So it's October again. and this time I'm a senior. schneikies.
I guess that means I'm supposed to start figuring out what I'm going to do with my life--or at least for the next year or two. at least, that's the impression I get, since everyone asks me all the time.
but it's not that simple. there are so many factors to consider, not the least of which is myself. there are so many things I COULD do--the question is which one is right for me, for my passions, for the direction I think I might want to go with my life.
it's fall break, which is why I have time to sit at my computer and write this. at my computer on the couch in the living room of my HOUSE! I don't think I could stand it if I were living in a dorm this year. my spirit has a need to be free from the institutionalism of school. to feel more connected to the world. to not be completely swallowed up by "the bubble".
they're tearing apart the campus.
one day I walked to class at 8am, and when I walked back down the road an hour and a half later, the big flower bed along the side of the intersection was missing. removed. replaced by a big flat empty gravel patch. on Thursday, that class will be meeting in a modular on the other corner of campus, because they're going to tear down the education building. a large swath has been cut out of the woods of Norway Valley. they are putting a new road in. making way for the new state-of-the-art environmentally-friendly science center! but i find it more sad than exciting. disruptive. ugly. maybe when it's all done I'll be happier about it, but that won't be for at least 4 more years.
i want to make apple crisp. i want to watch Hazel and Skye and Birka grow up. i want to work with latin@ kids. i want to play the guitar. i want to eat gallo pinto and pupusas. i want to go to africa. i want to live in a big city. i want to live on a farm. i want to fall in love. i want to have children. i want to adopt children. i want to raise bilingual children. i want to go to mexico. and el salavador. again. and india. i want to like tomatoes. i want to make the world a better place. i want to be free. i want you to be free. anhelo. anhelo.
anhelo.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Friday, July 7, 2006
and home
On Tuesday, May 30th, I took the fancy bus from Copán to Guatemala City. I spent the night in Casa San José--the same guest house where my group stayed for the first three days of the semester! It was wonderful to be staying in a familiar place after a stressful day, and gave a sense of closure to my experience, coming full circle to end my experience abroad in the same city and the same place as where it all began.
At 5:45 the next morning, I rode in a taxi through the rain-slicked, dark, and empty streets of Guatemala City to the airport, to catch my 8AM flight back to the U.S. I was sad to be leaving, but happy to be returning to a place where it's ok to flush toilet paper, you can drink out of the tap, there are toilet seats, smooth sheets, snow-capped mountains, all kind of food to choose from, and where the weather is cooler (most of the time). There were also a number of things I wasn't looking forward to about coming home, but as I wrote in my journal my first night back, "home always feels like more of home than I think it's going to," so I was pleasantly surprised to find myself happier about being back than I thought I would be.
The one big adjustment I hadn't been counting on was the bittersweet realization that I didn't have to figure out how to communicate in Spanish anymore--and that if I did, people would probably look at me strangely. Spanish wasn't the only thing I was having withdrawals from--my first two weeks back I walked around in long pants and a sweatshirt most of the day because I was so cold! I felt like I had returned to January, wearing the same clothes that I'd worn before I left, only they were on a much tanner person who was no longer quite the same person who'd worn those clothes four months earlier...
To echo my parting wish to Central America, "Good night, sleep well, and may you never cease to dream..." ...and may I somehow be a part of making that dream a reality...
At 5:45 the next morning, I rode in a taxi through the rain-slicked, dark, and empty streets of Guatemala City to the airport, to catch my 8AM flight back to the U.S. I was sad to be leaving, but happy to be returning to a place where it's ok to flush toilet paper, you can drink out of the tap, there are toilet seats, smooth sheets, snow-capped mountains, all kind of food to choose from, and where the weather is cooler (most of the time). There were also a number of things I wasn't looking forward to about coming home, but as I wrote in my journal my first night back, "home always feels like more of home than I think it's going to," so I was pleasantly surprised to find myself happier about being back than I thought I would be.
The one big adjustment I hadn't been counting on was the bittersweet realization that I didn't have to figure out how to communicate in Spanish anymore--and that if I did, people would probably look at me strangely. Spanish wasn't the only thing I was having withdrawals from--my first two weeks back I walked around in long pants and a sweatshirt most of the day because I was so cold! I felt like I had returned to January, wearing the same clothes that I'd worn before I left, only they were on a much tanner person who was no longer quite the same person who'd worn those clothes four months earlier...
To echo my parting wish to Central America, "Good night, sleep well, and may you never cease to dream..." ...and may I somehow be a part of making that dream a reality...
Thursday, July 6, 2006
Honduras
Well, everyone, this is my last travelogue. I want to thank you all for your interest and support, and for travelling electronically with me on this journey. I hope these updates have been informative and interesting. I want to let you know that all of my photos from the semester are available online at http://community.webshots.com/user/Autumnrose1125 with detailed captions. Peruse at your leisure!
As you know by now, I ended my travels abroad with a short trip to Honduras. Mom and I traveled together on a 1st-class "luxury" bus from Managua to Tegucigalpa, which nevertheless did not excuse us from being stopped at a police check and having all our luggage and carry-ons checked. After a short night in a cheap, but safe, motel, we took an early morning 2nd-class bus (comfy seats, but no bathroom or air conditioning) to La Ceiba, on the northern coast of Honduras. What a surprise, as Mom and I were waiting in the bus station for the bus that would take us to Limón, when all of sudden my dad showed up! He was travelling from Copán, where he'd been at a language school for two weeks, but we hadn't expected to cross paths on the way to Prairie's, thinking he'd be a few hours ahead of us. When all three of us arrived at Prairie and Beth's house in the early evening that Sunday, we were greeted with surprise and joy, because they didn't think we would get there as soon as we had, figuring it wouldn't be until the next day!
I had a lovely week with my family--having all four of us together in the same place has become a rarity in recent years, although we were all at home for 4 weeks together around Christmas. We swam in the Caribbean a few times and took a walking tour of the little town, but mostly just sat and talked with my sister and Beth and joined in their everyday living routines--pumping water, washing clothes, going to the store, cooking meals, and doing devotions.
Prairie is helping Beth start a women's monastery up in the hills outside of town, and we went and visited the property and worked in the garden with them. Construction was still underway while I was there, but just recently they moved their living quarters permanently to the mountain!
After my parents left on Saturday, I spent four more days at Prairie and Beth's house, making two more trips to "the mountain" and preparing to leave. As foreigners, they have to leave and re-enter the country every three months or so, and so they took the opportunity of my departure to do that. We travelled to La Ceiba and spent two nights at the Methodist Church in a nearby town, then went on to Copán for some vacation time and to visit the Mayan ruins.
As you know by now, I ended my travels abroad with a short trip to Honduras. Mom and I traveled together on a 1st-class "luxury" bus from Managua to Tegucigalpa, which nevertheless did not excuse us from being stopped at a police check and having all our luggage and carry-ons checked. After a short night in a cheap, but safe, motel, we took an early morning 2nd-class bus (comfy seats, but no bathroom or air conditioning) to La Ceiba, on the northern coast of Honduras. What a surprise, as Mom and I were waiting in the bus station for the bus that would take us to Limón, when all of sudden my dad showed up! He was travelling from Copán, where he'd been at a language school for two weeks, but we hadn't expected to cross paths on the way to Prairie's, thinking he'd be a few hours ahead of us. When all three of us arrived at Prairie and Beth's house in the early evening that Sunday, we were greeted with surprise and joy, because they didn't think we would get there as soon as we had, figuring it wouldn't be until the next day!
I had a lovely week with my family--having all four of us together in the same place has become a rarity in recent years, although we were all at home for 4 weeks together around Christmas. We swam in the Caribbean a few times and took a walking tour of the little town, but mostly just sat and talked with my sister and Beth and joined in their everyday living routines--pumping water, washing clothes, going to the store, cooking meals, and doing devotions.
Prairie is helping Beth start a women's monastery up in the hills outside of town, and we went and visited the property and worked in the garden with them. Construction was still underway while I was there, but just recently they moved their living quarters permanently to the mountain!
After my parents left on Saturday, I spent four more days at Prairie and Beth's house, making two more trips to "the mountain" and preparing to leave. As foreigners, they have to leave and re-enter the country every three months or so, and so they took the opportunity of my departure to do that. We travelled to La Ceiba and spent two nights at the Methodist Church in a nearby town, then went on to Copán for some vacation time and to visit the Mayan ruins.
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
finishing up Nicaragua
Hola otra vez,
I can't believe it's July and I haven't finished my updates yet -- I've now been home for over a month! Here goes--the marathon to the end (we're almost there!)...I want to mention some other interesting things we did in Nicaragua and how we finished up the semester.
1) There was a group of girls who decided that for their final project they wanted to do something hands-on that would make a difference, so they volunteered with an organization that works with kids. Dos Generaciones runs programs on Saturday mornings for poor children who help their families eke out a living by working at the city dump. The children who are selected by the organization come every Saturday to play games and do arts and crafts, and for three weeks these were organized by the girls from our group with others of us volunteering. I went one of the weeks to help out, playing soccer and making piñatas with these fun, bright children who have so much potential but whose possibilities are thwarted by poverty, hunger, and the embarrassing necessity to work at the dump.
2) Near Sébaco and Ciudad Darío, we visited a small rural community where they have developed an irrigation system with the help of funds from Switzerland. This enables them to grow crops all year round, have a more stable income, and send their children to school, but it is projected that the water supply will only last for 13 years. I guess the hope is that by things will have changed enough that they will have new ways to support their families...
3) The next day, we paid a visit to Jubilee House, a project that was started near Ciudad Sandino (20 min. from Managua) in 1979. The Jubilee House is the headquarters of the organization "Center for Development in Central America", which tries to help and support the community in the way of health, jobs, and education. Their website can explain it all a whole lot better than I can: www.jhc-cdca.org. One of their big projects is a maquila, which is run as a cooperative and makes organic cotton clothing which is sold to the U.S. on the free trade market. Their other major project is a health center in Nueva Vida, right next to Ciudad Sandino. Nueva Vida and Ciudad Sandino are extremely poor communities (the poorest and most dense in the country), with unemployment rates up around 80-90 percent. Ciudad Sandino was started in 1973 as a place for people displaced by the earthquake to relocate. Since then, it has been a depository for those left without homes because of the war and natural disasters. The people of Nueva Vida were moved there after Hurricane Mitch in 1998. Jessenia's boyfriend--the father of Miurell--is currently living in Ciudad Sandino in order that his sister's home there be occupied while she is out of the country--because if it were to remain vacant, someone might decide to make use of it and she wouldn't be able to move back in when she returns.
4) The last day at our host house, a Sunday, was not spent at our house. Instead, our two host sisters took Angelica and I along with their children to go visit their grandparents, Doña Rosa's mother and father, who essentially raised Jessenia unti she was 10. They live in the little town of Santa Teresa, about an hour and a half's drive through beautiful countryside near the city of Jinotepe in the department of Carazo, along with two of Jessenia and Marilet's aunts (Doña Rosa is one of nine children) and some cousins. It was an enjoyable and relaxing day, getting to learn a little more about the family, watching the children play together and climb the starfruit tree like monkeys, eating ice cream and sliding down the concrete stair sides in the park. Back in Managua that evening, we bought them pizza for dinner, took photos, and said our goodbyes. On Monday morning, Miurell and Jeffrey came into our room as we were waking up and gave us goodbye hugs before they left for school, since we would be moving back into Casa Jaime Mayer that day.
5) The very last week was a marathon of finishing final projects, visiting host families, having anxiety about leaving soon, doing project presentations, and, for me, my mom arriving. On Monday morning, the eminent Fernando Cardenal, who is now 72, came and spoke to us. A Jesuit priest, he was the minister of Education during the 1980s, coordinated the 1980 Literacy Crusade, and was for a long time the vice-chair of the national young people's association. On Wednesday, Angelica and I returned to our host home to give them the family tree that she had made for them. They gave us the most jaw- dropping and unbelievable gift--a painting by Juan Carlos for each of us. That night, my mom arrived from the U.S., which complicated things a bit, but was wonderful nonetheless.
At the end of it all, after the last presentations and class evaluations were done on Thursday, we took off for a 24-hour retreat on the shore of the beautiful Laguna de Apoyo, a lake formed in a volcanic mountain crater. The purpose was to de-stress, decompress, say goodbye, and have some fun with this group of 20 people that we had come to know so well over the preceding three and half months. It was difficult to face the fact that we would all be leaving soon, going off in different directions and eventually (some sooner that others) out of Central America and back to the U.S.; to realize that we wouldn't be surrounded by these people, this community, with which had experienced so many new and different things. Most of us were excited for home and/or family, but none of us were excited to leave.
On Friday after my group returned, Mom and I went to the artisan market together, and then visited my host family again so I could introduce them. The first thing Doña Rosa said to my mother was to gesture towards me and say "Ella es mi hija (she is my daughter)."
The next morning, most of our group left for the airport at 5am, and at 9:45, the six of us that were left boarded the bus, which dropped mom and me off at the King Quality bus station. I said goodbye, and so ended my semester in Central America and began my adventures with Mom to Prairie's house in Honduras...
I can't believe it's July and I haven't finished my updates yet -- I've now been home for over a month! Here goes--the marathon to the end (we're almost there!)...I want to mention some other interesting things we did in Nicaragua and how we finished up the semester.
1) There was a group of girls who decided that for their final project they wanted to do something hands-on that would make a difference, so they volunteered with an organization that works with kids. Dos Generaciones runs programs on Saturday mornings for poor children who help their families eke out a living by working at the city dump. The children who are selected by the organization come every Saturday to play games and do arts and crafts, and for three weeks these were organized by the girls from our group with others of us volunteering. I went one of the weeks to help out, playing soccer and making piñatas with these fun, bright children who have so much potential but whose possibilities are thwarted by poverty, hunger, and the embarrassing necessity to work at the dump.
2) Near Sébaco and Ciudad Darío, we visited a small rural community where they have developed an irrigation system with the help of funds from Switzerland. This enables them to grow crops all year round, have a more stable income, and send their children to school, but it is projected that the water supply will only last for 13 years. I guess the hope is that by things will have changed enough that they will have new ways to support their families...
3) The next day, we paid a visit to Jubilee House, a project that was started near Ciudad Sandino (20 min. from Managua) in 1979. The Jubilee House is the headquarters of the organization "Center for Development in Central America", which tries to help and support the community in the way of health, jobs, and education. Their website can explain it all a whole lot better than I can: www.jhc-cdca.org. One of their big projects is a maquila, which is run as a cooperative and makes organic cotton clothing which is sold to the U.S. on the free trade market. Their other major project is a health center in Nueva Vida, right next to Ciudad Sandino. Nueva Vida and Ciudad Sandino are extremely poor communities (the poorest and most dense in the country), with unemployment rates up around 80-90 percent. Ciudad Sandino was started in 1973 as a place for people displaced by the earthquake to relocate. Since then, it has been a depository for those left without homes because of the war and natural disasters. The people of Nueva Vida were moved there after Hurricane Mitch in 1998. Jessenia's boyfriend--the father of Miurell--is currently living in Ciudad Sandino in order that his sister's home there be occupied while she is out of the country--because if it were to remain vacant, someone might decide to make use of it and she wouldn't be able to move back in when she returns.
4) The last day at our host house, a Sunday, was not spent at our house. Instead, our two host sisters took Angelica and I along with their children to go visit their grandparents, Doña Rosa's mother and father, who essentially raised Jessenia unti she was 10. They live in the little town of Santa Teresa, about an hour and a half's drive through beautiful countryside near the city of Jinotepe in the department of Carazo, along with two of Jessenia and Marilet's aunts (Doña Rosa is one of nine children) and some cousins. It was an enjoyable and relaxing day, getting to learn a little more about the family, watching the children play together and climb the starfruit tree like monkeys, eating ice cream and sliding down the concrete stair sides in the park. Back in Managua that evening, we bought them pizza for dinner, took photos, and said our goodbyes. On Monday morning, Miurell and Jeffrey came into our room as we were waking up and gave us goodbye hugs before they left for school, since we would be moving back into Casa Jaime Mayer that day.
5) The very last week was a marathon of finishing final projects, visiting host families, having anxiety about leaving soon, doing project presentations, and, for me, my mom arriving. On Monday morning, the eminent Fernando Cardenal, who is now 72, came and spoke to us. A Jesuit priest, he was the minister of Education during the 1980s, coordinated the 1980 Literacy Crusade, and was for a long time the vice-chair of the national young people's association. On Wednesday, Angelica and I returned to our host home to give them the family tree that she had made for them. They gave us the most jaw- dropping and unbelievable gift--a painting by Juan Carlos for each of us. That night, my mom arrived from the U.S., which complicated things a bit, but was wonderful nonetheless.
At the end of it all, after the last presentations and class evaluations were done on Thursday, we took off for a 24-hour retreat on the shore of the beautiful Laguna de Apoyo, a lake formed in a volcanic mountain crater. The purpose was to de-stress, decompress, say goodbye, and have some fun with this group of 20 people that we had come to know so well over the preceding three and half months. It was difficult to face the fact that we would all be leaving soon, going off in different directions and eventually (some sooner that others) out of Central America and back to the U.S.; to realize that we wouldn't be surrounded by these people, this community, with which had experienced so many new and different things. Most of us were excited for home and/or family, but none of us were excited to leave.
On Friday after my group returned, Mom and I went to the artisan market together, and then visited my host family again so I could introduce them. The first thing Doña Rosa said to my mother was to gesture towards me and say "Ella es mi hija (she is my daughter)."
The next morning, most of our group left for the airport at 5am, and at 9:45, the six of us that were left boarded the bus, which dropped mom and me off at the King Quality bus station. I said goodbye, and so ended my semester in Central America and began my adventures with Mom to Prairie's house in Honduras...
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Nicaragua Pt. 2 -- Host Families
Well, it's father's day as I begin this, and I've been thinking about how all minus a few of my seven host families I stayed with during the semester had an absent father. In Quetzaltenango, my host mother was divorced, and the father lived in Guatemala City. At La Escuela de la Montaña, the children's father was in the U.S. (and my host mother's father worked in Xela all week and was only home on Tuesdays). In San Jose las Flores, the father of the oldest kids was killed during the war, although she was remarried with two younger children and we saw the father once or twice while we were there. The husband of Cordelia, my host mother in Nueva Esperanza, died during the war as well. There was a father in El Sitio, who came in after we'd all gone to bed and was gone when I woke up. The father of my Managua family had never been around much, and eventually left for good and married another woman. My host family in our rural Nicaraguan stay was very stable with a wonderful father. Let me elaborate on my experiences with the two host families I had in Nicaragua.
As I said in my previous email, we lived in the CGE house our first and last week in Nica, and if you subtract spring break and our 4-day rural stay, we lived with our host families in Managua for about 4 weeks. The homes were all in the community, or barrio--which is the word for a poor neighborhood--,of Batahola Norte. My family actually lived one block outside of Batahola, in Dinamarka, but all of the families were involved with the Centro Cultural.
Batahola is well known internationally, in certain circles, for two reasons: it was the first housing project taken on by the Sandinista government in 1980, and for its Cultural Center, which was founded in 1983. The cultural center offers classes of all types to the members of the community (music, dance, sewing, cooking, adult education, etc.), contains a library, and is especially famous for its murals, which cover almost every wall surface. The murals depict Nicaraguan history as well as images of the community's struggles. More information is available at www.friendsofbatahola.org , or--in Spanish--at www.ccbnnic.org (this site doesn't seem to be working, but there is a very cool picture of the mural at the front of the church at the top of the home page--do you recognize the four men on the left?).
My little blue house with its living/dining area, kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms was on a dirt street. Eight people lived there. With Angelica and I, that made 10, and the two of us stayed in the little tiny room with two twin beds and a foot and a half of walking space between them while everyone else slept in the large bedroom. Our family was made up of Doña Rosa, her four children, and three grandchildren: Marilet, 32, with sons Jeffrey, 7, and Esteven, 18 months; Jessenia, 24, with daughter Miurell, who turned 7 while we were there; Bismarck, 18; and Juan Carlos, 14.
Here's a description of some of the characteristics of living in that house: "a rattley fan, a bed with bar across my chest, a window that opens onto a concrete wall. Corrugated metal roof with wooden 2x2 cross- beams. Aqua walls -- cement, wood, and metal, depending on the side of the room. Curtain door to our bedroom, debris falling on our beds from the roof. Paintings (some by Juan Carlos), and giant posters with photos of fancy U.S. country homes. Rocking chairs with wicker seats and backs. Table with a hole in it where we eat, do art, and study. Ants -- big ones -- in the bathroom. The first week it was cockroaches. Television is on most of the time, especially telenovelas, graphic news, music videos, and Hollywood movies dubbed in Spanish. Music, coming from somewhere down the street. Children yelling, neighbors talking in the street -- or in the house. Esteven, endless source of entertainment!"
Because we were so busy with activities and homework, I didn't get to really experience the culture as much as I'd hoped. But one cultural gem that I did learn about was the "gigantón": We were playing games with the kids in the back yard when we heard drumming, and they all started yelling excitedly and ran off down the street. After a while, we discovered what all the excitement was about. It was a "gigantón," a group of people marching down the street with drums, let by a very tall paper-mache and cloth person and an "enano" or elf, with a huge round head. As they made their way down the road, all the kids from the neighborhood followed, Angelica and I with them, overprotective Americans that we are--we were the oldest people in the crew; everyone else was probably under 13.
One of the bonding experiences we had with the kids was doing art with them and the neighbors. Angelica was an artist, so she brought paper, crayons, and colored pencils. My bonding experience with the women of the house happened when I got sick. "All three of them came into my room to ask me how I felt and if I was sick, and then they proceeded to try to fix me. It was actually really sweet. Doña Rosa admonished me for not telling them the second I got home, because "I could have died quietly on my bed without anyone knowing!" I assured her that it wasn't that bad. But Marilet, who's a nurse, took my temperature, gave me some pills, bought me some crackers, and ordered me to drink a bottle of Pedialyte for rehydration. When I threw up later, Doña Rosa made me a special "tea," which was lime and baking soda- flavored foam. It was one of the strangest concoctions I've ever drunk, but it did the trick, and I felt much better in the morning!"
I was glad to be feeling better because that was the morning we left for our trip to the rural community of Sontule, northeast of Estelí. Sontule is part of the Miraflor Union of Agricultural Cooperatives. Almost all of the men in the community are coffee farmers and grow organic coffee that is sold on the Fair Trade market. Of course, that means that all the best stuff is exported and they only get to drink the second-rate coffee. The farmers in Sontule have been organized into cooperatives since the early 1980s, which made it a target during the contra war, and their coffee storage building was burned out at least 3 times and otherwise attacked during the war. In 1995, the women decided they wanted to start a women's cooperative, which does many things, one of which is an eco-tourism project that involves living with families.
Two other students and I stayed with the family of Vilma Ivania and Guadalupe Castillo. Their house was an 8-minute walk down a two-track road off the main [gravel] road. My impression of their house, surrounded by plants, was "like a little green paradise among the dryness. Some would say, wow, what poor living conditions, but by rural Nicaraguan conditions, it's quite nice! It's pretty big, with tile floor, concrete in the kitchen, a porch and a side patio with hammocks. No running water or electricity, though. We do things like write in journals by candlelight, go to bed at 9pm, and take bucket baths. Their shower is outside, heavy black plastic wrapped around four wooden posts, surrounding a large stone slab to stand on.
Thursday we went with Ivania to the well to fetch water. Lucky for them it's a pretty short walk. On our way back she took us to see their other well, which is used for bath and wash water. Then she showed us around their garden. It consists of coffee plants; mango, banana, lemon, and orange tree; achiote, which makes a red dye; and pataculo, which is a spice. They have lots of varieties of lemons and oranges-- lemons the size of grapefruits, oranges that taste like lemons--we know, we tried one...
The weather there was like being back in Guatemala -- so beautiful and pleasant! It was the only time during our stay in Nicaragua when we needed blankets at night. In fact, we wore pants and long sleeve shirts to bed.
Ivania is an amazing, powerful, strong, articulate, feminist. She and her husband are confident that Daniel Ortega (who was the FSLN president in the 80s) will win the presidential election in November. During the war, she was part of an armed vigilante women's group until they moved to Sontule from Estelí. Her job then became to take care of the kids and the house while Guadalupe was out working and fighting. She told us a story about the first instance that would become a common occurrence during the war: They had been living in Sontule for two days. That day, she was alone in the house, taking care of a lot of children, when all of a sudden she heard bombing and shooting. She took the kids and ran for the mountains. The youngest was her son, Alvaro, who was 4 months old, born by a C-section from which Ivania was not yet completely healed. There were so many kids to keep track of, she accidentally left one of them behind who had been sleeping, whom she had to go back and fetch. The Contras burned the house and everything in and around it. She stayed in the mountains with the children for two whole days with practically no food. And yet she says that she liked the war--because she was never scared by it, and she believed in the principles that it supported and struggled for.
While there, we visited the neighboring community of Cebollal (a 40-minute drive down the gravel road), where they do the quality-testing (called "catación" or coffee-cupping) of the coffee that the farmers grow. We got to watch and participate in a demonstration of the process, which made the coffee fans in our group very happy. We also went on a walk through an orchid reserve and got to climb inside a giant tree that a ficus/phycus plant had killed. The other name for ficus in Spanish is "matapalo," which literally means branch/tree killer. They start in the tops of trees and their roots grow down, twining around the tree and eventually to the ground, essentially strangling and stealing nutrients from the trees. It was pretty amazing.
We ended our stay with the Castillo family just like we began it--with a dance party. They may not have electricity, but they are able to run a television (where they get most of their news from) and a boom box from a battery. The first night, Hannah's birthday was the occasion for the music and dancing. Not too many other people live with Ivania and Guadalupe, but a couple of their children and grandchildren live nearby--so there were probably about 7 adults there and at least 5 kids. It was a splendid weekend--but too short for my taste! I think the stays in the countryside were my favorite part of the program in each country.
As I said in my previous email, we lived in the CGE house our first and last week in Nica, and if you subtract spring break and our 4-day rural stay, we lived with our host families in Managua for about 4 weeks. The homes were all in the community, or barrio--which is the word for a poor neighborhood--,of Batahola Norte. My family actually lived one block outside of Batahola, in Dinamarka, but all of the families were involved with the Centro Cultural.
Batahola is well known internationally, in certain circles, for two reasons: it was the first housing project taken on by the Sandinista government in 1980, and for its Cultural Center, which was founded in 1983. The cultural center offers classes of all types to the members of the community (music, dance, sewing, cooking, adult education, etc.), contains a library, and is especially famous for its murals, which cover almost every wall surface. The murals depict Nicaraguan history as well as images of the community's struggles. More information is available at www.friendsofbatahola.org , or--in Spanish--at www.ccbnnic.org (this site doesn't seem to be working, but there is a very cool picture of the mural at the front of the church at the top of the home page--do you recognize the four men on the left?).
My little blue house with its living/dining area, kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms was on a dirt street. Eight people lived there. With Angelica and I, that made 10, and the two of us stayed in the little tiny room with two twin beds and a foot and a half of walking space between them while everyone else slept in the large bedroom. Our family was made up of Doña Rosa, her four children, and three grandchildren: Marilet, 32, with sons Jeffrey, 7, and Esteven, 18 months; Jessenia, 24, with daughter Miurell, who turned 7 while we were there; Bismarck, 18; and Juan Carlos, 14.
Here's a description of some of the characteristics of living in that house: "a rattley fan, a bed with bar across my chest, a window that opens onto a concrete wall. Corrugated metal roof with wooden 2x2 cross- beams. Aqua walls -- cement, wood, and metal, depending on the side of the room. Curtain door to our bedroom, debris falling on our beds from the roof. Paintings (some by Juan Carlos), and giant posters with photos of fancy U.S. country homes. Rocking chairs with wicker seats and backs. Table with a hole in it where we eat, do art, and study. Ants -- big ones -- in the bathroom. The first week it was cockroaches. Television is on most of the time, especially telenovelas, graphic news, music videos, and Hollywood movies dubbed in Spanish. Music, coming from somewhere down the street. Children yelling, neighbors talking in the street -- or in the house. Esteven, endless source of entertainment!"
Because we were so busy with activities and homework, I didn't get to really experience the culture as much as I'd hoped. But one cultural gem that I did learn about was the "gigantón": We were playing games with the kids in the back yard when we heard drumming, and they all started yelling excitedly and ran off down the street. After a while, we discovered what all the excitement was about. It was a "gigantón," a group of people marching down the street with drums, let by a very tall paper-mache and cloth person and an "enano" or elf, with a huge round head. As they made their way down the road, all the kids from the neighborhood followed, Angelica and I with them, overprotective Americans that we are--we were the oldest people in the crew; everyone else was probably under 13.
One of the bonding experiences we had with the kids was doing art with them and the neighbors. Angelica was an artist, so she brought paper, crayons, and colored pencils. My bonding experience with the women of the house happened when I got sick. "All three of them came into my room to ask me how I felt and if I was sick, and then they proceeded to try to fix me. It was actually really sweet. Doña Rosa admonished me for not telling them the second I got home, because "I could have died quietly on my bed without anyone knowing!" I assured her that it wasn't that bad. But Marilet, who's a nurse, took my temperature, gave me some pills, bought me some crackers, and ordered me to drink a bottle of Pedialyte for rehydration. When I threw up later, Doña Rosa made me a special "tea," which was lime and baking soda- flavored foam. It was one of the strangest concoctions I've ever drunk, but it did the trick, and I felt much better in the morning!"
I was glad to be feeling better because that was the morning we left for our trip to the rural community of Sontule, northeast of Estelí. Sontule is part of the Miraflor Union of Agricultural Cooperatives. Almost all of the men in the community are coffee farmers and grow organic coffee that is sold on the Fair Trade market. Of course, that means that all the best stuff is exported and they only get to drink the second-rate coffee. The farmers in Sontule have been organized into cooperatives since the early 1980s, which made it a target during the contra war, and their coffee storage building was burned out at least 3 times and otherwise attacked during the war. In 1995, the women decided they wanted to start a women's cooperative, which does many things, one of which is an eco-tourism project that involves living with families.
Two other students and I stayed with the family of Vilma Ivania and Guadalupe Castillo. Their house was an 8-minute walk down a two-track road off the main [gravel] road. My impression of their house, surrounded by plants, was "like a little green paradise among the dryness. Some would say, wow, what poor living conditions, but by rural Nicaraguan conditions, it's quite nice! It's pretty big, with tile floor, concrete in the kitchen, a porch and a side patio with hammocks. No running water or electricity, though. We do things like write in journals by candlelight, go to bed at 9pm, and take bucket baths. Their shower is outside, heavy black plastic wrapped around four wooden posts, surrounding a large stone slab to stand on.
Thursday we went with Ivania to the well to fetch water. Lucky for them it's a pretty short walk. On our way back she took us to see their other well, which is used for bath and wash water. Then she showed us around their garden. It consists of coffee plants; mango, banana, lemon, and orange tree; achiote, which makes a red dye; and pataculo, which is a spice. They have lots of varieties of lemons and oranges-- lemons the size of grapefruits, oranges that taste like lemons--we know, we tried one...
The weather there was like being back in Guatemala -- so beautiful and pleasant! It was the only time during our stay in Nicaragua when we needed blankets at night. In fact, we wore pants and long sleeve shirts to bed.
Ivania is an amazing, powerful, strong, articulate, feminist. She and her husband are confident that Daniel Ortega (who was the FSLN president in the 80s) will win the presidential election in November. During the war, she was part of an armed vigilante women's group until they moved to Sontule from Estelí. Her job then became to take care of the kids and the house while Guadalupe was out working and fighting. She told us a story about the first instance that would become a common occurrence during the war: They had been living in Sontule for two days. That day, she was alone in the house, taking care of a lot of children, when all of a sudden she heard bombing and shooting. She took the kids and ran for the mountains. The youngest was her son, Alvaro, who was 4 months old, born by a C-section from which Ivania was not yet completely healed. There were so many kids to keep track of, she accidentally left one of them behind who had been sleeping, whom she had to go back and fetch. The Contras burned the house and everything in and around it. She stayed in the mountains with the children for two whole days with practically no food. And yet she says that she liked the war--because she was never scared by it, and she believed in the principles that it supported and struggled for.
While there, we visited the neighboring community of Cebollal (a 40-minute drive down the gravel road), where they do the quality-testing (called "catación" or coffee-cupping) of the coffee that the farmers grow. We got to watch and participate in a demonstration of the process, which made the coffee fans in our group very happy. We also went on a walk through an orchid reserve and got to climb inside a giant tree that a ficus/phycus plant had killed. The other name for ficus in Spanish is "matapalo," which literally means branch/tree killer. They start in the tops of trees and their roots grow down, twining around the tree and eventually to the ground, essentially strangling and stealing nutrients from the trees. It was pretty amazing.
We ended our stay with the Castillo family just like we began it--with a dance party. They may not have electricity, but they are able to run a television (where they get most of their news from) and a boom box from a battery. The first night, Hannah's birthday was the occasion for the music and dancing. Not too many other people live with Ivania and Guadalupe, but a couple of their children and grandchildren live nearby--so there were probably about 7 adults there and at least 5 kids. It was a splendid weekend--but too short for my taste! I think the stays in the countryside were my favorite part of the program in each country.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Nicaragua, Honduras, and Home! Pt. 1: Managua y Leon
Well it's been a busy eight weeks since I last wrote! I'm home now -- arrived in Albany around 1am May 31/June 1 -- recovering from the semester and trying to find a job so I can afford school next year... I am in the process of putting all my photos online, and they will be available for viewing soon.
It's hard to believe I haven't written anything about Nicaragua because it feels like it was so long ago! It was an extremely busy seven weeks, and although I had free internet access, I didn't have enough time to sit down and write any updates! Hopefully this series of entries will remedy that.
---
Our program structure in Nicaragua was different than it had been in either of the two preceding countries. We were taking two classes: Nicaraguan history with a focus on the role of women, and a political science class about "citizen participation in policy formulation within a globalized economy" (i.e. Nicaragua). Class sessions were held at the Center for Global Education house, Casa Jaime Mayer (which is also where we lived our first and last weeks in Nicaragua). We lived in pairs in homestays, and would be picked up by the CGE bus in the mornings and taken back home at 5pm. It was a very intense schedule! With two classes, there was lots of reading and homework, plus our almost daily excursions to visit organizations and hear speakers.
Nicaragua is one of the poorest nations in the world, and has one of the highest debts per capita. We lived in the capital city of Managua, which was practically decimated by an earthquake in 1972. Because of this, it does not have a major "downtown" center with tall buildings, and it has lots of open fields and trees in areas where buildings once were, making it feel much less urban than San Salvador or Guatemala City, even a little desolate. It is on the edge of a large, dangerously polluted lake, because of the city dump which is right off the shore.
The revolutionary period from the late 70s through the 80s has also left a physical legacy in the city (and around the country), in the form of bullet- and bomb-damaged buildings, war memorials, and walls covered with murals. Our first day, we visited the Beacon of Hope monument, which was erected by president Violeta Chamorro after the signing of the Peace Accords in 1990. In a powerful and arresting visual statement, the weapons that were turned in by armed fighters were buried underground and cemented into a wall, with the barrels of guns jutting out at various angles. The presidents and mayors since then have done many "apolitical" city beautification projects, making new parks and putting in new artsy sculptures and fountains at intersections -- although what they had to get rid of and the way the money was spent in order to do that certainly was not apolitical.
One of the things I was most amazed to learn about was the difference between the Eastern and Western regions of Nicaragua. When we think of Latin America, we usually think of Spanish- speaking Catholics (or Evangelicals) who are a mix of indigenous and Spanish origins. This is true for the Western half of Nicaragua, which followed the usual pattern of Spanish colonization, but the Eastern half, a.k.a. the Atlantic Coast, is a competely different culture. There, you will find English-speaking Moravians (a Protestant denomination) of African descent. Although we never got to visit the Atlantic coast of Nicaragua, I did get a taste of this when I visited my sister on the North Coast of Honduras (these coastlines are actually along the Caribbean Sea).
During our first week, we visited the pottery village of San Juan del Oriente, where they have been making pottery since before the colonization by the Spanish. We also did some touristy things, visiting Volcan Masaya, which is a steamy active volcano that you can see down in to, the artisan market in Masaya, which is the largest in Nicaragua, and spending a couple hours in the popular town of Granada.
Spring break happened after we'd been in Nicaragua for two weeks -- Holy Week, or Semana Santa. My friend Sarah and I decided to spend that time in Leon and at the beach. Leon is one of the oldest cities in Nicaragua, and for 300 years was the stronghold of the Liberal party, trading off being the capital of the country with Granada, which was the Conservatives' stronghold, until Managua was established as the capital in 1852 (In Latin America, the terms Conservative and Liberal have a very different meaning than in the US, stemming from their 19th-century struggles for independence). During the revolutionary period, the FSLN presence (Frente Sandinista de Liberacion Nacional) was very strong, and the current town shows the effects of that -- murals everywhere, plazas honoring those who died, and the ruins of bombed buildings.
We had heard that Leon was well known for its Holy Week traditions, especially sawdust drawing in the streets, and were pretty disappointed that, just as one would expect in any other town, lots of things were closed or had shortened hours that week. Luckily, we had made plans to spend three days at the beach 45 minutes away, so we weren't stuck in a town with nothing to do. (And we did get to see the sawdust art right before we left.)
We stayed at a hotel on the waterfront -- of an estuary -- at Las Peñitas. It was large, but shallow and easy to cross to reach the ocean. Mostly though, we stayed at our hotel and relaxed in the hammocks and read. Here's a reflection I wrote in my journal while we were there:
"I was out [in the estuary] just sitting in the shallow water looking at the beautiful life around me -- the blue water, the sand bar, the crashing waves, the green-tree-filled nature reserve islands, the birds, the clouds in the blue sky, the boats, the people -- and I felt like I could have stayed there forever and been happy. But I didn't have any company and I felt kind of pointless, so I went back to the hotel... This estuary is amazing. When the tide is in, it's a solid expanse of water all the way to the island, and huge crashing waves at the inlet. It looks daunting to cross. But when the tide is out, there's more land than water, and you can easily walk across to the other side and see all the amazing animal life in the sand underfoot. An estuary is an incerdibly rich and important ecosystem; a place where a river meets a sea; where fresh water meets salt water.
Here, the idyllic tropical beach-front life meets the difficult, poor, fisherman's life. People get up early in the morning to take their fishing boats out--by 8, boats have already started to come back in. A few hours later, boats owners have to go back out and bring their boats in the rest of the way, once the tide is higher. I picked up a rock that was green-brown and sparkly, with red- orange slicing through it. I think maybe it's a lot like this place--the green/brown sparkle for nature, life, beauty; the red for the difficulty and injustice of that life."
That last sentence could be true for all of Nicaragua, and all of Central America...
It's hard to believe I haven't written anything about Nicaragua because it feels like it was so long ago! It was an extremely busy seven weeks, and although I had free internet access, I didn't have enough time to sit down and write any updates! Hopefully this series of entries will remedy that.
---
Our program structure in Nicaragua was different than it had been in either of the two preceding countries. We were taking two classes: Nicaraguan history with a focus on the role of women, and a political science class about "citizen participation in policy formulation within a globalized economy" (i.e. Nicaragua). Class sessions were held at the Center for Global Education house, Casa Jaime Mayer (which is also where we lived our first and last weeks in Nicaragua). We lived in pairs in homestays, and would be picked up by the CGE bus in the mornings and taken back home at 5pm. It was a very intense schedule! With two classes, there was lots of reading and homework, plus our almost daily excursions to visit organizations and hear speakers.
Nicaragua is one of the poorest nations in the world, and has one of the highest debts per capita. We lived in the capital city of Managua, which was practically decimated by an earthquake in 1972. Because of this, it does not have a major "downtown" center with tall buildings, and it has lots of open fields and trees in areas where buildings once were, making it feel much less urban than San Salvador or Guatemala City, even a little desolate. It is on the edge of a large, dangerously polluted lake, because of the city dump which is right off the shore.
The revolutionary period from the late 70s through the 80s has also left a physical legacy in the city (and around the country), in the form of bullet- and bomb-damaged buildings, war memorials, and walls covered with murals. Our first day, we visited the Beacon of Hope monument, which was erected by president Violeta Chamorro after the signing of the Peace Accords in 1990. In a powerful and arresting visual statement, the weapons that were turned in by armed fighters were buried underground and cemented into a wall, with the barrels of guns jutting out at various angles. The presidents and mayors since then have done many "apolitical" city beautification projects, making new parks and putting in new artsy sculptures and fountains at intersections -- although what they had to get rid of and the way the money was spent in order to do that certainly was not apolitical.
One of the things I was most amazed to learn about was the difference between the Eastern and Western regions of Nicaragua. When we think of Latin America, we usually think of Spanish- speaking Catholics (or Evangelicals) who are a mix of indigenous and Spanish origins. This is true for the Western half of Nicaragua, which followed the usual pattern of Spanish colonization, but the Eastern half, a.k.a. the Atlantic Coast, is a competely different culture. There, you will find English-speaking Moravians (a Protestant denomination) of African descent. Although we never got to visit the Atlantic coast of Nicaragua, I did get a taste of this when I visited my sister on the North Coast of Honduras (these coastlines are actually along the Caribbean Sea).
During our first week, we visited the pottery village of San Juan del Oriente, where they have been making pottery since before the colonization by the Spanish. We also did some touristy things, visiting Volcan Masaya, which is a steamy active volcano that you can see down in to, the artisan market in Masaya, which is the largest in Nicaragua, and spending a couple hours in the popular town of Granada.
Spring break happened after we'd been in Nicaragua for two weeks -- Holy Week, or Semana Santa. My friend Sarah and I decided to spend that time in Leon and at the beach. Leon is one of the oldest cities in Nicaragua, and for 300 years was the stronghold of the Liberal party, trading off being the capital of the country with Granada, which was the Conservatives' stronghold, until Managua was established as the capital in 1852 (In Latin America, the terms Conservative and Liberal have a very different meaning than in the US, stemming from their 19th-century struggles for independence). During the revolutionary period, the FSLN presence (Frente Sandinista de Liberacion Nacional) was very strong, and the current town shows the effects of that -- murals everywhere, plazas honoring those who died, and the ruins of bombed buildings.
We had heard that Leon was well known for its Holy Week traditions, especially sawdust drawing in the streets, and were pretty disappointed that, just as one would expect in any other town, lots of things were closed or had shortened hours that week. Luckily, we had made plans to spend three days at the beach 45 minutes away, so we weren't stuck in a town with nothing to do. (And we did get to see the sawdust art right before we left.)
We stayed at a hotel on the waterfront -- of an estuary -- at Las Peñitas. It was large, but shallow and easy to cross to reach the ocean. Mostly though, we stayed at our hotel and relaxed in the hammocks and read. Here's a reflection I wrote in my journal while we were there:
"I was out [in the estuary] just sitting in the shallow water looking at the beautiful life around me -- the blue water, the sand bar, the crashing waves, the green-tree-filled nature reserve islands, the birds, the clouds in the blue sky, the boats, the people -- and I felt like I could have stayed there forever and been happy. But I didn't have any company and I felt kind of pointless, so I went back to the hotel... This estuary is amazing. When the tide is in, it's a solid expanse of water all the way to the island, and huge crashing waves at the inlet. It looks daunting to cross. But when the tide is out, there's more land than water, and you can easily walk across to the other side and see all the amazing animal life in the sand underfoot. An estuary is an incerdibly rich and important ecosystem; a place where a river meets a sea; where fresh water meets salt water.
Here, the idyllic tropical beach-front life meets the difficult, poor, fisherman's life. People get up early in the morning to take their fishing boats out--by 8, boats have already started to come back in. A few hours later, boats owners have to go back out and bring their boats in the rest of the way, once the tide is higher. I picked up a rock that was green-brown and sparkly, with red- orange slicing through it. I think maybe it's a lot like this place--the green/brown sparkle for nature, life, beauty; the red for the difficulty and injustice of that life."
That last sentence could be true for all of Nicaragua, and all of Central America...
Thursday, April 6, 2006
My Escapades in El Salvador, week 4
We didn't do as much our last week there because we had final projects to work on as well as group interview projects. I was in a group of six that focused on women's issues in El Salvador. We met with a representative from the 700 Club, a woman who works for the FMLN, one of the coordinators for the feminist organization Las Dignas, and with a very progressive theology professor at the UCA.
On Monday afternoon, we visited the chapel where Romero was killed on March 24, 1980, while doing a private mass. It's another of those sacred spaces--on the grounds of the [cancer hospital/hospice center] where Romero lived during the last [9] years of his life. The little house where he lived has been turned into a museum, and there are murals of him on the outer walls.
That evening, Guillermo Cuellar, the author/composer of the Salvadoran Popular Mass, came and gave an informal concert at our house. What the Popular Mass does is take each sung part of the standard Catholic liturgy and interts new songs that relate to the Salvadoran people's context, history, and struggles.
For those of you who don't know, Romero was the Catholic Archbishop of San Salvador from 1977- 1980. He was chosen for the position because he was known for being more conservative and it was thought that he'd be able to halt the process of social mobilization that was growing from within the Church through liberation theology. It didn't take long though before he had a change of heart and essentially became an embodiment of what liberation theology was -- the church working on behalf of and with the poor and oppressed, empowering them to organize and change their situation. He was killed for speaking against the repression by the army, against the government. He is honored here as a martyr, but more than that (for the war created many, many martyrs), he is revered almost on par with Jesus. Because what he did was really to put a contemporary human face on the historical person of Jesus and contextualized his teachings to the Salvadoran situation.
With his death, the government had hoped that that would put an end to the Church's radical teachings and to the social mobilization of the people -- the movement that Romero had helped inspire. Instead it had the opposite effect -- people were inspired to act out of anger against the injustices committed against them by the government, and full-fledged war began, lasting 12 years.
I'm so glad they decided to let us stay in El Salvador one day longer than originally planned so that we could attend the march to commemorate Oscar Romero. March 24 is the anniversary of his assassination, but the big hoopla was on Saturday and Sunday. The march was a really neat experience. It started at the Plaza Salvador del Mundo, where there is a statue of Jesus on top of the world and also a bronze one of Romero. Practically everyone was wearing a Romero or FMLN shirt. There was some talking and singing and chanting and vendors selling Romero and FMLN stuff. The march was supposed to start at 5:30, but we didn´t really get started until almost 6:30. It was pretty slow going--made my feet, knees, and back sore! People were carrying candles, posters, and banners and chanting, "Romero vive, la lucha sigue!" (Romero lives, the struggle continues!). It was very special to be able to a part of that, even though we didn't stay until the very end because we needed to eat dinner and pack.
As much as I loved Guatemala and am expecting to love Nicaragua, I think my heart really beongs in El Salvador. Not the capital -- I hate San Salvador, at least what I saw of it -- but the country. I think it's because of all the stories that it holds, that the people carry in their hearts. I like El Salvador for its history. I think the reason I am drawn so to Salvador's history is because of the church's role in the story. It amazes me how the Catholic church was able to change so much that many from the US probably wouldn't even recognize it as Catholic anymore. I am awed at how so many priests dedicated their lives to the cause of educating, organizing, and liberating the poor, instead of sticking with the status quo. Nueva Esperanza, San José las Flores, El Sitio -- communities that took their liberation into their own hands with the help of the church. Sadly, that led to more and more repression from the government, and also made people take up arms. But those communities have rebuilt, and they are still working for justice, because there is still so much discord and injustice, and poverty.
Things appear smooth on the surface -- marred only by the number of homicides and rate of emigration (700 people leaving per day). But underneath this calm exterior, calamity is waiting to happen. You see it in the vicious election campaigning, in the graffiti that criticizes the government, in the protests and unrest surrounding what were probably fraudulent elections, in the huge number of people that marched to honor Romero. Romero is one of my biggest heroes. We need more people like him. Knowing the state of the world today, it probably won't be too long before another great leader emerges. In El Salvador, the spirit runs deep -- it is pulsing with vigor -- it is a cocoon waiting to emerge into a free butterfly, no longer a blind, bumbling caterpillar, but extremely fragile. There has been "peace", but no resolution or reconcilliation. One day, that cocoon will burst open.
During our last week there, one of our speakers, Dean Brackley, told us that our job was to "come here, fall in love, get your heart broken, and go home ruined for life." My hope is that I can return home changed for life, rather than ruined.
But before I can do that, I get to spend 5 more weeks in Nicaragua! That's right--after an 11- hour bus ride from 6:30 am to 5:30 pm, we arrived at the Casa Jaime Mayer (the Center for Global Education house) in Managua, Nicaragua, last Sunday. I'll save my descriptions of Nicaragua for a later date so that this email doesn't get any longer than it is! But just so you know, we're taking a women's history class and one on political science, esp. globalization. And we're living (in pairs) with families. It's going well so far, but we have a lot of work to do!
On Monday afternoon, we visited the chapel where Romero was killed on March 24, 1980, while doing a private mass. It's another of those sacred spaces--on the grounds of the [cancer hospital/hospice center] where Romero lived during the last [9] years of his life. The little house where he lived has been turned into a museum, and there are murals of him on the outer walls.
That evening, Guillermo Cuellar, the author/composer of the Salvadoran Popular Mass, came and gave an informal concert at our house. What the Popular Mass does is take each sung part of the standard Catholic liturgy and interts new songs that relate to the Salvadoran people's context, history, and struggles.
For those of you who don't know, Romero was the Catholic Archbishop of San Salvador from 1977- 1980. He was chosen for the position because he was known for being more conservative and it was thought that he'd be able to halt the process of social mobilization that was growing from within the Church through liberation theology. It didn't take long though before he had a change of heart and essentially became an embodiment of what liberation theology was -- the church working on behalf of and with the poor and oppressed, empowering them to organize and change their situation. He was killed for speaking against the repression by the army, against the government. He is honored here as a martyr, but more than that (for the war created many, many martyrs), he is revered almost on par with Jesus. Because what he did was really to put a contemporary human face on the historical person of Jesus and contextualized his teachings to the Salvadoran situation.
With his death, the government had hoped that that would put an end to the Church's radical teachings and to the social mobilization of the people -- the movement that Romero had helped inspire. Instead it had the opposite effect -- people were inspired to act out of anger against the injustices committed against them by the government, and full-fledged war began, lasting 12 years.
I'm so glad they decided to let us stay in El Salvador one day longer than originally planned so that we could attend the march to commemorate Oscar Romero. March 24 is the anniversary of his assassination, but the big hoopla was on Saturday and Sunday. The march was a really neat experience. It started at the Plaza Salvador del Mundo, where there is a statue of Jesus on top of the world and also a bronze one of Romero. Practically everyone was wearing a Romero or FMLN shirt. There was some talking and singing and chanting and vendors selling Romero and FMLN stuff. The march was supposed to start at 5:30, but we didn´t really get started until almost 6:30. It was pretty slow going--made my feet, knees, and back sore! People were carrying candles, posters, and banners and chanting, "Romero vive, la lucha sigue!" (Romero lives, the struggle continues!). It was very special to be able to a part of that, even though we didn't stay until the very end because we needed to eat dinner and pack.
As much as I loved Guatemala and am expecting to love Nicaragua, I think my heart really beongs in El Salvador. Not the capital -- I hate San Salvador, at least what I saw of it -- but the country. I think it's because of all the stories that it holds, that the people carry in their hearts. I like El Salvador for its history. I think the reason I am drawn so to Salvador's history is because of the church's role in the story. It amazes me how the Catholic church was able to change so much that many from the US probably wouldn't even recognize it as Catholic anymore. I am awed at how so many priests dedicated their lives to the cause of educating, organizing, and liberating the poor, instead of sticking with the status quo. Nueva Esperanza, San José las Flores, El Sitio -- communities that took their liberation into their own hands with the help of the church. Sadly, that led to more and more repression from the government, and also made people take up arms. But those communities have rebuilt, and they are still working for justice, because there is still so much discord and injustice, and poverty.
Things appear smooth on the surface -- marred only by the number of homicides and rate of emigration (700 people leaving per day). But underneath this calm exterior, calamity is waiting to happen. You see it in the vicious election campaigning, in the graffiti that criticizes the government, in the protests and unrest surrounding what were probably fraudulent elections, in the huge number of people that marched to honor Romero. Romero is one of my biggest heroes. We need more people like him. Knowing the state of the world today, it probably won't be too long before another great leader emerges. In El Salvador, the spirit runs deep -- it is pulsing with vigor -- it is a cocoon waiting to emerge into a free butterfly, no longer a blind, bumbling caterpillar, but extremely fragile. There has been "peace", but no resolution or reconcilliation. One day, that cocoon will burst open.
During our last week there, one of our speakers, Dean Brackley, told us that our job was to "come here, fall in love, get your heart broken, and go home ruined for life." My hope is that I can return home changed for life, rather than ruined.
But before I can do that, I get to spend 5 more weeks in Nicaragua! That's right--after an 11- hour bus ride from 6:30 am to 5:30 pm, we arrived at the Casa Jaime Mayer (the Center for Global Education house) in Managua, Nicaragua, last Sunday. I'll save my descriptions of Nicaragua for a later date so that this email doesn't get any longer than it is! But just so you know, we're taking a women's history class and one on political science, esp. globalization. And we're living (in pairs) with families. It's going well so far, but we have a lot of work to do!
Saturday, April 1, 2006
My Escapades in El Salvador, week 3
Three things of note that we did during the third week were to visit with the Lutheran Bishop, artist Fernando Llort, and the US Embassy. It was good to hear from a religious organization besides the Catholic church, especially one that is so similar to my own denomination, and to hear their take on liberation theology and social justice. Fernando Llort is considered the national artist of El Salvador. He designed the art on the front of the Cathedral, and if you've ever seen a cross from Central America painted with very colorful simplistic pictures of people, huts, and animals, it is basically a Fernando Llort design. We got to visit his gallery, "El Arbol del Arco Iris," talk to him in person, and see his ceramic and silkscreen workshops.
It was quite a switch to hear what the US Government had to say about the current situation in El Salvador, after our experiences of talking with middle and lower class Salvadorans. I think we got what we were expecting, but it was still interesting to hear them gloss over some of the things that we'd perceived as being very controversial issues.
That weekend, we went to Suchitoto, where Sister Peggy lives and works. It was a simply amazing experience. For one, I absolutely loved the town, which reminded me a whole lot of Xela (but less urban) and Chichi (but bigger). We stayed at the Centro de Arte para la Paz, Centro Artex for short, which is a project that Peggy is developing. It consists of a very old building complex that needs to be remodeled/refurbished, including a large church. The hope is for the Center to be a place where community members can come and take classes in music, fine arts, theater, and digital/electronic art (inc. photography), as well as writing and journalism. There will be a library and a computer lab, a peace garden, and a little store/restaurant. I would love to return to El Salvador some day and volunteer at the Center -- it is such a hopeful vision. For more info, check out www.centroartex.org.
We had the biggest pupusas I'd ever seen for dinner on Friday. Pupusas are the national food of El Salvador: tortillas cooked with a filing of beans and cheese. They're pretty amazing creations, and delicious! Most of the ones we'd eaten were 4-5 inches in diameter, but these were 6-7!
Saturday was a very intense and emotional day. In the morning, we went down to nearby Lake Suchitlán, which is actually part of the Rio (river) Lempa, and a group of people from a nearby village took us by boat to Viejo Copapayo. There used to be a rural community there, but now there are only ruins of house foundations. It has a horrific history, which we got to hear first-hand from the survivors. They, like many other small communities during the war, were the victims of a massacre by the army. Twice. Besides the people that escaped before the first massacre occurred, only one person survived both of them: Rogelio, who was a 10-year-old boy at the time, and who told us his story.
It was November of 1983 when the army came to bomb and raze the town. The inhabitants knew what was coming and so some fled the day before, but the rest took boats across the river and waited until they'd thought the army had gone. The massacre happened when they came back, incorrectly thinking it was safe. Those that survived were rounded up and taken to an army official's home, where they were all gunned down the next day. Rogelio got lucky by hiding in the grass behind a tree and not being discovered.
As refugees, the surviving members of the community only lived in Honduras for three years before returning to Viejo Copapayo in October of 1987. That is the year Peggy began working with them. They relocated to a new site, El Sitio Cinicero, in 1990. After visiting the massacre site, we boated over to El Sitio, where we spent the night. What a wonderful little place! I really do love the campo. We visited their little library and met with the librarian, and later with the directive board of the town. In the evening after dinner, we and a number of families with children gathered in front of the new church where there is a large mural listing the names of those who died in the massacre (about 150) and scenes of the massacre and the new town. We recited the names, saying "Presente" after each one. Then we were sent off to host families for the night -- I shared a bedroom with the 5 other people that lived there.
It was quite a switch to hear what the US Government had to say about the current situation in El Salvador, after our experiences of talking with middle and lower class Salvadorans. I think we got what we were expecting, but it was still interesting to hear them gloss over some of the things that we'd perceived as being very controversial issues.
That weekend, we went to Suchitoto, where Sister Peggy lives and works. It was a simply amazing experience. For one, I absolutely loved the town, which reminded me a whole lot of Xela (but less urban) and Chichi (but bigger). We stayed at the Centro de Arte para la Paz, Centro Artex for short, which is a project that Peggy is developing. It consists of a very old building complex that needs to be remodeled/refurbished, including a large church. The hope is for the Center to be a place where community members can come and take classes in music, fine arts, theater, and digital/electronic art (inc. photography), as well as writing and journalism. There will be a library and a computer lab, a peace garden, and a little store/restaurant. I would love to return to El Salvador some day and volunteer at the Center -- it is such a hopeful vision. For more info, check out www.centroartex.org.
We had the biggest pupusas I'd ever seen for dinner on Friday. Pupusas are the national food of El Salvador: tortillas cooked with a filing of beans and cheese. They're pretty amazing creations, and delicious! Most of the ones we'd eaten were 4-5 inches in diameter, but these were 6-7!
Saturday was a very intense and emotional day. In the morning, we went down to nearby Lake Suchitlán, which is actually part of the Rio (river) Lempa, and a group of people from a nearby village took us by boat to Viejo Copapayo. There used to be a rural community there, but now there are only ruins of house foundations. It has a horrific history, which we got to hear first-hand from the survivors. They, like many other small communities during the war, were the victims of a massacre by the army. Twice. Besides the people that escaped before the first massacre occurred, only one person survived both of them: Rogelio, who was a 10-year-old boy at the time, and who told us his story.
It was November of 1983 when the army came to bomb and raze the town. The inhabitants knew what was coming and so some fled the day before, but the rest took boats across the river and waited until they'd thought the army had gone. The massacre happened when they came back, incorrectly thinking it was safe. Those that survived were rounded up and taken to an army official's home, where they were all gunned down the next day. Rogelio got lucky by hiding in the grass behind a tree and not being discovered.
As refugees, the surviving members of the community only lived in Honduras for three years before returning to Viejo Copapayo in October of 1987. That is the year Peggy began working with them. They relocated to a new site, El Sitio Cinicero, in 1990. After visiting the massacre site, we boated over to El Sitio, where we spent the night. What a wonderful little place! I really do love the campo. We visited their little library and met with the librarian, and later with the directive board of the town. In the evening after dinner, we and a number of families with children gathered in front of the new church where there is a large mural listing the names of those who died in the massacre (about 150) and scenes of the massacre and the new town. We recited the names, saying "Presente" after each one. Then we were sent off to host families for the night -- I shared a bedroom with the 5 other people that lived there.
My Escapades in El Salvador, week 2
Since we were doing class work over the weekend, our "weekend" was Monday and Tuesday (this was true every week). On Monday, we all went to Costa del Sol, one of the best beach spots in the country. I couldn't believe how warm the ocean water was! Because it was so warm, it wasn't really very refreshing, but it was fun to play in the waves and build sandcastles and just relax. At the same time, it wasn't fun to discover I had gotten the worst sunburn of my life.
On Thursday, we traveled south to Nueva Esperanza, another resettled community with a difficult but inspiring history. Most of the residents were originally from the department of Chalatenango and had to flee because of the violence and repression during the war. They were able to find refuge in Nicaragua, and lived there for 9 years, learning how to organize themselves. After almost a year-long struggle, they were finally able to return to El Salvador to the place they are located now, and since then they have suffered an earthquake and two floods caused by Hurrican Stan. The floods were caused by damage done to the dike when the dam upstream decided to open their gates and let all the water out at once. Nueva Esperanza is an amazing community -- even more organized than Las Flores. It permeates the air. They have co- op after co-op after co-op (coconut, sugar cane, cashew), sturdy homes, water, electricity, community organizations and activities for youth and cultural memory (e.g music and dance).
Their history, with first-hand accounts, is in a book called "Like Gold in the Fire."
Here's a little anecdote for you about life in the campo: "The first night here, when I went to use the latrine at my host house before going to bed, I took my flashlight. You have to go to the back of the dirt yard, past where the chickens are sleeping in the trees, through a little barbed-wire and stick gate into the area where the cows are, and then up the stairs into the latrine. Well, there were a bunch of sleeping cows back there, and on was laying directly on the other side of the gate, which I had to walk past. Then, when I entered the latrine, I saw cocroaches skittering across the walls away from the light. And on my way back, a cow started grunting and walking toward me. I never used that latrine at night again."
On Thursday, we traveled south to Nueva Esperanza, another resettled community with a difficult but inspiring history. Most of the residents were originally from the department of Chalatenango and had to flee because of the violence and repression during the war. They were able to find refuge in Nicaragua, and lived there for 9 years, learning how to organize themselves. After almost a year-long struggle, they were finally able to return to El Salvador to the place they are located now, and since then they have suffered an earthquake and two floods caused by Hurrican Stan. The floods were caused by damage done to the dike when the dam upstream decided to open their gates and let all the water out at once. Nueva Esperanza is an amazing community -- even more organized than Las Flores. It permeates the air. They have co- op after co-op after co-op (coconut, sugar cane, cashew), sturdy homes, water, electricity, community organizations and activities for youth and cultural memory (e.g music and dance).
Their history, with first-hand accounts, is in a book called "Like Gold in the Fire."
Here's a little anecdote for you about life in the campo: "The first night here, when I went to use the latrine at my host house before going to bed, I took my flashlight. You have to go to the back of the dirt yard, past where the chickens are sleeping in the trees, through a little barbed-wire and stick gate into the area where the cows are, and then up the stairs into the latrine. Well, there were a bunch of sleeping cows back there, and on was laying directly on the other side of the gate, which I had to walk past. Then, when I entered the latrine, I saw cocroaches skittering across the walls away from the light. And on my way back, a cow started grunting and walking toward me. I never used that latrine at night again."
My Escapades in El Salvador, week 1
Wow, what a month! We did so much and learned so much, that there's a lot of detail that I'm leaving out, so I'll apologize in advance for those of you who don't know much about El Salvador's history...
We arrived in El Salvador on Sunday, February 26, for a four-week stay in which we took a course in liberation theology with Sister Peggy O'Niel, a Sister of Charity from New Jersey who's been living and working in El Salvador for 20 years. All 20 of us lived together in a pretty little guest house for the whole time we were there, except for our rural visits. And we had a pet duck named Pato (which means "duck"--very original, no?).
Most of us had a pretty difficult time adjusting to life in San Salvador because it is a very dangerous city with a very high crime rate and we were warned against going anywhere alone or leaving the house at night. Plus, there wasn't anything to do in the area right around our house except to go to the MetroCentro -- the biggest mall in Central America (? - I'm not so sure about that fact, but it is huge) -- six blocks from our house. We also didn't feel very connected to the local culture, and I certainly didn't feel very grounded in the city. San Salvador is such a globalized city that there were times I felt like I could have been in almost any US city, with so many malls, plazas, and chain restaurants and stores.
El Salvador, as they say, is a country of extremes. One of those extremes is the disparity between the rich and poor, another is in politics. We were in El Salvador during the campaign season -- elections for mayors and congresspeople took place on March 12, and so political graffiti was at its peak. Each political party has a particular color combination, and many electricity poles and road barriers are painted those colors or slathered with posters and slogans. The two main political parties are the FMLN and ARENA. The FMLN is the political party of the former guerrilla movement, and ARENA is the hard-right party that the current president belongs to. The elections reminded me of the US in 2000 and 2004: it took them almost a week to verify the election results for San Salvador's mayor because the difference was so small -- there was even a non-violent protest by the FMLN outside the hotel where the counting was going on, which the police retaliated against. The FMLN candidate, Violeta, ended up winning by 59 votes, out of about 3 million.
Week One:
One of the first things we did after arriving in San Salvador was to take a drive through the city and visit the Centro Historico (historic center), where the National Cathedral is. Archbishop Oscar Romero (more on him in Part 2) is buried in the downstairs of the catheral with a very beautiful but fairly simple monument. It was an amazing feeling to be in a place -- the church and the central plaza -- where so many major events -- protests, massacres, Romero's funeral -- occurred. One block off of the main park is the Plaza de Libertad and La Iglesia del Rosario. It is a really interesting building, with a curved roof and full of rainbow stained class and iron sculpture work. It was also the site of some historical protests and massacres.
For those of you who have studied religion and theology, you might be interested to know that we had a meeting with Jon Sobrino, that eminent liberation theologian who was lucky enough to be out of the country when his fellow Jesuits were killed. He is a theology professor at the University of Central America (UCA), where our classes were held, and his appearance and pleasant manner reminded me a little of Mr. Rogers.
The building at the UCA where we took our classes was called the Centro Monseñor Romero. On November 16, 1989, six Jesuit priests who lived there, as well as the wife and daughter of the gardener, were killed by the Army during the night. There is a now a rose garden in the place where the massacre occurred, and the museum inside contains not only information about those killed that night (including the clothing they were wearing), but about many of the other people that were assassinated during the war. They also have a set of Romero's robes, which I just wanted to reach out and hug, but they were behind glass. It was very special and sacred for me to be in that space, which to me is a historical symbol of the voices of prophets, of truth, of a struggle for justice.
At the end of our first week in El Salvador, our group split up to visit different church communities, some in the city, others in the countryside. We were to visit with these communities and observe how liberation theology is at work today. Five of us went together to the town of San Jose Las Flores, which is in the north-central part of El Salvador, in the department of Chalatenango. We met with the directive board and visited a number of cooperatives, including a large fruit tree and livestock co-op. It was boiling hot! We lived on "campo time," which means the schedule was extremely relaxed -- things didn't have set times, and if they did, they usually started late.
Everything about Las Flores was peaceful and relaxing--except for it's history, which is pretty horrific. The town was mostly deserted during the war (which lasted from 1980-1992) after a military operation in 1982 that included the bombing of the town. Most people escaped to Honduras, but a group of people returned to El Salvador to fight for their right to return to their hometown, which they finally did in 1986. The host mother that Hannah and I stayed with lost her husband and one of her brothers during the war as guerrillas, and her parents as well died when they were in their late 20s. (I had to write a reflection paper on the experience, relating it to our study of liberation theology, and I can email that to those of you who are interested.)
Saturday morning, the five of us decided to climb up the hill behind my host family's house, which was a moderate size and had a cross and an FMLN flag at the top. "It was HOT and steep.
We had to climb over a barbed wire fence at one point, and then it was an adventure, although there WAS a skinny path. The region is very hilly, and very dry this time of year -- dusty and hot, the hottest month -- but humid too. After lunch, we met in the town square, where someone from the directive board was supposed to meet us to take us down to the Sumpul River. Well, we sat there for almost two hours before anything happened. The water was amazingly warm for a river, and we had a lovely time swimming, although even the river played a terrible part in the war. People would escape across it into Honduras, and one of the biggest massacres of the war occurred not too far upstream from where we were, when refugees were attacked from both sides by the Salvadoran and Honduran Armies. 800 died.
We arrived in El Salvador on Sunday, February 26, for a four-week stay in which we took a course in liberation theology with Sister Peggy O'Niel, a Sister of Charity from New Jersey who's been living and working in El Salvador for 20 years. All 20 of us lived together in a pretty little guest house for the whole time we were there, except for our rural visits. And we had a pet duck named Pato (which means "duck"--very original, no?).
Most of us had a pretty difficult time adjusting to life in San Salvador because it is a very dangerous city with a very high crime rate and we were warned against going anywhere alone or leaving the house at night. Plus, there wasn't anything to do in the area right around our house except to go to the MetroCentro -- the biggest mall in Central America (? - I'm not so sure about that fact, but it is huge) -- six blocks from our house. We also didn't feel very connected to the local culture, and I certainly didn't feel very grounded in the city. San Salvador is such a globalized city that there were times I felt like I could have been in almost any US city, with so many malls, plazas, and chain restaurants and stores.
El Salvador, as they say, is a country of extremes. One of those extremes is the disparity between the rich and poor, another is in politics. We were in El Salvador during the campaign season -- elections for mayors and congresspeople took place on March 12, and so political graffiti was at its peak. Each political party has a particular color combination, and many electricity poles and road barriers are painted those colors or slathered with posters and slogans. The two main political parties are the FMLN and ARENA. The FMLN is the political party of the former guerrilla movement, and ARENA is the hard-right party that the current president belongs to. The elections reminded me of the US in 2000 and 2004: it took them almost a week to verify the election results for San Salvador's mayor because the difference was so small -- there was even a non-violent protest by the FMLN outside the hotel where the counting was going on, which the police retaliated against. The FMLN candidate, Violeta, ended up winning by 59 votes, out of about 3 million.
Week One:
One of the first things we did after arriving in San Salvador was to take a drive through the city and visit the Centro Historico (historic center), where the National Cathedral is. Archbishop Oscar Romero (more on him in Part 2) is buried in the downstairs of the catheral with a very beautiful but fairly simple monument. It was an amazing feeling to be in a place -- the church and the central plaza -- where so many major events -- protests, massacres, Romero's funeral -- occurred. One block off of the main park is the Plaza de Libertad and La Iglesia del Rosario. It is a really interesting building, with a curved roof and full of rainbow stained class and iron sculpture work. It was also the site of some historical protests and massacres.
For those of you who have studied religion and theology, you might be interested to know that we had a meeting with Jon Sobrino, that eminent liberation theologian who was lucky enough to be out of the country when his fellow Jesuits were killed. He is a theology professor at the University of Central America (UCA), where our classes were held, and his appearance and pleasant manner reminded me a little of Mr. Rogers.
The building at the UCA where we took our classes was called the Centro Monseñor Romero. On November 16, 1989, six Jesuit priests who lived there, as well as the wife and daughter of the gardener, were killed by the Army during the night. There is a now a rose garden in the place where the massacre occurred, and the museum inside contains not only information about those killed that night (including the clothing they were wearing), but about many of the other people that were assassinated during the war. They also have a set of Romero's robes, which I just wanted to reach out and hug, but they were behind glass. It was very special and sacred for me to be in that space, which to me is a historical symbol of the voices of prophets, of truth, of a struggle for justice.
At the end of our first week in El Salvador, our group split up to visit different church communities, some in the city, others in the countryside. We were to visit with these communities and observe how liberation theology is at work today. Five of us went together to the town of San Jose Las Flores, which is in the north-central part of El Salvador, in the department of Chalatenango. We met with the directive board and visited a number of cooperatives, including a large fruit tree and livestock co-op. It was boiling hot! We lived on "campo time," which means the schedule was extremely relaxed -- things didn't have set times, and if they did, they usually started late.
Everything about Las Flores was peaceful and relaxing--except for it's history, which is pretty horrific. The town was mostly deserted during the war (which lasted from 1980-1992) after a military operation in 1982 that included the bombing of the town. Most people escaped to Honduras, but a group of people returned to El Salvador to fight for their right to return to their hometown, which they finally did in 1986. The host mother that Hannah and I stayed with lost her husband and one of her brothers during the war as guerrillas, and her parents as well died when they were in their late 20s. (I had to write a reflection paper on the experience, relating it to our study of liberation theology, and I can email that to those of you who are interested.)
Saturday morning, the five of us decided to climb up the hill behind my host family's house, which was a moderate size and had a cross and an FMLN flag at the top. "It was HOT and steep.
We had to climb over a barbed wire fence at one point, and then it was an adventure, although there WAS a skinny path. The region is very hilly, and very dry this time of year -- dusty and hot, the hottest month -- but humid too. After lunch, we met in the town square, where someone from the directive board was supposed to meet us to take us down to the Sumpul River. Well, we sat there for almost two hours before anything happened. The water was amazingly warm for a river, and we had a lovely time swimming, although even the river played a terrible part in the war. People would escape across it into Honduras, and one of the biggest massacres of the war occurred not too far upstream from where we were, when refugees were attacked from both sides by the Salvadoran and Honduran Armies. 800 died.
Wednesday, March 1, 2006
Santa Anita, La Montaña, and farewell to Guatemala
We left Xela on Saturday morning, the 18th, for Santa Anita la Unión. It was a beautiful drive throught the countryside, every lush and green, and a stunning landscape of hills, valleys, farms, and villages. Santa Anita used to be a huge "finca," but is now an eco-tourism project and organic banana and coffee cooperative run by about 30 families of ex-guerrillas. The guest house we stayed in was originally the Patron's (or landowner's) house. In the afternoon, we went on a hike through the finca to a waterfall. I was amazed by the brilliance of some of the flowers and the size of the banana leaves--I knew they were big, but I'd never seen them up close before, especially in such large quantity! There were also some noisy huge cicada-like bugs on some of the trees. We were guided by two women, both of whom were ex-guerrillas.
On Sunday, we heard the history of the community, which was really interesting and inspiring, but at the same time a little distressing because things aren't going well financially and they are struggling to keep their operation going. They bought the land with help from the government after the peace accords were signed, but now they owe a huge debt to the bank which the government is refusing to pay. They can't afford to pay the debt because although there is a high demand for organic coffee, they can't produce enough on their land with the 40-year old plants they have. They need to buy new plants to keep the operation going, but they are very expensive and would take a few years to mature before they start producing coffee beans.
After lunch, our group split in half and went our separate ways for the week. 10 people went to a rural community near Cantel, and the rest of us rode in the back of a pick-up (!) to La Escuela de la Montaña, near Colomba. Our schedule there was very relaxed, and a nice break from the busyness of our program in Xela. Half of us had classes in the morning and the other half in the afternoon, one-on-one for 4 hours. We lived at the school, but all of our meals were taken with host families in the neighboring towns of Nuevo San José and Fátima. Each town is made up of people who used to live and work on a finca but were forced off by the landowner after labor conflicts arose. NSJ was established in about 1990-92, and Fátima has only been there for 4 years.
They are both very poor communities--my host family lived in a room with a dirt floor at the rear of a concrete-block house. You walk through the house, under the TV antennas, and out the back, where there is a kitchen and an enclosed room with a door. The walls and slanted ceiling are of corrugated metal. my family lived in the room, which had it's own kitchen at the back. There were two beds in the corner of the room and tables along the side, where there was a TV and eating area. The stove is a sheet of metal over a fire. The house belongs to the parents of my host mother and some other families live in the other parts of the house.
Elena, my host mom, was only 24 years old-- three years older than me--and had three children: a baby boy, a 3-year old son José, and an 8-year old daughter Maria. Her husband in the US working in Houston. Meals with them were simple and adequate, sometimes with awkward silences, but with good distractions, like the children or the chickens that would wander in and out. Maria was a very entertaining, talkative, energetic, and intelligent girl, who was always happy to see me and sometimes would run up to me in the road and give me a hug or jump into my arms.
On Wednesday morning, we all went on a hike together to a waterfall, which was quite an adventure. Parts of the path had been washed out by hurricane storms and we had to make some detours as well as cross some skinny concrete bridges, and the last 10 minutes of the hike was along a rocky riverbed and across the creek.
Thursday morning, I walked down the road with a few people at 6:15 to watch some smoke coming out the top of one of the surrounding volcanoes and to buy some fresh cheese. The volcano wasn't anything spectacular, but the cheese was! Although I probably should have been nice to my stomach and not eaten it all in one day... I did a little laundry on the "pila" (completely manual) in the morning, and in the evening we had graduation. For a thank you presentation we made up words to a round and performed it for the teachers. La Montaña was the first place where I experienced bug bites on this trip so far, and all of us got them--mostly on our feet from wearing sandals...I don't like having itchy feet!
Friday morning we left La Montaña and returned to Xela for a wrap-up of our experience in Guatemala. On Saturday we drove to Antigua for a last tourist stop in Guatemala before heading to El Salvador. We had the whole day after lunch free to explore, relax, and spend the last of our Quetzales (Guatemalan currency). Antigua is a colonial-era town filled with very old buildings and churches, and is famous for its jade.
I would like to share with you the final reflection I wrote in my journal about Guatemala: "Farewell, my beautiful, bittersweet Guatemala! I didn't get to spend enough time with you! What beautiful countryside, with your surprisingly steep green hills, wild jungles, intesnse flowers, majestic waterfalls...marred by deforestation, Stan's destrucion, sprawling, never'ending towns...What beautiful people, who laugh and smile, welcome us into their homes and communities, teach us, and tell us it's an honor, and wear their indigenous traje...but behind those smiles is a whole lot of pain and hard work, and behind the graciousness is a need to spread he word around the world, and a greatefulness for the income tourists bring. And behind the traje is poverty and discrimination. Vibrant colors, corn growing in unexpected places, brightly colored celebratory cemeteries, delicious bananas, coffee, and beans...but markets are mostly for tourists--colors catch the eye, vendors scrape out a living; corn is one of the few things that can be grown in such large quantities, it's the mainstay of the peoples' diets, but there's not enough; the cemeteries may celebrate the lives of loved ones, but there sure are a lot of dead people...coffee isn't really for local consumption and many people drink instant coffee--and beans are beans are beans. Community organizing and social groups abound! Because they must keep fighting with all their might for democracy, justice, and human rights. You are such a desperate, hopeful country! A beautiful pulsing heart that has been broken many times, bu is trying with all its might to weave itself back together, into something stronger that it's ever been before. Farewell, my beautiful, bittersweet Guatemala...I hope to see you again soon."
We left Antigua at 8am, and arrived at the El Salvador border around 10:30. They made us take all our luggage down off the top of the bus, even though they only look in about 6 pieces, and we left the border a little before 12. We are now in San Salvador, a city of 1 million, an urban area of 3 million, that is more "globalized" than anything we've seen so far. It feels almost like a city in the U.S.--many people have compared it to L.A. Our schedule has been busy with very little down time until now, but I'm excited to be here and to be taking liberation theology in the place where it blossomed.
On Sunday, we heard the history of the community, which was really interesting and inspiring, but at the same time a little distressing because things aren't going well financially and they are struggling to keep their operation going. They bought the land with help from the government after the peace accords were signed, but now they owe a huge debt to the bank which the government is refusing to pay. They can't afford to pay the debt because although there is a high demand for organic coffee, they can't produce enough on their land with the 40-year old plants they have. They need to buy new plants to keep the operation going, but they are very expensive and would take a few years to mature before they start producing coffee beans.
After lunch, our group split in half and went our separate ways for the week. 10 people went to a rural community near Cantel, and the rest of us rode in the back of a pick-up (!) to La Escuela de la Montaña, near Colomba. Our schedule there was very relaxed, and a nice break from the busyness of our program in Xela. Half of us had classes in the morning and the other half in the afternoon, one-on-one for 4 hours. We lived at the school, but all of our meals were taken with host families in the neighboring towns of Nuevo San José and Fátima. Each town is made up of people who used to live and work on a finca but were forced off by the landowner after labor conflicts arose. NSJ was established in about 1990-92, and Fátima has only been there for 4 years.
They are both very poor communities--my host family lived in a room with a dirt floor at the rear of a concrete-block house. You walk through the house, under the TV antennas, and out the back, where there is a kitchen and an enclosed room with a door. The walls and slanted ceiling are of corrugated metal. my family lived in the room, which had it's own kitchen at the back. There were two beds in the corner of the room and tables along the side, where there was a TV and eating area. The stove is a sheet of metal over a fire. The house belongs to the parents of my host mother and some other families live in the other parts of the house.
Elena, my host mom, was only 24 years old-- three years older than me--and had three children: a baby boy, a 3-year old son José, and an 8-year old daughter Maria. Her husband in the US working in Houston. Meals with them were simple and adequate, sometimes with awkward silences, but with good distractions, like the children or the chickens that would wander in and out. Maria was a very entertaining, talkative, energetic, and intelligent girl, who was always happy to see me and sometimes would run up to me in the road and give me a hug or jump into my arms.
On Wednesday morning, we all went on a hike together to a waterfall, which was quite an adventure. Parts of the path had been washed out by hurricane storms and we had to make some detours as well as cross some skinny concrete bridges, and the last 10 minutes of the hike was along a rocky riverbed and across the creek.
Thursday morning, I walked down the road with a few people at 6:15 to watch some smoke coming out the top of one of the surrounding volcanoes and to buy some fresh cheese. The volcano wasn't anything spectacular, but the cheese was! Although I probably should have been nice to my stomach and not eaten it all in one day... I did a little laundry on the "pila" (completely manual) in the morning, and in the evening we had graduation. For a thank you presentation we made up words to a round and performed it for the teachers. La Montaña was the first place where I experienced bug bites on this trip so far, and all of us got them--mostly on our feet from wearing sandals...I don't like having itchy feet!
Friday morning we left La Montaña and returned to Xela for a wrap-up of our experience in Guatemala. On Saturday we drove to Antigua for a last tourist stop in Guatemala before heading to El Salvador. We had the whole day after lunch free to explore, relax, and spend the last of our Quetzales (Guatemalan currency). Antigua is a colonial-era town filled with very old buildings and churches, and is famous for its jade.
I would like to share with you the final reflection I wrote in my journal about Guatemala: "Farewell, my beautiful, bittersweet Guatemala! I didn't get to spend enough time with you! What beautiful countryside, with your surprisingly steep green hills, wild jungles, intesnse flowers, majestic waterfalls...marred by deforestation, Stan's destrucion, sprawling, never'ending towns...What beautiful people, who laugh and smile, welcome us into their homes and communities, teach us, and tell us it's an honor, and wear their indigenous traje...but behind those smiles is a whole lot of pain and hard work, and behind the graciousness is a need to spread he word around the world, and a greatefulness for the income tourists bring. And behind the traje is poverty and discrimination. Vibrant colors, corn growing in unexpected places, brightly colored celebratory cemeteries, delicious bananas, coffee, and beans...but markets are mostly for tourists--colors catch the eye, vendors scrape out a living; corn is one of the few things that can be grown in such large quantities, it's the mainstay of the peoples' diets, but there's not enough; the cemeteries may celebrate the lives of loved ones, but there sure are a lot of dead people...coffee isn't really for local consumption and many people drink instant coffee--and beans are beans are beans. Community organizing and social groups abound! Because they must keep fighting with all their might for democracy, justice, and human rights. You are such a desperate, hopeful country! A beautiful pulsing heart that has been broken many times, bu is trying with all its might to weave itself back together, into something stronger that it's ever been before. Farewell, my beautiful, bittersweet Guatemala...I hope to see you again soon."
We left Antigua at 8am, and arrived at the El Salvador border around 10:30. They made us take all our luggage down off the top of the bus, even though they only look in about 6 pieces, and we left the border a little before 12. We are now in San Salvador, a city of 1 million, an urban area of 3 million, that is more "globalized" than anything we've seen so far. It feels almost like a city in the U.S.--many people have compared it to L.A. Our schedule has been busy with very little down time until now, but I'm excited to be here and to be taking liberation theology in the place where it blossomed.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Atitlán, etc.
Back in Xela the following week, I had a semi- surprise visit from my sister and Beth, the woman she was traveling with to Honduras! It was wonderful to spend time with them and we added an extra fold-up bed to my room so they could sleep at my house.
The following weekend, Feb. 10-12, I traveled to Lake Atitlán with some friends. It was a hard decision to go, because I was torn between that and staying with my host family, with whom I felt I hadn't spent enough quality time. But I'm very glad I went. After having such a packed schedule, it was nice to be able to sit on the beach and relax with almost no time constraints and have no intellectual work required. It was fun to cram onto a "microbus" (minivan) with all our luggage and ride across town to the bus terminal, find the bus that went to Panajachel (the town on the lake), and squish 3 to a seat on the way out of town. The ride took about 2 hours, and then 5 of us headed across the lake on a little boat to the town of San Pedro la Laguna, where we arrived around 5:30 pm. Being in San Pedro was a rather surreal experience. We could have been practically anywhere in the Carribbean or southern California or Florida. It was extremely touristy and kind of bohemian--very jungly and tropical, lots of 20- something "hippies, language schools, hotels, restaurants everywhere, and practically everything in English.
Saturday morning, we got up at 5:30 and watched the sunrise over the lake from our hotel balcony, which was a very calm, quiet, serene, and beautiful experience. In the afternoon, Sarah and I headed back to Panajachel on the boat, because we wanted to take the early bus back to Xela in the morning. We walked down the main streat lined with vendors, cafes, shops, and tourist agencies and looked for a hotel or hostel in which to spend the night, and ended up in one near where the other group of students had stayed. It was inexpensive and lived up to the price: the room was very plain and simply furnished with a padlock for the door, and there was a communal toilet, shower, and sink. And I had to ask for a top sheet for my bed.
After unloading our stuff, we went to an art gallery, sat by the pool of a super-fancy hotel for a few minutes, and then I went to the beach to write. The sun was setting when I got up to leave, and I was stalling to take a picture when I was approached by a woman selling bracelets and fabric. She had a baby on her back and told me she hadn't sold anything yet that day and needed money to get home. I felt bad about not buying anything, but really, what kind of a difference would that have made anyway in the long run? The problem is a societal one, and her story is not unique... We returned to Xela on Sunday morning, on the 9am bus that turned out to be a 10am bus and got back around lunchtime.
During our last week in Xela, we traveled to a nearby hot springs, were led through a Mayan ceremony, and listened to a presentation from a representative of the Guatemalan army. The hot springs were located in the area of Zunil, which is all mountains and green valleys filled with small plots of land used for agriculture. Zunil is the largest agriculture-producing area in the country, but as opposed to the giant farms of the U.S., it was much more human-sized, with pretty stone walls separating the fields. Friday night, the 17th, was "graduation" from PLQ, for which we got to make food. Three of us made chocolate rice-krispie balls, which was a messy adventure!
The following weekend, Feb. 10-12, I traveled to Lake Atitlán with some friends. It was a hard decision to go, because I was torn between that and staying with my host family, with whom I felt I hadn't spent enough quality time. But I'm very glad I went. After having such a packed schedule, it was nice to be able to sit on the beach and relax with almost no time constraints and have no intellectual work required. It was fun to cram onto a "microbus" (minivan) with all our luggage and ride across town to the bus terminal, find the bus that went to Panajachel (the town on the lake), and squish 3 to a seat on the way out of town. The ride took about 2 hours, and then 5 of us headed across the lake on a little boat to the town of San Pedro la Laguna, where we arrived around 5:30 pm. Being in San Pedro was a rather surreal experience. We could have been practically anywhere in the Carribbean or southern California or Florida. It was extremely touristy and kind of bohemian--very jungly and tropical, lots of 20- something "hippies, language schools, hotels, restaurants everywhere, and practically everything in English.
Saturday morning, we got up at 5:30 and watched the sunrise over the lake from our hotel balcony, which was a very calm, quiet, serene, and beautiful experience. In the afternoon, Sarah and I headed back to Panajachel on the boat, because we wanted to take the early bus back to Xela in the morning. We walked down the main streat lined with vendors, cafes, shops, and tourist agencies and looked for a hotel or hostel in which to spend the night, and ended up in one near where the other group of students had stayed. It was inexpensive and lived up to the price: the room was very plain and simply furnished with a padlock for the door, and there was a communal toilet, shower, and sink. And I had to ask for a top sheet for my bed.
After unloading our stuff, we went to an art gallery, sat by the pool of a super-fancy hotel for a few minutes, and then I went to the beach to write. The sun was setting when I got up to leave, and I was stalling to take a picture when I was approached by a woman selling bracelets and fabric. She had a baby on her back and told me she hadn't sold anything yet that day and needed money to get home. I felt bad about not buying anything, but really, what kind of a difference would that have made anyway in the long run? The problem is a societal one, and her story is not unique... We returned to Xela on Sunday morning, on the 9am bus that turned out to be a 10am bus and got back around lunchtime.
During our last week in Xela, we traveled to a nearby hot springs, were led through a Mayan ceremony, and listened to a presentation from a representative of the Guatemalan army. The hot springs were located in the area of Zunil, which is all mountains and green valleys filled with small plots of land used for agriculture. Zunil is the largest agriculture-producing area in the country, but as opposed to the giant farms of the U.S., it was much more human-sized, with pretty stone walls separating the fields. Friday night, the 17th, was "graduation" from PLQ, for which we got to make food. Three of us made chocolate rice-krispie balls, which was a messy adventure!
Wednesday, February 8, 2006
Chichicastenango
We left Xela (the knickname of Quetzaltenango) on Friday afternoon and drove to Chichicastenango. The name means "the place of the chichicasta," which is a very common purple nettle flower in this area. It was another of those winding mountainous drives. "FRG" is spraypainted everywhere along the sides of the roads, on rocks, trees, electricity poles--it is the party of Rios Montt, the military president/dictator during the last years of the Guatemalan civil war. In places, the acronyms and symbols for other political parties are present, but FRG dominates. I would tell you what it stands for, but I don't remember and it's not in my notes...
On Saturday, we visited the rural community of Chontola and met with Pastor Diego of the Methodist church there and the widow's weaving cooperative started by the church. The walk down to the cooperative was on a hard-packed dirt footpath between houses, corn fields, orchards, and avocado trees. Pastor Diego told us about the history of the village and the cooperative-- many people were left homeless after the 1976 earthquake, and during the war the army came through the area and decimated the male indigenous population. The church began providing social assistance for the community and decided the people needed to find a way to support themselves rather than live off of charity, so a group a women got together and started Ruth ãnd Naomi's weaving cooperative in 1986. They now export many of their products to 1,000 Villages, a fair trade store in the U.S.
Saturday afternoon, we had free time in Chichi to explore the town and the pre-market market. Buying anything is usually a dificult process for me, but buying my new shoulder bag was even worse- -it was a difficult decision, and the first time I'd ever had to barter and bargain. That evening, I sat in the garden of a hotel full of blooming flowers with a fountain and listened to live marimba music--the national music of Guatemala. It was very soothing and relaxing after such a mentally taxing day.
Sunday is market day. In the morning, a few of us forged our way through the crowded market streets to the main Catholic church. The steps up to the church were full of people selling flowers, vegetables, and other things, talking, resting, and a little boy who kept tagging along behind us trying to sell us dolls. There were a number of Mayan priests outside the main doors waving inscense and muttering words I could barely hear and couldn't understand. Inside, at the back of the church, there were people kneelng on the floor by slabs of wood or rock with candles on them, and rose petals. The pews were full, and it was pretty dark, although the chancel was glittering white-silver-gold.
We walked through the market for a while, just browsing, but trying not to make very much eye contact with the vendors so as not to draw their attention and have them talk to us. I bought a wooden flute with a quetzal bird carved into it, and then headed to the cemetery and met some friends. The tombs were very colorful and beautiful. All of the cemeteries in Central America are similar, but the one in Chichi is much more pronounced. Walking through a cemetery here is nothing like walking through one in the U.S., which is rather dark, mysterious, somber, and mournful. Here, there is much more of a sense of joy and the celebration of life. I walked through the market on my way back and bought a beautiful skirt. By lunchtime, I had been completely overstimulated by the noise and colors and patterns of the market, and everything seemed to look like everything else, so it was a good thing that we left town right after lunch.
On Saturday, we visited the rural community of Chontola and met with Pastor Diego of the Methodist church there and the widow's weaving cooperative started by the church. The walk down to the cooperative was on a hard-packed dirt footpath between houses, corn fields, orchards, and avocado trees. Pastor Diego told us about the history of the village and the cooperative-- many people were left homeless after the 1976 earthquake, and during the war the army came through the area and decimated the male indigenous population. The church began providing social assistance for the community and decided the people needed to find a way to support themselves rather than live off of charity, so a group a women got together and started Ruth ãnd Naomi's weaving cooperative in 1986. They now export many of their products to 1,000 Villages, a fair trade store in the U.S.
Saturday afternoon, we had free time in Chichi to explore the town and the pre-market market. Buying anything is usually a dificult process for me, but buying my new shoulder bag was even worse- -it was a difficult decision, and the first time I'd ever had to barter and bargain. That evening, I sat in the garden of a hotel full of blooming flowers with a fountain and listened to live marimba music--the national music of Guatemala. It was very soothing and relaxing after such a mentally taxing day.
Sunday is market day. In the morning, a few of us forged our way through the crowded market streets to the main Catholic church. The steps up to the church were full of people selling flowers, vegetables, and other things, talking, resting, and a little boy who kept tagging along behind us trying to sell us dolls. There were a number of Mayan priests outside the main doors waving inscense and muttering words I could barely hear and couldn't understand. Inside, at the back of the church, there were people kneelng on the floor by slabs of wood or rock with candles on them, and rose petals. The pews were full, and it was pretty dark, although the chancel was glittering white-silver-gold.
We walked through the market for a while, just browsing, but trying not to make very much eye contact with the vendors so as not to draw their attention and have them talk to us. I bought a wooden flute with a quetzal bird carved into it, and then headed to the cemetery and met some friends. The tombs were very colorful and beautiful. All of the cemeteries in Central America are similar, but the one in Chichi is much more pronounced. Walking through a cemetery here is nothing like walking through one in the U.S., which is rather dark, mysterious, somber, and mournful. Here, there is much more of a sense of joy and the celebration of life. I walked through the market on my way back and bought a beautiful skirt. By lunchtime, I had been completely overstimulated by the noise and colors and patterns of the market, and everything seemed to look like everything else, so it was a good thing that we left town right after lunch.
Monday, February 6, 2006
My life in Quetzaltenango so far
Buenas Tardes! I'm doing quite well, although I'm pretty worn out from our busy schedule! I can hardly believe it's only been two weeks since I arrived in Guatemala and only a little over a week since I last wrote, so much has happened...
I will begin with Sunday, the day we moved in with our host families. My host mother's name is Margot (who has the exact same birthday as Mom!), and she lives with her youngest son, Luis, who is twelve. She has two older sons who are married with kids. I really like my family--they are very friendly and informal. And they have a very cute dog named Elvis, who is a medium-small black furry dog with a white triangle on his chest and stomach. I believe Luis and I played cards for almost 2 hours on Sunday afternoon...! I went out in the afternoon, and when I came home, there was a young woman there who I hadn't met before. She turned out to be the wife of Margot's middle son, who were living there temporarily with their 3- month old son.
To get into the house, you have to step over a foot-high cement ledge. Once you enter from the street, you walk through a little room that may have been a store once. It opens onto a long, rectangular, red stone-tiled courtyard with clotheslines strung across it. There is a tall cement building forming a wall at one end, and an 8-foot high or so stone wall on the other end. I have my own room, about 10 x 10, with a door that opens onto the courtyard. There is a covered walkway about 2 ft. wide between my room and the adjacent brick building, which runs the rest of the length of the courtyard. It contains the main living space (2 large beds and a TV) and a bathroom, which opens into the walkway. At the other end of the walkway is another courtyard with clotheslines strung across it, but this one is hard-packed dirt with three trees growing in it, including an apple tree! To the right isd a large concrete 3-sink wash-basin under the 5ft. overhang. Immediately to the left is a door into the kitchen-dining room, which is directly behind my room. The building extends to the back wall of the property, with another small room beyond the kitchen (I'm not sure what it contains). All of the decorations around the house were Christmas- themed, because, as Margot told me, in Guatemala they celebrate Christmas from December first through February second! The whole place is a bit dirty and dusty, but it's in good condition for the most part!
On Monday I started Spanish classes at the Proyecto Linguistico Quetzalteco. Classes begin at 8am, which means I eat breakfast at 7:30 before walking the 5 minutes it takes to get to the school. Breakfast usually consists of a combination of two or three of the following: platanos (like bananas), black beans, eggs, fresh bread, cereal, or pancakes. The class I am taking is conversational Spanish, and the objective is to become more fluent in Spanish, which means I have lots of oral presentations and exams... My class is one-on-one with my teacher, Maria, but we get together at least once a day with the three other girls that are taking the same course.
After class ends at 1pm, I go home for lunch and to hang out or do homework until our next scheduled activity. On Monday, our group met with the mayor of Quetzalenango. He's a nice guy, bu doesn't really seem to be in touch with the people. In terms of food, plátanos and black beans are really the main staple at almost every meal, and there are almost always tamalitos (tamales without any filling) or thick, small tortillas on the table. Besides that we may have soup, breaded or egg-coated vegetables, rice, chicken, spaghetti, or eggs. I'm glad that I actually like most of the food, unlike some people who are having a very difficult time adjusting to the diet.
Tuesday afternoon, our group took a crowded local bus to the town of Salcajá, about 20 minutes away, to observe the traditional indigenous weaving process, which is still done completely manually and is very complex. We also visited the oldest Catholic church in Central America, which was built in 1524, and tried out the two different alcohols that salcajá is famous for: caldo de frutas and rompopo.
On Wednesday we had a presentation on the history of the Maya people, and on Thursday we heard from two ex-guerrillas. I've read and studied a lot about the guerrillas, even wrote a paper on them last semester, and so it was really exciting for me to meet and hear from them in person! When I told my teacher about it they next day, she proceeded to tell me about her involvement in the guerrillas for 18 years!
Saturday afternoon we had a presentation from a Mayan priest and priestess about the Mayan calendar, and today a professor came and talked to us about Mayan spirituality. Yes, I am aware that I have skipped over a few days--that's because we took a trip this weekend to Chichicastenango, and to write about it would be whole other long email by itself! Hopefully I'll get around to that later this week.
This afternoon after the presentation, I went to a thrift store and bought myself a sweater and a pair of pajama pants. I've woken up cold almost every morning, despite the fact that I wear both of my long sleeve t-shirts, long johns, boxers, and two pairs of socks to bed, and that my bed has three blankets on it. It's usually between 50 and 55 degrees F in my room when I wake up. Hopefully this will solve that problem!
Well, that's all I've got the time and energy for right now! I love hearing from people and would be happy to give you some more details and specifics about anything you may have questions about!
I will begin with Sunday, the day we moved in with our host families. My host mother's name is Margot (who has the exact same birthday as Mom!), and she lives with her youngest son, Luis, who is twelve. She has two older sons who are married with kids. I really like my family--they are very friendly and informal. And they have a very cute dog named Elvis, who is a medium-small black furry dog with a white triangle on his chest and stomach. I believe Luis and I played cards for almost 2 hours on Sunday afternoon...! I went out in the afternoon, and when I came home, there was a young woman there who I hadn't met before. She turned out to be the wife of Margot's middle son, who were living there temporarily with their 3- month old son.
To get into the house, you have to step over a foot-high cement ledge. Once you enter from the street, you walk through a little room that may have been a store once. It opens onto a long, rectangular, red stone-tiled courtyard with clotheslines strung across it. There is a tall cement building forming a wall at one end, and an 8-foot high or so stone wall on the other end. I have my own room, about 10 x 10, with a door that opens onto the courtyard. There is a covered walkway about 2 ft. wide between my room and the adjacent brick building, which runs the rest of the length of the courtyard. It contains the main living space (2 large beds and a TV) and a bathroom, which opens into the walkway. At the other end of the walkway is another courtyard with clotheslines strung across it, but this one is hard-packed dirt with three trees growing in it, including an apple tree! To the right isd a large concrete 3-sink wash-basin under the 5ft. overhang. Immediately to the left is a door into the kitchen-dining room, which is directly behind my room. The building extends to the back wall of the property, with another small room beyond the kitchen (I'm not sure what it contains). All of the decorations around the house were Christmas- themed, because, as Margot told me, in Guatemala they celebrate Christmas from December first through February second! The whole place is a bit dirty and dusty, but it's in good condition for the most part!
On Monday I started Spanish classes at the Proyecto Linguistico Quetzalteco. Classes begin at 8am, which means I eat breakfast at 7:30 before walking the 5 minutes it takes to get to the school. Breakfast usually consists of a combination of two or three of the following: platanos (like bananas), black beans, eggs, fresh bread, cereal, or pancakes. The class I am taking is conversational Spanish, and the objective is to become more fluent in Spanish, which means I have lots of oral presentations and exams... My class is one-on-one with my teacher, Maria, but we get together at least once a day with the three other girls that are taking the same course.
After class ends at 1pm, I go home for lunch and to hang out or do homework until our next scheduled activity. On Monday, our group met with the mayor of Quetzalenango. He's a nice guy, bu doesn't really seem to be in touch with the people. In terms of food, plátanos and black beans are really the main staple at almost every meal, and there are almost always tamalitos (tamales without any filling) or thick, small tortillas on the table. Besides that we may have soup, breaded or egg-coated vegetables, rice, chicken, spaghetti, or eggs. I'm glad that I actually like most of the food, unlike some people who are having a very difficult time adjusting to the diet.
Tuesday afternoon, our group took a crowded local bus to the town of Salcajá, about 20 minutes away, to observe the traditional indigenous weaving process, which is still done completely manually and is very complex. We also visited the oldest Catholic church in Central America, which was built in 1524, and tried out the two different alcohols that salcajá is famous for: caldo de frutas and rompopo.
On Wednesday we had a presentation on the history of the Maya people, and on Thursday we heard from two ex-guerrillas. I've read and studied a lot about the guerrillas, even wrote a paper on them last semester, and so it was really exciting for me to meet and hear from them in person! When I told my teacher about it they next day, she proceeded to tell me about her involvement in the guerrillas for 18 years!
Saturday afternoon we had a presentation from a Mayan priest and priestess about the Mayan calendar, and today a professor came and talked to us about Mayan spirituality. Yes, I am aware that I have skipped over a few days--that's because we took a trip this weekend to Chichicastenango, and to write about it would be whole other long email by itself! Hopefully I'll get around to that later this week.
This afternoon after the presentation, I went to a thrift store and bought myself a sweater and a pair of pajama pants. I've woken up cold almost every morning, despite the fact that I wear both of my long sleeve t-shirts, long johns, boxers, and two pairs of socks to bed, and that my bed has three blankets on it. It's usually between 50 and 55 degrees F in my room when I wake up. Hopefully this will solve that problem!
Well, that's all I've got the time and energy for right now! I love hearing from people and would be happy to give you some more details and specifics about anything you may have questions about!
Sunday, January 29, 2006
En Guatemala!
After a red-eye flight in which I got no sleep and two days in Guatemala City, I am here in sunny, pleasantly warm Quetzaltenango, where I will be for the next three weeks. I arrived in Guatemala City at 5:45 am on Monday the 23rd, which was like 3:34 am Oregon time--except it felt like the middle of the day because it was so light out and because I had been awake for about 20 hours straight. I was met by Vanessa, our program coordinator, and we took a taxi to the Casa San Jose guest house, where our group was to stay for the next couple days. The guest house doesn't look like much from the outside, just a small door and frosted glass window protected by metal bars, in a flat-fronted concrete building. But inside, it is open and beautiful, with colorfully tiled floors, woven hanging and fabric, and plants everywhere.
Later in the day after a few more people had showed up, some of us took a walk to the Plaza Constitucional, which was only about 7 blocks from the guest house. We went inside the Cathedral, and got to take a tour of the Palacio Nacional, the National Palace.
On Tuesday, we got down to business. First thing in the morning after breakfast, we walked to the office of the Department of Peace, to hear about the Guatemalan Peace Accords, which were signed in 1996 and were the official end of the 36-year long civil war. On our way back, we came across a group of protestors marching down the street. They were older people, protesting the Social Security system, which doesn´t really function as it should. After lunch we went to a fancy office building to talk with one of the leaders of CACIF, which is the umbrella organization for Guatemala's private sector. As a business-person, he is in favor of the TLC (tratado de libre comercio, i.e. the Central American Free Trade Agreement), and he discussed with us what he thought the benefits of it were going to be, as is it supposed to be put in action in the near future. In the evening, a women from the organization FAMDEGUA (families of the detained and disappeared of Guatemala) came and talked to us about their mission to find out what happened to their children and family members. She herself had lost a son during the civil war, and she told us her story and that of some others--it was very moving.
We left Guatemala City for Quetzaltenango on Wednesday morning--an over four-hour drive through the mountains. If I had to choose one word to describe Guatemala City, it would be Chaos--forlorn, beautiful, chaos. There is beauty in the colorfulness of the buildings, in the ironwork, in the architecture of certain buildings, especially churches, in the people's smiles, in the peace-promoting graffiti, in the flowers, in the mountains surrouding the city, in the staircases carved into dirt hillsides, and in the hope. The chaos is created by overpopulation, too much traffic, crowded streets, crazy drivers, noise from car horns, bus engines, and shouting vendors, the mish-mash of different styles and qualities of buildings, the lumpy hills, the jumble of signs, the layout of the streets. But this chaotic beauty also has a forlornness to it. It is dusty and dirty; there is much violence in the city, which is why there are grates on the windows, and it is not safe to go out once the sun has set; there is extreme poverty, and you see people, especially women with babies or old women, sitting in the shadows of buildings, on corners, begging; people live in ramshackle homes with patchwork tin roofs all crammed together; there are police with large guns everywhere; the vendors look at you in earnesst there is a high unemploymet rate; the lines for the public hospital stream down the surrounding blocks; and then there are big fancy places with gates, walls, and guards protecting them.
Quetzaltenango is much quieter, smaller, and friendlier, and I think I'm going to love it here (I already do...). The last two days have been used as an orientation to the program, and getting to know the other members of our group (there are 20 of us). Wednesday we had a lecture on the history of Guatemala, and we've been learning more about each other, what our semester will be like, and exploring this lovely city.
If you can't tell, I am thoroughly enjoying myself here. The students are a wonderful group, the food has been mostly great, and nothing has gone wrong yet (except for the bathroom light in our hotel room going out). On Sunday we move in with our host families and begin language school on Monday. More later!
Later in the day after a few more people had showed up, some of us took a walk to the Plaza Constitucional, which was only about 7 blocks from the guest house. We went inside the Cathedral, and got to take a tour of the Palacio Nacional, the National Palace.
On Tuesday, we got down to business. First thing in the morning after breakfast, we walked to the office of the Department of Peace, to hear about the Guatemalan Peace Accords, which were signed in 1996 and were the official end of the 36-year long civil war. On our way back, we came across a group of protestors marching down the street. They were older people, protesting the Social Security system, which doesn´t really function as it should. After lunch we went to a fancy office building to talk with one of the leaders of CACIF, which is the umbrella organization for Guatemala's private sector. As a business-person, he is in favor of the TLC (tratado de libre comercio, i.e. the Central American Free Trade Agreement), and he discussed with us what he thought the benefits of it were going to be, as is it supposed to be put in action in the near future. In the evening, a women from the organization FAMDEGUA (families of the detained and disappeared of Guatemala) came and talked to us about their mission to find out what happened to their children and family members. She herself had lost a son during the civil war, and she told us her story and that of some others--it was very moving.
We left Guatemala City for Quetzaltenango on Wednesday morning--an over four-hour drive through the mountains. If I had to choose one word to describe Guatemala City, it would be Chaos--forlorn, beautiful, chaos. There is beauty in the colorfulness of the buildings, in the ironwork, in the architecture of certain buildings, especially churches, in the people's smiles, in the peace-promoting graffiti, in the flowers, in the mountains surrouding the city, in the staircases carved into dirt hillsides, and in the hope. The chaos is created by overpopulation, too much traffic, crowded streets, crazy drivers, noise from car horns, bus engines, and shouting vendors, the mish-mash of different styles and qualities of buildings, the lumpy hills, the jumble of signs, the layout of the streets. But this chaotic beauty also has a forlornness to it. It is dusty and dirty; there is much violence in the city, which is why there are grates on the windows, and it is not safe to go out once the sun has set; there is extreme poverty, and you see people, especially women with babies or old women, sitting in the shadows of buildings, on corners, begging; people live in ramshackle homes with patchwork tin roofs all crammed together; there are police with large guns everywhere; the vendors look at you in earnesst there is a high unemploymet rate; the lines for the public hospital stream down the surrounding blocks; and then there are big fancy places with gates, walls, and guards protecting them.
Quetzaltenango is much quieter, smaller, and friendlier, and I think I'm going to love it here (I already do...). The last two days have been used as an orientation to the program, and getting to know the other members of our group (there are 20 of us). Wednesday we had a lecture on the history of Guatemala, and we've been learning more about each other, what our semester will be like, and exploring this lovely city.
If you can't tell, I am thoroughly enjoying myself here. The students are a wonderful group, the food has been mostly great, and nothing has gone wrong yet (except for the bathroom light in our hotel room going out). On Sunday we move in with our host families and begin language school on Monday. More later!
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