortillas, more mashed potatoes (liberally salted, of course) and coffee. Eat in room deafened by heavy rains on a tin roof with good company. Add occasional lightening strike as desired.

Field Based Training, etc

We stopped in Chimaltenango to visit a Korean-funded research-based organic medicinal plant farm. Large gardens full of hundreds of medicinal plants, huge bins of worms and piles of compost. The few employees managed the gardens, the seed bank and are working on publishing a medicinal plant guide.
Next it was off to the city of Solola in the department of Solola. We stayed in a hotel near the park and traveled each day to a different site. We worked with two current volunteers in their communities with their groups of women. We immunized over 200 chickens one morning, hand ground corn, beans, eggshells and bones to make chicken feed one afternoon, we made a natural cold remedy for animals another and a vitamin-rich feed for chickens another. One morning we gave formal presentations. I talked about making a balanced meal to a group of 20 Kakchiquel women who barley spoke Spanish. They filed into the naturally-lit room, dressed in their vibrant clothes with their children wrapped around their backs. I used a translator throughout my presentation and a lot of activities and skits to assist my message.
Solola is a medium-sized city near Lake Atitlan. It is set up on the hills with a view of the lake and surrounding volcanoes. The large park hosts the market on Fridays. I have never seen a market quite like this one. The vibrancy of the place, even under dreary skies was really impressive. Every fruit or vegetable you would need, food vendors, and any other necessity you may desire. It was like an outdoor Super Wal-Mart on a day when everything is half-off. The men in Solola wear the traditional traje as well, adding to the richness of the scene. Brightly colored red and pink patterned pants with a matching button shirt. Around the waist is a thick piece of brown plaid to act as an apron. Some men just wear the brown fabric as a skirt.
Friday night we traveled to Panajachel, a tourist destination on the shores of the lake. Pana has an immense artisan market that we had hopes of exploring when the rain started. We decided to keep walking with thoughts we could find a restaurant to wait out the rain in. By the time we figured out we were a bit lost, the streets were flowing with up to 6 inches of water. Totally soaked, we finally found the rest of our group in time for the presidential debates to begin. I sipped hot chocolate with kalua, attempting to dry off and watched the candidates on a projector screen while drunk Americans yelled at the screen.
Upon returning to my home in Sta. Maria Cauque the next morning, I realized I forgot my key. No one was home in my house so I joined Nic in his house for a few hours. His Guatemadre Anacleta made us a lunch of fish tacos and limeade while we played Go Fish with his 9-year-old host sister. When Don Francisco arrived home for lunch he said he had a big problem. His potatoes were in bad shape. It sounded like a fungus to Nic and I. After lunch Nic and Francisco journeyed to Francisco’s land and I tried my house again, this time greeted by my family. I was happy to see them and as a surprise they had moved all my things to anther room in the house that is a bit nicer. They had arranged everything in the new room including stacking my books, lining up in order of bottle size my vitamins and folding my underwear.
Today we celebrated Jessica’s birthday. Jessica is Nic’s host sister, she just turned 9. There were two piñatas and a delicious strawberries and cream cake. All her family came to celebrate with her and each took a turn swinging a broken broom handle in the small courtyard blindfolded. Don Francisco is maybe one of the goofiest men in Guatemala, with a girlish giggle to boot. He had us rolling with his antics and his laugh.
Once home again, I taught Irma how to make lasagna, and made a tasty kale soup. I have to say, for a stove-top oven (one big pot covering a smaller pot on a burner), the lasagna was maybe one of the tastiest I’ve made yet.

Ruins and Rivers

Two hours, three buses and a ride in the back of a mini-truck brought us to Iximche just outside of Tecpan. These are the ruins of the first capital city for they Kakchiquel nation. The ruins are set up on a hill, with a beautiful view of the outlaying rolling hills. We enjoyed lunch there, checking out the ruins and then just relaxing on the grass, imagining what life was like there 400 years ago.
This morning I awoke to a hot sun. I washed my clothes and ate breakfast while watching cartoons on an 8 inch black-and-white TV with Stefani. Irma made the best oatmeal I’ve had in Guatemala yet. After breakfast, I headed out the door, machete in hand to meet Don Juan who owns land in the mountains. We hiked for about 2 hours, bushwacking through dense jungle-like forest for about half that time to reach “the birth of the river”. It was a small but deep pool, only about three feet across, full of clear water. Surrounding it were banana trees and wild-growing hydrangea with blooms the size of my head. The little pool spilled over a trickle that is one of the main water sources for Sta. Maria Cauque.
On the way down, we stopped in a small gorge, covered in moss that looked like seaweed. At the head of the canyon there was a small door. Don Juan entered first, then myself and the other brave ones followed. It was a natural cavern, carved out by the little trickle we had seen an hour before. We walked up the cavern, barely squeezing through at some points, about 40 feet where we encountered the head of the canyon. We had a small, hand-cranked flashlight that provided a little bit of light, but when the people in back had the flashlight, Don Juan lit match after match so he could show me the minerals accumulating on the sandstone faces. All the while, the spring flowed beneath our feet.
Outside, Don Juan pointed out a bamboo like tree that hold water in its stalks. He said if you put the water on your head it will make your hair grow. I’ve started documenting the results. He said in a year my hair will be to my butt.
Upon returning to town we stopped at the garden to weed as we will be neglecting it the next week as we leave for Field Based Training in Solola. When I opened the door to my house, Stefani came running, as she always does, but this time she was naked from the waste down and hair wild on her head. When I left, only 4 hours earlier, she was freshly washed and dressed, hair neatly pulled back. Tonight, I will cook for my family again as I round out another eventful week in Guatemala.
(Pictures will have to wait. Internet is completely slow in Sta. Maria Cauque. I will post some new ones, and have new tales in about 10 days, after field based training.)

Mis Amigas

Time continues to fly by with my grip on it loose. I am continually pleasantly surprised by how well things are going. There is little that has got me down and much that has blessed my spirit. I am rounding out five weeks here already. My Spanish is at a decent somewhat conversational level and I am able to navigate the bus system, remind the ayudante on the bus that he owes me a Q or more in change, that it is not my first time on the bus and am feeling more comfortable in my new environment. My family is beginning to feel more like family everyday as we continue to laugh with each other and as they continue to teach me about the chapin culture. They call me “Amarilla”, yellow, and “munyeca”, baby doll because of my hair. The kids run out of the dining room when they hear the door close to see if it’s me. The other night when I arrived late for dinner, Irma told me that Stephani would not sleep until she saw me. Stefani greets me with squeals and swinging arms. She inspects my earrings every day and plays peek-a-boo at the table every night.
The days are full; Spanish classes, technical training, weeding the garden and checking on the worms, working with the students the school and visiting other towns. Weeks are bookended by trips to Antigua or other destinations for a change of sight and to get a good cup of coffee. This weekend will include a trip to some ruins for a picnic in the park for another volunteer’s birthday and Monday starts a week of field based training in another department. Today we did formal presentations at the school, two presentations each and I found that with the second presentation I didn’t have to think much about what I was saying. This evening was Edwin and Lupe’s first English lesson over café and sweet bread and a trip to the Marimba school and museum for a personal concert.
I do look forward to my site when I can be more self-sufficient. As of now I have yet to cook a meal (aside from the curry I made for my family a few weeks ago), wash my clothes or even do the dishes. My family prepares the temascal, the sauna where I bathe and pack my lunches when I travel. My schedule is given to me and I have to be in before dark. It feels a bit like being fifteen all over again.
More than a few days visiting the bathroom frequently lead me to talk to the medical team here. A lab test confirmed that I am in fact the first volunteer in my class to carry amebas. “A significant amount” of amebas, according to the nurse and to be exact. I think I’ve tracked in back to some street food I had with my family last weekend while visiting Xenacoj for the beauty pageant. PC staff warned us about street food, but I’ve always been one to learn the hard way. “Tengo amebas”(I have amebas), I told my mom. “No Katarin. Tienes amigas” (No, you have friends). When my mom laughs, which is often, her belly jumps under her colorful half-apron and her mouth opens wide in a toothy smile. Amebas are nothing that 25 days of antibiotics won’t take care of.
Life is pretty good.

Thanks for Nic for stepping in with the camera when mine failed me. These shots are me in the traditional traje of the pueblo I’m living in. And it was just my luck that day that my guatemadre’s madre was in casa for a visit. The family tree goes like this, from left to right. Isaias with his wife, my sister, Irma, my Guatemadre Marta, me, my niece Stefani, 80-year-old Lorenza, Marta’s mom, Lupe who is Edwin’s (my brother) wife and their son Danny.

Fin de Semana

As I sit and write this, my niece Stefani is sitting on my lap. We are listening to Arcade Fire’s Funeral and she is playing along with the mini marimba I got her for her birthday yesterday. I’m not how happy mom was about the gift, but Stefani sure likes it.
I took a nice long stroll the other morning and took these landscape shots. It is so beautiful and so green here. The picture of the Mayan Priestess is another ceremony I was able to attend at the Peace Corps center. The ceremony was to bless us and was very moving. There is also a picture of my sister Irma and her daughter Stefani, eating the gift I just gave her. Atta’ girl. The rest are random photos of the parade today for Independence Day. The parade was all small kids, all dressed up somehow, funny and all of them wanted their picture taken. My family dressed me in the traditional traje today, and with impeccable timing my camera battery died as soon as we were all posed for the picture. The charger is somewhere in Oregon so it may be a little while before any more pictures are posted.

Arriba

The first, of many, encounters with sickness. The last thing I ate before the sickness set in was pepian, a famous Guatemalan dish that is essentially a gravy stew served over rice. The sickness consisted of about 24 hours of severe nausea and stomach pain, overlapping with another 24 hours of diarrhea, totally about 36 hours of no fun. I’m feeling better now, but the thought of pepian makes my stomach twist a bit. This all began, of course, the day I told my family I have a stomach of iron.
Our Spanish teacher graciously gave us the afternoon off. This was perfect timing for me, as I still needed time to sleep and recover from the sickness. The other PCVs in Sta. Maria Cauque and I had decided to meet later that afternoon to weed our garden and check on our worms. As I strolled toward the garden, I see Nicole headed down with two hoes on her shoulder. Turns out plans had changed and we had been invited to a community a few bus stops from ours to help with something.
As we arrive in the community and greet the other PCVs, we learn that we will be judges at the local institution. Students had constructed projects to represent Guatemala for Independence Day, September 15. We 7 gringos, strolled from room to room at the school with grade sheets in our hands. To enter each room, we had to walk through a line of students crowding us, and as the last gringo entered the kids were crowded at our backs. They would describe to us their projects, some very elaborately and creatively constructed, even overtaking the classroom. One group sang to us, one danced, one gave us tamales and another pepian (I accepted with a smile and escaped the room without having to taste the cold gravy). After viewing 13 projects, we deliberated and decided the winner. The ones that gave us tamales. We presented the certificates to the winners standing on one balcony, looking down to the lower where the 200 students stood, eyes looking up.
As Nic and I walked to our houses, we saw his Guatemadre and 8 year old sister standing in the street. The torch was about to come through town. Nic, Jessica and I ran down the street to the plaza where people were already gathered around the stage. As we ran, we could see at every block the mob of people running together the next block over; all with whistles in their mouths, sounding with each exhale. We arrived in time to have the mob circle the plaza three times, whistles still sounding but this time adding “arriba” to every fourth or fifth whistle blow. They entered the plaza where the mayor gave a quick speech. I decided to head home at this point, as I was already a half hour late for dinner. As I walked the dim streets, a 6 year old boy with his mother was practicing his karate moves. With every jump or kick, he would land hands and feet on the ground, butt in the air cheeks exposed. He would recover the grounding, yank up the pants and in two steps was on the ground again, and again cheeks exposed. I was able to witness a comical dozen of these karate moves strolling behind, trying not to laugh too loud.

Photos

A quick explanation of photos from the top:
A few kids who live in an aldea (village) near San Martin where we did a short class on nutrition.
Senorita Santa Maria Cauque. This is the winner of a scholastic beauty pageant of sorts. There were about 9 communities total who participated. Each community had to perform a traditional dance, conduct a speech and answer a question. It came down to two finalists; Sta. Maria Cauque and Sta. Maria Jesus. The judges asked the two finalists to conduct a speech in Kachiquel, and the other finalists was unable. Marta was crowned Reya Conalfa for the next year. My brother and his wife coordinated the event for our town, so they were very pleased.
Next are my cousins Luis and Celeste. Both are sporting the traditional clothing of Sta. Maria Cauque. You can tell where a woman is from by her guipile, or woven blouse. Each community has a distinct pattern.
Last is a view of los campos near my house. It is mighty pretty here.

El Dia Los Abuelos

We entered the home of Marta’s niece through the gate. After greeting a half dozen smiling family members we moved to the back yard and entered a half constructed house. The cinderblock walls were up two stories, with everything but the roof and the floors, which were dirt. The women went to work plucking the petals from yellow, purple, red and white daisies. Edwin began to organize the candles and incense. One woman began to sweep the dirt with the now bare flower stems. The spot was in the hallway, near the front door and with an opening to each side. She poured sugar on the ground, first in a cross then closing it with a circle. Next she arranged large balls of compressed cedar incense over the sugar, 13 in total. 13 symbolizes all the movements the body; neck, shoulders, elbows, wrists, the three joints in the fingers, the wait, the legs, the knees, the ankles, and two in the toes. Next she sprinkles loose incense chips over the whole thing. In the center, with wicks facing inward she placed 4 or 5 candles of each color: black, which signifies the dark hair of the people, death and also West, where the sun sets; White which signifies sky, clouds, rain and North, where the wind comes from; Red, which signifies blood, life and East, where the sun rises, and yellow, which signifies South and the harvest. Over that she crossed sticks of incense pine. She placed 4 cigars, and two pieces of bread on top of the sticks. We created cardinal arrows around the offering with the flower pedals, aligning with the same colors of the candles and traced the triangles in green leaves.
While the offering was being constructed, the abuelitos (grandparents) walked from roofless room to room praying, swinging incense and sprinkling holy water. I was offered a seat near the offering; a cinderblock on its side with the green flower stems for a cushion. My guatemadre sat to my right on her knees protected from the dirt by a plastic feedbag.
To begin the ceremony, the woman explained briefly to the group, mostly looking in my direction about the ceremony. This is a special day to honor first God, and secondly our ancestors. She then transitioned to only speaking in Kachiquel of which I understand two words: good and okay. As she lit the candles of the offering, the abuelito who was standing to my left in the doorway, audible farted. About 40 minutes into the ceremony each person was handed a green candle. This is to represent all of nature. Each of us tossed our candle to the fire. Next, we were handed a white candle and a handful of sesame seeds. The white candle signified the path sesame seeds are a symbol for money. Near the end of the ceremony, each of the three nenes (small children) present where swirled over the fire by their armpits. This is a form of spiritual cleansing.
What I anticipated to be a formal, somber ceremony was quite casual, although steeped in ritual. Cell phones interrupted the monologue. Isa, sitting apart from the fire in one of the rooms, was trying to fix a handheld video game for the kids. At one point in the ceremony, I was offered a cigar. I obliged, and puffed along with the abuelito and Edwin, who took the ceremony very seriously (at lunch, Edwin described the ceremony and the symbolism of the ceremony to me in detail. He also taught me about other aspects of the Mayan Spirit. He said a lot of things are similar to the red skinned people of my country. He has conducted a lot of self-study and holds the Mayan Spirit himself).  At another point, we were handed small chips of compressed incense chips that were dark in color. I was examining these chips, which included smelling them. Irma nudged me and said “It’s chocolate, Katarin. Eat!”. 2 hours later, when the material was mostly consumed, the ceremony was deemed complete. Again, transitioning back to Spanish with eyes on me, the woman explained that both God and the ancestors agreed with the ceremony and are content. Drinking chocolate and bread were passed to each person to end the day.
Later, over dinner, I asked Edwin if he thought the ceremony went well. He enthusiastically confirmed. He said when the fire swirls, it means direct contact with God. I noticed this during the ceremony, multiple times a spontaneous burst and swirl of the fire, for no apparent reason; no extra fuel was added to the fire and there was no change in the wind or weather. He also explained the cigars, called ‘puras’ are a way of divining an answer. If, as you puff your pura it breaks and falls to the ground, then your problem will be solved soon. If your pura does not break, you’ve got a bigger problem on your hands. He also informed me that during the civil war here, a 36 year war that ended in ’96, Mayan spiritual traditions were outlawed, and that those caught practicing would be executed. Maybe this explains the seemingly contradictory mix of indigenous and Catholic practices.
On the walk home, Isa had his leather planner tucked under his suited arm. He explained that he is a pastor (he is a nurse) and that all who walk with him are saved.

Another Day

What a day today (although I feel as though I say this most days). Awake at 4:30 in order to arrive in Antigua by 6. After waiting at the bus change stop for nearly an hour, with plenty of buses passing, but none headed to Antigua, we arrive at 6:30. We load on a minibus and drive an hour and a half with our destination looming on the horizon the whole time: Volcan Pacaya. We hiked for only about an hour and a half before reaching a hole in the side of the mountain where lava oozed out slowly but steadily. We were literally walking on ground formed no more than a month ago, if not sooner. I was able to poke the lava with a stick, which very rapidly caught fire. A friend brought up a bag of strawberry flavored marshmallows and chocolate coated cookies. We made s’mores from the lava at nearly 8k feet. The ride home, in which I was fortunate enough to ride shotgun, provided for a contemplative view of the Guatemalan countryside. We passed through towns at the base of the volcano and milpas fields on the slopes of hills angled at 70 degrees. In Antigua we were welcomed with rain so heavy and steady it flooded the old cobblestone street to the sidewalks 8 inches above. Once on the bus home, I sat next to a young man who looked American, but one can never assume. He turned and asked me if I was with PC. Turns out, he’s finishing his service this Friday and headed back to South Carolina. This guy, like nearly every other returned volunteer I’ve talked to, got this look in his eye while talking about his experience. More than once he said, “Man, part of me really wishes I was in y’alls shoes”. All the while this guy was talking, a portly middle aged Guatemalan man was clinging to wet scraps of newspaper and magazine and eagerly listening in on our conversation. After our PC friend exited the bus, this Guatemalan man took his place next to me. He told me, in very broken English, that he attended college in Michigan and that he knew what were talking about. He began to speak, very passionately, at times almost yelling, about what each of us is going to do to change the world. What is the US going to do? What am I going to do? What is he going to do? What is my buddy Nic going to do? It was an intense bus ride home, and again made me wonder how the coming years will change my heart and mind.
So now, I sit in my room, the power has gone out and I am pretty pooped. This Wednesday marks three weeks here in Guate. It feels like more than that already.
Moving on to pictures. One is my Spanish teacher Isabel shopping at the market in Chimaltenango, the second largest city in Guate. We all went and then made pupusas (essentially quesadillas) at her house that afternoon. The camionetas (buses) are the traveling shrines that transport me from here to there. The adorable little girl is my host neice, Stafani. She’s pretty hilarious, we play peek a boo at the dinner table. The rest are Katie vs. Volcano. My camera is not the best so you may just have to believe that there is oozing lava just a few feet from me in these pictures. You will also have to believe how ridiculously hot it was.