Catching Up with Pixels

October 31st: Dia de Los Muertos (Day of the Dead)
While Halloween is one of my favorite holidays of the year, mostly because you seem to find glitter/body paint/hair dye in weird places for several days after the fun, I decided to keep it low key in 2010. Instead, the sitemate and I decided to join in on the local festivities. And I even made a few friends who had never seen a camera---and decided to take mine out for a spin.

Families visit loved ones at the cemetery

They celebrate by flying kites, lighting candles, and painting the tombs a new shade of color.

New friends who took my camera for a ride.

November 1st: Todos Santos (All Saints Day)

After consuming a coffee filled IV drip and slathering some sunblock on our appendages, the Santiago Kite Festival group was off to check out the (in)famous Kite Festival. Although weary at first, I have to admit that even if you do not care for kites, you have to go if only to see a horde of humans try to prop a massive kite that is (awkwardly) held together by a pile of bamboo sticks. *Teaser alert* 3 out of 5 kites fail to even make it upright!

In Santiago, Sacatepequez (the birthplace of the Kite Festival)

In order to honor the souls of the deceased, many fly kites. 

But apart from the small 'toy kites' there are enormous kites which are tested against the elements on Nov. 1st.

1st Week of November: Dogvention & Business Practices (with Guest Speaker A.K.S)*

Our little 'ol town in this here Guatemala had a visitor---Andrew, an MBA student who is doing his research around the world (I mean, he just came back from Africa, right Sara and Andrew?)! But while in town, he spent his time interviewing a number of business owners and learning just a tad about makes Guatemalan business owners tick. It was a blast having him! Come back soon! *Title is an inside joke, so apologies to those who are outside of the loop. [Photos courtesy of Andrew]

Andrew, Sara and I enjoying our favorite treat, Tortillas de Harina (a traditional food from the east)

Enjoying the Mercado (on a non-market day)

Helping to interview the Vet in town.

2nd Week of November: Sorpresas y Mas (Surpises and More)

After much planning, I managed to surprise the living cr*p out of my family with a visit home (and scaring each family member by jumping out from the car, pretending to be a neighbor picking up a package, and yelling surprise over and over again! I spent some quality time with the family, celebrated my sister's 21st birthday in style, and got to hang out with all my loves from NorCal! And a special shout out to Jeff and Nicole for letting me crash at your houses! Love you guys. Sorry if I didn't get a chance to see all of you--- but next time I will make ALL the rounds! Only negative of the trip was the usual TSA drama which means me being grilled by a TSA agent (this time, they gave me a Guatemalan TSA agent) to see if I was 'really' a Peace Corps volunteer. If anyone could tell me how I can find out if I'm on some sort of black list, let me know. I'm getting tired of the grill sessions which seem to increase in correlation to the amount of drama there is surrounding the TSA itself. Exhibit A: Naked Body Scanners.

First drink: Apple Martini. My sister is a classy gal.

Have you heard of 'Pika Pika'? Neither had I until I did it with Matt & Nicole! Thrilling and ridiculous.

Also managed to scare one of my amazing professors with the help of Misha.

3rd Week of November: Multimedia Bonanza

We have finally reached the present and the present is looking sweet. So far my life has been wholeheartedly consumed with teaching people from my town about the importance of self-expression through drawing, photography and film. I am partnering up with Sara to bring three different demographics: men, women, children/teens a FREE taller (workshop) surrounding Multimedia! So far the first few classes have not only been successful, but eye opening to both the teachers (Sara and I) and the students! And I still cannot believe the support we have gotten from the town itself: 600Q for equipment, a booth/space in our Feria (which slowly began yesterday and will reach it's climax on the 30th!), and a word of mouth campaign that beats Paranormal Activity's viral blitzkrieg advertising! Can't wait for the future classes and the chance of exhibiting the photos/film in an art space in Antigua (proposal is currently under review)!

Day 1: Perspective

Day 1: How I see the world

In unrelated, but somehow related, news--- Sara and I have a personal photography project HERE.

It is a photographic diary of sorts that features our town and our daily reaction to it. We don't tell each other what we're posting, so it is also a bit of a surprise to us to see how each other is feeling. Feel free to peruse and add it to your favorites. It's a sort of an experiment for us and we hope you like it!

Until next time, strangers.

To Market, To Market

For NY,  it is gallery openings and fashion shows. For LA: sushi bar reveals and movie premieres. And for Guatemala (my town in particular), it is market day.

Yes, these are social events where you go to see and be seen--- and sometimes, even allowing you some time to conveniently pick up your weekly grocery list!

Sunday and Tuesday market days are the social events of the week in my town. Vendors sell their best batches of fragrant produce, while townsfolk walk through the mercado lugging their costales (colorful, plastic bags) over their finest clothing.

Nothing better than fresh produce!

These are the days to catch up with friends and loved ones who live across town, snag a bit of town gossip, and even make new friends---friends who sometimes have the power to save you a Q or two.

Sara and I are now seen as a sort of Gringa Power Duo. We walk through the market in perfect unison---creating a whirlwind effect that can only be compared to seeing Kali, the Hindu Goddess, stretching her four arms across the market, purchasing wisely and with swift precision.

If time is on our side, we begin our journey with a cup of atole (deliciously made by one of the members of Sara's women's group) in the 'inside market' and then slowly make our way out to the veggies, fruits, and finally the grain section---exercising our 'haggling muscle' with every stop.

Sometimes though, our route and even our grocery lists go out the figurative window when something catches our eyes. For me, that usually means fresh lychee (which, yes, is apparently grown here in Guatemala) and for Sara, it is a fresh basketful of berries.

But no matter the route and no matter how late we are to the party, we make an appearance. Because, let's face it, if you can't show off your new MegaPaca (Guatemalan thrift store chain) shoes while hauling around three pineapples, a pound of onions, and a bushel of broccoli, then, what is the point! Oh, and maybe it doesn't hurt that you have two opportunities a week to cement crucial connections in town via a hug or a quick hello. Yeah, that too!

The Perks of Being a Site-Rat

Site-rat: 
Noun
: integrated, homebody, adjusted
1. PCV who happily spends most of his/her service in site. 2. PCV who most likely chooses to remain with HCNs (Host Country Nationals/Guatemalans) rather than spend yet another night in a tourist town. 3. A title taken with pride for some and scorned by others.
Example: Susie Q refused to come to the Halloween party, what a site-rat!

Ah, it is October and although the smell of pumpkin spice lattes and pastries is not wafting through the Guatemalan air, there is good news. School is out! And since this girl works with the school system, that means I can actually spend time in my site. But let's rewind a bit.

In order to end with a bang, Abra and I lined up taller after taller after taller that had me chugging energy drinks while simultaneously hailing buses en la madrugada (colloquially known in english as butt-crack of dawn). Our wonderful counterpart from the Ministry of Education quite enjoyed our week full of workshops and was beyond amazed at how much the directors, teachers, and CTAs care for us! Score!



In related news, October 15th was National Handwashing Day! And in order to share the excitement with our office and the whole Ministry of Education, Abra and I created the following bulletin board. Yes, I went back to my R.A. days to create a bulletin board complete with glitter to represent germs! And thanks to Abra, my caricature (complete with shiny snot) is hanging in the middle of our office causing hordes of employees to stand in front of it with curiosity. The title, by the way loosely, translates to: Don't let bad friends stick.

After winding down the school year with school visits, workshops, and office activities, Abra and I finally have a chance to enjoy something we've had little time for since the beginning of our service: time in our site. See, traveling every day (sometimes for four, five hours) gets a bit tedious-- especially when you end up getting home around dark.

So now, we have more time to be around our communities and to meet new people in site. I've already met my new site-mate (and her fiance), have been more involved with community groups, and have spent more time with my other more experienced site-mate, Sara. And heck, since being in town in a more visible way, Sara and I have received vocal support AND funding from our alcalde (Mayor) for our upcoming Multimedia Taller! Huzzah!

So why the definition at the beginning of this entry? Well it seems this is a term is thrown around quite frequently within the Peace Corps community to poke fun of those volunteers who actually enjoy their sites, have created a niche for themselves and really feel separation anxiety once they leave. While it seems like this word carries a negative connotation, I have to say, I take this title with pride.

I am completely head over heels with my site. I enjoy that I have friends in my local market who always give me a better price because they know I'm here working for and within their community. I look forward to taking particular buses with those bus drivers who I know can identify me by name and would look out for me if I were ever in trouble while on board. I relish the fact that my community's CTA wants to expand the pilot program I'm working with to all the schools in my community because he feels passionate. And I even get a kick of the night food vendors who have realized I do speak Spanish and will laugh at their stupid jokes.

So here's to you, fellow site-rats, may we serve in solidarity knowing that we are truly challenging ourselves via our interactions with the myriad characters who surround us every day!

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Side note: Shout out to Cheryl for the greatest surprise I have gotten while in country! Thanks for reading my mind and knowing exactly what I needed: tea, room fresheners, and best of all... scented candles!

Character Profile: For the Love of a Bucket Girl

In general, each camioneta has an average of 18 rows of seats on both the left and right side of the bus; seating approximately 108 people while still having an unlimited standing-room-only section that have riders dripping with sweat in the summer and providing an awkward but warm, natural heat source in the winter. But there is one seat that isn't accounted for: the bucket seat.

Now, this bucket seat isn't the colloquially known 'bitch' seat we have in the states---you know the awkward third seat in the front of a pick up or the tiny, sometimes non-existent middle seat in the back of a sedan.

This my dear reader, is an actual bucket strategically placed between the driver, the stick shift, and the camioneta door. And despite the seat being a large paint bucket rather than a cushy worn-in leather padded seat, this spot is a coveted one. The woman sitting in this seat then, is (socially) someone to envy.

How does one achieve bucket seat glory? Easy: Become involved with the driver or the ayudante (Note: I did not say 'are married to' or 'are engaged to').

Now, many women who are 'normal passengers' are bothered by this favoritism or what this seat stands for--infidelity, extramarital ties, etc.

But in a way, this seat is a position of strength. The bucket girl does not pay a fare, holds the men in power (the driver/helper) by their figurative balls and receives other tangible perks (jewelry, clothing, etc).

Heck, I've even seen a bucket girl stop a camioneta three times for her own personal needs and no one was allowed to speak a word.

Sure, the bucket girl/driver (or ayudante) relationship becomes a little awkward when there are very salacious feeding sessions going on (ex: shoving phallic looking food items in each other's mouths and subsequently grinning with joy), but I say do what you have to do.

In a community where women are seen solely as baby factories, house wives, or sexual play things (even without consent), I give a virtual high five to the bucket girl. You're playing in a man's world and using your wiles to go somewhere... even if it is just the next town over.

Image source: teksandwich

Hey Babe, I've Got a Package for You

Here's one thing we volunteers look forward to: packages!

So when I noticed that my name was on the 'package log' at the Peace Corps office front desk on Tuesday, my hands were jones-ing for some U.S. swag similar to the way I imagine Lindsay Lohan itches to be that cute red-headed-and-like-able-Disney star she used to be.

I waited a minute to ponder what I might be getting, digested the idea and readied myself.

But when the package finally reached my eager hands, I began to notice some things. First thing: the Target bag speckled with the red and white logo. The next thing: the name written on the package was 'Belinda'. Umm... 'Okay', I told myself as I found it odd that Target could ship all the way down to Central America and then get my first name wrong. But after some coaxing from Abra and one of the staff members, I opened the package.

It was:

a baby towel with a cute little giraffe on it. Well, that's odd. But maybe there's some prank-like message on the receipt to explain the package, I told myself.

Then, I saw the receipt. It detailed that the sender was from Ohio and that the package should have gone to a place called 'Guatemala Place' in Virginia! How exactly does a package that was meant to just cross a couple of states, get all the way to Guatemala (another country)?

I sure as hell wasn't sure, so I took Abra's advice and wrote the couple who was supposed to receive this package a note on the receipt. There is a modified picture of it below.

So Jerry and Belinda L. from Virginia... I hope your package finds you!
And hello from Guatemala, Central America.
Love,

Linda L.

A Little Advice for Future PCVs

This is a little advice for future generations of PCVs in order to avoid screwing over the people who will either be working after you or with your counterparts:

1. Don't sleep with a work-partner/counterpart
2. Don't party with a work-partner/counterpart 
3. Don't take your job lightly
4. Do your FUCKING job

Now these four suggestions come after a pretty horrific work meeting Abra and I had a few days ago with a few gentlemen who will remain nameless.

From the first minute we were in the room with Señor Big Creeper and Licenciado Bad Mouth (Clue: These are made up names) there was enough sexual harassment going on that a boss in the U.S. would immediately file a harassment suit for us. And before anyone starts blaming, I was still depressed over my dog (heck, my eyes were still red) and Abra was still being supportive... so there is no possible way to be sending mixed signals to these men who we would have to work with over the next two years.

After more body-on-body-touching attempts and a slew of weird sexual compliments, then came the comparisons:

"Pcv Hoo-Hah was really nice and went out on a date with us (there was even a few mentions of PCV Hoo-Hahs chest in this conversation)"

" Pcv Boing-Boing takes longer in the schools and accepts everything we give, even alcohol"

Etcetera... 

I completely understand if you just want to be seen as one of them, want to build rapport in an easy manner, want some local booty or even want to accept free things, but honestly, you are screwing it up for the rest of us who are truly here to do a job. We are professionals and want to be treated as such-- not like women who drop their panties for a shot of tequila. No I don't want to drink at 7 am and no I don't want to sleep with you because you would be something I would want to experience.

And for the record, I can understand spanish and did understand your backhanded comments when we refused you... along with those lewd comments you shot at us from the front seat of the car. And we still don't want to sleep with you. But see you in a month for the next workshop, okay! Oh and please remember to keep your penis in your pants, kthnxbye!

The Girl Who Cried 'Dog'

[Warning this post is graphic, so if you don't like talk of death, blood, etc... just skip it entirely]

I know I haven't written in a long, long time and I apologize. I had a cute and spunky update post written up a while back and I was going to publish it whenever I had access to an internet connection, but other things came up a few days ago.

So since the last time I blogged, I was gifted a puppy (named Canela: Cinnamon) from the same family who gave me my kitty, Frijolita. She was friendly, lovable and got along with my cat so well that she believed herself to be one! She snuck some cat food, played with the cat toys, and eventually began to climb roofs.

Her roof prowling became so out of control that one day I heard her barking so far away that I went up on my roof and found her about 5 or 6 houses away lounging on a neighbor's lamina roof. That's when I decided to tie her up.

Since my house is a pretty decent size, I tied her with a leash/laundry rope combo from one of the iron poles sticking out of my roof (which Guatemalan home owners keep exposed in order to expand their house after a few years) so as to give her enough room to run around my whole house and maybe jump around one or two houses directly around me.

This plan worked for a couple of days... she would roam around, still wrestle with my cat and managed to make it into her faux dog bed that I had made when she first arrived.

Then Tuesday Arrived. I came home to an unusually quiet house and thought my dog had escaped and wandered off to another roof. Instead, I saw my dog's rope strewn past the stairs leading to my roof and the dog toys across the floor. I mentally compartmentalized it and headed toward my bedroom.

The nook between my stairs and my bedroom is where I found her in a way that only brought back visuals from hundreds of horror movies I had seen in the past. I really don't want to scar others but I can guarantee that you will only be able to imagine a quarter of what I saw when I discovered my puppy. She was lifeless and she was bloody.

Now, she was just a memory of what Canela used to be. I screamed a silent scream that soon broke loose  into a sound that still haunts me along with that scene.

I left the house immediately in a fit of hysterics. I began calling everyone I knew in town and no one was in town or picking up their phones. All I wanted was for someone to release my dog from its current position (that still haunted me as I hyperventilated around town) and to help me remove her from my house since I would be unable to do both.

Soon I was wandering aimlessly, crying my eyes until Abra called me to tell me that I might get some help from the Centro de Salud. It turns out, all they were interested in was mocking the fact that I was crying about a chucho (street dog). I tried to explain why I couldn't just grab a trash bag and take him to the barranco (trash cliff), but they just rolled their eyes and kept passing me around every office in the center so that everyone could enjoy my suffering. After I passed by the last office, the gentleman behind the desk brushed me off by saying that the Municipal Building might have an idea of what to do with a dead chucho.

I ran to the Municipal Building, pausing occasionally to burst into tears and finally managed to compose myself by the time I reached the front office. Once again, I explained my story between heavy breathing and just had all the older men laughing while the secretaries were yelling around the office, "Can anyone help this Gringa, her chucho died."

It wasn't until I was loosing it in the office that one woman in the office took pity on me and accompanied me out into town to find some help. Eventually, about thirty minutes or so of asking random guys to help, we managed to find the people who clean the city. With some promise of money, the head cleaner agreed to help. This turned out to be a huge mistake.

The older gentleman who was now following me back home began cracking jokes about dead chuchos, kept asking if the 'mutt was warm blooded or long gone', and then kept saying what a long walk this was going to be with a dead dog strapped to his back. And all I wanted him to do was shut up and perform the task at hand.

We got to my place and things became exponentially worse. My dog was still there where I had found it and the older man stood in front of my dog and sighed. "Wow what a big dog, I don't know if 10 Quetzales will cover this. And I don't know if I want this thing on my back." I began to cry, in my living room, as I offered him a higher price, gave him a costal (huge, woven bag) and some scissors to let go of my dog. And the horrific jokes kept coming along with a few actions (including calling me outside to watch and consult) that made cringe while being two rooms away and yelling 'Stop it'.

After the job was done and my dog was in the costal outside my house, the older man once again mentioned how heavy this was going to be when he had to 'dump the mutt on the trash cliff' and how the money was not worth it. Being desperate and still unable to form a proper sentence, I pulled out my wallet and slammed every Quetzal I had in my wallet into his hands as I called for a tuk-tuk (mini taxi). Then I saw him throw what used to be my dog, pretty forcefully, into the tuk-tuk and drive off. That was the last image of my dog... being treated like any other street dog and being driven off by a greedy, tactless dickhead.

Unable to go back into my house, I continued to cry around the corner, on the floor. Teenagers passed by laughing and pointing while men paused to enjoy the show. I was a miserable wreck.

Sure, the shock of finding my dog in such a way was painful and still haunts me (during the day and night), but what was worse was the way I was treated in a place I took comfort in. Professionals thought my problems were trivial, laughing as I was writhing in pain. Jokes were made and people ignored me.

I understand people in Guatemala don't really have pets and constantly kick/beat/run-over animals for fun, but what about the human aspect of this dilemma? I am a person. I was going to dozens of people across town and all they would do is laugh me off at best. I had nowhere to go when my house was still a real-life haunted house and I can't understand why.
How could the human connection be so lost?

Sexual Repression & An Overly Stimulated Population

Do you know what happens to people when they are told sex is wrong/sinful/only to happen when married while being simultaneously stimulated by provocative imagery at every turn? 
Tension.

Churches, camioneta preachers, (some) host families and even the newspapers go on and on about the 'sinful' nature of sexual freedom--even going as far as mentioning some levels of hell that would make Dante cringe.

But looking past the proselytizing, you see the harsh reaction to such a conservative society. Every day, one can pass an energy drink poster featuring half naked women which jokes about the need for stamina during a threesome, television commercials zooming in on women's breasts/crotches/butts while discussing something as mundane as insurance, and even a section in the local daily newspaper which is blatantly emulating Playboy's Playmate spread.

This harsh crash between the national moral compass and sexual stimuli can be the only thing to explain the constant slut-shaming (Definition: Also known as slut-bashing/victim-blaming, is the idea of shaming and/or attacking a woman or a girl for being sexual, having one or more sexual partners, acknowledging sexual feeling and/or acting on sexual feelings) in newspapers and the communities themselves, the harsh piropos (loosely translated as a flirtatious remarks) and large number of sexual assaults/crimes against women every year.

There has to be a correlation there.

And I'm sure that it doesn't help that the machista culture panders towards the male gaze while still severely shaming women into the 'virginity or eternal singledom' paradigm.

Who knows if things will ever change for the better in Guatemala, but this girl is sick of being harassed for wearing a skirt, a white shirt, or even donning makeup. So enough, men of Guatemala, I'm done being this pretty thing you can objectify. Next time you say something that can be clearly defined as harassment, there'll be a stiff finger in your face and harsh words in perfect spanish.

Independence, Anniversaries and An Intact Ear Drum

Happy Fourth of July

AND

Happy Anniversary to The Parentals

Seeing as I'm still slightly deaf (since the 'quick fix' would be drilling a hole through my ear drum and you better bet I rejected that idea), I decided to partake in just a small portion of the Peace Corps Fourth of July festivities.

Below are a few photos of the actual Fourth of July Party that took place this week which had at least a couple hundred volunteers in attendance.

And to all my sistren and brethren back in the States, hope you had some great times.

Enjoy.

Viral Videos Make Me Feel Better: July

These are just some of the finds that brightened up my day:

1. BP related video: They're burning sea turtles alive with their clean up efforts, they deserve to be scrutinized via comedy.



2. For some odd reason this reminds me of my family. Mostly because, we totally had a swagger van when my sister and I were growing up:



3. Football lovers singing a 90's one hit wonder, please:



4. If you knew me before Peace Corps, you knew how obsessed I was with 'The Battery's Down' (the web series)... well they made a spoof of Lady Gaga's 'Alejandro' and I'm in love. Especially since I hated the fact that the real video was all knock offs of good things: Ace of Base (I know, questionable) and Madonna.


5. And finally... Bill Murray + Poetry = great stuff:

Peer Pressure, An Overdue Thank You & Moving Woes

 Let me begin by saying that for the most part (and for most things) I have patience and restraint. Just sayin'.

About a week ago, I received a gargantuan package from home... and here is a photo to show the scale (box v. kitten). [Please ignore the censor bars I have added to avoid virtual/actual stalking.]

This box had been alluded to in many phone calls with the fam, but I had no idea that this care package was about the size of that meteor/meteorite (which is it again?) in 'Armageddon'. I mean, I even felt the need to hire a crafty team of astronauts who also slightly resembled the film's cast (you know, like a chapin Ben Affleck doppleganger would be doing the unpacking in a not-so-bulky astronaut suit). Guatemalan Ben Affleck or no Guatemalan Ben Affleck though, this box was going to be opened up!

My first attempt occurred the night that I received the 'Box 'o Awesomeness' as I like to refer to it. How far did I get? Well, only the first layer, which included a handful of spices and clothing in smaller sizes--which is a great thing since all my pants started to look like MC Hammer's circa 1990, Can't Touch This. But seeing as my three months in my current host family's house was almost up, I managed to hold off on looking deeper and unpacking all the goodies.

Days passed and friends began to comment on the fact that they would have ripped the box to shreds trying to discover everything inside. And day after day, the box stood there, in the middle of my room, begging me to open it up.

Ah, I can't, I would think to myself. There are only a few more days left here and everything will just get dirty and disorganized since I have no furniture and therefore, nowhere to put everything. So again, I let the now taunting Box O' Awesomeness in the middle of my room.

Then, today arrived. After weeks of trying to see houses and being stopped by multiple factors (my host family telling everyone that I'm rich and can afford 1000Q rent out of spite [remember, I just mentioned I own no furniture... and this includes an actual bed], the torrential rain, busy home owners), I have not been able to actually see possible places to move and the end of the month is coming up. So with my moving woes, I finally opened up the box hoping that it would cheer me up. AND YOU BET YOUR A** IT DID.

Gummy Bears, Spices, Clothing, Cleaning Supplies, Makeup, Books, Gum, Organic Soap, Shoes, Lotion and so much more came flying out of that box. It all almost made me forget the fact that I am half deaf and that I have had so much bad luck with host families!!

So here is to you family:
A BIG A$$ THANK YOU.
Love you guys and miss you... 
and sorry I just used a$$
... twice.
<3

Mal de Ojo, My Health, and How Am I Still Alive?

Let me start off by getting down on my knees and apologizing for the fact that I've been a little silent on the inter-webz lately. I blame my budgeting, the fact that I've been busy at work, and the fact that my life line is getting a little shorter with every health problem I encounter.

What is it now? is probably the question thats pulsating in your head as you continue to read this little-ol-blog of mine. Well, dear reader, this time it involved me writhing in pain and having copious amounts of puss and blood coming out of my ears (sorry to those readers who are currently eating or have consumed food in the last few minutes). Parentals, please don't freak out... which I know you will probably do.

Yeah, this time it wasn't any of my past ailments which include but are not limited to: gastrointestinal issues and malaria. No. This time it was a cold that wanted more than just to stuff up my nose and have me hacking snot. It wanted to get saucy. And so it gave me the worst ear infection known to man. Maybe not the worst known to man, but it is still horrible.

But it hit me today, after so many people questioned the fact that this bubonic plague-like ear infection appeared so quickly, that this near-ear-death-experience was probably my own fault. Let me explain.

On Wednesday, I was coming back from work in a pretty great mood and managed to find yet another new route in the cabecera (head of the department) that lead me to my bus (I say yet another because since I've been here, the cabecera has changed so much that I have had to figure out new bus routes about 10 times, no joke). After a few minutes and a couple of chats, I found the new bus stop. Being as it was five o'clock, I was mentally preparing myself to sardine-can my body into this bus for forty five minutes until I got home.

When my lovely green bus arrived, I squeezed in, began to think skinny and stood up between four rows of seats (filled to the max with three people) and held on for dear life to the top bars since I was equally smashed from the front and the back. Once my bus began to toot-toot along it's route, I began to feel a sharp pain coming from my stomach. A few minutes later, when I took my mind off my current day dream, I looked down to see a woman elbowing me. I did the courteous thing and moved the smidge that I could and apologized for the discomfort. Sadly, this did not please the nudger.

As the twenty minute mark passed, the nudge became more like a shove and the elbow was replaced by both of her hands and eventually, her whole body. I was shocked. I mean, we're all in this Sartre version of hell for the next forty-five minutes, so calm down M'am.

After a few more attempts of moving towards the rows behind me, it was enough. I had already had two possible falls onto the bus floor and it was time for the madness to stop.

"Excuse me, but I can't move. Can you please, stop pushing?"

"*Woman speaking to friend in k'cakchiquel (my town's indigenous language) and then laughing and pointing*"

At this point, I let it go. I feel like speaking out in a bus full of my neighbors was enough, but in reality this little chat only spurred harsher action. The next part is when I raise my voice and everyone in the bus is silent and the bus driver is staring at me through the rear view mirror.

"Seriously? I have no where to go, so enough. I can't move and you need to stop shoving me around right now. If you have a problem with me, let me know, but enough."

At this point, my hearing was getting faint and I could only pull out some sort of insult about my weight (and for the record, she was heavier than I was) and then more pointing and laughing.

The laughing and the few insults I could pull out in my dimming ability to hear continued until I reached my stop. 

I'm not sure if I'm just believing local superstition or if I'm just trying to find an excuse for my current condition (muffled hearing and nastiness coming out of my ears), but this cannot be a ridiculous coincidence. This all points to Mal de Ojo (Bad Eye/Bad Glance); the idea that if someone gives you the Mal de Ojo, whether deserved or not, something terrible happens to you. My hearing immediately failed after I stood up for myself and the only thing that was out of the ordinary as far as my character and the cold, was that conversation.

Though you might not agree, I feel like you can agree with the fact that my health (since moving to Guatemala) has made a complete 180. What the heck, Guatemala?

'Standfast', Lockdown, and the Fact that the Weather has Gone Loco

Dear Readers,

I write this to you (instead of enjoying my 1 out 3 possible days off a month) because I am on 'Standfast' (P.C. lingo for Lockdown) because the world might be ending outside my huge windows. Not really. The real reason? Tropical storm Agatha is approaching (which might later turn into a tropical cyclone, I am told by online news articles).

According to Reuters,

Guatemalans prepared on Saturday for the arrival of Tropical Storm Agatha, the first named storm of the 2010 Pacific hurricane season, which was expected to bring heavy flooding to some areas.
Emergency workers reported rivers were already swollen by heavy rain and warned flooding could be worse than usual due to ash from the erupting Pacaya volcano south of the capital that has blocked drainage systems.


The U.S. National Hurricane Center said Agatha formed on Saturday morning and had maximum sustained winds of 40 miles per hour (65 kph). Agatha was located 170 miles (275 km) west-southwest of the port of San Jose in Guatemala and was expected to make landfall in Guatemala on Sunday.

  Yeah. That's what's up. So instead of enjoying my weekend with friends, I am in my flooded town tending to my cat and figuring out what the heck I'm going to eat later today since those 30 or so corn flakes won't seem to make it until dinner time.

It seems like the only one getting something good out of this is my cat who doesn't have to freak out today since I'll be around, has been getting 'extra protein' when she hunts down these weird Guatemalan bugs that fly in from the cracks of my windows and has cat food a-plenty.
 
The great thing is, this is what I signed up for--adventure. I'm from California where earthquakes make their appearances the way actors make their cameos; only appearing when people have forgotten about them. So, this will be a first. A storm/cyclone outside my window will definitely have me excited! And though I might starve a little with these dammit, now 25 corn flakes, and the fact that the stores outside are closed... but we'll just have to wait and see*.

Love,

Me.

P.S. Here are a few articles about the storm and the recent volcanic eruption: 1, 2
P.P.S. Keep all the people in Guatemala truly affected by this storm, the volcano, and the earthquakes in your hearts. Some have not been so lucky.
*Just found a tiny bag of rice... I guess I'm still safe until tomorrow! If the stores decide to open.
**Photo credit: Accuweather.com

Introductions are In Order...

Hello world. This is 'Frijolita' (yes, her name is derived from the spanish word for bean...don't judge). A lovely gift from a host family (not my own) with whom I became attached to during training!

Frijolita is a three month old kitten who enjoys to run around my room, climb on my mountainous suitcase pile and attack anything that isn't tied down (wait, correction she attacks everything in my room).

Although she was afraid of me at first (probably because of the traumatic camioneta ride into my town in which she was travelling in a box which was then stuffed into my bag), she is slowly adjusting. She now associates me as something 'important' in her tiny life--- heck, she preemptively whines and meows when I put my shoes on because she knows that means I'm leaving.

Though we have only had one tiff-- the time she thought my earphones were a chew toy (RIP earphones)-- I am over the moon with how quickly we're bonding and how quickly she is learning new things.

Holidays, Linda Blair, and A Darwin Award

Here's the thing about Guatemala that I have been loving lately: los dias feriados (holidays). You know why? And no, it's not because we theoretically take a day off (because we really don't). Really, it's because you think you're in for one thing and you come out with a completely different perspective on whatever is being celebrated. Let's take Mother's Day for example (Happy Mother's Day, Mom!).


Abra and I were invited to a Mother's Day celebration after work today and let me tell you that it was... interesting. Sure there was the typical singing, dancing, and joking around but there were also a few surprises. A forty-five minute dramatization about why abortion is wrong (featuring appearances by an angel and a devil to drive the message home), a competition for some mothers to peel and eat a banana without their hands (hello, Freud), and prize giveaways--including one for the youngest mother in the audience (seriously?).

Most of the time, I was holding my sides and stiffling my laugh fits as I saw the ridiculous actos that were happening in the municipal hall---many of which were due to the fact that the men put together the event (Uhum, the banana eating contest is like a big neon sign screaming: Men obviously put this thing together). But there were also some genuine moments, including the fact that we got to bond with the school that invited us! Woo, confianza!

And speaking of bonding time, my toilet and I have become best friends forever. And I'm not talking about middle school charm bracelet and matching side pony-tail BFFs. I'm talking about blood-brothers-your-DNA-in-a-vile-Angelina-Jolie-and-Billy-Bob-Thornton-circa-late-90s-early-00s BFFs.

Here's the skinny... I've been metaphorically dying a slow and painful death for about five weeks, a la Linda Blair in the Exorcist (you know the scene). I scared the nurses into thinking I possibly had Malaria or Dengue and was sent to take some tests. Tests came back inconclusive (being me, I was not surprised) and so, I (being the MENSA genius that I am) decided to ignore my symptoms and go on as usual. Of course, this didn't work and I proceeded to fall deathly ill again.

Currently, I'm feeling alright. Having only eaten 'soft foods' and hydrating myself like crazy, I feel like I'm doing better. Although the results of the last tests show that it's just a bacterial infection, the fact that I'm not getting meds and that this has been happening for more than a month has me a little suspicious. We'll see. The positive is that I had been streaming Lost, Glee, and Nurse Jackie while I was sick... so I'm all caught up ya'll (and yes, you would be accurate to judge the fact that I don't have any furniture in my room, but I do splurge on internet).

You know what else happened when I was sick? I screwed up half my clothes. You know how? By forgetting that while I was dying in the toilet, I had soaked my dark clothing in a huge costal filled with soapy water that morning. And you know what happens to moist clothes that has been soaking for three days in that akward corner of your room that hardly gets any light? Mold. So for this week, I award myself a Darwin Award; for the most creative way of offing my too large to fit clothes while creating the most horrific stench in my tiny room.Way to go, me.

Alec Baldwin, a Suave 4 Year Old, & Glitter in the Wackiest Places

You know, I'm not exactly sure when it happened but I am an Alec Baldwin fanatic. Sure, it could be thanks to the fact that Lauren (a fellow Healthy Schools volunteer) and I have been watching 30 Rock almost every time that we hang out or it may be due to the fact that shows like Lost had my full attention when I was back in the states. Personally, I'd like to believe it's the former.

But honestly, have you seen 30 Rock? Tina Fey's genius + Alec Baldwin's quick wit + a slew of pop culture references = comedy gold.  And even funnier than 30 Rock is the fact that one of the CTAs (Guatemalan version of a superintendant) who refuses to works with us, looks (somewhat) and acts like Alec Baldwin's character in the show. He's smug, refuses to do anything that he deems 'unnecessary' and thinks he's hilarious when he goes against the grain for fun (like being the only member at a meeting to reject a paid vacation--no joke, that happened this morning). Sure it might be a little irritating to have someone who ademantly refuses to work with you (for no real reason), but I can at least chuckle at the fact that he reminds me of Jack Donaghy (well, minus Baldwin's debonair charm).

And speaking of charm, what the heck is with the males in this country? I mean, I'm pretty sure Guatemala is not the flirting capital of the world, and yet every male toddler and octogenerian thinks he's suave. For example, while filling out some paperwork with a CTA and a Parvulos (equivalent to a pre-school/kindergarten) director (school principal) this week, a four year old student ran into the director's office, hugged all three of us, and then stopped in front of me and said, in somewhat of a whisper, 'My heart beat in summersaults when you walked through the door'. After a silent moment or two, I looked over at both the CTA and the director and shrugged my shoulders, what else could I do? A kid who, not too long ago, had been living in his mother's amniotic fluid was gushing over me with a cheesy line he had probably heard his brother, father or grandfather spew. And soon after the pregnant pause, he was off chasing the other boys while he was pretending to be a monster.

Though this little incident might seem isolated, let me give you another one that happened the day after (yesterday). My work partner, Abra, and I were actually giving our first taller (training session) to a school in one of the municipalities we oversee. Overall, the taller went great! We had an enthusiastic director who even got into an impromptu costume while he was volunteering during one of our dynamicas, had teachers who really gave their all throughout the presentation (taking notes, participating, and even going above and beyond what was needed of them), and Abra and I just kicked butt. The hitch came when we split the teachers up and gave them an opportunity to show us how they can teach health lessons using non-traditional learning techniques. Well, most of the groups did well... and in all seriousness, two groups went above and beyond creating powerpoints and even an elaborate skit within the fifteen minutes we had given them. The last group however took a weird turn.

Their topic = water sanitation. At first, they began with reasons why their natural spring was adequate enough to drink from, though they ackowledged the health risks involved. Then, they proceeded to skip over the whole topic and create a 'game'. What was this game, you ask. Well let me share it with you. In this 'game', the teachers and the PC Volunteers (Abra & I) were put in a circle of desks with two people left standing up. Every time the 'proctor' yelled 'Salud' you had to move up three chairs and everytime the 'proctor' yelled 'Bacteria' you had to find the closest seat (think of a complicated version of musical chairs). Anyways, so the game began as such and soon people (who I'm assuming were clued into the real rules) began pushing the rest of us around to get to chairs. And then after the first 'Bacteria', I realized why... the male & female left outside of the circle were going to kiss as punishment for not making it to a bacteria-free chair. Yes, you read that correctly. You are going to kiss the person of the opposite sex who was also standing out there without a chair. And guess who got stuck outside of the chairs on the second round... yeah, me. And I'm pretty sure the whole point of the game was to get a gringa to kiss a chapin because soon after I was left standing with the young computer teacher, they all joked about how it was every Guatemalan's dream and then ended the game. RIDICULOUS.

Almost as ridiculous as the fact that the glitter that Abra and I have been using during talleres and meetings (it's a complete hit as a way to show how bacteria/diseases spread via person to person) has been showing up in the most random places... including the toilet. How did it get there, who knows. That's a topic for a different blog post.
Image from: Variety.com

The Lowdown on Healthy Schools

Don´t remember if I mentioned the fact that Leah and I made a short movie about our Peace Corps program. But if I didn´t, we did end up making a short little piece about Escuelas Saludables and the impact it has on Guatemala.

Check it out if you have time.

Escuelas Saludables: Peace Corps Guatemala from Linda Lopez on Vimeo.

Many Moons Ago...

Fijense que... (when someone uses this in Guatemala, you know an excuse is coming, so get ready) I have been very busy being an official Peace Corps Guatemala Volunteer and I haven't had time to 'tend' to the online world. So, sorry internetz.

But let's play a little game of 'catch-up' to keep you all in the loop, shall we:

• 45 trainees were officially sworn-in as VOLUNTEERS by the Deputy Chief of Mission on March 25th 2010 in Atigua, Guatemala; that is every single person who flew from Washington D.C. to Guatemala with me!
• I moved out of my training town (woo hoo) and am living in my own little, charming town. My town has an excellent mercado twice a week and has a reputation for having the 'friendliest people in Guatemala'. I swear. It even says it on my 'Welcome to [Insert name of town]' package.
• The week I moved out of my training town was Semana Santa or Holy Week (the biggest Guatemalan holiday). This holiday consists of reliving Jesus' suffering through Mass, Processions, Alfombras (rugs made out of flowers, saw dust, fruit), and acting out the Stations of the Cross. I participated in EVERY SINGLE ACTIVITY (*+100 Confianza points)
• As of right now, my large room consists of an inflatable bed, a tiny table, a stovetop and some stools creating a faux kitchen area to hold that stovetop.
• Volunteering has been a blast with my companera de trabajo! Although many sage volunteers of the past have advised to 'observe' in the first several months, Abra and I have been making meetings and travelling across our department! We're on a roll.
• While away from work, I visit friends in the community, help my site-mate with G.A.D. (Gender and Development) talleres and even try to explore my turf.

So far, I have to say (even despite the occasional 'lows'), life as a volunteer is a blast.

 

*P.S. Just so you know, I treat 'gaining confianza' as a video game. I give myself 'fake' confianza points whenever I successfully integrate into the community. Ex: Eat Iguana Soup---true story by the way--- (+50 Confianza points), Attend mass with host family (+25 Confianza points). It's more 'fun' that way.

Guate & the F-Word

Before some people get their panties in a twist (uhum Peace Corps I know you're monitoring), this isn't a post about that F-Word.

Instead, it's about feminism. And since March 8th (this past Monday) was the 99th International Women's Day, I thought what a better time to discuss feminism than now.

Before I delve into the topic at hand though, let's discuss Guatemala  for a little bit.
And to start off, let's play a game... a word association game. So, if I could only use one word to describe Guatemalan culture, what would it be? Hmmm, oh yeah: machista.

Don't believe me? Well here are some stats to back up the machismo (which were brought to our attention during one of our weekly training sessions, sorry I didn't get the actual source... pretty sure my jaw hit the floor when I saw this and completely forgot to cite!).
Without further ado, Guatemalan gender issues in convenient 'percentage form':

• 30% of Guatemalan women surveyed think it is acceptable to be spoken to innappropriately
• 70% of Guatemalans surveyed agree women should remain in the home
• 54% of Guatemalan women surveyed agree to be submissive/docile to men
• 53% of Guatemalans surveyed agree that men determine # of children in family
• 60% of Guatemalans surveyed think that men are the economic decision makers
• And finally 4/10 Guatemalan females surveyed think men are the superior gender

I'm not sure about you, but these stats are frightening--especially when you see the effects of machismo in everyday life.

For example, being a proud feminist, I decided to decorate my netbook with a 'Feminism is for Lovers' sticker; nothing fancy, just a plain sticker with a strong message on it. One night, after my host family came in contact with the sticker, they decided to sit me down for dinner and 'scare me' with a wonderful (read: disturbing) bed time story (which I will paraphrase/embellish below).

There was once a strong, feminist in town who would fight for women's rights with her fog horn and picket sign. Day in and day out, she would rile up the women to stand up for their rights and rebel against the machismo in their homes and communities; singing songs that would make Rosie the Riveter and Margaret Sanger jump for joy. Well, one day the feminist took a little longer than expected to come home from a rally, but instead of being welcomed by her husband, she was brutally beaten while her ten year old son watched. As she cried for help, all the other 'smarter' women in town laughed their tushes off because the feminist should have known that it is a woman's job to please the husband first rather than go off galavanting and looking for trouble. The next day, the feminist appeared bruised and fragile, without her picket sign or her fog horn, because she had finally learned that her husband and son come first.

Yeah, these are the wonderful tales I was told after dinner; and let me remind you, this was all because of a sticker!

And these real stories (which come up alot) that are supposed to teach women their role in life don't even scratch the muggy, machista surface. In fact, the place you see machismo the most is on the street.

From the moment a woman (no matter the age) steps on the street, wearing anything from greasy sweatpants to t-shirt/jeans, it begins. A slew of suggestive comments shush chuch noises, whistling and general cat-calling from males ranging from 10 to 60 years old. Yeah you heard me, it can be anyone from a ten year old boy (who hasn't even felt the pangs of puberty) to a wrinkled, liver-spotted older gentleman of sixty.

Most of the time, I can deal with the general nuissance, but there are times when things so vile come out of these mouths that I just want to jump off the highest (5 ft, joke) building! I've only had to deal with this for three months and yet I look at Guatemalan women who have dealt with this their whole lives and ask, How do they do it?

While most of the population seems to be sticking to status quo, I have already seen amazing men and women trying to bring in different notions into culture through Women's groups and other organizations. In the future, in fact, I hope to partner up with my site-mate and give self-defense classes (as a secondary project) to women in our area. Who knows if it will be well received, but with the success of some of the other experimental organizations and notions, maybe we too can make a difference here.

Character Profile: The Ex-Pandillero Who Has Turned a New Leaf

[Note: I feel, given my liberal arts background, I will sometimes have 'character profiles' featuring certain memorable folks around Guatemala. It's honestly a way to share my admiration (as a 'writer') for such great characters. Enjoy]

Oh no, he has a tattoo was something that both my camioneta companion, Leah, and I said as we saw him standing front and center, blocking any escape to the outside world with a stern look on his face.

Note: Sure, in the States, a tatoo is not a big deal--maybe it is a meaningful memento of times past or just a mistake you made when you were 18, but no one really pays any attention to your body art. Here in Guatemala, it's bad juju. It means you've been places (read: jail) and know people (read: know people will fear you).

The man who was now facing the whole camioneta was donned not only in tattoos, but scars-- wearing black from head to toe and carrying a box in his frightingly muscular arms.

Attention to everyone on the bus, he began as both Leah and I looked at each other ready to not only pee our pants in fear, but to give up all our valuables which we had cleverly hidden away in our bras, shoes, pants, and purses.

I could rob you this very moment and get away with it. I've been to jail, I've killed people, I've done it all and can do it again, he continued as I cursed my luck, wishing we hadn't waited an extra minute for a bus that didn't have limbs flying out of every open window and door.

...but I won't. At this point, everyone who had started creating a mental breakdown of their valuables (myself included), proceeds to ignore the guy and his lanky sidekick (who managed to copy his buddy by blocking the back exit of the camioneta --like two identical bookends holding everyone in the middle together).

THIS.DID.NOT.PLEASE.HIM.
It was as if his words had turned off the invisible lightbulbs of fear hanging above all the passengers and things turned.

Pay attention to me, he yelled as he banged the roof of the bus, possibly mimicking something he had done in the past (but instead of a pistol, there were rock hard chocolate bars which magically didn't break with the force).

I can see all of you looking out your window and pretending that you cannot understand me, but remember that I have the power. I'm giving you the option to buy my chocolate bars in order to avoid something else. Interesting. It's like we have a choice... right? Not. By this point, people were sneakily pulling out their quetzales in order to buy the chocolate and get these guys off the bus (I mean, even the bus attendant was so freaked out that he waited until both men were seated before collecting the bus fare AND he preferred to scale the outside of the bus back to the front rather than passing the guys in the middle once he was done).

Five stops later, we were at our stop and out the door. The two 'warm-hearted' ex-cons were still sitting, like two troublesome kids in the back of a classroom, assessing the damage. Who knows where they were going or which bus they were going to hit next, but so far, this duo was beyond interesting (and not to mention frightening).

I Have a Feeling R.E.M. Wrote a Song About This

The earth has thrown everyone for a loop lately with Haiti and now Chile.

In the U.S. when news of a natural disaster hits, people are usually asking How can I help?, rather than Why? And this little why has been plaguing Guatemala (or at least my little town) for quite a while now and hit critical mass yesterday.

When the terremoto rattled Haiti, everyone in town turned to their place of worship as a way to understand, cope, and hope. And Saturday morning when the record-breaking shake hit the chisme grapevine, it was déjà vu. Once again, my neighbors were flocking to their places of worship, but this time, something was different.

Local small talk, usually dominated by weather conditions, was now pushed aside by theories of the coming apocalypse-- with the leading theory being the complete destruction of Central America by the merging Pacific and Atlantic oceans. Excuse me?

Sure, I expect a little fear-- I mean, heck, we've had four tremors since I've been here (as well as thunderous volcanic booms that practically have you stopping, dropping, and rolling). But talk of the world coming to end? I don't know. I guess I'm still getting used to the whole idea of the culture being so influenced by religion.

*To all of you reading out there: keep all the families affected by the earthquakes (both in Haiti and Chile) in your thoughts. And think about donating some time or resources to organizations who are helping abroad!

Photos de Guatemala

The town in Guatemala where I spent my first days (and also where I receive training)

The view from a classmate´s roof (with smokey volcano in background)

Antigua with my friend Leah

Antigua

Artisan Market in Antigua

It´s not much, but hopefully this will tide you all over. Until next time, mis amigos.

The Tourist Vs. The Peace Corps Volunteer

There is something to be said about the way Peace Corps training has us (the PCTrainees) thinking about our image in-country.

We are told to dress professionally and according to what we see around us rather than don shorts, tank tops and sandals. Likewise, we are expected to glean pertinent information from our communities in order to integrate within our towns rather than stick out like a sore thumb. I didn’t realize though, how  pertinent these PC suggestions were until I visited a new location in Guatemala.

A few of my classmates and I were visiting a local treasure this past week when a woman, from Los Angeles I’m ashamed to say, was walking with her local guide. As she stepped into this local treasure, her Chanel glasses, bright orange tank top, and green cargo shorts immediately gave her away as a tourist.  But what caught my attention was not her bright plumage, or the fact that she seemed to direct this tour guide more like a slave driver than someone hoping to learn something about the culture she was visiting. No, it was something that she uttered from her botox-ridden lips, Oh my gosh, I can’t believe what these people are doing? What are we doing here?

[First of all, let me stop the story here. If you didn’t want to come, the door is right there. You can just as easily tell your guide to lead you to a new destination. Heck, you could probably (by the looks of your Coach bag) book a flight out tonight. But I digress…]

I continue watching this woman, puzzled by what some may call cultural insensitivity. She continues going further into this Guate treasure and is now standing merely feet away from locals with camera in hand. I bite my lip, hoping that what I’m thinking in my head will not happen; heck this woman was at least 50+ years old, she couldn’t be that insensitive. But no, she stands close, like a child looking into a fish bowl, and starts taking pictures (with flash) of what is happening before her. Sure some Americans, heck, most foreigners, might see what was going on in this plaza as something weird, but this Guatemalan treasure was meaningful to the people who were participating. This was not a marimba band or a group of dancers dancing, but something heavier--something that felt too sacred to photograph.

I, seeing myself as a part of this community now (despite being only in-country for three-ish weeks now), told the woman that maybe she could at least turn off the flash or hide the camera because this wasn’t a circus. What I got in return was a middle finger.

Sure, I could have retaliated or made a spectacle but I knew that I too, would be portraying an image of the U.S. that was worse than the reality. So Peace Corps, I thank you because even in this short time, I know you have trained me to see how I fit into this community rather than to see myself outside of it.