Saturday, April 30, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
The Key
Transcription:
Leslie: You can't get the key?
Annalisa: Here it is.
Annalisa: You guys go on in, go on in*. I'll find you on the other side.
The rest is more or less in English.
*cultural note: "Pasen adelante" (literally translates to pass ahead) is a common phrase in Guatemala. A proper exchange when one enters a home unfolds like this.
Visitor seeking entry, before crossing the threshold, will ask, "Con permiso?" (With permission?)
The proprietor of the house will then respond, "Pase Adelante." (Come on in.)
I apologize for the annoying sing-song manner in which I state the phrase- it's a habit i've picked up from Seño Maritza.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Leslie + Benicio Become Tour Guides
While back in the States I received a few requests for a tour of my house. I've enlisted the help of my friendly neighbors, Leslie and Benicio, to help guide you through my casita. Since my internet is sluggish, I'll be uploading clips in a 12 part series. Here is your introduction:
Transcription:
Annalisa: Good Morning!
Kids: Good Morning!
Annalisa: What are we going to do? We are going to give a tour.
Leslie: A tour.
Annalisa: A tour of my house.
Leslie: of my house.
Annalisa: of MY house.
Leslie: of Annalisa's house.
Annalisa: Yes, let's go.
Benicio: Here.
Annalisa. Here. OK, I need to find the key.
Transcription:
Annalisa: Good Morning!
Kids: Good Morning!
Annalisa: What are we going to do? We are going to give a tour.
Leslie: A tour.
Annalisa: A tour of my house.
Leslie: of my house.
Annalisa: of MY house.
Leslie: of Annalisa's house.
Annalisa: Yes, let's go.
Benicio: Here.
Annalisa. Here. OK, I need to find the key.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Long time no write
Saturday I returned to Casas Viejas from my vacation in The States. Aside from the sweltering heat, it felt good to be back. I got settled and cleaned the dust from my house with the help of my neighbor, Flor, who appeared, unsolicited, at my doorstep with broom and mop in hand seconds after I unlocked my front door. I assume she had been watching the dirt pile up from her side of the fence for the past three weeks. After taking care of housekeeping, I headed to the cooperative tienda to catch up with the socios. I ran into Seño Lili while walking through the center of town.
“I was wondering when you were coming back. Have you passed by the coop yet?” She asked with a hint of mischievousness.
“I got back today. No, I haven’t been to the coop, but I’m on my way now.” I replied now warily wondering why she asked about the tienda.
“We have a new employee.” She explained
Turns out Misely, “no quiso seguir.” (didn’t want to continue working). The reason most of our prior employees gave for leaving.
I guess some things never change.
When I arrived at the coop I found Diana, our new shopkeeper. She seemed oddly excited to see me even though we had never met. I introduced myself and got to chatting. Shortly thereafter, Don Adan arrived at the store. This surprised me because the new vigilance committee members had been voted in prior to my departure and he technically no longer was responsible for the management of the store. I asked him if he had been coming while I was away and he told me that he had been helping with the training of the new vigilance committee and with Diana. He said this with a sense of pride that I hadn’t expected from him.
“How have the other members taken to the training?” I asked.
“Really well, both Elias and Tila come everyday and work on the accounts. The only trouble we are having is with Elias, his handwriting looks like the letters are going to fall off the page.” He said this while impersonating a tipping letter “C.” “I keep telling him, ‘Elias, you better fix your handwriting because when Annalisa comes back she isn’t going to be able to read your drunken letters.”
I liked that he had used me as a threat.
We then started to work on the daily closing. I grabbed the inventory books to enter the purchases and losses (expired tomatoes etc.) for the day. I opened the book and found the inventory and monthly profits from sales, which is done every first of the month, completed. I was astonished. I have been working with the coop on this inventory system for the past year. Never have they done the tabulations without my help. In fact, if I have a meeting at the Peace Corps office and am not in town on the first, they have always just waited to do inventory until I get back. This month, they did it all on their own.
I guess some things do change.
p.s. Jenny gave birth to a baby boy today! Nicolas. He’s reportedly healthy, 8 lbs and VERY white. I’ll meet him tomorrow.
p.s.s. I’d like to share with you a little joke that Adan told me about a recent U-20 World Cup qualifier soccer match between Guatemala and the United States. Guatemala, to most Guatemalan’s surprise, beat the U.S. 2-1. Adan had this to say about the match:
“Both sides cried at the end of the game. The U.S. because they lost and Guatemala because the won. I still can’t believe we won, the U.S. had a GOOOOOD team. I think of it this way, The U.S. doesn’t permit Guatemalans to enter their country, so Guatemala doesn’t permit the U.S. to enter the World Cup.”
“I was wondering when you were coming back. Have you passed by the coop yet?” She asked with a hint of mischievousness.
“I got back today. No, I haven’t been to the coop, but I’m on my way now.” I replied now warily wondering why she asked about the tienda.
“We have a new employee.” She explained
Turns out Misely, “no quiso seguir.” (didn’t want to continue working). The reason most of our prior employees gave for leaving.
I guess some things never change.
When I arrived at the coop I found Diana, our new shopkeeper. She seemed oddly excited to see me even though we had never met. I introduced myself and got to chatting. Shortly thereafter, Don Adan arrived at the store. This surprised me because the new vigilance committee members had been voted in prior to my departure and he technically no longer was responsible for the management of the store. I asked him if he had been coming while I was away and he told me that he had been helping with the training of the new vigilance committee and with Diana. He said this with a sense of pride that I hadn’t expected from him.
“How have the other members taken to the training?” I asked.
“Really well, both Elias and Tila come everyday and work on the accounts. The only trouble we are having is with Elias, his handwriting looks like the letters are going to fall off the page.” He said this while impersonating a tipping letter “C.” “I keep telling him, ‘Elias, you better fix your handwriting because when Annalisa comes back she isn’t going to be able to read your drunken letters.”
I liked that he had used me as a threat.
We then started to work on the daily closing. I grabbed the inventory books to enter the purchases and losses (expired tomatoes etc.) for the day. I opened the book and found the inventory and monthly profits from sales, which is done every first of the month, completed. I was astonished. I have been working with the coop on this inventory system for the past year. Never have they done the tabulations without my help. In fact, if I have a meeting at the Peace Corps office and am not in town on the first, they have always just waited to do inventory until I get back. This month, they did it all on their own.
I guess some things do change.
p.s. Jenny gave birth to a baby boy today! Nicolas. He’s reportedly healthy, 8 lbs and VERY white. I’ll meet him tomorrow.
p.s.s. I’d like to share with you a little joke that Adan told me about a recent U-20 World Cup qualifier soccer match between Guatemala and the United States. Guatemala, to most Guatemalan’s surprise, beat the U.S. 2-1. Adan had this to say about the match:
“Both sides cried at the end of the game. The U.S. because they lost and Guatemala because the won. I still can’t believe we won, the U.S. had a GOOOOOD team. I think of it this way, The U.S. doesn’t permit Guatemalans to enter their country, so Guatemala doesn’t permit the U.S. to enter the World Cup.”
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Let's Talk About Sex, Baby.
I was getting blank stares from a sea of uniformed fifteen-year-olds as I fumbled through explaining how AIDS doesn’t actually kill an infected person- opportunistic infections are what inevitably brings about the demise of the patient. It was a struggle. I felt like I was explaining the process well but I didn’t get a single reassuring nod from the crowd. I hesitated and then turned to Oscar Ruben, my counterpart for the HIV/AIDS training I was conducting, for help. In previous sessions he was quick to jump in and eloquently state what my spanish language deficiency prohibited me from spitting out. Not that day. I glanced over to the side of the room where he was standing silently and noticed he didn’t jump in to save me because he was otherwise occupied. Occupied texting on his Blackberry. If he had taken a second to look up from his mobile device he would have seen the look of, “are you f-ing kidding me?” on my face. Excuse the profanity but I want to be honest to my true state of mind in that moment. It seems not even the third world can escape the digital world.
Oscar Ruben never did look up from his phone so I continued to explain myself in circles until I asked the students, “Understand? Clear as water?” And the responded with a resounding, “Sí.” We ended up wrapping up the training with much success, despite Oscar Ruben’s diminishing interest. In three days we gave three HIV/AIDS education and prevention training sessions to the entire high school- a total of 79 students.
Throughout the process I was surprised at how easy it was for me to talk about sex in front of a classroom full of pubescents. Every time I had to say, “secreciones vaginales,” I thought to myself, “those words would not roll so easily off my tongue if I was speaking in English.” Maybe they would, I just never have had the opportunity to test it out.
My favorite part of the sessions was a question and answer period. Right after an activity we did acting out how HIV attacks white blood cells, I’d give each student a piece of blank paper and ask that they write a question on it. Any question pertaining to HIV/AIDS or sexual activity in general. I received a lot of broken/ripped condom questions, a few asking for the symptoms of HIV/AIDS and even one that asked if a girl could get HIV from having sex with a 40 year old man. I’m still a little worried about the girl that asked that question.
The purpose of conducting HIV/AIDS training is to educate the adolescent population on the disease, how it is transmitted, how it can be prevented and to discredit stereotypes about the disease. A secondary benefit of these sessions is to allow the teenagers to speak openly about sexual reproduction and the inherent risks of being sexually active. The sessions in themselves were truly gratifying however, there was one moment, outside of the classroom that I am most proud of.
During the question and answer session of our first training, Oscar Ruben took charge of reading the papers and I did the answering. Nearing the end of the pile he picked up the following question and read it aloud, “Can HIV be sexually transmitted from male to male?” I could tell the question made him uneasy- homosexuality is a touchy subject in Guatemala. It pained me to watch him read it through and then it broke my heart to hear him squeak a little uncomfortable giggle after the question. He did this in front of the entire classroom. Not the best behavior for promoting tolerance. I resolved to have a discussion with him before the next session.
The next day before our second training I pulled Oscar Ruben aside and told him that I thought we did a wonderful job the day before, the kids seemed really receptive, blah, blah blah... there is only one thing we need to watch out for today.
“We have to remain completely professional, especially during the question period, I noticed yesterday you laughed when reading the question about HIV being transmitted between two men.”
“I did?” He responded with seemingly genuine astonishment.
“We can’t laugh at any question especially ones pertaining to homosexuality because if there is a homosexual in the class we don’t want to make them feel uncomfortable. We need to be completely accepting and professional. If you don’t feel comfortable reading those questions, let me know because I can read them instead.”
“No,” he replied, “I can do it.”
Sure enough, during the second session we received a question identical to the one Oscar had laughed at the day before. As he breezed through the papers at the onset of the answer session I saw him move the question from the middle of the stack to the end. When it finally came up, the slip of paper gently rattled in his quivering hand. However, he read the question aloud in a completely unwavering voice. “Can HIV be sexually transmitted from one man to another?” No giggle.
We both gave a sigh of relief.
Oscar Ruben never did look up from his phone so I continued to explain myself in circles until I asked the students, “Understand? Clear as water?” And the responded with a resounding, “Sí.” We ended up wrapping up the training with much success, despite Oscar Ruben’s diminishing interest. In three days we gave three HIV/AIDS education and prevention training sessions to the entire high school- a total of 79 students.
Throughout the process I was surprised at how easy it was for me to talk about sex in front of a classroom full of pubescents. Every time I had to say, “secreciones vaginales,” I thought to myself, “those words would not roll so easily off my tongue if I was speaking in English.” Maybe they would, I just never have had the opportunity to test it out.
My favorite part of the sessions was a question and answer period. Right after an activity we did acting out how HIV attacks white blood cells, I’d give each student a piece of blank paper and ask that they write a question on it. Any question pertaining to HIV/AIDS or sexual activity in general. I received a lot of broken/ripped condom questions, a few asking for the symptoms of HIV/AIDS and even one that asked if a girl could get HIV from having sex with a 40 year old man. I’m still a little worried about the girl that asked that question.
The purpose of conducting HIV/AIDS training is to educate the adolescent population on the disease, how it is transmitted, how it can be prevented and to discredit stereotypes about the disease. A secondary benefit of these sessions is to allow the teenagers to speak openly about sexual reproduction and the inherent risks of being sexually active. The sessions in themselves were truly gratifying however, there was one moment, outside of the classroom that I am most proud of.
During the question and answer session of our first training, Oscar Ruben took charge of reading the papers and I did the answering. Nearing the end of the pile he picked up the following question and read it aloud, “Can HIV be sexually transmitted from male to male?” I could tell the question made him uneasy- homosexuality is a touchy subject in Guatemala. It pained me to watch him read it through and then it broke my heart to hear him squeak a little uncomfortable giggle after the question. He did this in front of the entire classroom. Not the best behavior for promoting tolerance. I resolved to have a discussion with him before the next session.
The next day before our second training I pulled Oscar Ruben aside and told him that I thought we did a wonderful job the day before, the kids seemed really receptive, blah, blah blah... there is only one thing we need to watch out for today.
“We have to remain completely professional, especially during the question period, I noticed yesterday you laughed when reading the question about HIV being transmitted between two men.”
“I did?” He responded with seemingly genuine astonishment.
“We can’t laugh at any question especially ones pertaining to homosexuality because if there is a homosexual in the class we don’t want to make them feel uncomfortable. We need to be completely accepting and professional. If you don’t feel comfortable reading those questions, let me know because I can read them instead.”
“No,” he replied, “I can do it.”
Sure enough, during the second session we received a question identical to the one Oscar had laughed at the day before. As he breezed through the papers at the onset of the answer session I saw him move the question from the middle of the stack to the end. When it finally came up, the slip of paper gently rattled in his quivering hand. However, he read the question aloud in a completely unwavering voice. “Can HIV be sexually transmitted from one man to another?” No giggle.
We both gave a sigh of relief.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Xinca Garden
Way back in December, the Guatemalan government began a two month state of siege against narco traffickers in the Alta Verapaz region of Guatemala. Peace Corps evacuated all volunteers from that region. Lucky for me, Alta (as the volunteers there call it) is on the opposite side of the country from Casas Viejas and, double lucky for me, my friend Kamille who lives there decided to take refuge in my site. Kamille is an agriculture volunteer too, but her part of the program involves food security, ie family gardens, nutrition classes etc. While she waited out the unrest we went to work on a Cooperativa Xinca garden.
We chose the site of the garden. It wasn't up for debate because our plan
was two fold. First, clean up the back yard of the tienda which, unfortunately, served as a not-so clandestine trash dump, slash, town eye soar. The previous renters decided that leaving half burnt, quasi buried trash in a heaping pile in their yard was adequate disposal. The space was decrepit and Kamille, with her green thumb, was the remedy. After the clean up the second step was to beautify it with a garden. A project we hoped would instil a sense of pride in the property that was previously lacking and also motivate the Cooperative to better maintain the land. It worked. We spent a handful of afternoons preparing the land and I was amazed at how willingly the socios labored- even when the time they put into the garden was on top of their already stressful work days. 
We cleared, cleaned, aerated and fertilized the land, built a fence and planted watermelon and cantaloupe seeds. We also took the opportunity to extend the project into a local school by teaching students the life cycle of a plant and then enlisting their help in planting our tomato seedlings in egg cartons. Once the seedlings are ready to transplant we are going to put them in hanging pots. A project that is still about three weeks away and the socios are already eager to get started. I have to constantly remind them that we can't plant the tomatos until the pilones are strong enough. They can't believe tomato plants can be hung and have already decided to try the technique at home too.
All in all, February was an extremely rewarding month. We witnessed a camaraderie among the cooperative members that had been lacking since the coop went into debt last year. It gave me great pleasure to see the socios come together and work diligently on something positive and productive and I hope their determination and good spirit continues through to other projects we are working on.
Last week Kamille got the word that the siege is over and it is safe for her to go back home to Coban. Yesterday, much to my chagrin, was her last day in Casas Viejas. Hopefully, she can come back in a month or so too a blooming garden full of juicy melons. Fingers crossed.
We chose the site of the garden. It wasn't up for debate because our plan
was two fold. First, clean up the back yard of the tienda which, unfortunately, served as a not-so clandestine trash dump, slash, town eye soar. The previous renters decided that leaving half burnt, quasi buried trash in a heaping pile in their yard was adequate disposal. The space was decrepit and Kamille, with her green thumb, was the remedy. After the clean up the second step was to beautify it with a garden. A project we hoped would instil a sense of pride in the property that was previously lacking and also motivate the Cooperative to better maintain the land. It worked. We spent a handful of afternoons preparing the land and I was amazed at how willingly the socios labored- even when the time they put into the garden was on top of their already stressful work days. 
We cleared, cleaned, aerated and fertilized the land, built a fence and planted watermelon and cantaloupe seeds. We also took the opportunity to extend the project into a local school by teaching students the life cycle of a plant and then enlisting their help in planting our tomato seedlings in egg cartons. Once the seedlings are ready to transplant we are going to put them in hanging pots. A project that is still about three weeks away and the socios are already eager to get started. I have to constantly remind them that we can't plant the tomatos until the pilones are strong enough. They can't believe tomato plants can be hung and have already decided to try the technique at home too.
All in all, February was an extremely rewarding month. We witnessed a camaraderie among the cooperative members that had been lacking since the coop went into debt last year. It gave me great pleasure to see the socios come together and work diligently on something positive and productive and I hope their determination and good spirit continues through to other projects we are working on.
Last week Kamille got the word that the siege is over and it is safe for her to go back home to Coban. Yesterday, much to my chagrin, was her last day in Casas Viejas. Hopefully, she can come back in a month or so too a blooming garden full of juicy melons. Fingers crossed.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Esquipulas or Bust
Take a look at any Guatemalan tour book and you’ll find the section that covers the Pacific Coast is the thinnest of all regions. Sure, we’ve got the beaches of Monterrico and Autosafari Chapin but most of the write-ups are sugar coated and probably written just to meet some sort of publisher’s page quota. I once noticed that the “Rough Guide” has a blurb about Taxisco’s great leather goods. I’d never recommend to ever stop there. The only leather I’ve seen in that town is that on the boots of the drunks passed out in a puddle of their own urine in the gutter outside Bar Santa Rosa. That’s not “rough”, that’s disgraceful. If I wrote my own tour book to the Southern Pacific Coast it would start, “Most towns are best experienced through the window of your bus.” Instead of dotting the map with restaurants and hotels I’d star places where tourists could find clean restrooms.
Another good indicator that not many towns in the tour book are worth checking out is that
Guatemalans avoid them at all cost. “Where then”, might you ask, “do people from your town vacation to?” The answer: “Esquipulas, of course”. Esquipulas isn’t near the Pacific, it’s in Chiquimula, half way to the Atlantic, but a trip there is a true Guatemalan’s excursion. How could it not be when the town is home to El Señor de Esquipulas, the famed Black Jesus that serves as a mecca for Latin American Catholics? It doesn’t hurt that there is shopping and a Pollo Campero there too.
After nearly 18 months in country I fancy myself part Chapina and therefore, jumped at the opportunity to join the Catholic church group in a day excursion to Esquipulas. The adventure started at 1:26 am when my neighbor Mirna yelled through my bedroom window, “Annalisa, Annalisa, ya es la hora (it’s time).” I jumped out of bed, opened the door and told her i’d be ready shortly. At 1:45 am I was outside of their house waiting with a handful of people for the chartered school bus that was to take all 60 or so excursionists. We were supposed to leave at 2:00 am, the bus arrived at 2:15 am, we waited for stragglers until our 3:00 am departure (hora Chapina). I’ve decided that the habitual tardiness that afflicts this country is a hinderance to it’s overall development. It breeds complacency, a lack of motivation, responsibility etc, etc. but that is another blogpost.
I half-slept during the 4-hour bus ride to our destination. I shared a seat with my neighbors Milbia (age 26) and her kids Benicio (age 2) and Lesli (age 4). When we arrived we ate a packed breakfast on the bus. I brought an apple, my neighbors had chicken salad sandwiches. I took interest in analyzing how the different generations ate their sandwiches. Luis (age 8) spread the chicken salad between two slices of bread and ate it how most Americans would eat a typical sandwich. Mirna, his mom, put the filling on the bread and folded it in half, like a taco. Regina, his grandmother, put the chicken salad in a bowl and used the bread as an edible utensil to scoop it up. Full from breakfast, we set out to see Jesus.
El Señor can be found in the huge white Catholic church in the center of town. At 7:30 am there was already a long line of devotees snaking out of the church along the perimeter and into the plaza in front. During our winding stop-and-go pilgrimage to see El Señor I was tricked by two fake-out Jesus statues. The first was a black Jesus housed in a tent to the left of
the church. Everyone was lighting candles in front of him so I thought he was the one. Turned out to just be a replica. The second occurred when we finally entered into the side of the church and came upon another Jesus. The woman I was standing next to grabbed my arm and said, “Nuestro Señor, Jesus Cristo.” She said it so passionately that I thought the encased statue of christ crawling was the one. I had already taken a picture when I realized he was painted white and couldn’t possibly be the black Jesus. Third time’s a charm. Shortly thereafter we curved around the white Jesus, walked up a small ramp and were face to profile with the real El Señor de Esquipulas. We circled around the encased statue directly behind the church pulpit. As we made the loop we overlooked the mass that was taking place in the church. We then backed down the ramp- so as to not “dar la espalda” give the back to El Señor. Our pilgrimage was complete.
Outside of the church we decided to take a tuk-tuk ride la Piedra de Los Compadres. The explanation sheet I bought for Q1 states that the site “consists of two enormous rocks that throughout time and earthquakes, one has stayed on top of the other keeping a mysterious and strange equilibrium... with three or four points of contact.” As the legend goes, 300 years ago the
rocks encased the bodies of two compadres, a man and a woman, making love while on their journey to Esquipulas. I also paid another Q1 to buy a leafy branch and candle. We walked around the rock and hit it with the branch. Everyone I was with kept crouching down in between the two rocks looking for the “breasts” but I couldn’t discern anything that looked like a woman’s chest. the woman who sold us the branch said to do it 7 times but we only did it twice. When I asked my accomplice why we didn’t finish the seven she simply said, “Two is enough.” Then I lit the candle and placed it under the top rock as all the others had done. I think I was supposed to make a wish but was too caught up in the moment and forgot.
Pollo Campero was our third destination. Then we did some shopping in the market and were back on the bus by 3:30 pm. We were supposed to leave at 4 pm but waited for stragglers until our 4:30 pm departure. As we pulled out of the parking lot I could already feel my back begin to ache and my legs begin to cramp.
Then I looked over to the seat next to me at an 80-year-old woman with a cane shaking feebly and wondered, “if I am pained by the discomfort of this journey, what does she feel like right now?” On the 4-hour ride back home I reveled in my day of Guatemalan integration. I had paid tribute to El Señor, ate Pollo Campero, shopped for dulces with the ladies, got my fortune told by little birds and even contemplated asking the bus driver to make me a copy of the CD he was blasting. At 9:30 pm we arrived in Casas Viejas and as I caught myself admiring the bus ayudante’s bulging bicep muscles I realized my integration had gone too far. It was time for bed.
Another good indicator that not many towns in the tour book are worth checking out is that
Guatemalans avoid them at all cost. “Where then”, might you ask, “do people from your town vacation to?” The answer: “Esquipulas, of course”. Esquipulas isn’t near the Pacific, it’s in Chiquimula, half way to the Atlantic, but a trip there is a true Guatemalan’s excursion. How could it not be when the town is home to El Señor de Esquipulas, the famed Black Jesus that serves as a mecca for Latin American Catholics? It doesn’t hurt that there is shopping and a Pollo Campero there too. After nearly 18 months in country I fancy myself part Chapina and therefore, jumped at the opportunity to join the Catholic church group in a day excursion to Esquipulas. The adventure started at 1:26 am when my neighbor Mirna yelled through my bedroom window, “Annalisa, Annalisa, ya es la hora (it’s time).” I jumped out of bed, opened the door and told her i’d be ready shortly. At 1:45 am I was outside of their house waiting with a handful of people for the chartered school bus that was to take all 60 or so excursionists. We were supposed to leave at 2:00 am, the bus arrived at 2:15 am, we waited for stragglers until our 3:00 am departure (hora Chapina). I’ve decided that the habitual tardiness that afflicts this country is a hinderance to it’s overall development. It breeds complacency, a lack of motivation, responsibility etc, etc. but that is another blogpost.
I half-slept during the 4-hour bus ride to our destination. I shared a seat with my neighbors Milbia (age 26) and her kids Benicio (age 2) and Lesli (age 4). When we arrived we ate a packed breakfast on the bus. I brought an apple, my neighbors had chicken salad sandwiches. I took interest in analyzing how the different generations ate their sandwiches. Luis (age 8) spread the chicken salad between two slices of bread and ate it how most Americans would eat a typical sandwich. Mirna, his mom, put the filling on the bread and folded it in half, like a taco. Regina, his grandmother, put the chicken salad in a bowl and used the bread as an edible utensil to scoop it up. Full from breakfast, we set out to see Jesus.
El Señor can be found in the huge white Catholic church in the center of town. At 7:30 am there was already a long line of devotees snaking out of the church along the perimeter and into the plaza in front. During our winding stop-and-go pilgrimage to see El Señor I was tricked by two fake-out Jesus statues. The first was a black Jesus housed in a tent to the left of
the church. Everyone was lighting candles in front of him so I thought he was the one. Turned out to just be a replica. The second occurred when we finally entered into the side of the church and came upon another Jesus. The woman I was standing next to grabbed my arm and said, “Nuestro Señor, Jesus Cristo.” She said it so passionately that I thought the encased statue of christ crawling was the one. I had already taken a picture when I realized he was painted white and couldn’t possibly be the black Jesus. Third time’s a charm. Shortly thereafter we curved around the white Jesus, walked up a small ramp and were face to profile with the real El Señor de Esquipulas. We circled around the encased statue directly behind the church pulpit. As we made the loop we overlooked the mass that was taking place in the church. We then backed down the ramp- so as to not “dar la espalda” give the back to El Señor. Our pilgrimage was complete.Outside of the church we decided to take a tuk-tuk ride la Piedra de Los Compadres. The explanation sheet I bought for Q1 states that the site “consists of two enormous rocks that throughout time and earthquakes, one has stayed on top of the other keeping a mysterious and strange equilibrium... with three or four points of contact.” As the legend goes, 300 years ago the
rocks encased the bodies of two compadres, a man and a woman, making love while on their journey to Esquipulas. I also paid another Q1 to buy a leafy branch and candle. We walked around the rock and hit it with the branch. Everyone I was with kept crouching down in between the two rocks looking for the “breasts” but I couldn’t discern anything that looked like a woman’s chest. the woman who sold us the branch said to do it 7 times but we only did it twice. When I asked my accomplice why we didn’t finish the seven she simply said, “Two is enough.” Then I lit the candle and placed it under the top rock as all the others had done. I think I was supposed to make a wish but was too caught up in the moment and forgot. Pollo Campero was our third destination. Then we did some shopping in the market and were back on the bus by 3:30 pm. We were supposed to leave at 4 pm but waited for stragglers until our 4:30 pm departure. As we pulled out of the parking lot I could already feel my back begin to ache and my legs begin to cramp.
Then I looked over to the seat next to me at an 80-year-old woman with a cane shaking feebly and wondered, “if I am pained by the discomfort of this journey, what does she feel like right now?” On the 4-hour ride back home I reveled in my day of Guatemalan integration. I had paid tribute to El Señor, ate Pollo Campero, shopped for dulces with the ladies, got my fortune told by little birds and even contemplated asking the bus driver to make me a copy of the CD he was blasting. At 9:30 pm we arrived in Casas Viejas and as I caught myself admiring the bus ayudante’s bulging bicep muscles I realized my integration had gone too far. It was time for bed.
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