This Mayan Woman has a Story

This Mayan Woman has a Story
Building a masonry cookstove for this family was a joy. We heard her story and cried.

Saturday, February 1, 2014

Stripping Away the Layers

Antigua...

It's warm. Guessing 23C. We're back at Posada Merced, paying more than we should. Last night our room cost $30 for the two of us. Tonight it will be $35 each. Not much by Canadian standards but a hefty sum for us rough travellers! Given the princely sum we have promised ourselves that we will throw caution to the wind and leave our bed bug protectors and sleeping bags stowed safely away. I have my firm believe in "B12 Protection"  for peace of mind anyway...

I managed to get $2,000Q ($300US) at a bank machine in Parc Central...a guy in uniform with a gun  watched over me. I always get a bit freaked out getting money here. I've heard so many stories of machines with card readers and tourists being mugged.  We have learned to go to the machine with others on lookout. I'm guessing the guy with the gun was a pretty big deterrent. Some travellers use a special account with only limited funds. I don't have to worry much about that because I only have one account and it always has limited funds :)

Antigua is probably the closest thing Guatemala has to a tourist mecca. It is, after all, a Unesco World Heritage Site. The streets are rough cobblestone and the sidewalks crumble under foot. But there is something utterly charming about its chaotic looking facade. And it is cheap. Not as cheap as Xela or Comitencilio, where we are heading on Sunday, but still damn inexpensive.

The building we had dinner tonight was built in the early 1500's. It is, like most buildings here, truly open concept. Thick stuccoed walls and large heavy-looking wood doors mimic the traditions of the Spaniards who inhabited Guatemala for a large portion of its history.

We broke the never-go-out-after-dark rule we strictly adhere to in Xela. Antigua is full of holidaying tourists, and happy tourists mean that the natives have jobs and homes and food. Xela, although the second largest city in Guatemala is much left developed. Violence is common and stray dogs are downright scary.

Nevertheless, I am determined to live "in the moment"; a commitment I made through meditation and one I struggle with daily in my "normal" life back home. Still, travel, to me, is an opportunity to strip away layers, clear your thoughts, refocus, and learn...both about the country I am in, the people and am with, and about myself.

Guatemala for the third time will be a journey of self-discovery...


voyage of self-discovery!
Friday, January 31, 2014

It's warm. Guessing 23C. We're back at Posada Merced, paying more than we should. Last night our room cost $30 for the two of us. Tonight it will be $35 each. Not much by Canadian standards but a hefty sum for us rough travellers! Given the princely sum we have promised ourselves that we will throw caution to the wind and leave our bed bug protectors and sleeping bags stowed safely away. I have my firm believe in "B12 Protection"  for peace of mind anyway...


Friday, January 31, 2014

I'm almost afraid to say this aloud...NO snow. No missed flights. No cancelled anything. This is my forth out-of-country trip in four years and the first time things have gone on schedule. Of course, at this very moment I am only about half way to my final destination. We are close to Houston, low enough that I can see puzzle-like plots of green and sand beige, swirly things and straight-edged meandering lines. I imagine cowboys. (Did I tell you that there is a real Cowboy on this plane? I wished for him to sit with us. I would have loved to chat him up. Just listening to the way those southern folk mutilate the English language gives me pause...hmmm)

There is a three hour pause for reflection and food after we land in Texas. I think I recall being here once before as a child. I'm certain the Secord VW van of the 70's had a window sticker shaped somewhat like the Mighty Texas State; proudly displayed with about 40 others on its rear back window, homemade plaid curtains acting as a snazzy backdrop. In those days a guy with a wife, five kids and a couple of spunky Irish Setters couldn't even dream of flying his family afar for some pricey all-inclusive beach holiday. If he had the travel bug, like my father once did, he had to get creative.

My life is dramatic. I don't think I create drama, but it does have a habit of seeking me out. In any case, travel drama is something else, it's called "adventure". It's the stuff of happy happenings and heart quickening surprises.

My adventures with the Guatemala Stove Project are not nearly as planned as one might think. This isn't the "big box" kind of volunteering Habitat for Humanity, World Vision, Free the Children or dozens of others have made famous. It isn't as much an "us and them" experience. We don't spend our days in remote villages and then return home to luxurious accommodations.  When we eat the grey-water-boney soupa, offered with great hospitality, it is our lunch. It isn't a place holder until we get back to a fancier feast.

This is my third adventure to Guatemala. The first trip with the Guatemalan Stove Project in 2011 (you can still read about it here) was part of a personal journey. It taught me about the Maya and myself. I felt stronger, my sense of social justice more defined when I returned back home. I was sicker than I had ever been, thinner than I'd ever been, and happier than I could have ever imagined.

When I spotted Anne across the airport alley it was a strange but exciting glimpse. She was out of context. I had almost forgotten that she was heading to Las Vegas for a weekend of pure indulgence, with the wild and wonderful Judy. Women, booze, food and gambling...Anne laughed when Liz and I told her that I had been identified for a "special" search. The stern (ok, ugly) security woman took my boarding pass and refused to return it. Three bulky American guys felt around in my daypack....ziplock bag of polysporin, toothpaste, antiseptic and grapefruitseed extract, Charmain wipes, two solar lights in boxes stuffed with 'izzy dolls and toothbrushes....oh and a pocket knife...damn little thing. They looked at me with squishy eyes,, considering wether they should search further for a machine gun or pipe bomb. I distracted them with some ditzy conversation :)

The flight from Houston to Gautemala City had a fine collection of Canadian and American tourists. There was a medical group. I didn't speak to them. We met 2 Rotary Club members from Seattle , 2 from North Bay and 2 from NY. Our seat mate was another woman from Seattle, travelling with her husband and a group from Seattle, There are 12 of them and they are going to the tourist centres...Antigua, Tikal and Lake Atitlan...with their Spanish teacher.

We arrive in Guatemalan City late. The small hotel we stay in sends a taxi. Our room is ready. We sleep....




Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Lost and Found: Tackling a Changing Reality

Sunday, February 10, 2013

This is not what I expected. None of it. I didn't leave or arrive as I thought I would.It has all been more complicated than I imagined. The flights, the documenting, the hiking, the writing...the soul-lifting exhaustion...I remain surprised by it all.

But still I am smiling, from the inside. Joyful. Excited. I can't imagine feeling any more fulfilled.

My plans seemed logical...

*Pack 3 bags:
 Stuff the first with sunblock, sundresses, flipflops, beauty equipment of every manner, a stack of American $1 bills and a few trashy magazines. Be prepared for decadence.
The second is a hikers pack. There is nothing glamorous about it, inside or out. Preparation is key...A mummy-style sleeping bag, plastic sheet and pillow case; immodium, toilet paper, gravol, pepto bismol, cypro, and. Citricidal; boots, work socks, jeans, hats and long sleeve shirts...Modesty, health, respect and safety are my guides.
The third bag is reserved for giving. It is filled with handmade dolls and bears,  crayons, hair clips, pens, pencils and crayons. I carry this for others; for those who live in the spirit of generosity but whose journey though life follows a different path.

*Board an assortment of aircraft, carefully timed to intertwine with the plans of others...
It  was some ridiculously cold temperature on February 1 when Carol and I slipped (quite literally) into a taxi at 3:30am. It was Nearly 30C and stifflingly humid when we arrived at the 5* Grand Palladium resort in Montego Bay, Jamaica 12 hours later.



After a week that featured family, food, a glorious wedding and more than a few moments of delicious hedonism we arrived home to swirling snow and painful predictions of more to come. I was still basking in the glow of my first all-inclusive...changing from sandals and tee to boots and sweater...when I received a text from Liz. "All United flights are canceled. Saturday departure rescheduled to Monday, February 11.

Monday, February 18, 2013

Better late than never! Challenges, Choices & Comitancillo


Getting there is half the fun. Right?

"Once social change begins, it cannot be reversed. You cannot un-educate the person who has learned read. You cannot humiliate the person who feels pride. You cannot oppress the people who are not afraid anymore."
Cesar Chavez, address to the Commonwealth Club in San Fransisco


It wasn't just that I wanted to get out of the skin-numbing cold. I wanted to get back to Guatemala's tough sweetness; the shy, distraught, sad happiness that I struggled to understand in 2011. Two yearforward I feel differently about me and I am curious to see how my perceptions might change. I know I want to give more...or at the very least do more. Let the learning begin...

Damn, but first I  have to get there!

TACA, the Central American airline we are booked on from San Salvador to Guatemala City,  takes over from the grounded United. They get the connection right but mess up tbe Ottawa to Toronto piece of the puzzle. Liz spends Saturday on the phone, like thousands of other weary winter travelers,  trying unsuccessfully to print boarding passes. Although our tickets are now dated Feb. 11, we decide to head to the airport Sunday evening. Our comrades, Janice, Ken and Janet, are already in Comitancillo, San Marcos.  We have a busy schedule planned, with 100 stoves to document in a dozen rural communities...most not reachable by car.

Freezing rain is predicted. Our Ottawa to Toronto flight is still uncertain. 

We do what any hearty travelers would do. We head downtown to the bus station, where we wait for 4 hours before departure. 

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Combating Poverty Through Education

Friday, February 25, 2011



Another drive on the yellow school bus into Guatemala City, a brief stop at Safe Passage and then on to the Guarderia.

I feel like a deer caught in the headlights. How should I be feeling? I suppose I imagined myself playing with kids and "making happy". I want this to happen. Still, as hard as I try to force it, my smiles just won't come.

I am stunned. The reality of  Guatemala City and the dump situation numbs me from the inside out. At times I feel frozen. So many emotions. So many thoughts. My body has trouble correlating and tabulating and moving in unison with them. The very thought of not thinking about it all exhausts me.

I can't cry. That "dumb-smile" overtakes me. (If you are reading this and you were there with me on this day then maybe you know what I mean...because you saw me wearing it...you saw me retreating to my safe place in my mind, scribbling words and words and more words in my tiny gold-laced silk journal).


Safe Passage is a natural response to an unnatural situation. Decades of violence and human rights abuses have created this chaos. Nobel Peace Prize winner (1992) Rigoberta Menchu drew international attention to the government-sponsored genocide of  Guatemala's indigenous people during a Civil War that killed over 200,000 Mayans. Estimates are that over 450 Mayan villages were destroyed and over one million people were displaced or became refugees.

Today, in a population of about 13 million people, 56.2% live in poverty!

The average age in Gauatemala is 19.4 years old (18.9 for males and 20 for females). Low life expectency is believed to be the result of disease, malnutrition, underdevelopment and minimal formal education.

"The problems of my people are many," is the phrase I play over and over in my mind. Gracelda was right. She was soooo pathetically right.

Although it hardly seems so, the children before me are among the lucky ones. They are the first generation in generations to give hope for a better future. A decade earlier they would have merely existed, with the pitiful "untouchable" logo engraved forever across their foreheads, been warn down and kicked about by it.




There is something else that bothers me today. It is me. And others like me. We slip in gasping predictably, believing our own shock and awe. We are the "Camera People". My lens starts to feel invasive. If I were one of these children I would tell me to put my money where my lens is.

This community, huddled under slices of jagged tin, needs solutions. But not my solutions. What they really need is power; a power that will enable their own unique strength, ingenuity and imagination to flourish.

Of course, our presence here, our photos, our stories, our very emotions go far in delivering what is needed. Becuase when we bring all these things back with us and share them with others we create awareness. Others knowing what goes on is vital when change requires money to get the ball rolling.

Still, I don't take as many photos as I really want to. For much of the day I put my camera away. I use my other tools. My curiousity. My netbook. My journal.

I work in the 3 year old room today. We head to our posts just before 9 am; behind gates, monitored by guards. Once we get to where we are going it is a different world. These classrooms could easily be transplanted to any Canadian preschool. Sand box. Water play. Wash-the-baby station. I join the singing circle and observe the young Guatemalan teacher ans her lively attempt to engage the children.

At least half of the students are absent. I learn later that this is because there is some sort of  government food give-away happening. The parents have gone to get food rather than work in the dump and they have taken their kids with them. I imagine this is because if they are late picking up at the end of the day the child will not be accepted the the followng day. It seems harsh under these circumstances. But on further observation it really isn't. It helps the parents learn responsibility and the value of time...their time, volunteer time and the teacher's time.

The children in the circle are quiet. They aren't what my experience tell me is "typical". Certainly not the pampered rambunctious kids I am use to seeing. There is only one boy in the group. He seems tired. I wonder about his age. Mostly he sits intolerably still.

Breakfast is a roll with bean paste (Man, Guatemalan's love their rolls!), and a milky-looking drink (not milk) that I can't identify. An hour or so later the teacher delivers a bowl with jello and suspended banana to each child. They go outside after snack and I wash the bowls and cutlery.

This is where things get sticky. In Guatemala there is no hot running water in sinks (or so has been my limited experience). And definitely no dishwashers. (Just getting warm water in the shower is a luxury. I know I harp on this. As it turns out I really am a spoiled westerner and I HATE taking a cold shower. I whimper at the mere thought.) So, I rince off the dishes with polluted. bacteria-laden water. And I place them on the tray wet, feeling somewhat guilty as Ideliver them to the kitchen. I'm not being tailed by the health department. I watch as the amiable kitchen staff place them back on the shelf for use during lunch.

Today I feel brave. Maybe I feel strong in body, certainly not in mind. So I eat the lunch provided. It is the one an only time I do this. The others tell me it is "safe". I've taken the last of my cipro antibiotic so I sure hope it is so.

Lunch? Mystery meat (perhaps bologna) drenched in a spice-free tomato sauce, mashed potatos and a salad swimming in a runny white dressing. "Never ever ever eat lettuce in Guatemala." Tom's warning rings in my ears. I eat the tortilla. I eat some meat. I try a spoonful of potato. And I pray that I don't succumb to another runny gastro-intestinal disaster.

Sarah has been assigned to create a bulliten board demonstrating colour and counting. She dives in, making a plan, cutting out shapes and affixing them to a wall board in the comon area. At one pooint I offer to help. I sit at the child-sized table and outline parts of a flower. It's a meagre contribution.



After lunch Sarah and I interview Susana, the founder of Oneness and the creator of the Planting Seeds ECE program. Susana easily admits to not being comfortable on camera. However, she is passionate about her topic so I manage to quite easily take her mind off the invasive lens. I have no shortage of questions. We both concentrate. Sarah moves around us with her camera. It takes 40 minutes.

I am inspired by the video. I take my camera, switch on the video and film an English lesson in the common area. Julia Byers of Seattle impressed me yet again. Wow! She is a born teacher. She sings. She engages them in a language they need to learn but only hear while in this place. She is firm. She is compassionate. I watch. Visitors from a Rotary Club in Maine watch. Marg and Sarah and Susana watch. Julia is undaunted. Her role is to be with the children and that is what she focuses on. And man-oh-man she does her job well!

Congratulations Julia from Seattle, these children are fortunate to learn from you!


Afterwards, I meet Comino Seguro's Volunteer Coordinator, Madeline; another youthful American wise beyond her years.  I talk to her about my concerns and fears and general thoughts. She listens. I ask her to talk me on a tour of the dump environs. I am particularly interested in the Adult Literacy Program and actually seeing the "dump".

Monday morning at 9am I will get a tour. Hopefully this will help me better digest where I am and why...


The bus leaves for "home" at 4:15 pm. All I can think about is dinner. We have reservations at a Guatemalan restaurant owned by a couple from Texas. The prmoise of live ethnic music makes me smile. I think I will get dressed up;have a shower, throw on the burgandy skirt I bought at the Chi Chi Market with my lilac shawl and comb my hair. This is Sarah's last night in Guatemala. I can hardly believe that three weeks are over, gone, vanished. But we have accomplished so much. I am so grateful for every moment.

 It takes us well over an hour to get out of Guatemala City. Dinner is at 7:30. Damn, I am so hungry...