Friday, November 28, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
A slow start..
As of last week, I officially started work with my host country agency, Estrategias para el Desarrollo Internacional (Strategies for International Development), an NGO based out of Washington that deals specifically with coffee farmers in impoverished areas of the world. As for what these ¨Strategies¨ are, I´m still not quite sure. I´ve been following around my counterpart for the better part of three weeks now, trying to learn anything and everything I can in order to get a better grasp on what´s going on here. In the absence of intensive work, which I´m told will come once the coffee harvest gets going, I´ve been taking Kaqchikel classes, spending time with my host family and looking for familiar cues that tell me its ok to commence Christmas preparation. (Of which I´ve found plenty, and thus launched full force into Holiday season)
This past weekend I got the opportunity to attend a Guatemalan wedding in the department of El Quiche, which borders my municipality, but lies about two hours away by conventional travel methods, i.e. chicken bus. The man getting married was a friend of my host sister from her studies in Wisconsin. We were accompanied not only by several other alumni of the program, but also by her host parents from Wisconsin who recently relocated to a nearby village in Chimaltenango (my home department). We rode the bus up to the capital city of the department Santa Cruz del Quiche and then took a jalon (standing up in the back of a pickup with five to ten others) to his town about twenty minutes away. Once we arrived we were ushered in and welcomed with soup and coffee while a church service was taking place in the backyard. The actual wedding service began later that evening, to which we walked en masse from the house.
Obviously I noticed several differences between their traditional wedding and the standard American wedding, but there were several in particular that I wanted to share. Before walking to the church, the bride and groom prepared together, each one smoothing the other´s creases and picking pieces of stray fabric or lint off each other. The bride wore a similar veil and tiara of sorts, with a white beaded guipil (traditional shirt worn by indigenous women) and a traditional corte (long, belted skirt). The cue to depart from the house was a preset series of bells sounded from the town square, and once we arrived at the church in our group of around seventy five, we weren´t to enter the church until the last chime of the series was heard. The music once we huddled into the sanctuary was provided by a local band playing religious marimba music, which I’ve found take the place of hymns in all church services. After the groom and his best man took their place at the altar, the bride timidly strode down the aisle to this music and was met in the middle of the aisle by the groom who took her hand from both parents.
The service proceeded like any other regular mass, with the Father talking about the eternal kingdom, the past liturgical year in the church and the importance of tithing. The actual wedding took up a mere ten minutes of the actual service, neatly inserted between the sermon and the offering. Meanwhile, the bride, groom, best man and made of honor in enjoyed it from front row seats.
Once we got back to the house, the bride and groom stood in front of a table to receive gifts from a long line of family and friends, after which the groom delivered a speech to the crowd in Quiche (the local Mayan dialect), Spanish and English. After a light supper we got a chance to talk to the groom more during which he shared the story of how he had met his wife after returning from the states and how he was required to ask for her hand in marriage through a series of visits with her parents. Apparently he only had to ask once, whereas the typical series of requests is between two and four visits, where the suitor is subjected to interrogation on qualifications as a spouse, financial standings, and future plans by parents and family members. (Not to mention he´s expected to bring gifts every time).
After the low key reception, we spent the night in the capital city of Quiche where the groom had arranged a room for us and then headed back to Chimaltenango. Since getting back, I´ve been listening to Christmas music, daydreaming about stuffing (with Thanksgiving only a few days away) and watching Christmas movies in Spanish (I recommend Elf). I wish you all a happy Thanksgiving and hope to be in touch!
Until next time..
This past weekend I got the opportunity to attend a Guatemalan wedding in the department of El Quiche, which borders my municipality, but lies about two hours away by conventional travel methods, i.e. chicken bus. The man getting married was a friend of my host sister from her studies in Wisconsin. We were accompanied not only by several other alumni of the program, but also by her host parents from Wisconsin who recently relocated to a nearby village in Chimaltenango (my home department). We rode the bus up to the capital city of the department Santa Cruz del Quiche and then took a jalon (standing up in the back of a pickup with five to ten others) to his town about twenty minutes away. Once we arrived we were ushered in and welcomed with soup and coffee while a church service was taking place in the backyard. The actual wedding service began later that evening, to which we walked en masse from the house.
Obviously I noticed several differences between their traditional wedding and the standard American wedding, but there were several in particular that I wanted to share. Before walking to the church, the bride and groom prepared together, each one smoothing the other´s creases and picking pieces of stray fabric or lint off each other. The bride wore a similar veil and tiara of sorts, with a white beaded guipil (traditional shirt worn by indigenous women) and a traditional corte (long, belted skirt). The cue to depart from the house was a preset series of bells sounded from the town square, and once we arrived at the church in our group of around seventy five, we weren´t to enter the church until the last chime of the series was heard. The music once we huddled into the sanctuary was provided by a local band playing religious marimba music, which I’ve found take the place of hymns in all church services. After the groom and his best man took their place at the altar, the bride timidly strode down the aisle to this music and was met in the middle of the aisle by the groom who took her hand from both parents.
The service proceeded like any other regular mass, with the Father talking about the eternal kingdom, the past liturgical year in the church and the importance of tithing. The actual wedding took up a mere ten minutes of the actual service, neatly inserted between the sermon and the offering. Meanwhile, the bride, groom, best man and made of honor in enjoyed it from front row seats.
Once we got back to the house, the bride and groom stood in front of a table to receive gifts from a long line of family and friends, after which the groom delivered a speech to the crowd in Quiche (the local Mayan dialect), Spanish and English. After a light supper we got a chance to talk to the groom more during which he shared the story of how he had met his wife after returning from the states and how he was required to ask for her hand in marriage through a series of visits with her parents. Apparently he only had to ask once, whereas the typical series of requests is between two and four visits, where the suitor is subjected to interrogation on qualifications as a spouse, financial standings, and future plans by parents and family members. (Not to mention he´s expected to bring gifts every time).
After the low key reception, we spent the night in the capital city of Quiche where the groom had arranged a room for us and then headed back to Chimaltenango. Since getting back, I´ve been listening to Christmas music, daydreaming about stuffing (with Thanksgiving only a few days away) and watching Christmas movies in Spanish (I recommend Elf). I wish you all a happy Thanksgiving and hope to be in touch!
Until next time..
Saturday, November 15, 2008
A few minor adjustments..
This first week and a half in site has been pretty calm and uneventful, although that’s not to say it’s not noisy. I’ve found that the noise principle is taken to new heights in my new site, if it were even possible. For example, some loud noises that would normally scare us, being the hyper-conscious, terrorist fearing Americans that we are, such as [questionably] personal fireworks, are set off at the beginning, middle and end of every mass at the Catholic Church I attended on Sunday. They hold three services every day.
Aside from acclimating to the noise, I’ve also found that my entire town has a very distinct smell; Corn. The shrimp sequence from Forrest Gump comes to mind: corn being harvested, sun drying corn, roasting corn, corn being milled into mash, corn being boiled, corn being grilled, mash being made into tortillas (black, white and yellow varieties each have a distinct smell), even corn cobs being burned to fuel the fires over which the majority of people cook in their kitchens.
Running through the town several times a week has not only allowed me to classify each of the distinct corn smells, it’s also allowed me to get to know the gente (people) better. Most of the time I don’t realize I’m stocking up on future conversations when I run, because I’m used to zoning out when I run in order to pass the time, and like I said before, decompress. But here, I have to stay alert: I must never be too out of breath to offer a “Buenos días” to anyone I pass. No exceptions.
Regardless if I see someone on my path or not, they usually know if I ran that day, which is to be expected in any close-knit small town. Monday, I walked into Kaqchikel class around 8:30 after an early morning run and my teacher greeted me with “Good morning! My brother saw you running this morning.”
Along the same gossip lines, my Kaqchikel class whispers to me that my host mother’s husband is her second, and my host mother whispers to me that my Kaqchikel teacher is a single mother and no one knows who the father is, with a cautionary finger to her mouth. Somehow I’ve already been drawn in to the vicious gossip circle, solely by being conspicuously white. But now I’m the first one doing the math when I see a recently wed couple with a newborn. From what I gather, shotgun weddings are quite common.
Until next time..
Aside from acclimating to the noise, I’ve also found that my entire town has a very distinct smell; Corn. The shrimp sequence from Forrest Gump comes to mind: corn being harvested, sun drying corn, roasting corn, corn being milled into mash, corn being boiled, corn being grilled, mash being made into tortillas (black, white and yellow varieties each have a distinct smell), even corn cobs being burned to fuel the fires over which the majority of people cook in their kitchens.
Running through the town several times a week has not only allowed me to classify each of the distinct corn smells, it’s also allowed me to get to know the gente (people) better. Most of the time I don’t realize I’m stocking up on future conversations when I run, because I’m used to zoning out when I run in order to pass the time, and like I said before, decompress. But here, I have to stay alert: I must never be too out of breath to offer a “Buenos días” to anyone I pass. No exceptions.
Regardless if I see someone on my path or not, they usually know if I ran that day, which is to be expected in any close-knit small town. Monday, I walked into Kaqchikel class around 8:30 after an early morning run and my teacher greeted me with “Good morning! My brother saw you running this morning.”
Along the same gossip lines, my Kaqchikel class whispers to me that my host mother’s husband is her second, and my host mother whispers to me that my Kaqchikel teacher is a single mother and no one knows who the father is, with a cautionary finger to her mouth. Somehow I’ve already been drawn in to the vicious gossip circle, solely by being conspicuously white. But now I’m the first one doing the math when I see a recently wed couple with a newborn. From what I gather, shotgun weddings are quite common.
Until next time..
Friday, November 7, 2008
After a short few days in site
After having a wonderful swearing -in ceremony at the Ambassador’s house and a fun filled night of celebration, I write to you now from my new site! I had a somber goodbye with my host family from Alotenango, and took a bus from there to Chimaltenango where I caught the direct bus to my site. In all, the journey was about 2 ½ hours. I arrived to meet the volunteer whom I will be replacing and almost immediately moved in with my new host family. While the living conditions are not that much different from my previous host family, the family speaks about 75% Kaqchikel (which I have yet to learn how to pronounce correctly). The family has six children ranging in age from 12 to 31, and a limitless stream of cousins, aunts and uncles coming through the house at all hours of the day. In the short few days I’ve been here, I’ve already been reeled in to playing many a game of soccer, Scrabble (yes, that’s right, scrabble) and a Guatemalan version of Sorry. But despite the lack of quiet time, the family is quite accommodating and extremely gracious. I’ve already begun to get comfortable.
After arriving in my permanent site, one thing I’ve noticed that does not differ from town to town is a Guatemalan’s apparent entitlement to make noise, regardless of time, place or appropriateness. After observing for about three months, it is my solemn belief that from an early age, it is ingrained in a Guatemalans that it is his inherent right to blast music, maintain roosters in small quarters or emit whatever possible racket he may feel the impulse to make or foster. That said, I have not gotten too much peace in site as of yet, but I’ve been able to run which allows me to decompress a little.
Tomorrow I will begin classes of Kaqchikel, so I can understand what the women are saying around the stove (which is, by the way, where we eat dinner after we make all the tortillas). I have yet to master the art of tortear (Spanish, for ‘to make tortillas’ ), but I’m in no hurry to do so, because I’m still using this as an excuse when someone suggests I go on a date with their son/brother/cousin, etc. My normal line is “Oh, but Señora, you know I’m no good at making tortillas, no Guatemalan would ever take me!” with which they never argue.
Until next time..
After arriving in my permanent site, one thing I’ve noticed that does not differ from town to town is a Guatemalan’s apparent entitlement to make noise, regardless of time, place or appropriateness. After observing for about three months, it is my solemn belief that from an early age, it is ingrained in a Guatemalans that it is his inherent right to blast music, maintain roosters in small quarters or emit whatever possible racket he may feel the impulse to make or foster. That said, I have not gotten too much peace in site as of yet, but I’ve been able to run which allows me to decompress a little.
Tomorrow I will begin classes of Kaqchikel, so I can understand what the women are saying around the stove (which is, by the way, where we eat dinner after we make all the tortillas). I have yet to master the art of tortear (Spanish, for ‘to make tortillas’ ), but I’m in no hurry to do so, because I’m still using this as an excuse when someone suggests I go on a date with their son/brother/cousin, etc. My normal line is “Oh, but Señora, you know I’m no good at making tortillas, no Guatemalan would ever take me!” with which they never argue.
Until next time..
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Swearing In
On Friday morning, I walked briskly to the bus with Colin, Miguel and Paula (his host parents) to make it to Antigua on time, because we had been told by Peace Corps that it was of vital importance to arrive on time. Once in Antigua, we met with Jaime, who had just gotten off work at 7:30 AM, and all got onto a bus that was waiting for us to take us to the Ambassador’s house in Guatemala City. Arriving in Guate, was an adventure as always, keeping in mind stories like one of the PC nurses having her watch stolen off her wrist when she had her arm out the window during rush hour, especially in such a large group.
We pulled up to an relatively unmarked white wall in the middle of the capital and it wasn’t until I got off the bus and inspected my surroundings that I noticed the small plaque bearing the seal of the US government. We were greeted by the training director and the Guatemala country director among other staff and made to enter the compound in single file, through a narrow door that wouldn’t permit more than one at a time anyway. Upon entering the beautiful front lawn, we were greeted in the entrance by the rest of the PCGuatemala staff and the ambassador and his wife themselves. They alone led us through their home to the back lawn (also gorgeous) where chairs and tents for the ceremony had been set up.
After taking countless pictures and exploring the massive back yard (with swimming pool, tennis court and an expansive lawn) we began the ceremony. In front of the Ambassador and his wife, our host families and the PC Guatemala staff, we each took the oath required of all government employees (which my mom remembered she’d had to take upon entrance into West Point) and were called up one by one to receive diplomas verifying completion of training. All in all it was a very emotional culmination of these past three months of training and, most importantly they had real cookies and brownies as a snack afterward.
I have to say that the coolest part of the ceremony was unplanned. The wind was particularly fierce in the capital that day, even inside the ambassador’s immaculate complex. About ten minutes into the ceremony, after having been thanked for his warm welcome, Ambassador McFarlan whispered into the country director’s ear. He stood up, and said in Spanish, “Speaking of a warm welcome, does anyone need a jacket or sweater? Some of you must be freezing.” There was a little hesitation, and several people looked to their neighbor as if to ask each other if his offer was sincere, and then about three hands went into the air. After about three minutes, he returned with several jackets and sweaters (my favorite, a particularly feminine indigenous from his service in Paraguay, he gave to our elected trainee speaker, who kept it on for the remainder of the morning) handing them out to anyone who looked cold. That little touch of hospitality took the formality of the ceremony down a notch, but it was awesome to see someone with such a prestigious position who was so considerate and down to earth.
Until next time..
We pulled up to an relatively unmarked white wall in the middle of the capital and it wasn’t until I got off the bus and inspected my surroundings that I noticed the small plaque bearing the seal of the US government. We were greeted by the training director and the Guatemala country director among other staff and made to enter the compound in single file, through a narrow door that wouldn’t permit more than one at a time anyway. Upon entering the beautiful front lawn, we were greeted in the entrance by the rest of the PCGuatemala staff and the ambassador and his wife themselves. They alone led us through their home to the back lawn (also gorgeous) where chairs and tents for the ceremony had been set up.
After taking countless pictures and exploring the massive back yard (with swimming pool, tennis court and an expansive lawn) we began the ceremony. In front of the Ambassador and his wife, our host families and the PC Guatemala staff, we each took the oath required of all government employees (which my mom remembered she’d had to take upon entrance into West Point) and were called up one by one to receive diplomas verifying completion of training. All in all it was a very emotional culmination of these past three months of training and, most importantly they had real cookies and brownies as a snack afterward.
I have to say that the coolest part of the ceremony was unplanned. The wind was particularly fierce in the capital that day, even inside the ambassador’s immaculate complex. About ten minutes into the ceremony, after having been thanked for his warm welcome, Ambassador McFarlan whispered into the country director’s ear. He stood up, and said in Spanish, “Speaking of a warm welcome, does anyone need a jacket or sweater? Some of you must be freezing.” There was a little hesitation, and several people looked to their neighbor as if to ask each other if his offer was sincere, and then about three hands went into the air. After about three minutes, he returned with several jackets and sweaters (my favorite, a particularly feminine indigenous from his service in Paraguay, he gave to our elected trainee speaker, who kept it on for the remainder of the morning) handing them out to anyone who looked cold. That little touch of hospitality took the formality of the ceremony down a notch, but it was awesome to see someone with such a prestigious position who was so considerate and down to earth.
Until next time..
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