Only Time Will Tell

I made it safely back to my site last weekend. The trip, however,was not my typical four hour/three bus jaunt. Repairs on the bridge between Chiquimulilla and my site still haven’t commenced which added a little detour to my usual route. At the bridge all passengers were unloaded and directed to take a rocky side path down to the river. We then crossed three provisional bridges that just barely cleared the rushing waters below and continued to trek back up a steep hill to the awaiting buses on the other side. While crossing the river I could see the once sturdy bridge now dangling by its support cables 100 feet above my head. The site was a stunning visual of mother nature’s destructive power.

Once back in site I started making the rounds. I visited Seno Lili, Jenny, Loyda and ran into a handful of other socios while walking around town. It felt great to greet everyone in the streets, only i found that instead of a simple “good afternoon,” everyone saluted me with a, "You've finally appeared! We thought you were never coming back." While out and about I ran into the Coop treasurer Don Alfonso who informed me that our Cooperative was in the process of moving tienda locations to a much more “rustic” building with a lower rent. I made a trip to Eslin’s house, our shopgirl, and good friend of mine. She confessed to me that she had quit and will be working at the new libreria that will occupy the cooperative’s old space. I have no hard feelings- I think the Coop came to rely on her too much anyway- and am just glad that she didn’t decide to take a job in Guatemala City.

Last Monday I spent the day with the socios cleaning and fixing-up the new local. About ten minutes into the clean-up I managed to cut my foot on a rusty nail (just my luck) and after giving it a good cleaning called Johanna at the Peace Corps medical office- her response, “I would like to bubble wrap you.” We both decided that I suffer from a “lack of spacial awareness” and I agreed to continue to keep the wound clean and let her know if “it gets pussy or begins to smell” (gross- and luckily neither occurred- the wound is nearly completely healed as I write this post). We finished cleaning the store that evening - the only thing it lacked was product. While cleaning I was informed that the new shop keeper will be a 20 year old guy from a nearby Aldea. Working with a male will change my daily work dynamic immensely. I don’t think I’ll be able to just sit and chat at the store like I did with Eslin. But, I am looking forward to starting from scratch with the store bookkeeping - a clean slate will make it easier for me to get him in the habit of keeping good records. I only hope that he isn’t filled with too much machismo and doesn’t mind taking orders from a female. Time will tell how this change effects the progress I make here.

Wednesday I traveled with Don Jamie and Don Edgar (the current and former Coop presidents) to Cuilapa (a two hour trip in pick-up) to the INACOP offices for a little meeting for all Santa Rosa Coops. INACOP had called the meeting because an opportunity to request government funding for projects had emerged and they wanted to let all Coops try their luck at scoring some of the purse. Nearly 15 representatives from various Cooperatives throughout the department showed up. We were given a small presentation which was followed by a roundtable discussion. The more outspoken attendees took advantage of this time to preach about their misfortunes and coinciding acts of perseverance in the midst of previous monetary obstacles. One woman gave an account of her groups situation, starting her narrative with, “I only would like a few moments of your time” which in Guatemala indicates that she will have the floor for the better part of the next 15-30 minutes. She spoke of the humble beginnings of her cooperative that initiated with the desire to have an income generating outlet for women in her community. They underwent many obstacles to get the group off the ground and reach their current status (abbreviated for brevity’s sake). She then informed us that last year her group had received approval for Q200,000 of funding from the government but when corruption plagued the economic department’s ranks and the head was ousted his budget went with him. This is typical of the empty promises for which the Guatemalan government is so famous. She is still wondering if and when she’ll get the money. The good that came out of her monologue was her depiction of all the trials and tribulations her Cooperative had endured and the success they’ve still found even without the support of the government. On the ride back to Casas Viejas, Jamie and Don Edgar spoke of how much they liked what she had said. We returned home with our spirits high- confident that we could turn around our Coop’s crisis as other Coops had done before us. Still, we wanted to try our luck at government support and resolved to submit three small project requests for funding.

Saturday morning I worked with Seno Maritza on composing our three funding requests. Initially, I was supposed to work with my counterpart Toribio on the documents but his wife fell ill and he had to take her Chiquimulilla. (I’ve heard many accounts of stomach ailments since my return- not uncommon during the rainy season when the water is even less safe to drink than usual). I was happy to work with Maritza on the project profiles as I have found that if anything actually has a chance of getting done in the Coop- she’ll need to be involved. Not that others don’t work, its just she has the capacity to think critically and analyze ideas in an efficient and productive way.

Maritza is a heaven sent for me. She is a mother of four, including one mentally handicapped son, she is a teacher at the elementary school during the morning and is the director of a preschool she runs out of her own home in the afternoon. She also has taken on a “managerial role” at the minibank - closing the bank and doing all the checks and balances at about 6pm every day. When I arrived at her house on Saturday morning she was readying a chicken for a stew. I spent the first thirty minutes in her presence chatting at her pila while she worked with efficient hands beheading, cleaning and disemboweling the body of a recently deceased chicken. As she sawed off the chicken’s head she explained to me that she didn’t know how to prepare a chicken until she moved to Casas Viejas (she is from a town outside of Antigua). “My mother-in-law taught me how,” she told me. As she continued talking I stared at the chicken in a daze, focusing on its mouth as its beak opened and closed in rhythm with every thrust of the knife. My stomach began to turn- seeing the face of the animal was a reminder that it was once alive, breathing from that mouth and seeing out of those eyes. When Maritza found that the knife couldn’t finish the job of severing the head, she took the head in one hand and the lower neck in the other and with one swift yank tore the head from the body and dropped it in a bucket. I was relieved that the face was now out of site and concluded that I’d rather not acquire a mother-in-law that would ever want to teach me to perform proper chicken decapitation.

After the chicken was prepared and had been placed in the fridge, we sat down and spent the rest of the afternoon pumping out three proposals for funding; a community drainage project, a minibank project and a request for additional funding for our tienda. I think the only proposal that stands any chance of funding is the community drainage project. I can’t see the government dealing out cash for a bank or store amplification. However, I was happy to help with the writing and glad that the Coop is not sitting idly by but instead taking advantage of opportunities as they present themselves. Sunday I sent the proposals to the appropriate contact via email. Once again, only time will tell...

While departing Maritza’s house her son Rene came in and told us
that the river that cuts through Casas Viejas was overflowing and flooding the North side of town. Heavy rainfall in the mountains was making its way down the canal and emptying out onto numerous plots of land held by town residents- including Don Edgar (his house is the light blue one in the below picture). This was the third time this year that the town suffered from flooding. At this point it is almost becoming a normality- as I walked the street taking pictures I found groups of kids swimming in their front yards and families hanging out on their porches just watching as the water rose. Some people even posed for pictures, imploring me to come closer to get a better shot. Coincidentally, the government proposal Maritza and I had written for drainage was aimed at avoiding this very exact problem.

Sunday afternoon I had my first soccer game in almost four months. I first thought it might be a bad idea to play with my nose still healing but, since none of the other girl players challenge for balls in the air, I felt I was pretty safe from any more head trauma. I was right and left the game unscathed and with two assists and one goal to my name. We won 5-0.

Today we worked once again on the tienda, this time stocking all the shelves with merchandise. It took 6 hours to place all the products and do an inventory (which I insisted was necessary even though they performed one before leaving the old location.) I met the new shop keeper Hector- very nice young man and I have a feeling we will get along just fine- namely because he seemed on board with my record keeping requests during a little impromptu bookkeeping training I gave him. Tomorrow we open the store at 6:30 AM and I’m heading into this with high hopes!

The last month of my life...

Over a month ago I embarked on my first visit back to the US since arriving in Guatemala. Leading up to the big trip everyone urged me to prepare myself for reverse culture shock- shock at how clean the US is, at how good it smells, at how efficiently things are run- but after an unexpected mouth gaping moment induced by a wall stacked with American magazines (pop culture overload I guess) at the Newsbeat airport shop in Atlanta, I easily fell right back into the swing of things.

My vacation began with a good old fashioned cross country road trip. My sister Danica was moving from DC to LA and I gladly offered myself up as co-pilot with one stipulation, she would have to teach me to drive stick shift. To be fair, she had no other option since her Suburu is a manual. We practiced my shifting abilities a few times in the parking lot of Mi Casita (the first meal I had back was Mexican- go figure) and although I was no Earnhardt I managed to share driving time without blowing out the transmission. Our route went from DC to Savannah (charming little picture perfect town) to New Orleans (I can’t speak for the rest of NOLA but the French Quarter was alive and kickin’) to Austin (now I know why everyone raves about Austin- A-MAZING) to Balmhorea, TX (um yeah, West Texas, nuff said) to Tucson (I got the best pedicure ever there) to Los Angeles (home sweet home). Danica and I had a great time exploring each city, eating local fare and rocking out in the car to Belinda Carlisle and Katy Perry (we couldn’t escape that California Gurlz song- but it was fitting).

Back in LA I got to grab sushi with the girls,
hang out with Ty at the Warped Tour (wish you had been there Kamille!), watch World Cup with old soccer buddies, enjoy my mom’s birthday dinner with the family and do a couple nights out in Manhattan Beach. As my stay progressed, slowly but surely I realized nothing stateside had really changed. My friends were dealing with the same old drama, the ribs at Johnny P’s tasted just as delectable as they did last year and even Justin Bobby was still on the hills (really MTV? so disappointing). Being back in the states was such a treat but I guess the grass is always greener and after my two weeks romping around the US I was ready to get back to Guatemala.

The Sunday before my departure I was soaking up one last day of fun with my friends down in Manhattan Beach when disaster struck. Kelly, Alexis, Danielle, Kirsten and I decided to partake in a friendly game of beach volleyball. OK, sidebar, anyone that knows me knows that I don’t do a “friendly game” of anything- I’m much too competitive by nature. So in this game of volleyball, when I saw a return ball about to hit sand I dove for it. Unfortunately, so did Kelly’s fiance Joe and we collided, or more precisely, my face slammed against the back of his head. My face went completely numb, my mouth was full of sand and I just started touching my nose and running my tongue along my teeth to make sure they were all still there. Alexis ran over to me and I asked her if there was any blood. The response was affirmative and was confirmed by the newly formed red droplets dripping from my fingers. I remember Alexis saying “Let’s get her to the hospital” and just thinking, “Oh my, I can NOT deal with this right now.” In all honesty, I was more pissed than scared. My perfect last day had just taken a turn for the worse. It didn’t help knowing that getting injured while serving in the Peace Corps is a process. Volunteers are supposed contact the appropriate medical officers before any care or medical services are rendered and there I was in my bathing-suit, no Peace Corps insurance card, no Peace Corps phone numbers, no nothing. Luckily, I had the best friends in the world taking care of me. They all rushed me to the urgent care and before the doctor had finished cleaning and dermabonding my nose Danielle was on the phone with Marjie at the DC headquarters getting all the insurance procedural information for me. Danielle also was the one to pass along the message from Marjie that this incident had put me on medical hold. I could forget about flying back to Guatemala the next day.

The urgent care physician didn’t have the ability to confirm if my nose was indeed broken so I had to wait a few days for the swelling to go down and then make a trip to an ENT doctor to get my nose looked at again. That Thursday I went with my Dad to Dr. Lee’s office in Thousand Oaks. I thought I was prepared for any outcome- either he was going to tell me the nose wasn’t broken and i’d be on a plane back to Guatemala that night or he was going to tell me it was broken and i’d have to live with it (i don’t think Peace Corps pays for nose jobs) and i’d be on a plane back to Guatemala that night. Since I’m tired of writing, (I’m out of blogging shape after taking a month off) I’m going to share my doctor’s office experience via an email I wrote to my girl friends after returning home from the visit.

Hey girls,

Just got back from the doctors- most traumatizing experience ever. He
performed a closed nasal reduction which basically translates to
"break nose back into place". I think the whole ordeal was worse than
when I actually broke my nose in the first place. The worst part was
that I was awake during the entire procedure- first he stuck long
needles up my nose to give me local anesthesia, then he grabbed these
huge metal prongs - long enough to do a frontal lobotomy, shoved them
up my nose and started thrusting my nose back into place. So
excruciatingly painful and all the while i'm hearing the cracks and
pops. When he was done molding my nose he pulled up a mirror and says,
"doesn't it look better?". I look at my poor face, nose blotchy with
black and blue and yellow and red, blood starting to run down my
nose again and my cheeks all puffy- i looked so awful I responded,
"um, not really" Then he bandaged me up and put a little plastic
cast over the bridge of my nose. I was in shock. I’m pretty
sure I left the office hyperventilating I was so traumatized.

That was at 9am. I'm feeling a lot better- i've been reassured by
everyone that after the swelling goes down its going to look back to
normal- I just can't get the picture of the way it looked in the
mirror out of my mind. Also, the Peace Corps has been really helpful
and accommodating- that Marjie is a gem. The doctor wants to do a
follow-up next week so i'll be hanging out at my parents for a little
longer. Looking on the bright side, i'll have all the time in the
world to study for the GRE.

So thats the update, not pretty but i guess it could always be worse
right? At least I still have all my teeth!

That pretty much says it all. The following three weeks I spent at home recuperating and studying for the GRE (I did manage to make it out, nose cast and all, for the 4th of July).
What I haven’t mentioned yet is that before the accident I was supposed to go back to Guatemala on June 28th but I also had a second trip back to The States planned for July 16th-27th to take the GRE and go to my friends Ally and Jon’s wedding. I was still on medical hold up and through my second planned vacation and therefore, still able to take the GRE and attend the wedding. I was finally medically cleared to go back to country on July 28th. On the 29th I was on a red eye back to Guatemala.

My dad always complains that in my blog I tell a story but don’t explain how my experiences are effecting me on an emotional level (that is what you get for having a psychiatrist as a father). So I’m going to use the end of this post to share some of my more internal thoughts.

The last few days leading up to my departure from California I started getting worried about coming back to Guatemala. I knew that the prolonged stay in the states would make the transition back to my much slower paced and less luxurious life in Guatemala all the more difficult. To explain, being in the Peace Corps is like being on an emotional roller coaster. When I’m here in Guatemala, although few and far between, I do have very lonely days, days that make me miss my life in the states, days that make me yearn for the personal connections I have with friends and family at home, days that leave me empty and in need of that sense of oneness and belonging that being in a foreign culture prohibits. These days of solitude are then counterbalanced by days of extreme bliss, days that make me feel like I have a purpose in life, days that make me feel loved, days that make me whole. My life here is characterized by this mixture of extreme highs and extreme lows. With that said, I’ve been afraid that coming off the heals of such a wonderfully (minus the broken nose bit) “high” trip home, I might experience an exaggerated “low” when I get back to my site.

Luckily, a couple days ago I called my host mom and Eslin to tell them i’d be back in Casas Viejas this week and hearing their enthusiastic voices on the other end of the line say they miss me and that they’ve been waiting for me to come back reassured me that the transition won’t be as bad as I’d imagined. I also get to see some of my favorite PC people Kamille and Trish before heading back to site. Trisha/Pati/The Dish was medically separated back in March/April and was recently reinstated so her arrival has been a LONG time coming and of course, I can never get enough of my Kamille! All of this has helped turned my fears and anxieties about returning into excitement. I am also eager to get back to my town, walk around the streets, shop in the little mercadito, visit my family and Coop socios, lay in my hammock and most of all get back to work. I did leave my Coop in crisis and although I know they have been surviving and will always be able to survive without me, I still have the desire to do what I can to make their work and lives a little better.

Agatha

The season’s first major tropical storm, hit Guatemala with ruthless fury last week. She came on the heals of two earthquakes and a volcanic eruption. As if those two catastrophes weren’t enough, Agatha was the third and final blow rounding out the trifecta of destruction.

The rains began on Wednesday and fell nonstop until Friday. I remember this because Friday morning was clear enough for me to get a load of laundry done, or at least I had hopes of getting it done. About 30 minutes after I hung my last pair of shorts on the line to dry the rains picked up again and I had to move my clothes under my rancho. Friday was also when I started getting phone calls from Peace Corps. First from the Duty Officer, then Ziara my project specialist, then David the Safety and Security Officer. To be honest, I didn’t know what they were all worried about. All the conversations went a little like this,

Them: “How is everything down there?”
Me: “Fine, all is pretty normal.”
Them: “How bad is the rain?”
Me: “Its been raining for a few days but nothing too out of the norm. I’m kinda enjoying it . The rain has cooled it down a bit here.”
Them: “Ok well let us know if the rain starts to cause any problems”

The exception to this dialogue was my conversation with David. He also informed me that I was being put on Standfast along with Trent, the other coastal volunteer. Being put on Standfast meant that I wasn’t able to leave my site until further notice. After this restriction was put on me I began talking with my neighbors about the storm. All of them said that the rain was typical of the season and that there really wasn’t anything to worry about. So worry I did not. Friday passed and then Saturday I got another round of phone calls. Another from Zaira, another from David and a third from Johanna, the medical nurse on duty. “What is all the fuss about?” I thought. I went along with my daily chores, then headed over to Seño Lili and Fernando’s for a lunch of caldo de mariscos (seafood soup). As soon as I made it upstairs where they had prepared the tables under their second story rancho I got another phone call from David. He informed me that the storm was getting worse and that I was being consolidated to Antigua with Trent. A driver would be out to pick me up in three to four hours. “Now this all is becoming serious”. I told my family that I was being consolidated but still had time to sit down to lunch and enjoy their delicious feast.

At about 4 PM Chepe, our Peace Corps driver, and Trent arrived at Casas Viejas. I loaded in my big backpack (I wanted to go prepared- with laptop, playing cards, books, enough clothes for a week...) and we were off. The entire trip the rain was pounding on the windshield and looking out the side windows I could see the sugar plantations begin to flood and pools of water growing rapidly over once green grazing land. Despite the bad road conditions, we were making good time. At 7:30 we were just about 45 minutes outside of Antigua when we came to our first line of red lights. We slowed to a crawl behind a seemingly endless line of cars that disappeared into the darkness in front of us. We moved at a snails pace for about 20 minutes until Chepe flagged down a driver coming the opposite direction and asked what was ahead, “No hay paso” (there is no passing) was the drivers response. We assumed there must have been a mudslide or damaged bridge ahead but it was getting to late to wait it out or investigate. Chepe decided it best if we try a different route and he hooked a Uey and we were off towards the Autopista. Another fifteen minutes passed on the new route when we hit our second round of red lights. This time we found ourselves behind six lanes of red brake lights lined up behind six toll booths with red lights above their windows. We turned on the news and found out a few big rigs had crashed on the toll road blocking all lanes. Chepe contacted the Peace Corps and it was decided that we would wait out the evenings storm in Esquintla.

We pulled up to our Peace Corps approved roach motel at about 9pm. When we got out of the car and asked the motel owner if he had suggestions of where we could go to eat he recommended his own Chinese restaurant attached to the motel. “General Pollo, muy bueno” he said in chinese accented spanish. We put our stuff down and I grubbed on my first chinese meal in 10 months. I ordered the General Pollo, (how could you not after the owner’s own endorsement) and I was not disappointed.

The next morning we walked around Esquintla a bit and found absolutely nothing of interest. We had a quick breakfast and bunkered up in our motel rooms waiting for the green light to get back on the road. Trent and I entertained ourselves with a movie I had brought. I’ll also mention here that I couldn’t have asked for a better consolidation mate. Trent and I got along really well during this whole fiasco. It was great to be around someone that was calm and looked at the experience as I did- “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade”. We both made the best of our situation - just chatting and going with the flow. At noon we got word from the local police that cars could pass on the Esquintla - Antigua route but that the movement was VERY slow. They weren’t lying. We got on the road immediately and waited in the same line we had been in the night before for 4 hours before we came upon the road damage. Our assumption the night before was confirmed. A river that normally ran under a bridge had overflown and covered the two lane highway with mud and debris. A John Deere was on the scene clearing a one lane path. They were allowing cars to pass 10 at a time. Ten from our side, ten from the other side. Every once in a while a sedan would get stuck in the mud and the Deere would have to go down and tow it out- slowing down the process. When it was finally our turn to pass, Chepe put our little SUV into second gear and broke threw to the other side without a problem. Getting on the other side of that mess was the best feeling ever. We were finally going to make it to Antigua. The rest of the route was ridden with minor mud/rockslides and road closures. We made it to our hostel at about 7 PM. A 7 hour trip that normally takes 1 hour.

When we arrived in Antigua we found a handful of other volunteers who were also on standfast in Antigua. We all grouped together and told stories of our personal storm experiences. I shared with them the story of my own town. Through phone calls back to Casas Viejas I had learned that the town was flooded Saturday night. Seño Lili recounted the destruction- homes flooded to their ceilings, cars completely covered by the water and livestock and chickens drowned. The school was flooded and shrimp and saltworks operations were destroyed. It was devastating but luckily no one was injured. Seño Lili told me she was glad that I got out when I did because she thought the sight of it all would have been too overwhelming for me to handle. When I asked about her home she said it wasn’t damaged and the water didn’t reach my casita either. We happen to be on the south side of the town, far away from the river that overflowed and caused all the flooding. I also learned that a main bridge along the route from my town to Esquintla was washed away in the storm. It was then impossible for me to get back to my site unless I found a new route through Guatemala city, to the border of El Salvador and back up to my town. This was a main reason for Peace Corps keeping Trent and me in Antigua.

As days went on we all learned more and more about the destruction that Agatha had caused. Roads were washed away, homes flooded, mudslides took lives and a large sink hole that seemingly opened to the middle of the earth covered a block in Guatemala city. A few of these tragedies hit close to home.

On Wednesday we found out that major landslides had devastated Ciudad Vieja and Dueñas, both towns near Antigua that Peace Corps volunteers and employees call home. Sadly, Eduardo’s, one of my Peace Corps Spanish teachers, home was completely destroyed by a mudslide that hit Ciudad Vieja. After learning about this tragedy Trent and I, along with about 10 other PCVs, went to help dig out homes in his town. When we arrived the scene was unbelievable. A mudslide had blocked up the local canal that deposits water rushing from Volcan de Agua above the city. With the canal clogged, the mud and debris still falling from the volcano’s slopes had to find another route down the mountain. The streets became the new route and mud poured into the city filling a 5 block radius. The town is on a slope so some homes had mud about waist deep throughout. Unfortunately, Eduardo's house is on the lower level of a slope and when the mud busted through the doors of his neighbor’s home above, it rushed down into his house- filling the entire first floor- leaving just the tops of doorways and windows visible above the sea of mud. Unfortunately, we were unable to begin digging out his house because there was too much mud they needed to wait for a machine or pump to help with the work. We ended up helping out at a few of his neighbors homes, shoveling mud, dragging it out to the street in buckets and wheel barrels. A tractor would sweep up the mud from the street, load it in a dump truck and it would be carried away to the local soccer field to be dumped.

Our week in Antigua wasn’t all depressing. With each new day that Peace Corps informed Trent and I that, once again, we were not able to go back to our sites, we took advantage of the time we had to explore the city. We went to see an art exhibit, watched live cuban music and climbed to la cruz to overlook the city.

Finally, I received the green light to come back to my site on Saturday - after a week of being away. Peace Corps mandated that I drive back to my site with Chepe in a PC SUV because my normal route home is still not passable. As I made my way back to Casas Viejas I realized that the damaged bridge isn’t just making my trip home more difficult but is blocking the only passage between my town and Chiquimulilla where a lot of people from my town go to school, work, shop, do their banking etc. Until that bridged is fixed, things are gonna be more difficult for people here. When I got back to site all the water had subsided but remnants of the storm were still visible. All around me were fallen trees, water damage lines on walls of homes, furniture sitting in the sun drying and cars being taken apart. I walked to the local mercadito to buy some vegetables and found three of my socios sitting on the stoop. José Angel, Don Alfonso and Don Adán. All of them had suffered damages to their homes. As we made small talk they sat solemnly with their heads down, completely void of their normally cheery disposition. Almost all of the socios in my coop were effected by the storm. Agatha couldn’t have come at a worse time. As our coop remains in debt our socios will have to shift their focus from saving the Coop to rebuilding their own lives. I still don't know how the storm will ultimately effect the town, the cooperative or my work here. As I walked out of the market I said goodbye to Don Adán and Don Alfonso, expressed regret for their loss and they said, “Gracias, seguimos adelante” (thank you, we will get through this).

I spoke too soon

Seems as though my camera's focus has decided to quit on me. Unless I want our disinfectants to be portrayed a bit blurry, the hunt for a camera toting Casas Viejan begins a new. Wish me luck.

If its broke, fix it.

I was on the first leg of a 12 hour trip up to Coban. Sitting in the middle of a chicken bus when I spotted an adorable little Guatemalan girl peering over a brown pleather seat back. Her face, picture perfect. I pulled out my camera to snap a shot. Pressed the ON/OFF button. The camera turned on and the lens expanded and then I heard a “chit chit chit chit chit” sound. “Not good” I thought. I looked down at my camera’s view screen and the warning, “Lens error, please restart camera.” flashed and the screen went black. I turned the camera off as recommended by the device and then turned it back on. “Chit chit chit chit chit” + error message. “Oh no, don’t do this to me camera” I said to myself. But after ten consecutive chit chants followed by error messages I gave up and placed the camera- zoom lens still extended- back into its carrying case and dropped it into my travel costal. I sulked a bit in self pity. Of course my camera breaks on my way up to Alta Verapaz where not only was I going to run my first International 1/2 Marathon but also was going to visit Semuc Champey- ranked no. 27 on the Rough Guide’s list of “30 things not to miss” in Guatemala (Casas Viejas didn’t make the list... sad, i know). After a good three minutes of silent pouting I reminded myself that Kamille and Cara would surely take plenty of pictures. I resolved to rely on their documentation expertise to supply me with evidence that I indeed was present at the previously mentioned momentous events. And luckily they succeeded beautifully.

The day before the marathon I got to partake in the Coban “Welcome Party”- a get together for all the Verapaz volunteers to welcome the new volunteers to the region. We had a marvelous BBQ at Kamille’s house at the Chirrepec Cooperative (don’t know if you remember but I wrote about this Cooperative during training- it is where the Ag Marketing group had our Field Based Training). The morning after the BBQ we all woke up early, had our breakfast of champions and headed to the race. I was so excited to run- partly because I was looking forward to the culmination of all my months of training (read: I was sick of sticking to a strict running schedule) but mostly because I knew the experience would be very memorable. I was not disappointed. The entire route was beautiful- rolling green hills and small villages- but my favorite part of the race was at mile 9. They had about a hundred Qeqchi school girls lined on both sides of the road in their traditional traje clapping and singing for the runners. I definitely turned off the ipod for that blissful minute of cheers- i may have even teared up a bit- the whole moment was just surreal.

After the race we relaxed another night at Casa Camila- another BBQ, bonfire and round of roasted angelitos (marshmallows). Monday morning Kamille, Cara, Chad, Nick and I headed up to Lanquin to explore Semuc Champey. We had a fun filled day of caving with only candle light to guide the way and wading in the the shallow waters of the Semuc Champey ponds.
I’ll let the photos do the talking.
























Upon my return to site I began preparing for a meeting that I had been invited to by Rosa Solaris, the Santa Rosa director of Secretaria de Obras Sociales de la Esposa del Presidente (SOSEP) (translation- director of the Santa Rosa branch of the office of the First Lady of Guatemala). I met Rosa while she stopped off in Casas Viejas during her current tour of the region. She has been charged with encouraging and supporting women’s group projects and she chose our group for further participation. I of course was adamant about participating. Hoping this opportunity would open up doors for new sales of our products (something we desperately need right now). The meeting was in Taxisco and I brought Loyda with me. Loyda is the president of my women’s group and is also a socio in the Coop so she was the perfect candidate.

We arrived in Taxisco with disinfectant samples and jars of jam in tow. The meeting turned out to be extremely beneficial- we met the president of the Association of Hoteliers in Monterrico (main tourist destination). He was extremely interested in purchasing our disinfectant for his hotel and selling our jam in his gift shop and thought the other hotel owners would have a similar sentiment. He requested that we create a one page price list of our products with pictures so he can share it with the remaining hotel heads. Perfect opportunity. Only problem is I have a busted camera and only one week to get this product page put together. Today I started asking around if anyone in town owns a digital camera. Haven’t secured one yet but alas, good things come to those who wait, for just moments ago, when I was checking my camera for the error message verbiage to accurately recount it for this blog post, I hit the ON/OFF button, and there were no “chits” and miraculously the lens retracted and the camera turned on as if nothing had ever gone wrong. It only took time and patience to fix what was broken.

Desinfectantes

The sluggish yet necessary ascent out of our financial slump has begun. Yesterday we successfully produced 50 1-gallon jugs of disinfectant to sell locally. Four socios showed up to complete the task- each worked swiftly and with purpose and got the job done in less than an hour and a half. Don Alfonso was on water duty, filling up gallons of water for each new batch. Don Nando was the steady stirrer mixing the ingredients as Seño Maritza dutifully measured and poured the various components into the oversized basin. I worked cutting and adhering the new labels Jenny and I designed earlier in the week. Seño Lili had the least pleasant job, filling the empty gallons with the finished disinfectant. I say least pleasant because although all of us had to endure the stinging odor of the chemical components, Seño Lili was the only one that had a constant stream of the liquid being poured over her hands. I urged her to wear gloves. “Next time” she said. Word to the wise, those “may irritate skin” warnings on cleaning supplies are not to be taken lightly. Despite another common warning “keep out of reach of children”, we managed to enlist ourselves some little kiddy helpers to aid in our efforts. Don Nando has a small army of children (six or seven- I’ve never gotten an accurate count) that jumped at the opportunity get in on our assembly line fun. His daughters took their positions as lid tighteners and his youngest son began stacking the finished product. I must disclose that the adults warned the kids of the dangers of disinfectant, “don’t stand too close” and advised them not to get the disinfectant on their skin or it will burn. The latter warning was justified in Seño Lili’s case where large quantities of the solution was in contact with her skin for a lengthy period of time, but we all know a little spritz of cleaning agent on the skin isn’t gonna kill anyone. However, Nando’s youngest son took the warning very seriously. When he got a splash of disinfectant on his leg he started panicking, “it’s burning, its burning”, the little five year old yelped, “Be a man.” Don Nando huffed from his position over a tub of green pine disinfectant. Tears began to run down the little kids cheeks and his face morphed into an expression of aggravated suffering. I really think he thought he was going to die or at the very least loose the tainted limb. I couldn’t help but laugh. His mom came to the rescue and wiped his leg with a washcloth. All better.

We finished the first four batches- lemon, pine, cinnamon, almond- and had enough daylight to produce one last batch. When Seño Maritza took stock of what was left of the ingredients she found that there was only lemon and cinnamon fragrance left and green and brown die. This tested the team’s knowledge of quality control. Seño Maritza suggested, “Why don’t we use the green color with the lemon scent?” This may be a valid proposition here in Guatemala since the word for lemon, “limón” is used to describe a lime. Limes are green so to them this made perfect sense. “But we used yellow dye for the last batch of lemon and green dye for the pine, you don’t want to confuse customers.” I injected. “But “limones” are green”, replied Don Alfonso. “Yes, but you need to keep your product uniform for quality control purposes.” “She has a point.” said Seño Maritza, “Lets do another batch of cinnamon.” Seño Maritza is always first to take my advice and I love her for it.

We finished the last batch, gave ourselves a pat on the back and parted ways. Now to the hard part- selling those 50 gallon jugs. When all is said and done we expect a profit of about Q1,000. Such a tiny amount when compared to our Q50,000 debt. Baby steps.

Get Smart

Little has changed in regards to the status of my poor Coop in despair. They are still broke and it continues to be a daily struggle to pay workers, creditors AND scrounge up enough dough to buy food for the school’s daily snack. However, there are a few glimmers of light; some creative and positive changes that are occurring in response to the economic crisis we have dug ourselves into.

Getting with the times, our minibank has had a little bailout of its own. Five affluent townspeople (including some socios) have taken it upon themselves to save the bank from sinking. They have removed all of the Coops money and infused the account with about Q20,000 of their own funds. They now supervise Selvin, our “banker” (if you can call him that), like hawks on a field mouse (funny, now that I think of it, Selvin kinda looks mousy). Every day they revise all transactions and count the cash on hand. Its sad that it took a meltdown before anyone payed attention to the money that flows in and out of that little enterprise. Better late than never, i guess.

Another creative development... on Friday we had our monthly Coop meeting. After a good hour of pointing fingers, questioning “where did all the money go and why do we not have any record of where it went” and solid declarations of, “we will not let this break us” the discussion turned to “how do we get “pilas” and fix this?” (Side note: pilas translates to battery- like as in energizer- but is also a term used for clever or smart). Some said we need to sell more disinfectant, others said we need to outsource the purchase of food for the schools, but the winner, the idea that took the cake, was the suggestion that we should hold a raffle. We are going to make additional funds by selling about 200 Q5 raffle tickets around town. The prize: a used sewing machine (whether it is functioning is still TBD). I have to hand it to the socios for pulling together during this rough patch. Its a positive sign that they are gonna pound some pavement and make money out of nothing. And even if this only earns them Q1,000 of the Q30,000 they are in debt, at least its a step in the right direction. To do my part, I have offered to help make the tickets with Jenny and design posters promoting the raffle throughout town.

All of these tactics are a step in the right direction but I still find myself pondering the possibility of a cure all idea that would restore my Coops financial stability. Then I have to remind myself that although a magic wand approach may help their current situation, would it change their business savvy? Probably not. Its the little things that will make a big difference in the long run. For instance, they are finally realizing that i’m not being excessive by urging them to keep better records. Its rewarding to hear socios in the meeting mandate that the new treasurer keep a book of “entradas y salidas”- something that I have been preaching since my bookkeeping charla in December. I have had my first real success on this front- a pro-treasurer has been assigned to help with the bookkeeping (remember my treasurer can’t read or write) and I have my first meeting with them both on Wednesday to start keeping better financial records. No magic wand will be present. Just pen, paper and a calculator.