Teaching in Guatemala

 

My color lesson. Complete with cape. 

Guatemala Departure: Safe in the U.S.

Riding in the back of a pickup... with the faster runners holding tightly to the pickup gate. This picture was taken on my last day in Pinalito. Although the kids are curious about where I am going, they do not seem sad to lose their English teacher. Everyone visit to Pinalito is a short-term visit-- Why would I be any different?

Now I'm home. My three-month Guatemalan stint is over, but my mind is fixed on the village of Pinalito, and I'm determined to go back. I've returned home 8 pounds lighter-- thanks to a friend amoeba that found its way to my stomach-- so I'm off to the doctor to regroup. It's so nice to return to the U.S... I love 24-hour Walgreens, paved roads, cold water out of the refrigerator door, and libraries. Such luxuries. I realize that my education is a luxury--even a 5th grade education is a luxury in the U.S.! I have already ordered three books from the Louisville Free Public Library; I cannot wait to dive into someone else's experience with bee keeping, teaching English, Guatemala history... This is what I'll be reading throughout the summer, and this knowledge is what I hope to take back to Guatemala with me.

Considering Pinalito

I have been trying to write something about my experience with a mission team for weeks now... Please excuse the bullet style descriptions: there is much to say.

Pinalito is the name of the little town where the missionary family, the Beenes, have lived for 20 years. The adventure begins with a treacherous ride up the mountain from Zacapa... it´s only possible in a 4 wheel drive. The mission consists of a coffee factory, a school, a church, the Beene's house, and some new apartments where 20 interns will soon arrive from the US. The "natives" live in bamboo huts or block houses that the mission has donated... they cook on open fires and sleep on cornsacks on dirt floors. The children are all TINY... the kids that I would have assumed to be 5 years old are actually 10 or 11. Malnutrition, worms and Parasites are the biggest problems with the children, and it is evident in their swollen bellies and wrinkley skin.

I need to learn more about their agriculture; I did see several crops of corn, and there are banana trees and coffee plants that grow wild. Recently, the mission donated avocado plants to raise the local income. Men and women walk two hours down the mountain to sell their produce... but I don't know what kind of money they make. I don´t imagine that there is really an economy, just a downtrodden community of people scraping by.

I am drawn to this place, for I see so much possiblity. Dad, it´s the same feeling you get when you come into my messy room and go crazy organizing my clothes and papers: some of the improvements seem so simple! I go into overdrive thinking about what I would do if... The kids need an alphabet around the classroom. 14 year olds cannot tell the difference between a "b" and a "d." There should be local men and women working in the medical clinic instead of short-term American volunteers. There is a new library with internet and computers, but there is no one to run it. As I mentioned before, there is a coffee-bean factory, but there is no one to sell the coffee. There are sewing machines to give the women, but no one to teach them how to sew. The land is fertile, but there are no gardens.

If you teach a man to fish, he can eat for a lifetime, right?

I am very tempted to stay, but very aware of how idealistic I am. I expect the usual parental turn of the nose from whoever reads this, for I know I am naive. The Beene family could tell near-death stories all week long, and they have a faith in God that is amazing to me. What can I offer that they have not already tried?

Nebaj

I am in Nebaj, a small mountain town in Western Guatemala, and I´m slowly settling into a comfortable and busy routine. I´m living with Maria and Pedro and their three sons, and the house is possibly my favorite of all of my spots so far in Guate. Although the city is very dusty (I cannot even attempt to wear contacts) and the roosters still crow throughout the night, I enjoy having my own little room on the roof, with a table in the sun to work on my Spanish, and a Mayan "chuu" or sauna made of clay bricks that makes for a nice bath when i can manage a decent wood fire and hot water bucket. Nebaj isn´t nearly as impoverished as Pinalito, (how strange that I compare wealth in terms of clean clothes, tennis shoes, and the size of bamboo huts) and it is famous for its very traditional indigenous culture. All of the women still wear woven skirts and shirts, and cook tortillas on a wood stove. The official language here is Ixil, which literally sounds like an African tribal clik-clik language!

As of now, the development work that I was hoping for isn´t panning out very well... the program that I am interested in isn´t organized quiet yet, and although it is discouraging, I am learning to get out on my own to stay busy. I´m taking Spanish classes for four hours in the morning, and gradually finding all kinds of opportunities to meet people. Tomorrow I´ll teach a local old man an hour english class, Saturday I´m off on a long hike to a nearby villiage, and Sunday I´m hoping to meet some missionaries at one of the Evangelical churches in town. I waited tables last Wednesday night for a chain-smoking Indiana man who supports a Non-Profit organization with a small restaurant... I´ve found that many of these volunteer programs attract the most hippie and wayward travelers... and at times I am completely overwhelmed with it all... life seems so empty when I get sucked into their mindset... come to a new place, eat, drink, sleep, take pictures, find another interesting destination in the Lonely Planet Guide... whew... life seems so pointless in this routine!

With that thought, I´ll admit that I´ve had my fair share of panic attacks this week... mostly because this is my first week as a solo traveler in Guatemala... there are no Beene teens or American missionaries to chat with. When I have time to think, my mood shifts to What AM I doing here in the middle of nowhere? What AM I going to do when I go home in May? Shouldn´t I be thinking about a real job by now, with clean-cut Ann Taylor suits and an office?"

Baptism in el Rio




Writing about Pinalito is a feat unto itself: Finding the time amidst the hustle of a mission team is one thing, and choosing the right words to describe the community is nearly impossible. (Besides that, stealing the computer from the MySpace craving Beene teens brings on a fit of whining that I avoid at all costs!)

I'll get to it, I promise.

Here are pics of some of the kids...
and a baptism.

Volcan Pacaya

Time for a little tourist action in Antigua. Besides, the tortilla intake is adding up.

Culture Shock -- Relocating to San Tomas

Living With Yolie: Feb 14-18

There are three rooms in the house: A kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom. There are five family members. I sleep in a lumpy bed in the corner of the living room, wondering if perhaps the pillow is stuffed with rolled up nylon stockings. The back bedroom holds all five family members. I consider my Dad's snoring, and cannot fathom how they manage.

But this family is wealthy in comparison to others in the Guatemalan lower class. They have a dairy cow, a mule, and some chickens. Each morning, I wake at four to the crow of roosters, and cannot go back to sleep. I'll admit to morning crankiness as the stench of animal dung attacks the house... Yolie's husband is already busy milking the cow and mucking the stalls, err... driveway.

Yolie's cuisine is typically Latin, and I am thrilled to have a large plate of beans, rice, plantains and fresh cream. Each morning, Edgar, Yolie's 8 year old son, is sent down the street to the "Tortillarilla" to get a basket of corn tortillas from a gossiping trio of local ladies that make dough and pat pat the balls between their palms.

Unlike Antigua, no one in this little farming town speaks English. Out of neccesity, my Spanish is slowly coming along, but I am a little paranoid as Yolie's family talks over dinner, then laugh when they recognize the blank look on my face. Thankfully, the old Sony radio plays constantly on the kitchen counter, and I can both learn from the Spanish beat and take refuge in Debbie Gibson.

Antigua, DAY 5

It´s Day 5 and my stomach is finally starting to untie... if only I would stop eating mango, pineapple and tostado, I could avoid the Tums altogether.

I arrived in Guate City safe and sound on Saturday night. The Beenes´ picked me up, and, but for the armed men at the door of the airport, I wouldn´t have even known I was in a different country. We chatted late into Saturday night, then went to a HUGE church in Guatemala City on Sunday morning, where I listened to a translator with very nerdy earphones.

Sunday afternoon, we all drove the Beene Suburban a quick 45 minutes to the touristy colonial city of Antigua, where all of the buildings are yellow and pink, and the streets, though crowded with volkswagens and three wheeled ¨Tut tuts¨, are set with cobblestone. After lunch, I met up with Melanie, another missionary who works with the Beenes. Melanie arranged for me to stay with her in the sprawling colonial-style home of ´Carmen,¨a kind-hearted, if slightly frazzled South Carolinian expat.

So my first two nights were spent in an old room adorned with American navy medallions, old flags, and books on political theory. I enrolled at a Spanish school down the street, and ate three meals a day courtesy of Carmen, who frantically brought out salt and pepper shakers, napkins, and forgotten courses as we ate.

Of course, being the ultra-savvy traveller that I am, I decided to push my comfort zone a little more... Carmen´s place was comfortable, but with four American women living in one house, the atmosphere took on that of a discontent boarding house, and there was little hope of improving my Spanish when I had access to CNN, Fox, and a group of Americans to fall back on.

Enter Greg and Bucky, the ex-Peace Corps Volunteers (thank you for the reference, Elizabeth Mays!) who started a non-profit program in Guatemala, and invited me to a hygene presentation up the hill from Antigua, in a little town named Santa Tomas. After the presentation (of which I gathered ¨don´t poop in the river¨and ¨don´t drink from the sink¨) , they introduced me to Yolie, a native Guatemalan who gives talks to tiny Pueblitas throughout the area, and suggested I live with her and her family in order to get a real taste of Guatemala... sans running water, English, and a comfortable bed.

And so... to Yolie I must hurry! Dinner will be on the table soon, and my 15 minute busride is absolute chaos!
more later...love and prayers for all

La Busqueda: The Quest

I never deal well along the fault lines of change.

Here I go, Flight 2329. Arriving in Guatemala City at 9:05. I'm not particularly excited... just worried whether I should bring my sleeping bag. Will my camera work? I wish I had more music on my IPOD. What if this turns out to be a bad idea? I am defintely sweating the small stuff.

La busqueda de la certeza now ayuda a descubrir nuestras posibilidades.
La incertidumbre es la principal limitacion para que el hombre pueda desarollar sus poderes.

The Quest for Certainty blocks the search for meaning.
Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to unfold his powers.
-- Erich Fromm