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!

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.

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?

'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

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.

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!