Doña Candelaria (our host-mom), was told by a local NGO that Rosbin (our 7-year-old host-brother) is malnourished. Later, when Lesvia (our host-sister) asked Rosbin to hand her a basket that was high on a shelf, he said he could not: “I can’t help you because I am malnourished!” Again, we all had a good laugh.
What is Doña C supposed to do with the information that Rosbin is malnourished, now that he is 7-years-old? Especially when the advice given to her was to take a Vitamin B-complex supplement and “pay attention to how he is eating”?
At least Rosbin can use his malnourishment as an excuse to avoid helping around the house. And this morning at breakfast he was running around the kitchen saying that the vitamin supplement will turn him into King Kong, similar to the effect of spinach on Popeye.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Centrifuge fans: an artefact of inequality
There is an old (ancient) centrifuge in Quixayá, donated to the health promoter program. It works. But I don’t know what they would use it for in Quixayá. Vicente seemed to think it was to be used to run bacterial cultures. The lab at the parish clinic doesn’t even run cultures. Vicente said that we could lift the lid and use it as a fan, as the air in the community center in Quixayá tends to get hot and stagnant in the summer. We all had a good laugh.
But seriously…places like Guatemala get our garbage. They get people who are confused and lost, or idealistic and energetic but without any applicable skills. They get our junk—whether or not they want it, need it, or know what to do with it other than put it away and out of sight. So while no diabetic in Quixayá is on metformin (first-line treatment in the States), an old centrifuge collects dust, hidden under a large (and largely unused) examination table in the community center.
But seriously…places like Guatemala get our garbage. They get people who are confused and lost, or idealistic and energetic but without any applicable skills. They get our junk—whether or not they want it, need it, or know what to do with it other than put it away and out of sight. So while no diabetic in Quixayá is on metformin (first-line treatment in the States), an old centrifuge collects dust, hidden under a large (and largely unused) examination table in the community center.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Por completo
While we were walking around Quixayá today, I was talking with Dominga about a NGO she is starting up to provide legal assistance to battered women. I asked her what kinds of services they were going to provide, and she said that they would receive battered women and try to resolve the situation, with possible recourse to the law if things were not settled otherwise. Very innocently, I asked if they would be providing counseling. She said that, yes, that would be very important because women need to be received by people who speak their language, who speak Kaqchikel—and she paused, and said, "quienes hablan por completo" (“who speak completely”).
Perhaps I am being too sensitive, but I felt that the comment was directed at my (as-of-yet incomplete) attempt to understand and speak Kaqchikel. It was the first time that any indigenous person had suggested that I would never be able to communicate effectively in Kaqchikel, and it cut me deep because it came from a person whom I admire and respect a great deal, a person who is very deeply involved in her peoples’ efforts to move out of poverty. The act of exclusion buried in her comment made me feel that my efforts to learn Kaqchikel are a waste of time, as if I am just doing it either for entertainment or some other foolish, selfish reason. Suddenly, I am not so sure if my learning Kaqchikel is of any value to anyone but myself—I already know that most gringos that I have met here think I am an idealistic, self-flagellating moron for wanting to learn, but I had convinced myself that I should keep trying because it is important to the marginalized people we are working with and for. But now, I think even Dominga considers it pointless. I am pretty sure that Dominga was directing the comment at me (I don’t think there are too many people other than me who would be described as speaking Kaqchikel “incompletely”; its more of a binary thing—if you’re indigenous, you either speak or you’ve lost it, and if you’re not indigenous, you don’t care enough to learn). But maybe I am over-reacting. I have noticed that some people understand language as something innate, something you are born with—maybe she thinks I will never speak well simply because I am not Kaqchikel, or Mayan, for that matter. Elena thinks that maybe Dominga’s comment was a response to the saturation of places like San Lucas with do-gooder gringos, where it becomes important to fiercely protect homegrown, grass-roots development efforts (such as Dominga’s new NGO) from well-meaning outsiders (like me?) who want to save the world in a year. In any case, I realized the need to try to get honest answers from key people about what they think of outsiders learning Kaqchikel. Is it potentially harmful, in that it could take away one of Kaqchikel peoples’ strongest and most enduring defenses against the constant onslaught of racist homogenization? If so, there is a harder question that I will need to ask myself—what do I do with the Kaqchikel I have learned so far, and what do I do about my plans to continue learning over the next 5 months?
Perhaps I am being too sensitive, but I felt that the comment was directed at my (as-of-yet incomplete) attempt to understand and speak Kaqchikel. It was the first time that any indigenous person had suggested that I would never be able to communicate effectively in Kaqchikel, and it cut me deep because it came from a person whom I admire and respect a great deal, a person who is very deeply involved in her peoples’ efforts to move out of poverty. The act of exclusion buried in her comment made me feel that my efforts to learn Kaqchikel are a waste of time, as if I am just doing it either for entertainment or some other foolish, selfish reason. Suddenly, I am not so sure if my learning Kaqchikel is of any value to anyone but myself—I already know that most gringos that I have met here think I am an idealistic, self-flagellating moron for wanting to learn, but I had convinced myself that I should keep trying because it is important to the marginalized people we are working with and for. But now, I think even Dominga considers it pointless. I am pretty sure that Dominga was directing the comment at me (I don’t think there are too many people other than me who would be described as speaking Kaqchikel “incompletely”; its more of a binary thing—if you’re indigenous, you either speak or you’ve lost it, and if you’re not indigenous, you don’t care enough to learn). But maybe I am over-reacting. I have noticed that some people understand language as something innate, something you are born with—maybe she thinks I will never speak well simply because I am not Kaqchikel, or Mayan, for that matter. Elena thinks that maybe Dominga’s comment was a response to the saturation of places like San Lucas with do-gooder gringos, where it becomes important to fiercely protect homegrown, grass-roots development efforts (such as Dominga’s new NGO) from well-meaning outsiders (like me?) who want to save the world in a year. In any case, I realized the need to try to get honest answers from key people about what they think of outsiders learning Kaqchikel. Is it potentially harmful, in that it could take away one of Kaqchikel peoples’ strongest and most enduring defenses against the constant onslaught of racist homogenization? If so, there is a harder question that I will need to ask myself—what do I do with the Kaqchikel I have learned so far, and what do I do about my plans to continue learning over the next 5 months?
Friday, January 18, 2008
The Coffee Harvest
A few weeks ago, I volunteered to help the family pick coffee. Doña Candelaria seemed a little confused as to why I would want to go with them, but I explained that I was raised in an urban environment, that I have no experience in farming or agriculture, and that I am here in Guatemala precisely for the reason of learning new things. She seemed satisfied with my reply, so she let me tag along the next morning. So at 7:30 on a Sunday morning, Don Lorenzo, Doña Candelaria, Eliseo (host-brother-in-law, 24, married to Lesbia, 24), Greysi (host sister, 13) and I set out for the coffee fields.Coffee is a cherry-esque fruit that is harvested between December and February when it ripens to a brilliant red hue. It is pulled off the branches of coffee trees by hand, and collected in woven wicker baskets. I’m not so sure how much help I was to them that day… Not only did they give me the smallest basket to fill, but it took me the longest to fill it! I do think, however, that they enjoyed watching me fumble with the basket and accidentally spilling coffee beans all over the ground. I think they were amused with my lack of coordination and the number of times I – almost – tripped and fell down the hill to and from their fields. It was tough, but together we picked 291 pounds of coffee that day.
Coffee is weighed and sold the day it is picked, and then taken to be processed (the fruit is removed, leaving the coffee bean, which is then dried, husked, and roasted). Coffee is the major cash crop here in the highlands, and most buyers pay about one quetzal ($0.13 cents) per pound of coffee, hardly a fair price, and definitely not enough to live on. The good news is that the parish has a fair trade coffee cooperative that buys coffee at double the price, for two quetzales per pound. The co-op limits how many pounds of coffee each family is able to sell to them, so as to open the market to more families. As a result, our host family sells what coffee it can to the parish, and the rest to other buyers who sell to corporations such as Starbucks and Nescafé.
Giving farmers a fair price for their coffee harvest is vital, since many families’ only annual income comes from the coffee harvested during the months of December, January, and February. Farming is also a risky business, where much of the harvest’s fate is left up to mother nature. Two weeks ago, we had three consecutive days of unusually strong winds, which stripped many coffee plants of their leaves. People walked to their fields and stood in tears, staring at the destroyed plants that they depend upon to feed their children. When the leaves are blown off of the coffee plant, it takes three years for the plant to recoup and bear a normal amount of fruit again. And so life here will continue, but many families will be significantly hungrier during these next few years.
If you are interested in contributing to hard-working families such as ours, you can buy the delicious fair trade coffee from the parish cooperative, “Juan Ana Coffee.” Just go to: http://www.juananacoffee.com/
Sunday, January 13, 2008
A Week With Family
Last week, Shom and I had some visitors... My mom and my brother Andrew came to spend a week with us here in Guatemala! We had such a wonderful time, having fun and being tourists together. Here are some photos I took during the trip:
Mom, standing in front of the "chicken bus" we took to Santiago Atitlán, another of the towns along Lake Atitlán. 
After visiting Santiago, we took a boat across the lake to Panajachel, and this is the gorgeous view! To the left in the distance, you can see Volcán Tolimán, and to the right you can see Volcán San Pedro. 
This is a photo of Andrew on our hike of Volcán Pacaya... we got to see lava (in the distance)! 
Mom, standing in front of the "chicken bus" we took to Santiago Atitlán, another of the towns along Lake Atitlán....
After visiting Santiago, we took a boat across the lake to Panajachel, and this is the gorgeous view! To the left in the distance, you can see Volcán Tolimán, and to the right you can see Volcán San Pedro. ...
The colorful market of Chichicastenango.
...
Visiting the ruins of Iximché,
kingdom of the Kaqchikel Maya people.
...
This is a photo of Andrew on our hike of Volcán Pacaya... we got to see lava (in the distance)! ...
We also enjoyed New Years Eve fireworks in Antigua, the perfect ending to a fantastic week.
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