Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Volunteer Site Visit
I’ve just returned from my PC Volunteer Site visit, for which I traveled to a site not far from my home department, near the city of Chimaltenango, or as a friend calls it, “Dirt-mal-tenango.” (“Tenango” is a Guatemalan suffix that means, “place of”) Needless to say, the city itself is not particularly scenic. Just a fin little tid-bit; I’ve also heard the title “Gringo-tenango” thrown around to describe several tourist hubs and most recently a friend of mine told me of his plans to found “Deffet-tenango,” in honor of himself.
Anyway, from the city of Chimaltenango, a fellow marketing trainee, Barbara, and I traveled to a smaller town about 45 minutes away by chicken bus to visit a volunteer stationed there. Mackenzie, the volunteer, received us upon arrival and showed us around the town a little before we settled in for the evening to cook a leisurely dinner and enjoy a pirated movie on her laptop. We even had popcorn, talk about luxury…
The following day we accompanied her to the office of her host country agency, Strategies for International Development, or SID, which works with community leaders in the area to develop the sales and promotion of coffee, among other crops. There we observed a meeting held among her two counterparts and various promoters employed by the agency which offered us a peek into the inner workings of the Guatemalan business culture. The meeting, like most meetings regardless of size or intimacy of attendees, began with a one to two minute introduction from each person present, give or take a few minutes depending on their seniority in the group. Throughout the meeting, it seemed as though the same message was often repeated countless times, only blatantly rephrased and stated slower to reiterate certain points. Being very American, thus time and efficiency oriented, it was a little tough to endure.
After the meeting and a lunch, where a sizeable bottle of rum was shared among the attendees (not including the three of us), we traveled to a nearby aldea, or small village, where we met with a women’s group also associated with SID, to make jam. Now, at this point I’ve only been at the jam business for a few weeks, thus my routine is a little spotty and my proportions are never consistent (I assure you, this jam thing is a very complicated science). But these women looked at us as if we were holding the key to the Smuckers family recipe vault. In two short months, I’ve found myself in this position multiple times, and the scary thing is, it gets remarkably easy to repeatedly feign wisdom.
After the first session with the women’s group, we worked up the courage to go back without our volunteer guide, and it went just as well the second time. After finishing with the women’s group, we returned to the town and attempted to visit Chimaltenango (the department's capital) to fill some down time, but got horribly lost by boarding the wrong chicken bus, which was headed to a different, far-out aldea. With painfully full bladders riding on what promised to be a consistently rocky road for at least two more hours, Barbara and I were saved by the ayudante of the bus, when he arranged a ride back to the town for us with a friendly pickup driver. Lesson learned; always ask where the bus is headed. We returned home to Mackenzie's house, humbled.
The visit was a great peek into the life of a volunteer, and I’ll be able to give more information on my own site when I get it this Wednesday, October 9th.
Until next time..
Anyway, from the city of Chimaltenango, a fellow marketing trainee, Barbara, and I traveled to a smaller town about 45 minutes away by chicken bus to visit a volunteer stationed there. Mackenzie, the volunteer, received us upon arrival and showed us around the town a little before we settled in for the evening to cook a leisurely dinner and enjoy a pirated movie on her laptop. We even had popcorn, talk about luxury…
The following day we accompanied her to the office of her host country agency, Strategies for International Development, or SID, which works with community leaders in the area to develop the sales and promotion of coffee, among other crops. There we observed a meeting held among her two counterparts and various promoters employed by the agency which offered us a peek into the inner workings of the Guatemalan business culture. The meeting, like most meetings regardless of size or intimacy of attendees, began with a one to two minute introduction from each person present, give or take a few minutes depending on their seniority in the group. Throughout the meeting, it seemed as though the same message was often repeated countless times, only blatantly rephrased and stated slower to reiterate certain points. Being very American, thus time and efficiency oriented, it was a little tough to endure.
After the meeting and a lunch, where a sizeable bottle of rum was shared among the attendees (not including the three of us), we traveled to a nearby aldea, or small village, where we met with a women’s group also associated with SID, to make jam. Now, at this point I’ve only been at the jam business for a few weeks, thus my routine is a little spotty and my proportions are never consistent (I assure you, this jam thing is a very complicated science). But these women looked at us as if we were holding the key to the Smuckers family recipe vault. In two short months, I’ve found myself in this position multiple times, and the scary thing is, it gets remarkably easy to repeatedly feign wisdom.
After the first session with the women’s group, we worked up the courage to go back without our volunteer guide, and it went just as well the second time. After finishing with the women’s group, we returned to the town and attempted to visit Chimaltenango (the department's capital) to fill some down time, but got horribly lost by boarding the wrong chicken bus, which was headed to a different, far-out aldea. With painfully full bladders riding on what promised to be a consistently rocky road for at least two more hours, Barbara and I were saved by the ayudante of the bus, when he arranged a ride back to the town for us with a friendly pickup driver. Lesson learned; always ask where the bus is headed. We returned home to Mackenzie's house, humbled.
The visit was a great peek into the life of a volunteer, and I’ll be able to give more information on my own site when I get it this Wednesday, October 9th.
Until next time..
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Field Based Training
So, I’ve just returned from Field Based Training, which was quite an interesting experience, to say the least. As a group, we left around 7:45 on Tuesday to get to the department of Sololá before 11 AM to meet with a PC Volunteer stationed there. Miraculously, we were on time, despite various delays en route, which included land slide road blocks and one prolonged stop at the Burger King drive through (which is quite popular here, I might add.)
We arrived at the hostel, where all sixteen of the sustainable agriculture volunteers (eight of marketing and eight of food security) were housed for the week, set our stuff down and set off to explore the market in the capital city of the department, as it was a market day. Market day typically happens two to three times per week depending on the size of the city, and since we were in the capital, the market was particularly extensive. Exploring the market in Sololá, which was not too different from the market in Antigua, with which I’m more familiar, one can find everything from live chickens to custom made indigenous garb to dried fish to pirated DVDs. The motto of one of the staple stores in my old town of Waconia – Duebers - comes to mind: “If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.” I’ll be sure to include pictures when I get a chance.
At this market, I first encountered the male version of traje – or indigenous dress (Tra – Hey). Previously I’d been told that it was very uncommon to see men in traje, but not only was it there in an overwhelming presence; there was a proportionate lack of Spanish. Most of the people were spitting back and forth in K’aqchiquel, the majority Mayan dialect of Solola (there are 22 recognized dialects in all of Guatemala). I’m told that each region’s traje is distinct, and that each is particularly proud of its own version. I witnessed this first hand in one of the small villages in which we were working when I encountered a crucified Jesus Christ donning the regional traje of Sololá in a Catholic Church.
We got a chance to work with some of the small producers that were so common in the market on Wednesday, when the Marketing Group gave four successive charlas, or presentations, to a local co-op of K’aqchiquel farmers. My own topic, “What is Added Value?,” entailed discussion of sanitation and packaging, and was geared towards gaining higher prices for their respective harvests. Apparently it wasn’t as riveting as I had anticipated it would be; I had two shameless sleepers, in the front row nonetheless. But it could’ve been worse, I suppose.
Aside from our presentations, we were set to harvest onions and prepare them for export, to get our hands dirty, but unfortunately that never panned out because when we went to meet with our willing farmer, he was nowhere to be found. Instead we readied ourselves to blanket the nearby tourist hub of Panajachel to speak with managers and owners about their current vegetable purchasing and to probe the interest in local products from the surrounding villages. That was actually pretty cool, I must say. As pairs of gringos, we were pretty well received and it was good Spanish practice. My partner and I made it to about ten hotels and restaurants before our progress came to a screeching halt with the arrival of a heavy rain
As a group, we stayed in Panajachel to watch the debate, which, despite our location in the middle of Central America, hours removed from even the center of politics in country, was displayed with a projector on an entire wall of the bar while all other noises were silenced. Needless to say, it was a pretty big event in Panajachel that night.
Now, I’m back in my town, in my own bed and thankful for three square meals a day.
Until next time..
We arrived at the hostel, where all sixteen of the sustainable agriculture volunteers (eight of marketing and eight of food security) were housed for the week, set our stuff down and set off to explore the market in the capital city of the department, as it was a market day. Market day typically happens two to three times per week depending on the size of the city, and since we were in the capital, the market was particularly extensive. Exploring the market in Sololá, which was not too different from the market in Antigua, with which I’m more familiar, one can find everything from live chickens to custom made indigenous garb to dried fish to pirated DVDs. The motto of one of the staple stores in my old town of Waconia – Duebers - comes to mind: “If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.” I’ll be sure to include pictures when I get a chance.
At this market, I first encountered the male version of traje – or indigenous dress (Tra – Hey). Previously I’d been told that it was very uncommon to see men in traje, but not only was it there in an overwhelming presence; there was a proportionate lack of Spanish. Most of the people were spitting back and forth in K’aqchiquel, the majority Mayan dialect of Solola (there are 22 recognized dialects in all of Guatemala). I’m told that each region’s traje is distinct, and that each is particularly proud of its own version. I witnessed this first hand in one of the small villages in which we were working when I encountered a crucified Jesus Christ donning the regional traje of Sololá in a Catholic Church.
We got a chance to work with some of the small producers that were so common in the market on Wednesday, when the Marketing Group gave four successive charlas, or presentations, to a local co-op of K’aqchiquel farmers. My own topic, “What is Added Value?,” entailed discussion of sanitation and packaging, and was geared towards gaining higher prices for their respective harvests. Apparently it wasn’t as riveting as I had anticipated it would be; I had two shameless sleepers, in the front row nonetheless. But it could’ve been worse, I suppose.
Aside from our presentations, we were set to harvest onions and prepare them for export, to get our hands dirty, but unfortunately that never panned out because when we went to meet with our willing farmer, he was nowhere to be found. Instead we readied ourselves to blanket the nearby tourist hub of Panajachel to speak with managers and owners about their current vegetable purchasing and to probe the interest in local products from the surrounding villages. That was actually pretty cool, I must say. As pairs of gringos, we were pretty well received and it was good Spanish practice. My partner and I made it to about ten hotels and restaurants before our progress came to a screeching halt with the arrival of a heavy rain
As a group, we stayed in Panajachel to watch the debate, which, despite our location in the middle of Central America, hours removed from even the center of politics in country, was displayed with a projector on an entire wall of the bar while all other noises were silenced. Needless to say, it was a pretty big event in Panajachel that night.
Now, I’m back in my town, in my own bed and thankful for three square meals a day.
Until next time..
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
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