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

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?

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).