More adventures from Feb. 4!

I am now a mountain trekker! Thank you Trailhead for the nifty hiking boots. They are responsible – along with some unabashed handholding from Charlie and Jim – for  my uprightedness during this day and the next.  The stoves are not exactly in houses lined up next to each other in neighbourhoods. They are definitely part of communities, but few are directly accessible by vehicles. We park and walk. Up hills. On paths of slippery sand and rock. The rainy season here is long over and the ground is desert-like.  Still, the scenery is breathtaking.

 We marvel at garden after garden carved into the sides of hills, using every possible inch of land. Even the shoulders of the roads are garden plots for someone.  How the people work them without losing their footing and sliding into the abyss amazes us.

Our mission this day is to photograph and document 22 stoves that have been built by AMMID  since Sept. 2010, with funds from our stove project.  Ruban and Charlie have made the arrangements.

We visit 19 “estufa’s”. I have photos of each family standing proudly next to theirs. Three families are not home. They have gone to work at the “finca” (coffee plantation). The poorest of the Mam people go there when they don’t have enough money to live. It is a low wage job and reminds me of the American South and its history of sugar cane slavery. I am dying to get to the Internet so I can find some sort of acceptable definition for “Fair Trade”. If these people are mistreated at the Finca’s – warehoused workers paid and treated with disdain -- and we are supporting coffee productions by drinking copious amounts in posh coffee houses, then is “fair” really a word we dare use at places like Starbucks and Bridgehead?

These notes are written on the run. I have taken to scribbling in my journal as we move, transcribing  into Word when time permits and then trolling for an Internet connection that actually works. There is little time to spell or grammar check or to even read over my helter-skelter thoughts.

And my thoughts and feelings are definitely all over the place. I have been close to tears more than once. Tears of joy that I am here doing this. Tears of disbelief that I cannot do more to help…and that they do not do more to help themselves. The contradictions are definitely a slap in the face. A cellphone tower hovering over a village of ramshackle homes where people with barely a bed to sleep on answer cell phones nicer than my pitiful pay-as-you-go. Garden after garden of nutrious vegetables and tree after tree of the sweetest fruit you will ever taste surrounding villages of scrawny, malnourished children. Whole stores dedicated solely to the sale of sugary, poisonous soda pop that they devour incredibly, an obvious commitment to family but a high incidence of rape, early motherhood, drunkenness, horrible air, rampant pollution, insanely lax road rules, and seemingly unchecked violence.     

The first stove we see is still warm, used in the morning to make breakfast. It was built by an AMMID mason in September 2010. New stoves should remain untouched for 14 to 30 days after being built but sometimes the women are so excited that they can’t wait to ditch their “campfires”, straighten up and stand next to their “modern” new estufa. Unfortunately, there are consequences to being too eager. This is probably the case here. The woman of the house tells us that the door – used to put wood in and create the draft that makes the stove efficient – fell off after 3 days of use. The door controls the venelation; it allows   for maximum oxygen to control the temperature of the flame and helps prevent deforestation by requiring far less wood. However, without a door the smoke stays stagnant because there isn’t suction from the window.

Charlie trains women to cook over the open flame. Most of the women speak “Mam”. He is fluent in Spanish but not so much in their ancient language.  Ruban translates for Charlie who translates – with the help of Liz – for us. The stove is the centre of the house  in these rural villages.  And the house is where the Mam women mostly live.

 There is a huge temperature shift each day and it gets cold in the hills. Last year, Ruban tell us, it snowed.

As we trudge up and down treacherous paths to view the third stove, I hear music. It sounds like someone is playing a keyboard. We are moving too quickly to stop and investigate, and what would I do anyway? Here it is rude to go to someone’s door unannounced. Ruban and our guide – a woman from the community – always go ahead to signal our arrival. Of course there is little doubt that they already know we are close by. This is not a place where tourists normally tread.

We are a few stoves -- a few families -- in before I truly realize the significance of our visits. The women are wearing their best outfits.  Many of the men are away at the “finca”, leaving the women to fend for themselves and their many children. It is difficult to guess the ages of the children. They are so small. Boys I believe are 12 years old are actually 20. Girls as young as 7 or 8 are carrying their tiny siblings on their backs. As in all societies, the girls mimic their mothers, aspiring to be mothers and nothing more.  It is a problem here that Charlie addresses each and every day.

Our Canadian charity (Guatemala Stove Project or GSP) has funded the building of these stoves. But we soon realize that there are issues with many of them. Paul makes the most of every moment. He measures and takes notes, documenting the dimensions and the issues. I can tell that it saddens Charlie that there are issues.  Some stoves have a cut-out at the bottom, which makes them look like they have legs. This style is not approved by the GSP, not because the materials cost more but because it takes at least a day longer to build. Some have an ill-fitting “plancha” or cooktop. When the “plancha” doesn’t fit well it allows smoke to escape… the very thing we are trying to avoid. In other cases smoke leaks from the stove pipe. These are all things that can be fixed. Stove building on a dirt floor in a small adobe  is not an exact science. I am thoroughly amazed at how the materials even reach some of these places.

At the fifth home we are confronted with the effects of Hurricane Agatha. Not all that long ago there  was a cookhouse here, but it was washed down the hill with several houses, landing on other houses. I don’t go down the steep path to this one. The family is at the finca. Instead I watch and listen.

Once again the contradictions are like a slap in the face.  Children are playing in my sightlines. I have been in their home and not seen a single toy. Yet the boys sport clothes from GAP and sports jerseys from European football teams. I suspect that many of the unwanted clothing we stuff into charity boxes in gas station parking lots find their way here. The girls, with very few exceptions, wear elaborate traditional gear that they either weave themselves or purchase at the market, and dark, albeit dusty, wedge-heeled shoes

My camera is invasive here. I know this. Hell, my presence is invasive. I would love to know how they are feeling about this gringo on their doorstep.

We are in the village of Tuiquiac. The volcano Tajumulco towers over us at 14,890 ft.

The last houses we see on this day are on the top of a hill. Charlie estimates that we have climbed 2,800 ft. The air is thin at this altitude but breathing is not my problem. The steep incline on sandy soil is a challenge, but I do it fairly cheerfully.