February 6
This promises to be a busy day for us. We are up and at the Market by 7:30am. We don’t have to go far to be assaulted by the noise and smell of this raw weekly event. Already the main street has been turned into a trading metropolis. At the top of the steep path that leads to our “hotel” the fun begins. We dodge chickens wandering aimlessly, pigs and cows on leashes and sellers who literally ooze desperation. Many of the sights are difficult to watch with Westerner eyes. A man all but drops a fervently protesting full grown pig off the back of a truck. Children barely old enough to cross the street by themselves holding leashes tied to animals that could effortlessly crush them. Birds on death row, waiting to be slaughtered, crammed inside shallow baskets and covered with netting.
I hold my bag tighter as we descend into the fun zone. For a shopper this is an over-the-top bonanza of possibilities. It is almost too much to take in at one time. Miraculously, I buy nothing. Of course, I still don’t have any way to access my money so my restraint is really of the forced variety. My ATM card is worthless here it seems. In any case Liz is moving us along quickly to that we reach our destination –the town square-- at the appointed time.
By the time Charlie arrives we have already become the topic of conversation among the locals. This is not like Antigua, I have learned. Gringos are not a common sight here unless, of course, they are medical professionals brought in to travel, talk and treat. And so it isn’t surprising that we are approached shamelessly. Shoeshine boys carrying the tools of their trade on their backs, young candy hawkers, and men with toothless grins anxious to be healed by a medical professional hover around and stare. Our pastel skin makes it impossible to blend in. Surprisingly though, the townsfolk ate anything but rude.
I say Buenos Dias in my best wobbly Spanish and every person, regardless of age, responds in kind.
Charlie is late. We are grateful for the extra time to become acclimatized to the strangeness that surrounds us. My sense is that Charlie is a big-wig in this town; an American with a purpose. Fortunately Charlie’s home, where we are heading, is quite far removed from the market chaos. We follow him, single file much of the time, as has become our pattern, down a cobblestone alleyway that transforms into a street, past market-goers and into a tiny courtyard. A well-nourished black baby cat greets us.
Joanie, Liz and Charlie are making lunch for us today in one of the surrounding villages. We are here to pack up kitchen utensils, pots and pans. ..and to see where/how Charlie lives. In just a short time we have all become quite found of him. He is an incredible representative for the US, doing valuable work for the people of Guatemala.
Next stop is the AMMID store, N. 45 on the second floor of the market building. We backtrack to get here; wade past throngs of people and produce and beggars, young and old. The AMMID store sells the materials designed and created by the women of the Weaving Coop we met yesterday. Women gather outside the door before it opens, holding bags for scarves and shawls and coasters and placemats. Once open we find yoga bags, purses of every description and bags of every colour. There are also stacks of the most colourful yamica’s (sp?Jewish hats)—a true oddity to be among these passionate Evangelists. I buy myself a purse, which I absolutely love! The money from my purchase assures that the artisan is paid a fair wage. The women of this coop are in control of their destiny, likely for the first time. In essence, they are self-employed entrepreneurs – a real step up from their traditional roles as baby-makers and home-keepers.
Liz herds us back through the market and the heart of the town so that we aren’t late for our meeting at the AMMID office. We stay close and watch each other’s bags. We know that this is where robberies are most likely to occur. We’ve been warned about pick-pockets with nimble fingers and crafty pocket knives. Along the way we purchase peanuts and eggs and peppers and onions for our cooking lesson.
The meeting with AMMID Director Ruban and member, Fransisco, is a presentation about the group. The Ottawa/Perth based GSP is one of the group’s funders and they are anxious to impress us so that we continue to support their work. Of course we already know that the work they are doing is valuable and much needed. We also know, based on what we have seen, that there are some serious concerns about how and where the stoves we have funded have been built.
The objective of AMMID (www.ammidguatemala.blogspot.com -- go to google to translate), we are told, is to fully develop the capacity of the community. The group aims to promote sustainable development, risk reduction , gender equality, food security, and to grow the community’s potential. The vision of AMMID, says Ruban, is to have an inclusive society based on the principals of equality, harmony and respect for nature. (Hopefully, I will be able to post a video of Ruban’s talk in the next few days).
We hear him but based on what we have seen in the past few days we know there is a long way to go. AMMID represents 28 communities comprised of 758 families (663 women, 85 men). They are funded solely by NGO’s such as GSP, not the government. Unfortunately, one of their main concerns of late comes to them via Canada. Goldcorp’s proposal to mine in the north of Guatemala has drawn protests and huge concern for the naive rural population represented by AMMID.
Over the next few weeks Charlie and AMMID will host 2 groups of dentists. They will set up oral preventative health clinics in the schools. Dentistry For All is the Canadian group that will arrive the week after we leave.
I ask Ruban what it is that his group most needs to serve the people. He tells us that a huge concern at the present time is that the funding they have relied on is now coming to an end. They know that they must be more self-sustaining but still need outside resources to help them get to that point. They need to invest in projects that will contribute towards the operation of the organization. Charlie makes two suggestions: 1. Solicit a volunteer with an MBA who can act as a business advisor for the group, and 2. Turn the raw product from the garden into healthy finished food that the women can sell.
We say Chjonte (thank you in Mam) and head for the hills and our luncheon with a group of local women.
Preparing for the lunch, making the lunch and sharing it with the women and their families is a highlight of my journey thus far. It has become a joke among my fellow travellers that I cry every day. But they are always tears of joy! The excitement with which we are received when we arrive at the tiny homestead where we are to cook is more than heartwarming. We are strangers to these people. Yet they open their arms to us, sharing what little they have with such profound generousity.
Each of us is given an apron as we get down to work. I am Liz’s sous chef. My job is to chop apricots, which she bought at Metro back home, and squish the peanuts purchased in the market. She explains every step of the process (not really knowing if her plan to cook the cornmeal cake atop an empty tuna can of water will actually work!), and one of the women diligently takes notes, seriously asking questions as things progress. I offer one of a gaggle of giggling little girls an apricot. Soon they are all pushed up against me. I hadn’t considered that they didn’t know the sweetness of this dried fruit. I stop what I am doing and offer everyone a slice.
Outside the rest of the volunteers are chopping and slicing potatoes, peppers, onions and watermelon for our feast. Joanie is preparing to make her egg creation with Jackie by her side.
It is a hot sunny day. We take turns resting under a humungous avocado tree and gazing out over the hills. I am taking pictures of the children with Charlie’s camera (Charlie, if you are reading this please send me a file of these photos, especially the ones of you in the frilly apron!)
A younger woman washes dishes in water we have spiked with a dash of bleach. Bacteria is a constant concern among us gringos. I dry every fork, spoon and plate diligently. My worst fear is to have digestive problems in the middle of nowhere while squished into a truck bouncing along dusty paths that double as roads.
Lunch is wonderful! I am shocked by how tasty everything is and by how receptive the women are to learning new recipes. The women here, I learn, are leaders in their community. They will take this newfound knowledge back to the other women and attempt to persuade them to incorporate the new ideas into their family meals.
Luckily I stayed up late the night before and gathered up my few possessions so that my pack would be ready. Because we are running late. The driver from Adrelina Tours is waiting for us when we arrive back at the hotel.
Two hours later we are in Xela, at Casa Argentina where the Marg and the rest of the group have assembled over the last few days. But Marg (Ottawa), John (Owen Sound), and Janice (Prince Albert, Sask) are not there. Apparently there was a plumbing back-up the previous day that filled the “lobby” with raw sewage. They found alternative accommodations. For a time I consider the same but then recall that the cost for staying at this hostel is only about $6 per day! I am given a room with Sarah and I am happy!
I follow the group to a restaurant around the corner, down cobblestone streets to the “Blue Angel”. It is nice to be here with everyone. Most I have met at the GSP workshop in January.
I order a plate with 3 small crispy tortillas lathered with fresh spiced avocado. I should have stopped there, but I don’t. The vegan oatmeal cookie calls out to me so I devour it. This is becoming an issue for me, thinking that I can eat as the others so, forgetting who I am and my limitations. Almost immediately my stomach cramps up. I can barely stand to pay for my meal. Joanie senses my discomfort and stays close to me as we head back to the hostel. Within seconds she is holding my forehead while I vomit into the gutter…twice.
It is chilly. I remember that I have left the sole room key inside the locked room. Max and Andre figure out a way to take the transom off and slip Ma, backwards in to the room to unlock the door and retrieve the key.
Happily, the airline has delivered my bags. It is clear that they have been rummaged through. I’ll make a list of missing objects later. Right now I am exhausted. The best I can do is remove the hidden medicines donated by Perth doctors and give them to Tom.
Tomorrow is our first day of stove building. I am feeling strong and motivated. I can do anything!!
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