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.

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?

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.