tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48719889936851063572024-03-05T01:08:39.010-07:00My Guatemala Story27 months of Peace Corps; a Guatemalan educationRachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-35754138976662087372010-09-19T09:53:00.006-06:002010-09-19T11:53:40.963-06:00Lessons Learned - Part 1Having already passed the 2 Year mark in my Peace Corps service - 2 years, 1 month and 6 days to be exact - i figured it would be appropriate to gather some rather memorable experiences and observations and somehow translate them into lessons learned or qualities acquired- however abstract the connection may seem. I plan to do this in several entries. <br /><br />I'll start with an early experience. At the end of my first week in site, i was desperate to get out - not because i was sick of my site or because i missed my friends from training terribly but because i felt like i deserved it after a solid week (not to mention three months of training) out of my comfort zone. So, i made plans to visit a friend in his site about an hour and a half away for a night. At around 5:00 i realized i had missed the last bus and was sitting on the corner on the way out of town, desperately waiting for a pickup truck or some other charitable soul to pass by offering me a ride to Tecpan, where i could catch a bus to my friend's site. Finally, around 5:30, not a micro-bus, truck or a car, but a tuk-tuk passed by and jokingly asked where i was going. Now - for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of visiting Guatemala, or the rest of the developing world for that matter, a tuk-tuk is a tiny taxi built around a motorcylce engine that fits two people in addition to the driver and maxes out at about 25 miles an hour. It's like a golf cart, only much smaller and more cramped. Well, luckily this particular tuk-tuk was headed to Tecpan, a very rare occurrence, seeing as it was over 15Km away and at least a 50 minute ride. I quickly got in and rode that Tuk-tuk all the way to Tecpan, up and down amusement park- worthy hills and even for 3km on the Interamerican highway, unconcerned with the two mischievous young men sharing the driver's seat but simply thankful for my luck. The ride took almost an hour, but it was entirely worth it because i arrived safely to my friend's site and returned the next day refreshed and ready to get back to work. Lesson learned: Get to know the town bus schedules.<br /><br />Here's another observation that i took note of. One day, about a year and a half back, i made a to-do list ( one of my favorite pastimes). Item number two (not number one, i might point out) on that list read: "Take a Shower." Let that sit for a moment..<br /><br />For some reason, I had lost the instinctive impulse to bathe and had fallen out of the habit. I'll be painfully honest, bathing twice weekly was the norm for a while. Bathing is no easy feat here, often requiring a lot of leg work and/or a giant sacrifice of privacy (if you take the tamaskal, or communal steam bath, route - to which i have yet to succumb) but I've somehow made it work on a more regular basis now as opposed to that dark time of bathing (ok i'll admit it) once weekly. With about a month to go in Guatemala, I'm almost drooling at the thought of a sparkling, white tilled bathroom. Lesson learned: Never let personal hygiene go by the wayside. <br /><br />And to finish this entry, here's an ongoing experience, one of the most meaningful I've had. At the beginning of my service, I lived with a wonderful family for about two months and I moved back in with the same family about 5 months ago. The mom, Ines, is a remarkable and independent woman and the dad, Tomas, is an honest, caring man, both with a great sense of humor. They have 6 children, two of which are married (Fredy and Sheny), three of which are routinely abroad (Victor, Jose and Lydia) and one who still lives at home while going to school (Lorena). I will be living in their home until I leave Guatemala at the end of October. <br /><br />Aside from cherishing their company and sharing important moments with them, living with a Guatemalan family in my site has lent itself to limitless odd, schema-challenging moments that have often left me genuinely bewildered. For example: I've found days-old leftovers in the kitchen cabinet drawers even though they own a beautiful new refrigerator. I've stepped in chicken droppings in my bedroom and I've inspected mysterious paw prints on my pillow - to whom they belong i have yet to find out. I've witnessed similar occurrences in other homes as well. <br /><br />In most houses the front door is revolving, and the multitudes of people coming in and out every day all claim to be related and decide to stay over often. For a while i was unsure of who actually lived in my house and of where they slept - which was unnerving as you can imagine because I never knew if I’d crawl into bed and find company. <br /><br />With all the surprises and new ways of doing things, at times I feel like I’ve taken up residence at Mrs. Piggle Wiggle’s house, the storied elderly single lady whose house was adorned with furniture decoratively nailed to the ceilings. Perhaps you remember those books? As a child, I remember enjoying the books' fantastical nature that was somehow still contained by reality. That's basically what I've experienced on a day to day basis here, living with my Guatemalan host family. <br /><br />Another example: Since the concept of individual possessions is completely foreign - they share almost everything - the idea of a private room is hardly even considered. In one home I've visited frequently, while three girls share one room, there are two full rooms that serve only to house dilapidated old furniture and appliances which might as well be nailed to the ceiling - or, more appropriately, hung from the tin roof. <br /><br />As confused as I have felt at times, I've never lost sight of the importance of loved ones in one's life and i have genuinely cherished the time spent with my host family. I have always greatly appreciated their hospitality and support. Lessons learned: 1)The value of family transcends cultural borders and 2) Hide your candy. <br /><br />To be continued..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-84064361713304784932010-06-06T20:12:00.008-06:002010-06-07T19:31:18.667-06:00Agatha takes her tollIn the time since my last post, things have been steady at work. Throughout the coffee harvest we've been working to continue to boost membership in the cooperative as always, and the stove project has been officially launched. We were approved for a sizable grant to be able to construct 19 stoves, which combined with all the generous donations we received, will be enough to provide stoves for 26 families. After receiving the grant, we've begun construction on 8 stoves and were making wonderful progress up until last Saturday, when we were hit rather hard by hurricane Agatha - perhaps you'd heard of it? <br /><br />Maybe this will pique your interest? One of the many footprints that Agatha left; a sinkhole in Guatemala city that dragged with it an abandoned(thankfully) three story building. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/TAxlzAWSSEI/AAAAAAAAHhc/GBi2hH2x_gY/s1600/sinkhole+in+guate.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/TAxlzAWSSEI/AAAAAAAAHhc/GBi2hH2x_gY/s400/sinkhole+in+guate.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479866773544257602" /></a><br /><br />Well, I definitely had no idea it was coming. No one had mentioned it other than in passing - and it never occurred to me that it could do real damage. And even if it could, i assumed that it would happen on the beach or somewhere obviously more tropical. Needless to say, i got schooled - yet again - on the ins and outs of the small, developing - world town.<br /><br />To give you a bit of an idea of what happened (because even if you're astute enough to read into the very general articles that surface in the states, i can tell you first hand from a distinct point of view) the rains started steadily on Wednesday night. Laying in bed under my metal roof, i remember clearly when it started to pound - i've gotten used to the sound (luckily, because it often pounds - sometimes i have to go under the covers to talk on the phone in bed). The heavy rain continued through Thursday and Friday, lightening up every now and then only to get stronger upon resuming; it never stopped. Now, we are currently in rainy season, which means it rains heavily and often from May to October in my town, but it always breaks for small peeks of sun throughout the streaks of precipitation and this was different. The rain didn't stop - and apparently three days was all it needed to do severe damage. <br /><br />Friday afternoon i got a notice from Peace Corps to return to site as soon as possible and prepare for a few days of 'stand-fast' - meaning staying put wherever i may be. On Saturday things really started to escalate due to the water levels in town. The stretch of rural highway between my town and the next began to succumb to various mudslides, which even being paved as it is made passing impossible while the one town operated tractor slowly made its way to the spot - taking hours at times. Eventually bridges were swept away and houses at low points in town were inundated by runoff and mud. Many were stranded outside of town forced to wait out the storm or the clearance of the road. Saturday night, the power went out - with no promise of coming back soon. Sunday morning we realized the water source had also been compromised. So after only three days of heavy rain, the town was left with no power, no running water and no way out. I'm going to be honest with you, i freaked out a little bit. <br /><br />News quickly spread around town of more dire circumstances, specifically one that affected some very close friends of mine in town. Word had it that a sturdy concrete house at the base of a hill on the edge of a soccer field in one of the surrounding villages had collapsed under the weight of an enormous mudslide - taking with it the lives of 4 young girls in their sleep and their 4 months pregnant mother while sparing the lives of the two youngest boys. The father, having received the horrible news while at work in a hotel in Guatemala City, had to not only sleep on the news to wait for a bus, but arrive on foot from the closest spot the bus would drop him - about 10 kilometers away. And there were similar stories to this in many of the villages. <br /><br />Here's what the house looked like today, one week later when we were finally able to get there in a car.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMC66vSXgmzVYe3IkZ5sz0fyRyrLRbzqz4MJ0QdoCiDdDMoLncMFEF9pjluasMpywbAW3BZ30gIkEZSejCYdoQquR-VjSoJCSlt96hLqi5G-l2tSEhwsGfT600WKX3S0NJHWyNto1/s1600/IMG_2207.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMC66vSXgmzVYe3IkZ5sz0fyRyrLRbzqz4MJ0QdoCiDdDMoLncMFEF9pjluasMpywbAW3BZ30gIkEZSejCYdoQquR-VjSoJCSlt96hLqi5G-l2tSEhwsGfT600WKX3S0NJHWyNto1/s400/IMG_2207.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479872811073810018" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMHhpaPPeQPjv1u5oVdykGyJ0ZzPMnOe4XaRpDI0B3NlILLGEcU-eazu_mvCPDvEDG7jlKONaRFvw9EaWM4UBNb4PsIrMXG81c36yYs26oml5hNW00K5KCk9BQN-Qv53FjI-iKf1m/s1600/IMG_2205.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMHhpaPPeQPjv1u5oVdykGyJ0ZzPMnOe4XaRpDI0B3NlILLGEcU-eazu_mvCPDvEDG7jlKONaRFvw9EaWM4UBNb4PsIrMXG81c36yYs26oml5hNW00K5KCk9BQN-Qv53FjI-iKf1m/s400/IMG_2205.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479872802546816194" /></a><br /><br />Sunday passed with no power and no water, as did Monday. All classes were cancelled 'until further notice.'Tuesday, still with no water or power, the president showed up on our soccer field in borrowed helicopters from the United States and COlumbia promising to right the situation and giving away several 'solidarity bags' filled with black beans, rice, oil and other items of daily consumption to a few afflicted families. It seemed like a painfully small gesture to someone who had lost their house, almost their entire family or both. <br /><br />The power finally flickered back on Wednesday morning, only four days after it had gone out - but only to better highlight the damage that the storm had incurred on the town. The road out was not cleared for passage until Thursday. <br /><br />Now that you have an idea of the chronology of events in my town, consider this only the average occurrence. While 20 people died in total in our small town, 150 more died in others. Not to mention dozens of major bridges swept away (some needing months to be rebuilt), hundreds of people missing and the hundreds of thousands of Guatemalans that were left homeless. <br /><br />Outside the home, the effects of Agatha are far reaching as well. Seeing as many of our associates farm formerly wooded areas that have been cleared for coffee plants, the terrain lacks the deep roots that hold the soil in place (especially if it is on a steep incline, which Guatemalans farm like no body else) many coffee plantations were literally dragged away with the mud and water. One cuerda (40m x 40m) of coffee yields Q4000 of coffee sales per year for the farmer who cares for it. The coffee will take 4 years to be replanted and be nurtured to maturity to be able to fully produce again - which means Q16,000 of loss on that one small plot - and thats only if it will one day be farmable again and was not ruined completely. Each associate has between 2 and 5 of those plots. And that's just coffee. This town depends almost entirely on agriculture, imagine the immense loss. <br /><br />Here's a 3 cuerda plot that will definitely not be farmable this year:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5yuIQxyOrkBVGLT2g1liMO-Q8hAlTwzZZA-DqItjnrsP_PWemcqK88N9zeVmOJ2WL-avjWwptzD4kQJoaQN5QCXxUB-q7YTK3ZGrJ11uMAiRu4_ZqUeoZbIKsOzBdWMnKCqIPzd4g/s1600/IMG_2154.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5yuIQxyOrkBVGLT2g1liMO-Q8hAlTwzZZA-DqItjnrsP_PWemcqK88N9zeVmOJ2WL-avjWwptzD4kQJoaQN5QCXxUB-q7YTK3ZGrJ11uMAiRu4_ZqUeoZbIKsOzBdWMnKCqIPzd4g/s400/IMG_2154.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479878490730858194" /></a><br /><br />What's worse is, it could all easily happen again, possibly wreaking twice as much havoc in another blow. <br /><br />I think it is the instability of this situation that has truly scared me in all this - that one day it could be sunny like it was all this week, and the next could be the beginning of the next big hurricane with just a few days of heavy rains. People in town are very seriously afraid of the rain - because of its insecurity and inevitably the consequences that follow. <br /><br />As for now, the town and the lesser affected people have been doing what they can - distributing water via tank trucks, gathering what little help is offered and distributing it in the areas of need etc. Just today we went to see the family who suffered the loss of 4 daughters and a mother, along with other families who had lost their houses to distribute a small collection of clothing and food but knowing that while the rain is errant the damage is long lasting is extremely disheartening. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBbY5ZRpPUbzEeKIG7Sz9bKHcvr9pwQTrO1VZDQIHLxq0V_WrxY-S-W7V_wCaMw_638bF6-hE3XLNX3rwD8NUr8UmHE7S53I6HXJj79Y50eoBSGxloj3ApLKEtJEC_QzFwQQE5xCJV/s1600/IMG_2195.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBbY5ZRpPUbzEeKIG7Sz9bKHcvr9pwQTrO1VZDQIHLxq0V_WrxY-S-W7V_wCaMw_638bF6-hE3XLNX3rwD8NUr8UmHE7S53I6HXJj79Y50eoBSGxloj3ApLKEtJEC_QzFwQQE5xCJV/s400/IMG_2195.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479878499680591922" /></a><br /><br /><br />I hope to have more positive news to share in my next post. <br />Until next time..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-60366284207410784202010-03-16T07:46:00.004-07:002010-03-20T19:29:28.844-07:00CIACEP General Body MeetingLast Wednesday my coffee coop celebrated their second all-member general body meeting, a yearly affair. Most organizations around here - whether it be an NGO, a community association, or the local government - hold a general meeting once a year to get all the members together (sometimes solely to remind them that they are, in fact, members still) discuss any achievements throughout the year and present new work plans and budget revisions. It's basically one big board meeting, where all the stock holders are allowed to attend and participate. <br /><br />Since our foundation in October of 2008, it's been a constant struggle for survival as an organization dealing with coyotes threatening our coffee sales, bad weather hurting the coffee yields and rival coops enamoring our associates. So, needless to say, having arrived at this point in our lifetime as a coop was an accomplishment in itself. While it should probably go without saying that this type of affair generally turns into a big party, our board and members were especially riled up for this event. Now that I mention it, it seems like people around here are always looking for a reason to celebrate, something that shouldn't come as a surprise in a country that very seriously celebrates "Day of the child."<br /><br />So, keeping in mind the true nature of our event, the team of board members and coffee promoters set about preparing the venue the day before. Not so surprisingly, it was an activity that took from lunchtime Tuesday until when the first guests started arriving Wednesday morning and took priority over points to be presented during the meeting – inconsequential details like the work plan, summary of activities in the past year and current budget, haha. <br /><br />As part of the decorating commission, i was put in charge of the balloons and posters. Luckily my landlord Emeliano has a store where he sells school and office supplies in town. When i arrived and inquired about balloons, he smiled and said of course they sold balloons. What was I thinking? I forgot this place is party central. But, the funniest part, that I hope you'll appreciate too, came when I asked if he sold them inflated. Seeing as my Spanish is far from perfect still, I had to talk my way around the actual words for inflating balloons with a helium tank. Once I had asked he just sort of stared at me with a perplexed expression on his face, and after a few minutes to allow me time to retract my statement, said that no, they did not inflate them, in a way that implied that I was crazy for even having asked.<br /><br />After a few moments, I had that epiphany that should be automatic by now because it happens so often: in my town, filling balloons with helium and attaching ribbon is unheard of, because blowing them up manually and hanging them with thread works just fine - no fancy helium tanks or shiny ribbon required. So, I quickly put two and two together, and realized that Emeliano had understood that i wanted not only to buy the 50 balloons in yellow and green, but that I expected him to blow them up himself. I could've kicked myself.<br /><br />Like I said, I should be used to situations like this by now, they happen so often. But luckily I can still have a good laugh at myself. <br /><br />The event went over really well and we even had some unexpected visitors from the National Coffee Association which made the event seem very official. The members left satisfied and happy, hopefully in part because of the beautiful array of balloons :)Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-34080046371698377402010-03-11T08:29:00.006-07:002010-03-11T09:27:07.181-07:00Secretary Clinton Visits GuatemalaLast Friday Guatemala had the pleasure of receiving a visit from Secretary of State Clinton. We in the Peace Corps community were invited by the embassy to a small meet and greet session at the ambassador's house about two days before the event was scheduled to take place. For some volunteers, this was unfortunately not enough advance notice to be able to re-arrange work commitments and arrive on time. But, luckily for me, it's still coffee harvest for another month, so my coworkers are busy cutting and processing coffee and all my recent work has been self initiated. Also, I live extremely close to the capital in comparison to other volunteers, something I've usually taken for granted seeing as I don't do much in Guate. But for an event like this, 15 minutes long and subject to cancellation, I was thankful for my site location. <br /><br />The meet and greet with Secretary Clinton was scheduled to take place at 2:30 at Ambassador McFarland's house in Guatemala City, but all visitors were required to arrive a fair amount of time beforehand in order to 'secure the area.' Our group of Peace Corps volunteers and staff members arrived around 12:30 at the ambassador's house ready to hunker down and wait - something I've gotten suprisingly comfortable with while being here. I'd been to the ambassador's house before, so it wasn't so shocking the second time and we were allowed to explore the grounds while we waited - a full size lawn, swimming pool, tennis court and various meeting nooks scattered around them.<br /><br />As other guests trickled in, we got into conversations with some of the other people invited,as the invitation was extended to the entire Guatemalan 'mission,' a term with which i was unfamiliar before that day. Apparently that includes the embassy staff, Peace Corps volunteers and staff and the Center for Disease Control among others with the Ambassdor's house being the 'Chief of the Mission's Residence'. <br /><br />While lounging around the Chief of the Mission's swimming pool, my friends and I got the chance to chat with several people living in Guatemala City working as part of the mission for various other organizations. It was really funny to see how we Americans collided, coming from completely different experiences in Guatemala. All the embassy and CDC workers live in a predetermined area in Guate, with similarly furnished apartments and little freedom to leave their path from Home to Work. (while Peace Corps Volunteers are basically sent off into the rural communities and asked to find their own housing, construct their own furniture etc.) I asked a teenage daughter of one of the Center for Disease Control staff what she did to hang out with her friends, and she said that while she did have some friends from school, and a few friends in her apartment building, she mostly 'just stays where it's safe.'While i was listening to her, i was thinking about all the things I'd done while in PC Guatemala that probably would be frowned upon by the state department, not even because they were not allowed but because of the liability issues. (I've been in a lot of rickety pickups)<br /><br />Judging from the Foreign Service Officers we met, the embassy staff seeks out the most cosmopolitan setting in each post and tries to adjust accordingly. We got into talking about different restaurants and things to do in the city and somehow got onto the topic of American restaurant chains abroad; Crystal chandeliers in Pizza Huts and Botanic Gardens in McDonald's. After discussing the ambience at a certain McDonald's one guy urged us to 'GET OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN!'Needless to say, it was a nice check on perspective. <br /><br />Finally, around 3:45 we were alerted to Secretary Clinton's impending arrival and all crowded around the podium that had been assembled for the occasion. She arrived in style, smiling in a pants suit, enormous pearls and a blinding diamond ring that i had not previously noticed (but that didn't surprise me). After greeting several women political leaders of Guatemala - including Rigoberta Menchu - she delivered a short speech to the mission staff (on the importance of our work in Guatemala and its role in the US's foreign relations, http://www.state.gov/secretary/rm/2010/03/137891.htm) and stepped down into the crowd to shake hands. <br /><br />Unfortunately, after thinking about it all day, the best thing i could manage to spit out was 'it's so nice to meet you' and I only got that much out because I heard someone else say it. I'll have to think of what I'm going to say next time.. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqqZ_m3EzKFlxotXLLN7oHQQX5JbjyDlADvqjV5SDKQBzAmv0a61DCCKrDT59KzrbkqZMsrlKt_0vzsITue5Wj7ZLn-hbGYgmGuvrnJ-1Q74M6MZ2ujwwMjlaUnx_aLgqelQorgdqw/s1600-h/hillary+w+PCG.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqqZ_m3EzKFlxotXLLN7oHQQX5JbjyDlADvqjV5SDKQBzAmv0a61DCCKrDT59KzrbkqZMsrlKt_0vzsITue5Wj7ZLn-hbGYgmGuvrnJ-1Q74M6MZ2ujwwMjlaUnx_aLgqelQorgdqw/s400/hillary+w+PCG.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447404425506619650" /></a>Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-83856303299304770682010-01-05T00:37:00.007-07:002010-01-27T13:52:32.030-07:00Stoves Galore!I'm back and ready to take on 2010 and my last 10 months of the Peace Corps in Guatemala! To start the new year off right, I'm currently undertaking a large project to fulfill a need for our community of coffee farmers, under the umbrella of the coffee cooperative (CIACEP). It came to our attention via a survey of needs that many of the women involved, either wives of coffee producers or farmers themselves, lacked an appropriate place to prepare food in their home. These women (even though it is 2010, people!) continue to cook food on small fires on the ground prepared before every meal, which fills the kitchen with smoke and leads to frequent burns. This would be bad enough if it were just the women at risk, but it's not that simple. The hazard is compounded if you take into account the fact that women are the primary caregivers to infants and small children, normally carrying at least one on their backs and simultaneously looking after several more while multitasking to prepare the meal. This frequent exposure to smoke and fire, especially damaging at a young age, can permanently stunt pulmonary function and consequently lead to serious respiratory problems, not to mention suffering chronic symptoms like asthma for their entire lives. Respiratory disease is one of the leading causes of death in Guatemala, and this is no coincidence. I've been in the kitchen while someone is cooking from a fire on the ground, it's not pleasant. <br /><br />The proposed solution, as implemented in the past by Peace Corps' Appropriate Technology program in Guatemala, is a raised cinder block stove that will contain the open flames and smoke that are so dangerous. This "estufa mejorada," or improved stove, has a metal slab on top with burner holes of varying sizes that allow direct contact with the fire while still conserving heat and funneling the smoke through a chimeney in the roof of the house. Most importantly they create a safer, cleaner kitchen and provide the women with a more dignified way of cooking meals for their families.<br /><br />I'll be administering this project, hopefully building around 45 stoves in the surrounding villages of my community. While I'm applying for a USAID (United States Agency for International Development) grant to fund the project, I'm looking to raise around $2,000 on my own to fully fund the project for all 45 families, each stove costs around $120 to construct. The coffee farmers will be contributing labor and basic materiales, but even the maximum grant amount, if approved by USAID, won't be enough tp provide for all of them. I've attached some photos to help you picture the stoves as well as a link where you can contribute to the cause via Paypal if you're able. I'll admit, they're not glamorous, but they certainly get the job done. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOC7Q3HYpT7TqzIqQZcKO02Kx0Vs1Lfji3Zzn5SANX2IhlzLHpAN_W3jL1dyeVgnc_hURHM-IGx5x2fnOz1e7XJGpX9m3R-nrx0iDPdwk4psfyjA3oI1de_E6r_8tTXqb99xIfFaIZ/s1600-h/Estufa+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOC7Q3HYpT7TqzIqQZcKO02Kx0Vs1Lfji3Zzn5SANX2IhlzLHpAN_W3jL1dyeVgnc_hURHM-IGx5x2fnOz1e7XJGpX9m3R-nrx0iDPdwk4psfyjA3oI1de_E6r_8tTXqb99xIfFaIZ/s320/Estufa+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426425100843319234" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXTL1ZS2MachS71cWS5HO_sgEL0366spF9QtQ8VIwyxOARnAsoQ2gmr6GBFEeAnkrXsxzX1JIWIpRe4irT9WU8rn4eGFlW6Y0xqR4gJW1ZDZ73gfOm2STAEOO9d8VAYfQGh0d9Ski1/s1600-h/Estufa+1.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXTL1ZS2MachS71cWS5HO_sgEL0366spF9QtQ8VIwyxOARnAsoQ2gmr6GBFEeAnkrXsxzX1JIWIpRe4irT9WU8rn4eGFlW6Y0xqR4gJW1ZDZ73gfOm2STAEOO9d8VAYfQGh0d9Ski1/s320/Estufa+1.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426425108515713138" /></a><br /><br />To make a contribution to the Estufas Mejoradas (Improved Stoves) project, please mail checks to:<br /><br />Rachel Mowry<br />35 San Marcos<br />Aliso Viejo, CA 92656<br /><br />All donations will be deposited into a separate project account in the name of the coffee cooperative. <br /><br />Thanks and Happy New Year!Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-44560514727272269412009-09-01T06:32:00.004-06:002009-09-01T21:57:30.969-06:00PromotionHaving not had a chance to write in several weeks, I'm writing now to justify my absence. Lately work has been quite hectic with my various responsibilities, and I can't say that I'm complaining - I feel like I've finally gotten to a point with my group of guys at which they know what I'm capable of, and now expect more of me. I have to say that I most definitely prefer this to the way things were working before now - which basically consisted of looking for any kind of work in which i felt i could contribute and forcefully inserting myself into the mix. That said, my main responsibility right now is to promote the recently formed Coffee Cooperative that was initially an objective of the NGO to which I was assigned by Peace Corps. To calrify a little, a coffe coop in Guatemala is an organization that allows producers to unite, sell their products at a higher price in larger quantities while reinvesting the profits in the community. Now, with the departure of SID (the NGO that is currently my host country agency)in sight, we are analzying the uncertain future of the Cooperative, based on several factors (to mention a few; competition with another funded organization, history of violence against coops during the armed conflict and lack of trust in organizations on the part of the local coffee growers). So, in order to secure the future of our Co-op, we've taken the steps to initiate a promotion project, which is very fortunately right up my alley. To put it in my own words, I am totally psyched to be doing this because it is the first project where I can say that i have experience in the matter and can offer appropriate analysis and useful insight. <br /><br />So, in line with this promotion plan we've entered several channels of publicity, one of which has taken the form of a presentation given directly to small groups of the NGO's participants by yours truly. While this method presents several obstacles, it offers one main benefit in that they all grow coffee and are more or less all familiar with the practices the NGO teaches to producers. These groups have ranged from 4 to 30 so far, and each one has been distinct from the last. Having met with about 15 groups so far, we've gotten together in classrooms, patios, offices, bedrooms and even under make shift standings when it's been raining - basically anywhere we can make it happen. Aside from one presentation I gave to the group of trainees that recently arrived, they've all been in the villages and far reaching small communities of our town - in spanish, aldeas. <br /><br />One thing about the groups in the aldeas of our town is that their average level of Spanish is generally lower due to restricted access, and in general people are much more comfortable speaking Kaqchikel. So, keeping this in mind I've been taking more Kaqchikel class and tailoring class to specific vocabulary that is applicable to my presentation. This has been succesful to a certain extent, in that the participants realize that I'm trying very hard to connect with them on a more personal level, but at other times it makes little difference. I'd like to share my experience with one group that represents some of the obstacles we're facing not only in the promotion, but in working in the aldeas and with local farmers in general.<br /><br />My very first presentation was given in a community called Patoquer to a group of participants registered to recieve the practices promoted by SID. We arrived a little late, but the participants had not all arived yet, so we ended up waiting for another 45 minutes and started about an hour late, which is not too far off from the standard delay ("Hora Chapina," or the Guatemalan phenomenon of consistent tardiness clears this up neatly). Once we got everyone situated in the family's kitchen, I began my presentation - which generally lasts about an hour to an hour and a half depending on the level of participation and number of questions and the extent of translation (Luckily all of the promoters which accopmany me to the group meetings are from the aldeas themselves and are readily available to translate if need be). It consists of several parts; individual introductions, a game that teaches the importance of teamwork, information on what a cooperative does and what it means to be part of our organization (CIACEP RL - or Cooperative Integral Agricola Cafe Especial Poaquileno - by the way, i was not present at the naming). At this particular training, about 15 people showed up and were actively participating up until the point in the presentation when i get around to the punchline of the presentation. There I was, flaling about in my enthusiasm for the idea of coopertivism and moments before sharing the crucial information about our organizaiton the women in the group (there were about 15 of them)slowly start to sneak out of the room, one by one. Then groups of three and four and before i knew it I was left with only my coworker, a talkative gentleman who wasn't particularly in favor of the idea and one older lady who looked like she would've left too if she'd have had in it in her to get up. I went from having a lively group of 17 possible associates to three unlikely candidates and was wondering what could've gone wrong to cause this. Well my answer wasn't hard to find - after finishing my presentation, trying to conceal my hurt pride, i found out that a meeting in the house a few doors down had been giving away one pound bags of rice in exhancge for attendance. When your target audience lives from hand to mouth, this is hard to compete with. <br /><br />I could go on forever about this, but I'll save you the time and just leave it at this; there are significant obstacles to our work everyday that are only being exacerbated by the practices of other organizations. My organization has to deal with this concept of paternalism on a daily basis. Although we work parallel to these organizations who still practice it (by giving away coffee plants or paying their administrative bodies etc.) we can't compete, and when it comes down to loyalty, we've found that it's hard to secure friends when your pockets are empty. <br /><br />However, despite all this I remain optimistic for the future of our Cooperative because we have a few driven and truly inspirational individuals who are genuinely interested in the greater good of the community. As long as they are around I will be, committed to working hard to cement the Cooperatives foundation in the community with whatever I can contribute. <br /><br />Until next time...Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-4421296599615978282009-07-11T21:34:00.004-06:002009-07-11T22:21:13.239-06:00Pearl gives birthA quick anecdote for you:<br /><br />I came home around 7:00 PM a few nights ago, dropped all my things and immediately started preparing dinner, as that was my only priority at that point in the night. A friend stopped by, we chatted while i was cooking - really only focused on eating dinner and getting a few things done before heading to bed. After eating, i realized i had misplaced my phone. I searched the house inside and out looking for it, in every room and every pocket of the articles of clothing i had worn that day. Finally i thought to look under the sheets in my bed, as i sometimes unconsciously leave it there. <br /><br />Upon lifting up the thick blanket on top of my bed, i found not my cellphone, but something far more interesting: my cat, Pearl..nursing two kittens, after apparently having given birth to them. Right there. On my bed. And under the covers, no less. <br /><br />What´s funny is, i didn´t even know she was pregnant. She doesn´t leave the house (or so I thought) and there aren´t any outlets to the surrounding houses (which I´ll now have to revise thoroughly). Although i had noticed a little firmness in her belly, i thought she was just growing or maybe i needed to be a little less liberal with the cat food. She is only, after all about 10 months old in my best estimates. <br /><br />So, still not having found my cell phone, i collected my thoughts, racing around my house wanting to call someone - anyone - who could tell me what to do, having never dealt with newborn animals before. As far as i knew, kittens came from the petshop, and were neatly produced there (which, i´ll argue, isn´t too far from the truth in the U.S.) <br /><br />When i finally found my phone - ten minutes after frantically yelling ¨Oh my god, Pearl! You have babies!¨ - i called a friend, managing only to blurt out ¨I need help. Can you come over?¨ He obliged without asking questions, and once he got there i explained my predicament, delicately lifting up the covers to reveal the whole, well, birth situation on my bed and the small little rats, that were supposedly new born kittens, expecting the same response from him. <br /><br />He looked at me, glanced back at the kittens, and started to laugh. It was one of those deep belly laughs that makes you feel extremely sheepish for having reacted in such a way. He reminded me, yet again, that most people here think I am incredibly naive and oblivious to natural processes. When i told my boyfriend about it, he echoed my friend`s reaction. ¨That sort of thing is normal for us. Dogs have puppies, cats have kittens. That´s how it works.¨ Well, thanks for the biology lesson, appreciate that. <br /><br />I think the fact that i found her hidden under my covers, in the remains of the birth, was what really struck me and sent me into that rare panic mode. For them, it was just another natural, everyday occurrence, whereas for me, it was something i´ve only seen channel surfing on TV - on select cable channels at that. Jeez. <br /><br />The kittens are currently tucked neatly into a wide, plastic bucket filled with blankets and they´ve been providing constant entertainment for the past few days. Pearl immediately assumed the protective motherly disposition, which is heart warming, i must say. They still look little mice with cat-like features and colored coats, another stage i had never fully recognized as part of the life cycle of kittens. Once they get a little cuter, I´ll start contemplating names i suppose.<br /><br />As for my sheets, I think they´re going to need a little bit more personal attention. <br /><br />Until next time!Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-64335299731022596792009-05-17T22:02:00.002-06:002009-05-17T23:15:54.643-06:00Adventures in Guatemalan RunningSince bowing out of organized sports voluntarily I've learned to appreciate the activity that was once its punishment: running. Ironic, i know. But, I genuinely enjoy it now, whether it be to get in a solid workout, clear my head or even kill some time on a dull afternoon. Soon after picking up running, I dove rather haphazardly into marathons, having done two since I began. So, having embarked on my newest marathon plan - which will culminate on August 9th, at the Panama City International Marathon - I've been trying to repeat the methodology i've used in the past to achieve the same success I saw in the first two. And let me clarify "success" - crossing the finish line in one piece. <br /><br />Considering my vastly different location and cultural situation, I've been dealing with a few minor limitations that i hadn't encountered before in my running and which I've found to be a little trying at times. Here's a few situations to give you an idea:<br /><br />I would normally sport comfortable, high cut running shorts that, yes, may bear a little more thigh than what would be considered tasteful. But, considering that women in my town cover themselves up to the ankles and rarely even wear pants, let alone shorts, I'd say those shorts are basically out of the question. But it's ok, i have other options. (Instead, I've been using a pair of running tights that make my sister cringe when she sees me wearing them, i guess they leave very little to the imagination)<br /><br />I'm used to running on pavement, but there's not much of that to be had around these parts. In town the streets are made of pavers and the only pavement is on the lone road leading out of town. After one reaches a point about four blocks away from the center of town, the pavers give way to dirt interspersed with a hodgepodge of stones. When I do my weekly long runs, I opt for the road out of town if I can find a running partner. But braving the dirt roads isn't so bad.<br /><br />In the past I always did my long runs (more than 9 miles) darting around pedestrians on city blocks and along the Schuykill river of Philadelphia, gorgeous paths that are almost devoid of hills and definitely one of my favorite things about the entire city. While in my hometown in Guatemala there is no lack of scenery, there is no road to be found that does not consist entirely of rolling hills. For a shorter run, it wouldn't be such a bug deal, but for 15 miles let's say, hills get old really quick. From time to time, when chugging up these many gruesome hills, I wonder about who's responsible for the city planning around these parts..<br /><br />Regardless of the location in the past I've always had a secluded track, or at least Gmaps pedometer - which measures distance traveled via satellite - at my disposal to do measured distances or timed laps. Since Google hasn't made it down to Guatemala to map out streets yet, I've had to eyeball distances and brave the observers on the streets with their shouts and strange looks. And who can blame them, honestly? I would be nervous about some strange foreigner running by my secluded house on a dirt road too. Although, this hasn't been so bad. Today when I did 400 meter repeats just outside town on a rare flat patch of the dirt road, i accrued a small crowd of kids who took turns racing me. I didn't have time or the extra breath to explain why i was doing exactly what i was doing while i was running, so instead i played along. The seven or eight kids tired quickly after i welcomed them to join me, but next week i expect stiffer competition. They're expecting me and I know their names now. <br /><br />I'm also used to the luxury of running whenever the mood strikes. That is no longer a possibility with the rainy season. Soon, if i don't drag myself out of bed shortly after dawn to get my run in, it's just not going to happen that day. It's going to begin to rain for the majority of the day in a few short weeks and won't let up until November, when it will give way to a few months of chilly weather. Unfortunate, yes. Impossible? I don't think so. <br /><br />With these minor obstacles to my training plan its been basically a question of toughing it out in more adverse conditions and being sensitive to cultural norms, just like most of the lessons I've collected thus far. While it definitely makes it more challenging, it also makes it more exciting, again, something that characterizes my life down here. When I leave the house for a run, I never know who's going to challenge me to a race, strike up a conversation or shout new terms of endearment. I could get home soaked, having been caught in a sudden downpour or dead tired because of miscalculating mileage or underestimating a new trail. Every day is different, in more ways than one. But the diversity is refreshing and the possibilities are limitless. <br /><br />Until next time..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-1708150019643710732009-04-15T10:10:00.003-06:002009-04-18T11:41:43.624-06:00Melissa Does GuatemalaSeveral weeks ago, I was lucky enough to have the company of my sister for a few days. Since it was like pulling teeth to get my parents to agree to send her over her spring break from the University of North Dakota, I was hell-bent on showing them that not only was it safe and crime free for the savvy, low-budget travelers like myself but that the hospitality of Guatemalans is bountiful, even overwhelming at times. Of course, this is the truth but i was set on driving home my point in the ongoing, uphill battle to reverse the reputation Guatemala's earned up there. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsn-4S0YN3TUDNrSy2J5c0UFSnmrdhUz-O9YtVXEoZLk6Htu7PuvdfcjdC8NoLAjiLPgdMUybSpusoWPHEbyGEo_Cql7MWCP93nx6KZyu7sQtpMz1qVsaX04lqoz831kMMYoZwGS4l/s1600-h/IMG_0074.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 138px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsn-4S0YN3TUDNrSy2J5c0UFSnmrdhUz-O9YtVXEoZLk6Htu7PuvdfcjdC8NoLAjiLPgdMUybSpusoWPHEbyGEo_Cql7MWCP93nx6KZyu7sQtpMz1qVsaX04lqoz831kMMYoZwGS4l/s200/IMG_0074.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324956444052153954" /></a><br /><br />So, in my quest to show my sister a fun yet, safe time, I planned to pick her up from the airport and take her to Antigua, the crown jewel of the tourist industry in Guatemala for a fail-safe first impression. A quick side note though; at the airport meeting point about twenty minutes after i expected her to walk out the customs exit, i could not neglect my need to use the restroom any longer, so i left my boyfriend to watch out for her. I left him with a brief description and rushed off to the bathroom, hoping not to miss her. Due to a long line, and typical airport restroom inefficiency, i was alerted to her arrival while still standing in the restroom, by her loud squeal as she approached me from behind. It turns out she walked out of the customs door, looking confused and fitting the description i left with Gerson, so he appraoched her asking if she was Melissa. She apparently sighed in relief saying only, "Yes that's me! Oh thank god, English!" <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4WpesqHaW5dpfJgZKEm2Axo4vFCpTFFsasU7tx-Py5qqyryVOPAYfIOWfDoNfc7Dtn3XUgSoE_0m0inNiMigWc-QftMx-Jr3TwXVvHB9wCElfm7MKvb3ybWydcMfkDVuuiaoPb8O/s1600-h/IMG_0085.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4WpesqHaW5dpfJgZKEm2Axo4vFCpTFFsasU7tx-Py5qqyryVOPAYfIOWfDoNfc7Dtn3XUgSoE_0m0inNiMigWc-QftMx-Jr3TwXVvHB9wCElfm7MKvb3ybWydcMfkDVuuiaoPb8O/s200/IMG_0085.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324956440887426434" /></a><br /><br />Anyway, we left the airport, quickly catching up and making various stops to try local cuisine, ending up in Antigua where we went out for a leisurely dinner and out dancing afterward. The following morning we embarked on the adventure that arriving in my site entails, switching buses three times. The look she gave me as we boarded the first chicken bus was priceless, as if to say, "Ok, good joke. Where's the car we're <span style="font-style:italic;">really</span> taking?" She quickly realized that i was not kidding, and that we were in fact going to ride that bus, not only packed full with women attempting to sit on our laps most of the way, but for three hours of it. I never said i was going to pamper her, and plus, that was authentic. <br /><br />Once we arrived in sight - much to Melissa's relief - we headed to my house and met up with some friends in town, spending the rest of her time seeing the sights and enjoying the precursor activities to my town's Feria - or town celebration of its Patron Saint. One of these events was the Reina Indigena - or Indigenous Queen competition, where the indigenous young women in town compete to be deemed most worth of representing the town for all the Kaqchikel ethnicity. I would call it a PG pageant that involves more cultural activities and less skin. Melissa quickly took a liking to Arroz con Leche and Chuchitos (two mainstays in my area) thus winning lots of points with the locals and even several invitations to return. Some of my friends actually insisted that she come back, because she had such a short stay. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3WP9OHDAv-HtY9FiMd26-IX-4n-anYsi4pZyefOgagPzDUDa56vLz68DCyZaVla6vsXzhyphenhyphenhj-8TXcV_i2tO_ERcIuFIoUROCRbMjzPsXooXIgQ6OjcsdbnLeb12QMzwJcBrHfWr9I/s1600-h/IMG_0078.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3WP9OHDAv-HtY9FiMd26-IX-4n-anYsi4pZyefOgagPzDUDa56vLz68DCyZaVla6vsXzhyphenhyphenhj-8TXcV_i2tO_ERcIuFIoUROCRbMjzPsXooXIgQ6OjcsdbnLeb12QMzwJcBrHfWr9I/s200/IMG_0078.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324956436927550866" /></a><br /><div style='text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;'><a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vmGpRx8AqVpvretaf28tb_3CMzDIyIVtmK75eqHfqIPUj4GGyLT-BZnPTLBsj8Kc9jBeTotlTgBrAdTfV1vkalAWi4SgpGpW-OXQrveQHYTY3kdFgjKCxwsGFsetCLsl-bWBuX23/s1600-h/IMG_0011.JPG'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_vmGpRx8AqVpvretaf28tb_3CMzDIyIVtmK75eqHfqIPUj4GGyLT-BZnPTLBsj8Kc9jBeTotlTgBrAdTfV1vkalAWi4SgpGpW-OXQrveQHYTY3kdFgjKCxwsGFsetCLsl-bWBuX23/s320/IMG_0011.JPG' border='0' alt='' /></a> </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div><br /><br />On her last day we made a day trip to Lake Atitlan, doing some light shopping and basically just enjoying the sights. Overall, it was wonderful to have her here and to be able to share a little slice of my life with someone with whom I'm very close. Many times I find it difficult to relay details and share experiences with people from home because of the lack of context and/or cultural understanding, and having her here was great for both of us. Although, I did have to politely ask her to avoid using facebook so many times a day. I suppose i can't expect her to change overnight :)<br /><br />Until next time...Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-10515782178040110082009-03-20T09:30:00.006-07:002009-04-24T09:30:20.807-06:00Pizza with the Morales familyA few weeks ago, I had a day off from work after having had a training canceled. Looking for an activity for the day, I offered to help a friend of mine - Ruben - bake bread for his family's store; something he oversees everyday, managing the business and taking on the bakers role when he doesn't have class in the capital. Having fresh bread every day is one of the luxuries I enjoy here, and it's tradition for most Guatemalans in my town to have bread with coffee before dinner every night. One person told me she simply cannot eat unless she's had her sweet bread and coffee (also VERY sweet). <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV67r8yDOfhJ49VJanFQsQjjgDvIsjavF4aa007ypNS9gbYyQYhVbuqIP5QJy1F8U5N3cwc7A3eTtw7ToNO3zbUDOL27S3SXGF-cdYETQyVjZiLtFmw2oSgvOqIjiaRxJS4i1HnFvF/s1600-h/IMG_0344.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 139px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV67r8yDOfhJ49VJanFQsQjjgDvIsjavF4aa007ypNS9gbYyQYhVbuqIP5QJy1F8U5N3cwc7A3eTtw7ToNO3zbUDOL27S3SXGF-cdYETQyVjZiLtFmw2oSgvOqIjiaRxJS4i1HnFvF/s200/IMG_0344.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324980228027853010" /></a><br /><br />On that day he was planning to do it alone, so i gladly offered to help, not quite realizing what i was getting myself into. As you can see below, making bread for a store involves large quantities, not to mention muscle. Huge masses of dough with varying proportions of sugar, flour, yeast, lard, baking powder were not exactly what i had imagined upon offering to help. I imagined myself in a quaint apron, with a few strategically placed flour smears on my face smiling as I extracted perfectly browned loaves of bread from the oven, warranting a pat on the back from Ruben. This, as you can imagine, was not the case. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxaG75K1pLFMXXm4m9xQY0skMUYFw9u5Kw6kHJDCOWwRqq8YKFoQ6h3dtQkB-Y4gGx6j_B6v1xcbH3zd1h1QESZVqzcaEJ5dUnEyevUMzfeFpdtmqPcUkkYEj_Lf00S9zvcVoUQiJv/s1600-h/IMG_0347-1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxaG75K1pLFMXXm4m9xQY0skMUYFw9u5Kw6kHJDCOWwRqq8YKFoQ6h3dtQkB-Y4gGx6j_B6v1xcbH3zd1h1QESZVqzcaEJ5dUnEyevUMzfeFpdtmqPcUkkYEj_Lf00S9zvcVoUQiJv/s200/IMG_0347-1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324980222060184354" /></a><br /><br />We started by determining how many pieces of sweet bread (Pan Dulce in Spanish, note: in no way related to the sweet bread made famous by Hannibal Lector) how many pieces of Tostado (similar to cookies), how many cubiletes (bread cupcakes, my favorite) and how many loaves of french bread. Ruben started by mixing the ingredients in what looked like a feeding trough and slapping the well mixed mass onto the bread table. He estimated that it weighed 75 pounds (I let him handle that). We kneaded each set of dough for about 15 minutes, and formed the dough into the various shapes and molds that Ruben had established as part of the bakery's daily repertoire. They were remarkably similar, just varied in certain techniques that he had researched when he decided to start the bread business. I got a little frustrated rolling consistent sized dough balls and perfectly swizzling the pretzel shaped cookies he had invented - but i did master the croissant technique and the art of the anise bread. All in all it was a great learning experience, and a hard day's work. We used a total of 125 pounds of flour throughout the different mixtures, ending up with a total of 900 pieces of bread, cookies, cubiletes and loaves of french bread. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDsGkgwIEiKbyBib_KXnLF52h55WSy0MBMhlQxUnVy2PXJ5GwAw8_qSybS8VlEXz9_E_oWMdVlfnXnjo-gn6NRtrbsTI3cQn_Tca_eNUElx9dE3UZpYrp16FtGmgdkg13NefVyjgY/s1600-h/IMG_0315.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDsGkgwIEiKbyBib_KXnLF52h55WSy0MBMhlQxUnVy2PXJ5GwAw8_qSybS8VlEXz9_E_oWMdVlfnXnjo-gn6NRtrbsTI3cQn_Tca_eNUElx9dE3UZpYrp16FtGmgdkg13NefVyjgY/s200/IMG_0315.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324980217668896242" /></a><br /><br />The best part of the whole day was once we finished baking - enjoying a few pieces along the way - we were able to take advantage of the already fired-up brick oven to make homemade pizza. Pizza has become something of a tradition with Ruben's family, and we've recruited most of his siblings, nieces and nephews and even his mom to eat with us on occasion. Everyone likes to help around the preparation table to be able to enjoy the pizza when it comes out perfectly baked from the brick oven. One of the most special things about the oven they use is that their father had it built over 30 years ago in that part of the house for use in making bread, but it´s one of the few brick ovens that remain in the town. People around the neighborhood know that they continue to bake with that method and prefer the bread they bake, if not for the taste then simply for the tradition. I have friends who make a point to come over when we make plans to bake pizza in the brick oven; it's a tradition we can really get behind :) <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2F_nqefdLMBmGTVkAT6gJRGltvNwtZhe9w85LU042fzZeuC5R5lYMASElrhVveJMhv3iJVyzJdcpqGyguWnzlwBulMWBJSmxcKvcglXVpFYpEyeGu5cITqHlCNrKo2BdCQsHEJqFJ/s1600-h/IMG_0309.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2F_nqefdLMBmGTVkAT6gJRGltvNwtZhe9w85LU042fzZeuC5R5lYMASElrhVveJMhv3iJVyzJdcpqGyguWnzlwBulMWBJSmxcKvcglXVpFYpEyeGu5cITqHlCNrKo2BdCQsHEJqFJ/s200/IMG_0309.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324980211703097058" /></a><br /><br />Until next time!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGOTD59-_-kAHQnC0r4JiT0U9iclAFb6SySTBlhc5Xv4LiOPR4lwUN1fPkqTWHl-mYHljwezdkseJFcXaspuUCmY0R7A8A2SiNvWoT18s1hH_ngDqGN64UV55YFo-j5lVf91ZyN0yM/s1600-h/IMG_0299.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 139px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGOTD59-_-kAHQnC0r4JiT0U9iclAFb6SySTBlhc5Xv4LiOPR4lwUN1fPkqTWHl-mYHljwezdkseJFcXaspuUCmY0R7A8A2SiNvWoT18s1hH_ngDqGN64UV55YFo-j5lVf91ZyN0yM/s200/IMG_0299.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324980207971633154" /></a>Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-28912949815764515292009-03-06T06:29:00.000-07:002009-03-06T06:31:31.291-07:00Valentine's DayWell, having spent my first Valentine's Day in Guatemala, I was a little disappointed at finding very little reference to relationships, which I had gotten pretty used to in the states. I think I was one of the few single girls who didn’t have a dangerous love-hate relationship or bipolar tendencies with the holiday. (Unlike an acquaintance - who will remain unnamed - who when I asked about her Valentine’s Day plans without a boyfriend for the first time in a while, informed me very matter of fact-ly that she intended to eat a whole roll of cookie dough). But having gotten accustomed to the ostentatious displays of flowers, gigantic boxes of chocolate and risqué lingerie sales, I found Valentine’s Day in Guatemala pretty bare-bones. I'd even heard Valentines Day in Guatemala referred to as "The Day of Friendship" which is basically the opposite of its meaning in the states – unless you plan to seduce and shower your friends with unnecessary presents. But, regardless - I found a way to celebrate American style with friends from around the country, at a small get together at my house. And by small, I mean a conservative 17 people :)<br /><br />But, in all seriousness, on the topic of Valentines Day, I wanted to bring up something I’ve noticed over the past few months in my quaint little town, which is a disheartening lack of affection between married couples. (Although, I can report no lack of affection between younger couples) At first I noticed it between my host parents, and thinking it might be something unique to them I waited and continued to observe other families around town, even in other villages. Having observed for several months now, as far as I can tell husbands and wives do not address each other with terms of endearment, kiss (let alone hug) or even really spend much time together. Believing very strongly in the institution of marriage, and having grown up around affectionate, loving couples (which is not to say perfect) to be honest, this made me a little sad. <br /><br />Now, be warned, this could be an unfair generalization; I’m speaking only from my own experience in a short few months. The only reference I had was the husbands and wives with whom I’d grown up. But identifying the difference between the couples there and the couples whom I’d come to know in Guatemala, I felt the tiniest hint of pride in the US – something that I don’t experience very frequently here, unfortunately. Despite all the problems that exist in the states, and there are a lot – not to mention the high divorce rate – at least we had some couples who were happily married, who had mastered the art of coexisting with another and the ability to be faithful to and care for their spouse. This, however little it may be, was something to be proud of and something that on a deeper level reminded me of the underlying good in Americans. I realize that not all couples in the States are particularly affectionate either – not by a long shot. But I always like to see married couples holding hands, or showing some sort of small signs of affection that discreetly whisper to onlookers that even after years of being together, their little flame still burns. Small observances like that always reassure my faith in the institution of marriage and the possibility of finding that one person for whom you were meant – your other half, we could say. Maybe this is naïve and idealistic, but so be it. <br /><br />Thinking about this often, reflecting on what it could mean about the state of marriages in Guatemala, one day I worked up the audacity to ask someone about it. I mentioned it to two friends, without citing specific examples (afraid to offend anyone) and asked why that was the case. I was relieved to find that neither seemed offended. On the contrary – they both confirmed my observation. They pointed out to me that many people in the towns I frequented, and partners in the marriages I had been observing had suffered greatly during the internal conflict in Guatemala - which ended in 1996 - and thus were probably very hesitant to show affection or be open at all with their feelings. They had learned through decades of hiding and secrecy that it was at times unnecessary and even unsafe to display affection - or show any emotion for that matter - in public. I hadn't thought about it before, but I guess it makes sense, keeping in mind recent factors and the current context. But, my two friends also brought to my attention that many husbands and wives may have other ways of showing affection that I might not immediately notice, not being from here; bearing and raising children, cooking, cleaning, earning money for the family are all ways, they reminded me, to demonstrate your love for the other person. <br /><br />I am happy to report that of those things, there is no noticeable lack. In fact, I'd even go as far as saying that if that's the case, there is an excess of love between married couples in my town. <br /><br />I should have recognized the subtlety in this before, having heard the Spanish equivalent of one’s “other half.” They call that person your "media naranja," or the other half of the orange. Well, I guess if I were to meet my other half (of the orange that is) in Guatemala, he might expect these things from me (and, heaven forbid, tortillas). But I'll have to break it to him that I plan to express myself the old fashioned way: Good old tender loving care.<br /><br />Until next time...Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-69847522077454057032009-02-19T13:16:00.000-07:002009-02-19T13:17:02.064-07:00Chiming in..Today marks the first time in which I successfully inserted myself into a Kaqchikel conversation – without being invited of course, but that is clearly beside the point. While my contribution was minute and probably inaudible to the untrained ear, my point was received! I purchased a five gallon bottle of water to bring to my house (for drinking, because the water out of the faucet is non-drinkable for various reasons) and the senora at the store suggested to her husband, who was carrying it out to me, that he carry it all the way to my house, two doors down. I said coolly, “Naq, matyox,” or “No, thank you.” It elicited a little giggle from both the woman and her husband, but they understood and even had the courtesy to suggest that I actually spoke Kaqchikel. A momentous occasion indeed. You’ll notice that my sentence lacks verbs – if I’m lucky, my teacher will allow me to move on to the art of conjugation in Kaqchikel, and it is worthy of being called an art, next week. For now, I have to use make shift sentences like the one above. Thirty five hours of class and no sentence structure in sight. Sigh. <br /><br />Again I’ve been rather sporadic with my posts lately, but it’s not for lack of attention. I’ve realized that things have become so familiar and so - dare I say “normal?”- around here that I don’t immediately think of the value that some strange observance would add to my blog. Not many things are strange to me anymore, which I think can be taken as a sign of acclimation, or at least I hope that’s what it means. At lunch the other day, I commented to a friend that I fear the day that I find myself in some dress setting in the United States and suddenly look up to see mouths gaping at the sight of me happily eating with my hands and diligently dipping my spit-moist finger in the table salt. While lack of silverware is a somewhat regular occurrence in the villages, it’s never an inconvenience. There are always tortillas (seriously, always) and therefore silverware is an unnecessary obstacle to consuming a delicious meal – even soup. I no longer cringe when someone dares to sit dangerously close to in my lap on the bus while their child stares at me or falls asleep on my arm, it could be much worse. And I haven’t noticed a rooster’s crow in weeks. <br /><br />As for work right now, I feel like I’ve got various responsibilities that keep me consistently busy, but never bored. With my Host Country Agency I’ve been dispatched to two villages to assess the situation in two different community organizations, one of which having just been established and the other of which that has fifteen years of experience of serving the community. With ODIKA, the first of the two, I’m in the process of incorporating a Food Security branch to their organization. This theme, which I consider extremely relevant considering the current food crisis in which we as a planet find ourselves at the moment, would establish a several year program implemented by ODIKA that would begin with home-nutrition and garden tending trainings and ultimately culminate in larger scale production, or commercial training. With ADECCA, the second of the two organizations, I’m in the process of assisting them to implement a community health project that would bring trained midwife and health promoters to twenty of the surrounding communities that lack access to health services right now. Unfortunately, implement is a very loose term - they have yet to acquire funding, and I suspect they’re secretly thinking that I’m their ticket into the carnival of generous NGO’s. To be honest, I think I know less then they do, keeping in mind their previous experience with development organizations and already established contacts. But I’m looking, and trying to make contacts, which is the best I can do at the moment. Of course, any suggestions would be welcome. And of course, there’s the ever-snowballing English classes. I have about 15 students now between Monday night, Tuesday/Thursday, and Saturday morning classes. But, at least it’s something tangible, in which I can measure progress. And for that, I am thankful.<br /><br />Now, I’d like to offer you a quick Peace Corps Joke I’ve stolen from a friend. It rings dangerously true…<br /><br />Three guys sit at a table staring at a glass of water.<br />The first one says to the other two, “Hey guys. I think that glass looks half empty.”<br />The second, more of an optimist, responds, “No way. It’s definitely half full.”<br />The third, a cheery Peace Corps Volunteer says. “Hey, I could bathe with that!”<br /><br />Hope all is well! Until next time…Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-33764280791339678902009-01-26T14:40:00.002-07:002009-01-26T14:48:26.590-07:00Looking for things to do..In the last few weeks, I’ve been dealing with a little bit of guilt at not having accomplished much so far. I feel like having been in site for almost three months now, I should have seen more progress in the work area, but I consistently come up disappointed. Adhering to Peace Corps rules, I’ve had to rearrange the structure of my work, mainly for not being allowed to ride on a motorcycle for safety reasons. Luckily, my counterpart Marvin was very understanding, and helped me to find several other outlets for work within my site and the surrounding villages. I now have four commitments to which I’m promised; two community organizations in the villages surrounding my site, a women’s group looking to commercialize in site and the co-op of the local coffee producers that’s just getting off the ground. Unfortunately I find myself planning more than actually doing. Hopefully that will soon change. <br /><br />In the meantime, in order to cope with that guilt, I’ve started to engage in more tangible activities, like giving English class and receiving more Kaqchikel class. As of right now I have two consistent English students and will soon start to give weekly classes to a group of interested students at the school where my Kaqchikel teacher gives classes. While I’m excited to begin actually giving back, after having received so much in terms of cultural learning and language practice, I’m nervous to begin teaching something in which I can’t call myself an expert. If I’ve learned one thing about languages while being here, it’s that speaking a language from birth does not necessarily qualify you to teach it. If anything, it’s completely the opposite. With the seldom opportunity to speak English lately, I’ve been more observant of my own grammar in speech and I have to say, my high school teachers would be ashamed. <br /><br />With that on the horizon, I’ve begun to plan a basic curriculum along with small activities I can conduct in class to help the students. With the two willing subjects I have right now I began by saying, “look, I know what it’s like to think you sound funny when you speak another language, but it’s part of learning that language” because I most certainly do. For the first 20 hours of Kaqchikel class I could not pronounce certain words that end in ‘l’ because when I heard myself making that specific sound, I sounded like I had a serious speech impediment. I’m just now getting over it, much to the relief of my teacher. <br /><br />Hopefully work will pick up soon. I’m having daydreams that one day someone will knock on my door and say, “Come now, I have a project that will consume 8 hours a day of every work week until November 2010. It’s urgent, and we need your help!” But I’ve started to realize that the chances of that happening are about as high as me making the Guatemalan Soccer team. I’m going to continue finding my own work and identifying needs on my own in the meantime, and in the offchance that someone actually does come to me with that urgent need, I’ll always have the weekends :)<br /><br />Until next time…Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-37737955913228754182009-01-19T14:32:00.001-07:002009-01-28T15:14:28.789-07:00Nebaj and the Cheese HikeThis past weekend I had the chance to visit a few friends in Nebaj, a city in the department of El Quiche, made famous by 1992 Nobel Peace Prize winner Rigoberta Menchu and her work during the war. Before leaving I was little apprehensive about what kind of a reception we would get there, having heard rumors of people in the area strongly disliking Americans after such tumultuous times during the internal conflict. Located in the middle of an area many still refer to by its military name – the Ixil triangle - the municipality of Nebaj was hit very hard by the war and hard feelings still remain. Although I haven’t substantiated this rumor, nor have I heard of it happening to any of my acquaintances, I heard that it isn’t uncommon for children and/or adults to throw rocks and sticks at gringos in some areas around Nebaj. <br /><br />The trip up there took about 5 hours from my site, but I met up with another volunteer on the way, so luckily I didn’t have to do it alone. We caught a bus to get to the capital city of the department, Santa Cruz del Quiche, but as soon as we boarded, we wished we had waited. Not only was every seat full – 3 people deep, with people crowding 75% of the aisles as well – but vendors were boarding the bus as we stalled at the bus stop for about 5 minutes, offering food, drinks and snacks, knowing that the bus had come from the capital and the people aboard were a captive market for such things. Standing in the aisle while a bigger lady trying to sell Chuchitos (Milled corn with tomato sauce steamed in a corn leaf) from an oversized basket attempted and eventually succeeded to squeeze through, my friend Kate and I looked at each other with the familiar, “Oh, Guatemala” expression that has come to represent resignation to some of the quirks of the culture down here. <br /><br />After standing for two hours as the bus spun around tight curves and steep ascents and declines, we finally got to sit down about half an hour outside of Santa Cruz del Quiche, but we quickly got off and boarded a Microbus for Nebaj, which was still another 2 hours away via foggy mountain roads. Luckily we made a stop for gas along the way, during which vendors raced up to the microbus to peddle their various offerings through the windows. Kate and I broke down and indulged in a bag of neon colored popcorn balls, which I won’t admit to liking. Once we arrived, we met up with a friend whose site is Nebaj and went out to dinner at an ex-pat’s restaurant. <br /><br />The following day we set out early to hike to a nearby village that boasts a cheese farm with some of the best cheese in Guatemala. Obviously, this was one of my main reasons for wanting to visit Nebaj – the chance to taste some fresh, well made cheese. After the two and a half hour hike through mud and spitting rain, we arrived at the cheese farm and sat down to enjoy gourmet grilled cheese and coffee – complete with fresh cream that was rich enough to eat by itself. We ate overlooking the pastures of the farm, and found ourselves constantly wondering how we had stumbled upon this strange oasis in the middle of the most war- torn region of Guatemala. <br /><br />After lunch at the cheese farm we caught a ride back to Nebaj proper in a pickup truck and met up with more friends later that night. We ended up eating almost every meal at the same restaurant, mainly because he had fresh pickles (which I hadn’t had since before I left the states), peanut butter and a mean apple pie.<br /><br />Although the weather was cold and miserable, it was nice to see a different part of the country and see another site. I hope to go back soon, if not to see my friends again that for the cheese alone. I bought some to take home, but as you can imagine, that didn’t last me very long. <br /><br />Until next time..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-12809513823840735702009-01-05T09:26:00.003-07:002009-01-05T10:09:38.834-07:00Christmas In SiteYet another experience I acquired while religiously not writing: Christmas Eve and Christmas Day celebrations in site. <br /><br />I was fortunate enough to be invited to celebrate Christmas with the family in my site and that has graciously taken me under its wing. With two women in the family (mother and daughter) who have spent time abroad to study, we can easily relate. <br />So, having been invited, I headed over on Christmas Eve -¨Noche Buena¨ in Spanish- in the afternoon and found several women hard at work preparing the tamales for our dinner (and subsequent breakfast, lunch and dinner, again, to be exact). They had a sort of assmebly line working to get the job done - tamales are made from a varying amount of corn mash and milled rice, allotted a small piece of meat and tomato sauce ladled into a banana leaf and wrapped with small pieces of twine or plant fibers. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmPCCEgHWm4M61fdfMXTicBKgCDYODIwclt5-gp4CYSOTrdJCnkG3F0K4fIgiD3MES21qByEMfnDD0bzeq9DJBzFF1ceTVIkmJsLa66Tg0aj1Jfvoa0g4fCV28eFtfJwldXqlpJ9x/s1600-h/DSCN1885.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmPCCEgHWm4M61fdfMXTicBKgCDYODIwclt5-gp4CYSOTrdJCnkG3F0K4fIgiD3MES21qByEMfnDD0bzeq9DJBzFF1ceTVIkmJsLa66Tg0aj1Jfvoa0g4fCV28eFtfJwldXqlpJ9x/s200/DSCN1885.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287854753487500866" /></a> While it seems pretty simple to me, each family claims to have their own recipe, involving different proportions of rice and corn mash, tomato sauce and the secret ingredient: pig fat. Appetizing, I know - but I constantly have to remind myself that a lot of the stuff we love as Americans probably looks less-than-scrumptious to them as well. For example: when offered stuffing, two Guatemalan friends cringed, but graciously accepted a small spoonful. I don’t know about you, but stuffing is my favorite dish at holiday meals. <br /><br />Two women in my host family worked for almost an entire day to prepare all the tamales. To cook them they’re piled into a huge pot and steamed over a wood fire for an hour or two – another component that makes each family’s tamales different;cooking time and method. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrr5Y04slchIA8eNpjWfeta44N0Hk3D9W9GEq5ueSiniXSVJSPSCrS89yBQ71P5HB9B4BZM5Sk3TsuSjb98a0DF0JsJcYxnZUySBq3flBdFT7OyQgagR_zMD7r0daxOHDtzM65Dcy2/s1600-h/DSCN1906.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrr5Y04slchIA8eNpjWfeta44N0Hk3D9W9GEq5ueSiniXSVJSPSCrS89yBQ71P5HB9B4BZM5Sk3TsuSjb98a0DF0JsJcYxnZUySBq3flBdFT7OyQgagR_zMD7r0daxOHDtzM65Dcy2/s200/DSCN1906.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287857000057707298" /></a><br /><br />After praying and giving thanks for the joy and impending meal of Noche Buena, each person was handed a plate with the unwrapped tamales and a mug of the Guatemalan version of hot chocolate. Everyone ate between two and four tamales, accompanied by nothing more than bread, salt and hot sauce, while eagerly looking forward to the next meal of the same thing. I could only manage one. <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/SWI8woKhgyI/AAAAAAAAG78/q597iegjcoc/s1600-h/DSCN1904.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/SWI8woKhgyI/AAAAAAAAG78/q597iegjcoc/s200/DSCN1904.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287855718599328546" /></a><br /><br />Once we finished eating, we had a small gift exchange between the ten people who chose to participate. Everyone bought a gift worth around ten quetzals (about $1.30) and gave it to their designated recipient. I bought a decorative basket for an aunt of the family and one of the siblings bought me a woven cloth that I’m now using to spruce up my kitchen table. <br /><br />And, of course, there were plenty of fireworks. Speaking of which, I tried to spread a rumor with another American friend in a futile attempt to curb the noise in my area. Interpret this as you may, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The rumor goes like this: the famous reindeer that carry Santa Claus all over the world on Christmas eve are deathly afraid of fireworks. Therefore, if you light fireworks, especially the loud kind, the reindeer won’t bring Santa Claus anywhere near your house. <br /><br />As you can imagine, this rumor was unsuccessful. Seeing as Santa Claus is not a well known visitor in the area, kids only laughed when they heard it (see for yourself the smug expression on one of the cousins’ face as she lights a violent sparkler in the street). <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/SWI-gdsjd9I/AAAAAAAAG8M/3z5Nr4xxGwQ/s1600-h/DSCN1942.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 125px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/SWI-gdsjd9I/AAAAAAAAG8M/3z5Nr4xxGwQ/s200/DSCN1942.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287857639934621650" /></a><br />My Kaqchikel teacher suggested that next year, to more effectively scare the kids away from fireworks, I should spread a rumor claiming that they interfere with the production of tamales on Christmas Eve…which would be much more frightening.Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-22531270544778792922009-01-02T11:07:00.004-07:002009-01-05T10:34:15.590-07:00Coffee TrainingsSo, having been traveling frequently the last few weeks for various holiday celebrations and visits, I haven’t had much time to write anything coherent to share with you, but on the bright side, I’ve had plenty of time to collect observations and experiences that you might find interesting. <br /><br />I’ll start with the two huge coffee trainings we had scheduled for the week before Christmas. The main objective of these trainings (of which we’re having three more) was to relay the steps of the coffee processing which we are promoting to the small coffee producers in order for them to sell their coffee at a later stage in the procedure, thus making more money per pound from their coffee beans. So, as I mentioned, the steps that transform the coffee fruit into a mouth watering cappuccino (my preference) are much more complicated than just picking beans and roasting them, something I’ve noticed of many things I absent mindedly consume. While I can’t imagine I could make it worthy of an episode of How Things are Made, I’ll break it down into the steps we’re teaching the attendees: <br /><br />First, the coffee fruits, which look a little like small, red grapes, are picked once they’ve matured to a point where they are firm and a consistent deep red. All together, they go through a process to weed out any stained or apparently ‘bad’ fruit, which ensures the quality of the beans later in the process – which is crucial to an even, uniform quality in the subsequent steps. <br /><br />Once sifted through, the fruit must go through a de-pulping machine on the same day it is picked. These machines can be as simple as the one I’ve shown here or as intricate as the industrial sized, motored-powered ones that the large exporters use. The machine we use removes the peel and flesh of the coffee fruit at a rate of 100 pounds of fruit through the machine per 15 minutes, if being cranked manually.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusxkqswigph4YyV4h9E_6s-_OFh-8mzEL7ttBFo3YQJgQ7Q75kO6G14QY5jO22Z8nrpFX_NzB4TjsWfnt7n-ULpgZk5Sh0LeCGT_Jy9wxc2w7dMk46-eGMxKL6Lg6bPwNMnHXqYKM/s1600-h/DSCN1858.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusxkqswigph4YyV4h9E_6s-_OFh-8mzEL7ttBFo3YQJgQ7Q75kO6G14QY5jO22Z8nrpFX_NzB4TjsWfnt7n-ULpgZk5Sh0LeCGT_Jy9wxc2w7dMk46-eGMxKL6Lg6bPwNMnHXqYKM/s320/DSCN1858.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286760784147449634" /></a> <br /><br />After the peel and pulp are removed from the bean, the naked beans are washed with clean water (preferably not from a river or contaminated water source) and stored in sacks in a cool, dry storage place for up to 48 hours to encourage fermentation. The fermentation, I’m told, cements the indigenous flavor of the bean. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6rV2LkBYI9Sh5Ym4VOvgPfY77Qw3xR4ihuE1GwW25ZBcSBKULiTbcqAOIsHtnXg2rBrEsPWq0vrAn_tOVyGAnUbtnD1QXrIeOY7x2XcgcDSho2DyKOvrbsNuDn8vjMZZU-XRPHXzw/s1600-h/DSCN1860.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6rV2LkBYI9Sh5Ym4VOvgPfY77Qw3xR4ihuE1GwW25ZBcSBKULiTbcqAOIsHtnXg2rBrEsPWq0vrAn_tOVyGAnUbtnD1QXrIeOY7x2XcgcDSho2DyKOvrbsNuDn8vjMZZU-XRPHXzw/s320/DSCN1860.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286760790060105714" /></a> <br /><br />Once thoroughly fermented, the beans are laid out to dry on any readily available, clean, flat surface. This could mean a homemade drying rack or a metal roof, if otherwise unoccupied. Depending on the weather (and this can only be done in the dry season, which is a complication for some) it can take between 8 and 36 hours to fully dry. <br /><br />Once dry, the beans are stored in a cool, dry place free of other plants with strong odors, such as bananas or onions, in order to preserve its delicate aroma until it is sold to an exporter or sent in for the final steps of the processing. <br /><br />All this, before it is roasted and ground, the two steps which I imagined comprised the entire process from exotic coffee plant to steaming coffee mug. <br /><br />At each of the trainings we had about 60 attendees. At the second training, I worked up the nerve to present myself in Kaqchikel, with the little knowledge and few phrases that I’ve acquired thus far. While I didn’t get very far, I did get a round of applause for the effort which has given me a bit of encouragement to continue with lessons – I’ve had about 25 hours of class up till now. <br /><br />Ch’oyan chik. Until later, that is..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-70318312781030222622008-12-09T13:14:00.003-07:002008-12-09T13:15:39.816-07:00Visits to the VillagesLast week we completed our delivery of the coffee dis-pulping machines, taking two full days to load up the machines (they are by no means compact), and all eight of us (myself, my counterpart Marvin and the six promoters who work on behalf of SID; Chepe, Efrain, Diego, Samuel, Miguel and Emeliano) in the villages into one small pickup truck. Luckily, I was graciously given a seat in the cab with Marvin, whereas all six promoters and up to four coffee dis-pulpers at a time were stuffed into the truck bed. Although the farthest village was only about 15 km away, it took up to two hours to get to each one, because of the awful condition of the roads; there were certain stretches of trails that were hardly passable on foot, let alone in a vehicle. This really made me think about the accessibility of the far reaching communities from the town center and logically, the availability, or lack thereof, of transportation to and from each one, which directly restricts the flow of information, goods and, most importantly, opportunity. But I digress.<br /><br />Arriving in one community Wednesday morning, we were greeted by several members of the board of the local organization of coffee growers (and soon to be coffee processors). One of them, to whose house we had arrived, welcomed me to town and quickly started conversing with Marvin in Kaqchikel. When he finished, Marvin turned to me and told me in Spanish what the man had requested. Apparently he had received some boxes that had arrived labeled in English that he needed my assistance in translating. Feeling very excited at the opportunity to actually apply tangible skills, I agreed and allowed him to lead me into his house so I could tackle the challenge. <br /><br />Once inside his house, he held up what looked like an inhaler, accompanied by a package of pills with a matching label. He handed me the instructions and explained that he didn’t know what they said and therefore could not sell it, because he didn’t know what it could cure. I was unsure what he meant at first, but when I looked around, I saw that he had at least 5 large boxes full of these inhalers and other types of prescription drugs that he had just received from the states. There must have been about 15 different types of drugs in those boxes. And now, the only obstacle between him and the profit was an application for the product. <br /><br />As you can imagine, I was a little overwhelmed when he continued to place various bottles, boxes and even capsules in my hand to have me translate their purposes and uses. Not knowing what to do, I ended up calling the Peace Corps nurses, who suggested that I play dumb and politely point out that the medications were past their expiration dates, which they all were. In the end, I told him that since I was a marketing volunteer and did not recognize any of the medicine he had, I was not qualified to prescribe it for their respective ailments. Although he was visibly disappointed, he understood and we were fortunately able to move on to the coffee training smoothly. <br /><br />Aside from visiting the communities to deliver the dis-pulpers, I’ve also begun visiting villages on my own to start to assess the situation of various community organizations. I have two such organizations with which I’m planning to share my time, one which is just starting out (¨just born¨ as they call themselves) and another that is already pretty well established in a village about 5 km away from the first. I visited the first yesterday, and while there we visited various coffee plots, while strolling around the village and intermittently snacking on oranges and breadfruit we picked along the way. Today I visited the second and was greeted by several members of the board along with the coordinator. Although I was initially excited about all the potential work to be done, I was put to work typing up a survey that had been done of the village’s primary school, which wasn’t exactly what I had been expecting. I have to start somewhere I guess.<br /><br />This weekend, we have our Christmas party for SID. The partner office about two hours away (which also has a marketing volunteer) has arranged for a day of festivities, feasting and dancing – they rented out a dance hall for the night. This being my first official company Christmas party, it promises to be pretty exciting. While I pictured it going a little differently, perhaps with cheesy mistletoe, fake snow and a poorly dressed Santa Claus for starters, a few dozen Guatemalan men with a taste for homemade liquor, a roasted pig and hours of dancing definitely doesn’t sound too boring. I’ll report back.<br /><br />Until next time..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-24417501336442496682008-12-03T14:37:00.002-07:002008-12-09T13:13:55.880-07:00Back from Thanksgiving, On with Work..So, I’ve decided it’s a good idea to maintain this blog for several reasons, (maintaining some semblance of English, transmitting my experiences to others, the list goes on..), but most importantly it reminds me to keep track of time and date. Over the past few months I’ve made the transition from the U.S. to Guatemala, arriving only to relocate within mere days. Once I finally started to get comfortable in my training community, after three short months I had to move again. Now in my third, and if all goes according to plan, final site, I’ve completely lost all track of the seasons, holidays, and even days of the week for that matter. I think this may have something to do with losing touch with the things that used to punctuate my daily schedule in the U.S.; visits with friends, regular doctor’s appointments and marathons of No Reservations on the Travel Channel to name a few. So, keeping this in mind, it felt like Thanksgiving snuck up on me, because I hadn’t really looked at a calendar in a while, but I must say, it was a welcome surprise.<br /><br />I had arranged to meet a group of friends from my training class at Lake Atitlan, a volcanic crater now filled with water and flanked by the 5 or 6 volcanoes responsible for its creation. The shores of the lake, which measures 8 miles in diameter at its widest spot, are peppered with quaint towns each boasting a different unique population. Panajachel, the biggest city on the lake, is known as a tourist destination, thus its Guatemalan nickname “Gringo-tenango,” or, place of white foreigners. San Pedro la Laguna, the second largest town on the lake, is home to a sizeable hippie community, but is off limits to all Peace Corps volunteers, for some reason or another. <br /><br />One of these towns, Santa Cruz la Laguna, had a number of small hostels right off the dock where we were able to get cheap rooms and a Thanksgiving meal, complete with turkey (my friends said it wasn’t bad), stuffing and, I kid you not, cranberry sauce. After a great Thanksgiving dinner, we got to enjoy each other’s company, Kayak, boat around the lake and explore Panajachel a little more. Having never heard of Lake Atitlan before arriving in Guatemala, I was amazed at how much I had been missing.<br /><br />Having just arrived back in site, we’ve gotten into the thick of things with the coffee season right around the corner. Today we began to deliver artisan machines that remove the flesh of the coffee bean to initiate its processing. As I learn the process better, I hope to share it here; although I’ve only been here for a few short weeks I already have a newfound appreciation for the coffee I drink. <br /><br />Aside from work at the moment I’m in a very intensive process of decorating my new house with Christmas adornments and drowning out the barking dogs and marimba music in the neighborhood with Bing Crosby and the Love Actually Soundtrack. Although I lost track of time before Thanksgiving, I’ll be sure to be good and ready when Christmas gets here! <br /><br />Until next time…Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-24032356166897089502008-11-28T11:51:00.000-07:002008-11-28T11:53:08.300-07:00<div style='text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;'><a href='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/STA-Ea16ARI/AAAAAAAAG6k/6hADU6rsEkY/s1600-h/DSCN1805.JPG'><img src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/STA-Ea16ARI/AAAAAAAAG6k/6hADU6rsEkY/s320/DSCN1805.JPG' border='0' alt='' /></a> </div><br /><div style='text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;'><a href='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TjK9vzrPIDRhNy8KNPDwk7hC_Njg85Q_UKzJsY6ZLEElVQOwzQMEUQu-eAV261YVL1G7Q5nMm2GoalyMOADwXWvNLJJbtzz9kJa7JkHhQPlaWe1ytXyveeiVN2XVu2_d04VzgizF/s1600-h/DSCN1806.JPG'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TjK9vzrPIDRhNy8KNPDwk7hC_Njg85Q_UKzJsY6ZLEElVQOwzQMEUQu-eAV261YVL1G7Q5nMm2GoalyMOADwXWvNLJJbtzz9kJa7JkHhQPlaWe1ytXyveeiVN2XVu2_d04VzgizF/s320/DSCN1806.JPG' border='0' alt='' /></a> </div><br /><div style='text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;'><a href='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/STA-EtPXJFI/AAAAAAAAG60/nmXUSUzRc2k/s1600-h/DSCN1814.JPG'><img src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/STA-EtPXJFI/AAAAAAAAG60/nmXUSUzRc2k/s320/DSCN1814.JPG' border='0' alt='' /></a> </div><br /><div style='text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;'><a href='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/STA-EypDCtI/AAAAAAAAG68/vGoZuIjZLws/s1600-h/DSCN1816.JPG'><img src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hZ6rSi-moRo/STA-EypDCtI/AAAAAAAAG68/vGoZuIjZLws/s320/DSCN1816.JPG' border='0' alt='' /></a> </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-9424263705406520792008-11-24T14:58:00.000-07:002008-11-24T15:00:42.292-07:00A 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)<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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).<br /><br />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!<br /><br />Until next time..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-34119273205838002312008-11-15T10:33:00.000-07:002008-11-15T10:34:09.781-07:00A 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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.” <br /><br />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.<br /><br />Until next time..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-42619016619629060642008-11-07T15:50:00.000-07:002008-11-07T15:51:55.916-07:00After a short few days in siteAfter 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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />Until next time..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-1880998436683672122008-11-01T15:48:00.000-07:002008-11-07T15:50:45.186-07:00Swearing InOn 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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br /> 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. <br /><br />Until next time..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-35326377156519149142008-10-27T12:18:00.003-07:002008-10-27T12:27:17.491-07:00Last week of training!With training coming to a close in less than a week, I’ve become rather restless. (To be exact, training will culminate in a brief swearing-in ceremony this coming Friday at the Ambassador’s house in Guatemala City). The past few weeks have flown by, leaving little time to socialize with my host family and community in between site visits and additional training sessions. In about a week I’ll have to leave the town and the family that have been my home for the last two and a half months. <br /><br />Amidst the anxiety of this transition, we’ve also had several unique opportunities, such as lunch with the Ambassador to Guatemala at the training center as well as a brief introduction to Kaqchikel, the prevalent Mayan dialect in my new site. <br /><br />Six out of my group of thirty are headed to heavily Kaqchikel sites, so I fortunately did not have to brave it alone. Although, the absence of some of my peers might have encouraged better pronunciation, keeping in mind the guttural nature of most of the words. True story: one of my friends accidentally burped during class that day and her teacher thought she was actually speaking Mam, another Mayan dialect. <br /><br />We were lucky enough to have a well known bi-lingual education advocate who also happens to be a Mayan priestess for our short lesson. As you might have guessed, the first try was a little rough. But, see if you can pronounce a word spelled with apparently arbitrary vowels and apostrophe marks formed from an alphabet of thirty letters. Here’s a quick example; our first phrase to learn was “xkaq’ij’ka.” (good afternoon, in case you were wondering). So, as you can see, there’s a reason this language had never been written down. But, as our professor assures us, “It’s easy! Especially compared to that crazy English of yours.”<br /><br />I'll be an offical volunteer the next time you hear from me!<br />Until then..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4871988993685106357.post-75819104738366281232008-10-20T14:28:00.004-06:002008-10-20T14:43:40.831-06:00Velorio and CepelioI’ve just gotten back from a very eventful week at my permanent site, where I will install myself the morning of Novemebr 5th, following the long awaited election. Before leaving for site I had two days with my future counterpart, Marvin at the training center along with all the other volunteers and their counterparts. Marvin is twenty four and runs the SID office in my site, while simultaneously finishing his thesis to graduate from a university in the capital. He’s going to be very interesting to work with, no doubt. He was nice enough to drive down from Chimaltenango so I could move my things to site without having to brave the chicken bus with all my worldly belongings. <br /><br />Once we arrived I was met by the volunteer who I’ll be replacing, who graciously showed me around town, introducing me to several of her friends in the area, all of which first asked her if I could speak Spanish and, when I answered yes, asked me if I spoke K’akchiquel. So, although Spanish is the official language, it looks as though I’m going to have to start taking K’akchiquel lessons to relate on a more personal level with the residents of my town. <br /><br />After arriving on Tuesday, I attended a day long meeting at the office (where we normally only spend one day a week, with the other four in the field) and was introduced to all the Promoters who work for SID in their various communities surrounding the municipal center. My office is all men, which I think will be a blessing in disguise. My predecessor is also a woman, and always enjoyed her job and her work environment. <br /><br />After meeting with some friends in Tecpan, the closest city, I returned home to a very sad occasion. While I was away, the abuelita in my house, Aura's grandmother, passed away. She passed away on Friday night around 11PM and by Saturday morning when I walked up, the entire street in front of my house was canvassed with plastic chairs and tables, ready to receive visitors. The entire house had been taken over by the velorio, or the nine day mourning ceremony. For these next nine days, various events will take place in my house to honor her. So, from yesterday morning to next Sunday, people will continue to stop by at all hours, day and night, to pay their respects. Meanwhile, according to velorio tradition, my family offers them food and snacks every few hours for the entire nine days, not to mention a never ending supply of coffee to keep them awake. So, for these next nine days hopefully I can offer some kind of help. <br /><br />Today we’ll be walking the entire distance from the house to the church (almost a mile) in a group of over 300, preceded by a banner and flowers and followed by a 5 person band playing hymns. After the church service we will proceed uphill to the cemetery to complete the cepelio, the day long procession surrounding the funeral. It will be a very solemn time for sure, but it really is a wonderful send-off. <br /><br />Until next time..Rachel Mowryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02460604881216179718noreply@blogger.com0