Cross-dressing, Floats, and Possible Alcohol Poisoning

So what celebration allows usually homophobic men to get trashed while strutting around the streets of a town in short skirts and dresses? Give up? It's the Convite! (-Insert sarcastic hoot of joy here-)

Okay, I'll begrudgingly admit that it is a little more than that. 

At the essence of the holiday, a town celebrates their  Patron Saint with a town-wide parade, a dance, and lots of other activities.

Sara and I decided to watch the main event, the town parade, from my roof with a wide-array of snacks and mugs filled to the brim with tea. And while we were the only ones who chose to watch from above, I have to say, we had the best seats in the house.

Here we begin with men making fun of the same ol' Mother in Law/Suegra trope (really, again?)

Apparently we were also a part of that Antonio Banderas movie, 'Once Upon a Time in Mexico'

The Cast of Harry Potter showed up with pretty cute costumes!

And finally the Homoeroticism/Bro-Love was out of control, but it's okay... they were drunk so it doesn't count (sarcasm).

So it wasn't too bad. Although I was biting my tongue the whole time during the drunk homoeroticism, I did have fun watching the dances, floats, and costumes. Well done. Just next year, can we stop with the mockery towards women (including, and I joke you not, Rigoberta Menchu). Thanks.

Lessons of the Year

No, this is not another post about the New Year and how Suzie Q wants to go back to the gym and how Peter Parker is cutting back on the snarky comments for 2011. Nope. This is a post celebrating the fact that I have been in Guatemala for a mother flippin' year! And with that, I'll share some knowledge I've gained since deciding to drag two backpacks on an airplane and forget about the luxuries.

What I, Linda, have learned in a year of Peace Corps service in Guatemala:

• Malaria, Going Deaf, Bleeding from the Inner Ear, and Gastrointestinal Amoebas are not just diseases/illnesses/afflictions you study in High School Biology: they happen.
• A huge percentage of the towns/cities/municipalities/etc. are named after saints: Santa Apolonia, San Francisco La Union, San Andres Xecul, San Juan Comalapa
• Holidays play a huge role in Guatemala---and despite the name, Mother's Day is a month of motherly love.
• Know the bus drivers and have them know you. If the bus picks up a pervy, drunk or simply annoying drifter, the driver and the ayudante will have your back.
• Sexism is everywhere---you have to learn how to defend yourself against it.
• When it comes to your project, gain the trust of everyone you're working with by being approachable and honest. And it doesn't hurt to throw some humor into the mix.
• Everyone, and yeah... I do mean everyone, will poop their pants during their service.
• If an horchata (rice drink) tastes fishy, make your work partner/sitemate try it because if you know you're going to Diarrhea-ville, take them with you!
• Make connections at your site, sometimes they can lend you a hand when you're in need.
• Dating in a machista society? Yeah... no.
• Your first aid/med kit will become your greatest ally.
• Your emotions are cranked up---be honest with yourself about them and you will survive.
• Do not miss 'snack hour' no matter the circumstances. This is prime 'connection building time'.
• You don't need TV to survive, but if your internet is as slow as mine... stock up on DVDs for your laptop.
• Your phone will FAIL 80% of the time.
• If you're a woman, your community friend base will be made of girls younger than 18 and women older than 35.
• Sing while you do your own laundry, by the time Party in the U.S.A. has been on repeat for an hour, you would have done a load.
• Since you'll be behind on pop culture, you will have certain guilty pleasures (ex: Baby by J. Beiber or Party in the USA by M. Cyrus) because those songs will be used in all advertising attempts.
• Advertising in Guatemala means blasting music across the whole town and announcing the 2 for 5Q chicken pieces at the local Chicken Little fried chicken stand.
• Love your sitemate, they'll be there when you're most vulnerable.

And finally,

• Although it's been a year, you will probably feel like you've only just arrived. Time flies, so enjoy it.

So Happy Freaking Bloody First Year to ME! I'm coming back soon America.

-----

In other news, since there has been a Military Siege in the Department of Alta Verapaz due to Narco Trafficking (yeah, I won't really get into that because I'm still confused and partially afraid of what that means to Peace Corps as a whole), I have had the pleasure of hanging out with a fourth 'faux' sitemate: Whitney! Check her out (as well as Sara and I). We're all tired and halfway into PJs, but hope you appreciate the pictures I forced them to take!

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.

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

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.