A week in Chiq'a'l

I spent this past week in Chiq'a'l, (San Juan Comalapa, in the Chimaltenango department). Over the past few weeks, I've become increasingly frustrated with my difficulties in learning Kaqchikel in San Lucas. Although Kaqchikel is the preferred linguistic medium in the surrounding "aldeas" (literally, "hamlets," or "communities"), it is uncommon to hear it spoken in the town of San Lucas, itself. Moreover, I have been told by a number of luqueños that the language that they speak at home is a blend of K'iche', Tzutujil and Kaqchikel; this is both because San Lucas lies at the geographic intersection of these linguistic groups, and also because the town has historically attracted migrant farmers seeking work on surrounding plantations or stopping on their way to the coast.

When I told Peter of my frustration with my stagnated Kaqchikel learning, he offered to see whether a good friend of his, Magda Sotz, an experienced language teacher whose family speaks Kaqchikel at home, might be willing to let me stay with her a while.

...

I'm sitting here at the border between Magda's father's terreno and the neighboring plot, surrounded by seven-foot stalks as a calming breeze rustles through the cornfields. I asked Don Mateo a couple of days ago if I could come see his land, and he replied, happily, "Ütz!" ("Bien!" "Yeah!")

Although Comalapa has about the same population as San Lucas Tolimán, as far as I know, it seems that life here is more pastoral--most families work their own land; with adequate care, smaller lots (2-4 cuerdas; 1 cuerda = 40m x 40m) yield a family's maize needs for a full year. Firewood is prepared every morning (shaking the walls and roof of my bedroom) for the woodburning stove. Family life revolves around the kitchen--Magda's mom and sisters are there a good part of the day, tortillando (*thap* *thap* *thap* as dough is slapped, hand to hand, into the shape of tortillas) and cooking. Magda sits and weaves on her backstrap loom a few hours a day, if her daughter Megan allows her. I think Magda is weaving a po't (huipil) for the museum exhibit Peter will be curating in Illinois.

When it rains, and when the wind blows hard, all who are seated at the stove/dinner table comment on the milpa. The rain is good for the crop (but bad for working in the fields), and the wind can bend a whole cornfield flat to the ground. There is a crucial time of the growing season when the stalks are tall enough to be snapped at the base by strong winds. If the plants and their roots are not "calzado" (that is, surrounded by a reinforcing mound of soil and compost), a few months' worth of tortillas can be lost in the course of a particularly stormy night.

When Don Mateo describes his work as a "lucha," ("struggle") he is not exaggerating--2 of his 3 cuerdas are on a steep hillside, covered with enormous (1.5 ft in diameter) anthills ("Cómo pican," he laments--"They really bite."). Brent Metz, an anthropologist who has lived and worked with the Ch'orti' people of southeastern Guatemala, tells of an older man who died when he fell out of his cornfield--which, of course, was located on a vertical slope. Indeed, at times I felt that if I lost my footing, I could have easily slid 10 feet before catching myself. (Of note, there is an enormous plot of flat, fertile land next to Don Mateo's other cuerda that is owned by a man who owns a shop in the center of town; according to Don Mateo, the man rarely even visits, let alone works on, his own land.) The other day, Don Mateo carried 1 quintal (~45 kg) of compost by headstrap up and down the hilly, 4-km trek to his terreno. When he returns home after a day of work in the fields, Don Mateo's blank expression belies his exhaustion.

The pace of life here is much slower than anywhere I've ever been. A monograph on a neighboring town called Tecpán describes the phenomenon of subsistence economies, where ever-increasing "productivity" and "profits" (defined from an industrial capitalist perspective) are sacrificed in favor of increased opportunity for "leisure"--that is, for savoring and enjoying life. Of course, this can be mistaken for laziness--but the hours and intensity of work here can be just as overwhelming as in industrialized settings.

Every night as we wait for supper to be prepared, Don Mateo regales us for ~2 hours, alternately telling jokes and fables, interspersed with reflections on the history of Comalapa and surrounding towns, national politics and indigenous and rural life. (For instance, he taught me the etymology of several indigenous town names. The Kaqchikel name for Comalapa, Chiq'a'l ("donde la brasa quemada," or, "the place of the burnt reed") refers to an incident when, per Don Mateo, ladinos used torches to set fire to indigenous houses, leaving neighborhoods of burnt reeds where houses had stood the night before.) For my benefit, he offers to tell some stories twice, once in Spanish, once in Kaqchikel.

Doña Julia, Magda's mother, is adorable. She spends a good part of the day in-and-out of the kitchen, tortillando, processing dry food stuffs (beans, greens, etc.) and preparing meals. She listens quietly at mealtimes, occasionally contributing hilarious comments that produce peals of laughter.

Megan, Magda's 4-year-old daughter, went for vaccines this week. The doctor prescribed albendazole (deworming medication), Tylenol (in case of a fever after her vaccination), a cough suppressant (unnecessary, but it has helped her sleep a bit better at night), iron supplements (although Magda reports that no blood was drawn, nor was Megan examined for evidence of anemia), and folic acid (??? commonly given to women of child-bearing age to prevent neural tube defects in the fetus, e.g. spina bifida; I told them that the folic acid definitely wouldn't hurt Megan, but it might make more sense for Magda to take it than her daughter). I just hope Magda didn't have to pay for any of this. I have a feeling that the iron and folic acid supplements were actually intended for Magda and that this was inadequately communicated during the doctor's visit.

This week has been a good experience for me. I have learned a bit more Kaqchikel, and, more importantly, I've realized that the remedy to my desperation about language learning will be to find more opportunities for exposure and immersion. This, of course, is also a challenge. Chiq'a'l is quite a ways from San Lucas Tolimán, and it will be quite taxing to keep traveling back and forth every week (since I want to continue my involvement in the activities with the health promoters). I am going to have to figure something out this week. Will keep you posted. Thanks as always for reading.