The Girls are Not Okay

As a Municipal Development volunteer that focuses on working with the women's office, I've always been especially sensitive to finding out stories about the women in my municipality, their hopes, dreams, challenges, and silenced voices. Yet, in the past couple of months, my attention isn't with women but rather with the youth that live in my municipality. Time and time again my heart breaks ever so slightly by the story of a young girl or teenager who is suddenly forced to grow up far too quickly. Below, I'd like to share some of these stories, partly as a personal release but more importantly as a motivator. I would like to pose a challenge: I want you to think of one way that you can help out a young girl or teenager in the month of June or July. I'll make suggestions of things you can do after I share these stories. (Please note, all names are changed, just in case). Betty Betty is 14 years old and was seeking protection from the community pastor who had raped her on multiple occasions. Betty had kept quiet during these encounters out of fear. Luckily, Betty's mother happened to be at the right place at the right time and witnessed the pastor trying to abduct her daughter so that he could rape her again. The moment the pastor was caught by the mother, he ran off. The next day, the walked four hours from their community to get to the Municipal Center. Betty and her mother came to the office of the Alcaldia Maya searching for help from someone that could actually speak their indigenous language as neither the Municipality nor the Judge have translators. My counterpart went with them to the Judge's office to file the official complaint against the rapist and begin the long paperwork process. They were told to come back on Monday so that the young girl could be looked at by a doctor. They walked four hours back to their home and waited until Monday so that they could walk four hours back to the center to be seen by a doctor. My counterpart had to be in the city that day so I was in charge of taking them around town even though I only know a couple words in K'iche'. The young girl looked absolutely stunned the entire time we walked around, she barely spoke and when she did it was in a hushed whisper while looking down at the floor. When we wen to the health center, it turned out that the doctor's were on strike because they hadn't gotten paid and wouldn't be back for a week so we went back to the Judge where he put together an order for her to be seen in the city. The next day, they went off to the city to be seen by a doctor who also did not speak K'iche' and was a male. Imagine, you've been raped multiple times in a day and then you're forced to have a gynecological exam by a male. I get uncomfortable getting a routine papsmear from a male doctor, I can't even think how terrified she felt. A couple of weeks later I had asked my counterpart how things were going and she explained her frustration with the legal process. They were required to fill out numerous amounts of documents in Spanish, neither Better nor her mother speak Spanish and neither can read or write. They were required to do further examinations in the city, the city is a two hour bus ride (one way) that costs Q25, usually more than what people in the community make in a week. Also, the judge was upset that they didn't show up to a certain appointment, neither one of them have a cell phone. Meanwhile, the rapist continues to live his life and who knows if Betty will continue to with the painstakingly long legal process. Where's the justice? Anne Anne is slightly older, 19, and is studying to be a teacher. Her mother found out she was pregnant after she finally confessed that she had been hiding her pregnancy by tying the belt of her indigenous dress tighter, but at eight months, it gets difficult to hide. She made the mistake, as most young women do, of believing that a boy from a neighboring town was in love with her and that she had to prove her love by having sex. When Anne told her boyfriend about her pregnancy, he denied that it was his child and told her to get an abortion and not to speak to him again. This story is slightly more positive in that she is currently fighting for the rights of her unborn child. I spent my Sunday afternoon sitting in a five hour meeting (90% of which was in K'iche') listening to her and her family urge the guy and the guy's family to support the child by being present during the birth, helping name the child, and providing child support until the age of 18. They seemed somewhat receptive but they want her to pay for a DNA test (how they will be able to afford that is beyond me!) and they are not willing to make any decisions until after the birth of the child. They provided her with Q1,000 (about $125 US) for labor costs even though it costs about Q5,000 for a delivery in a hospital where you have better chances of surviving labor. This case also shows the importance of the Alcaldia Maya as they organized this meeting and also fought on behalf of Anne. Trina This story breaks my heart the most as Trina is the niece of my counterpart and a beautiful spirit. Trina was 13 when she started talking to a man (22 years old) who recently came back from the States and had flashy clothes, phone and a car. Trina is raised by her grandmother because her mother is working in the States and no one in the family suspected that she was talking to this man. One afternoon a neighbor called my counterpart instructing her to come home immediately because Trina was talking to some man outside of the house. My counterpart raced to her home and scolded the man for talking to a young girl. That's when things got worse, two weeks later Trina coordinated with her new boyfriend so that he could sneak her away. This aspect is a little difficult to explain because it involves some cultural differences, but essentially, he stole her from her family. The grandmother called the entire community searching high and low for Trina until they found out that the man had come in the night and took her away. He argued that Trina willingly went with him but we all know that at the age of 13, girls are willing to do lots of crazy things without properly understanding the consequences. Trina married her 22 year old boyfriend shortly thereafter. My counterpart and her family were devastated. The grandmother is a strong advocate of women's rights in the community and municipality. My counterpart is also an incredible role model, pursuing a college degree and working hard in women's and indigenous empowerment. I found out last week that she is now due to have a baby in August, she hasn't even turned 14 yet. Then we have one of my favorite little girls ever, Paola. She is turning 7 years old next week and we're planning on celebrating our birthdays together this weekend with a cake and a piñata filled with candy. She is a bright, energetic, talkative and gregarious little girl. She is overflowing with potential. She's lucky to have strong women in her life but so did her cousin Trina. I think to myself, what can be done to ensure that she'll be able to stay a little girl, that some older man won't corrupt her thoughts, that she'll be strong enough to overcome the challenges of being an indigenous woman in Guatemala. These stories are certainly not unique to my community, these stories represent thousands of girls and young women in the entire world. Inspire a young girl you know to dream and achieve. How? Start a girls group Look into NGOs that work to help girls in your local community Help organize a girls' camp Volunteer at an after-school program Spend more time with your sisters Lead by example Also, for the males out there, boys and young men need to receive an equal amount of attention to learn about healthy relationships, sexual education and be exposed to positive male role models!

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Since the beginning of December, I've been on high alert. I feared that every text message I received would read a phrase feared by all Peace Corps Volunteers, "please check you email for an important Peace Corps [insert country name] update". The news, friends and family from home, fellow PCVs, it seemed like all we could talk about was whether or not our country was going to be shut down. Millions of scenarios ran through my head and it was pretty much impossible to get started on new project. Why put in the work? We may be outta here in a couple months anyway? Luckily, my municipality is pretty much dead the month of December and our mayor changed in January so I was almost given a free pass. Either way, stress was high, tension was high, PCVs wanted answers from staff and staff was trying its best to gather answers and assess the situation with the higher ups in Washington.

Last week, we had an All Volunteer Conference in Xela where people from Washington came down and we all knew that, finally, we would be on the same page as to the fate of Peace Corps Guatemala. Here's the main gist:

The security situation in the Northern Triangle of Central America (Honduras, El Sal, and Guatemala) are some of the worst in the world. In fact, it is said that the Northern Triangle "is the most dangerous area of the world aside from an active war zone." But before you go freaking out, one most understand where this violence is coming from and where it takes place. The majority of this deals with drugs. Because of increased restrictions in Colombia, drugs are now having to go through Central America in order to get to the United States. You have to pass the Guatemala to get to Mexico. There are specific regions that should be avoided and these areas are where volunteers are being evacuated from and being offered a more secure post in the Western Highlands of the country:

Red Zones
Huehue
San Marcos
Oriente
Verapazes
Peten (has been off limits for a while now)

Safe Zones
Quiche
Chimal
Solola
Toto

Currently there are over 200 volunteers in Peace Corps Guatemala and PCW's goal is to reduce that to 100-120 volunteers. Many people who are in the middle of project will have to go home early. Hopefully, the volunteers who have to be relocated that still have a significant amount of time in their service will be able to move to these sites and finish these projects (definitely not the ideal solution but it helps achieve the goal of helping families in need). My sitemate was scheduled to leave in July and was told a couple of weeks ago that she now needs to leave by the end of March. Volunteers can only extend for a year.

What does this mean for me? I personally am not affected. I do not have to move, and I do not have to leave early. But my support system is slowly moving back to the United States. We really do become a family and it saddens me to think that certain people who I always look forward to seeing will no longer be present when we all get together. But, it's time to be positive. I'm actually in an incredible situation. My boyfriend has to be relocated and he will be moving here to Canilla (granted nothing goes crazily wrong in the next couple of weeks). I'm stoked!! Not only is this a wonderful situation to be in (who doesn't want to live closer to a significant other?) No more eight hour trips to get to the other person's house!! Furthermore, we make a great working team as well so I'm excited for that additional support and to give that additional support back. And finally, it's incredibly flattering to see that Peace Corps values me and my boyfriend's work to allow us to live in the same site together. So, in summary, I think I'm one of the very few people who have an obvious silver lining to this crazy situation. Overall, I'm relieved to know what's happening. Feeling in the dark for two months and constantly guessing what will happen next is the best way to drive yourself mad.

So here's to some sanity, certainty, and a kick-ass seven last months of service!!!!!

Thanksgiving and Hospitals

This past Thanksgiving was definitely the most adventurous Thanksgivings I’ve ever had. Instead of the usual food fest, my boyfriend’s Dad and his girlfriend came into town from Alaska and we ventured off to the beautiful Rio Dulce and Livingston. It was incredible. Lush landscapes with a hint of the Caribbean surrounded us while traveling down Rio Dulce. When I think of Guatemala, volcanoes, mountain tops, and the Mayan culture all come to my mind, but during Thanksgiving I was exposed to a completely new side. Guatemala’s diverse terrain and cultures is what makes this country incredibly unique and extremely underrated. I kept forgetting where I was! If you have an opportunity to explore this part of the country, I highly recommend it!

Unfortunately, upon arriving back to the Guatemala that I am more familiar with I decided to go to the ER because I was having trouble with my asthma. What I thought would be an hour or two checkup turned into a three night hospital stay. After checking my vitals, they immediately hooked me up to an IV and prepped the nebulizer (yup, that’s what it’s called…sounds like some gadget to fight aliens) for a breathing treatment. After that, they carted me off in a wheel chair to take an x-ray of my lungs. I thought getting carted around in a wheel chair was a little dramatic for my taste, but I figured it’s standard procedure in the ER. Afterwards, I was taken aback when I saw a man with a leather coat, jeans and dress shoes with a stethoscope around his neck come into my room and introduce himself as the doctor covering for the usual PC doc. He ordered a tomografía (I didn’t know what that was until I was wheel chaired into a room with a CT scanner in it). Really!? A CT scan? Is that necessary. Again, I was shocked at the testing that I had to go through and thought it was an exaggeration. Seeing how I spent two years working in the health care industry, I assumed that this was the hospital’s way of running up the bill since they knew Peace Corps would pay for everything. Later on, I learned that CT Scans have become a lot cheaper to run and is the standard way of checking for sinus infections. After the tests, the doctor told me that there was no way I could go home and I had to spend at least one or two nights in the hospital. Whoa. I can’t even remember the last time I was admitted to the hospital. For those of you who know me well, I’m the type of person who doesn’t like to make a big deal out of things. I had been sick for about a month but felt a little better, I ran a half marathon two weeks ago and I guess I had just gotten used to breathing at about 50% capacity. After the doctor told me I had to be admitted, I definitely checked myself and realized that it is not only irresponsible but just plain stupid to push myself (I ran a half marathon two weeks ago!? What?) and ignore what my body is telling me.

Anyway, the hospital was quite nice. I had to share a room with another person which was a little awkward but after a day we started talking to each other and I met her family. She’s a 76 year old woman who lives in Esquintla (near the coast) and her husband has actually worked with PCVs in the past. The food was good (shocker!), I had a big flat screen tv to myself (watched episodes of reality tv shows that were the same ones running before I left for Peace Corps) and adjustable hot water showers. Despite these amenities, it was incredibly boring and the fact that I could only walk up and down a hallway for three days drove me mad. After a frustrating check out process, I left the hospital Wednesday without having to pay a dime (bill total $2,000 USD… pretty good deal!) and immediately treated myself to a McFlurry. I had to spend one incredibly cold night in Santa Lucia and then finally I was allowed to go back to site. Thank you to my wonderful Stateside and PC family as well as friends for the phone calls, messages, and distractions  Feels good to be home!!

All Saints Day (Día de Todos Santos)

Soaring through the air on November 1st and 2nd, kites of all colors and sizes can be found across the Guatemalan skies. Dia de Todos Santos (All Saints Day) is completely different than anything I’ve ever seen in the United States and it is because of this rich cultural tradition that I was reminded of Guatemala’s beauty and my love for this country.

The story behind the kites is based upon the very essence of All Saints Day: remembering and honoring the deceased. Every year on this date, families join together at the cemetery to place flowers, food, drinks, liquor, pictures, etc on the tombs of family members who have passed. Cemeteries are suddenly bursting with life. Food vendors, music and people gather all day (and sometimes night) to celebrate this day. What struck me as fascinating is that instead of seeing people drowned in sadness and covered in tears, people are rejoicing with the pleasures of life. I’m sure that is easy to say from an outsider’s perspective, and of course there are definitely the men who take shot (after shot after shot) in order to remember the dead, but it seems as though this holiday is more like Thanksgiving in the cemetery. As for the kites, they serve as a way to communicate to the deceased up in heaven.
Sumpango is known worldwide for its kite festival on November 1st with kites as tall as 20 meters! In retrospect, I should have talked to more people to get details on how long it takes to construct one of these kites but I just soaked up the day in sun and sites.


On the bus ride from Sumpango to a fellow PCV’s site nearby, families and children everywhere were flying their kites. It was incredibly gorgeous and pictures cannot capture the astounding beauty; the sun setting off in the distance with hundreds of kites soaring in the sky. Guatemala is beautiful.

My first Guatemalan Funeral

Late Saturday night I was woken up by the clanging of pots and pans and the rev of the blender. “What in the world is going on?” I thought to myself. Usually by 10pm everyone in the house is fast asleep. In my sleepy stupor, I decided not to give it much thought and go back to sleep. Sunday morning, while trying to take advantage of the hour of no rain, I ran into my host mom and asked her what was going on. “Don’t you know that Licena’s dad died last night!?” Apparently, in addition to being a Peace Corps volunteer, I am a mind reader.

The father of Licena, my host mom’s daughter-in-law, has been sick for a couple of months now and was diagnosed with cancer recently. He passed away around 10:30 Saturday night and they say he died peacefully, after an evening of chatting and heavy breathing, he decided that he wanted to sleep and died shortly thereafter.
The moment someone dies here, it’s time to work. You not only call family members to advise them of the death, but you begin the “velorio” wake. In order to prepare for the wake, you have to make MASSIVE amounts of food. My host family killed a cow, grinded 2 quintales of corn to make hundreds of tortillas, ordered five baskets of bread and countless pounds of vegetables. People from all over the community gather at the house to pay their respect and lots of people stay the entire night to mourn the death. So the morning after the family had to provide breakfast, then lunch, then dinner, then coffee with bread throughout the entire night (no one sleeps), then breakfast before the funeral. The coffin and flowers were arranged in the front room of the house for all to see the moment they walked into the house. Apparently the night before the burial, the body started to smell and everyone dashed to find incense and candles. I had wondered how they could have put formaldehyde in the body so quickly…answer is…they didn’t! (sorry is that TMI? My censor for that went out the window month three of this experience).

Another interesting thing I learned, aside from the insane amount of cooking and money spent on food for family but also for strangers just looking for a free meal, was another difference between Catholics and Evangelicals. Oh yes, the constant battle about who is the better Christian, pictures this: Jesus is in the middle of the playground and the Evangelical girl with pigtails yells “No I have accepted him into my heart not you!” and the Catholic girl turns to her good friend Virgin Mary and wonders what’s wrong with the pigtailed loud girl. Anyway, they were all going on about how amazing it was that he accepted Jesus into his heart before he died. This was shocking to me because everyone is either Catholic or Evangelical so how could it be that he was neither? I asked, “so he didn’t have a faith?” The women quickly replied “No, he was Catholic. Thank God that he accepted Jesus into his heart and is now with God in heaven!” For the Catholics reading this…surprised! Apparently, we’re going to hell because we haven’t accepted Jesus. No no, it doesn’t matter that we read the same bible, praise Jesus, nope only Evangelicals can get into heaven. Pretty sure Christianity was the umbrella that Catholicism was under but I guess I’m just a Catholic and wouldn’t know any better. Alright, I’ll step off my soap box now. It just gets under my skin sometimes.



So we went to the cemetery, the pastor gave his last prayer, and they placed the coffin into a tomb (above ground) and someone bricked the opening shut. I found myself getting emotional during these past days. At a funeral, you can’t help but wonder…who’s next? I thought of my family, of how far away I am from home, of my grandparents, of how heartbroken I would be if it were one of them instead. To properly deal with those thoughts, I had to distract myself with quotidian matters.
At the burial, my sitemate noted something I found particularly interesting, she commented on how people’s behaviors suddenly change when a family member dies; you realize how you took that person or life in general for granted. Family members who fought now get along; but the change is ephemeral. Sad isn’t it? Let’s try to remember the delicate nature of life and appreciate one another.

Everyone's a little bit racist

Yup, if Avenue Q hasn’t given you the news yet, well, now you know. Before my service, I imagined myself living in a rural village. My Dad joked about how my new address would be the third hut on the left. During the time when I announced that I had accepted my Peace Corps invitation and leaving for service, I felt as though I was constantly justifying my rationale for serving, constantly defending people and a culture that I’d never even experienced. The “us and them” mentality was in full effect: Americans vs. Guatemalans. Why would I trade hamburgers and draft beers for tortillas and eggs? (Actually, to be perfectly fair, that question crosses my mind from time to time). But back to the point, I felt a clear sense of racism among many Americans against Guatemalans before leaving in August 2010.

Fast forward a year and I come to find that the Guatemalans who are oftentimes subject to racism in the United States are in fact racist themselves. I knew that racism existed in all societies and being part Colombian I knew that skin color was definitely a factor in the societal hierarchy in Latin America. But I never thought that I would witness such a high level of discrimination on a daily basis in site. Working side by side with the Mayan Council, I’m constantly hearing people’s commentary. I’m not sure if people think that since I’m from the States then I’d also have the same racist thoughts against indigenous people or what but people seem to be quite open with me about their thoughts towards “the mountain people”. Yesterday, I sold a solar lamp and water filter to my host mom on behalf of the Mayan Council. On the water filter, there’s a space where you write who sold the item, so instead of writing my name I wrote “Alcaldía Maya” (Mayan Council). Immediately, she doubted the Mayan Council’s involvement in selling the products. The conversation went something like this:

Host Mom (HM): “Is the Mayan Council really selling these products!? What do they have to do with this?”

Me: “Yes, they’re working with an institution that provides them with water filters, solar lamps, they even do eye exams and sell reading glasses.”

HM: “What!? Could they be capable of giving eye exams?” (As if indigenous people are completely incompetent or incapable of accomplishing something aside from farming and selling in the market).

Me: “Yes, they went through workshops and have certificates to prove it. They actually do a lot of work that helps the community”

HM: “The indigenous community you mean”

Me: “No, everyone. They help anyone but are especially able to help Mayan communities because they speak the language.”

HM: “But what if they (the new Mayor and his people) get rid of them?”

Me: “That’s illegal, they have a constitutional right to exist.”

HM: “Really!? But why?”

And then I go on explaining the work that the Mayan Council does (for the millionth time). Then her son enters, asks the same questions, and I repeat myself.
I’ve had so many conversations like this. For all the complaints I get from people in my town about how Americans are so racist towards them when they (usually illegally) are in the US; I would think that they’d understand a little bit about how discrimination is unacceptable…but that isn’t the case. Everyone thinks that the Mayan Council is going to be taken away, nobody in the urban center knows about the work they do, it’s like they’re all afraid of admitting that there’s an indigenous presence in Canillá. My sitemate was telling me how a school director was saying that she didn’t think the Mayan Council was going to be able to stay, calling them “creidos” (conceited, stuck up) because they always want things their way. It reminds me of the racial issues various minority groups have had to endure in the US; whites calling minorities’ complainers for bringing injustices to light.

“Just wait,” I tell my co-worker, “in a couple of years they’ll be raving about all the good work you all do and will be asking for help. Then they’ll see.”

More on Immigration

Due to an increase in unemployment among the municipal workers who will soon be replaced, it seems that everyone is talking about going to “El Norte” (the north aka the US). They all plan on crossing the border illegally which makes me think, once again, about how immigration plays such a large role in my personal life here.

In Canillá, there aren’t really jobs here because it’s so small You can work for the municipality, the bank, be a teacher, work at the health center, own some sort of a tienda, or work your farm (but this is typically small scale and the only market is selling products once a week in our local market or traveling long distances to sell in the markets of nearby towns). . In fact, the more educated you are, the harder it is to find a job in Canillá. If you’ve studied in school, that leaves you with the municipality, the bank, the school system or the health center. Some towns have NGOs or foreign institutions that will hire Guatemalans, but those are also on a contract basis and are typically located in department capitals. For example, Save the Children used to be in our town but they’ve moved on to other municipalities and they either take their staff with them or hope that the municipality hires the local workers.

I keep going back and forth as to whether people who say they’re crossing the border are doing it because of necessity or because they want to keep up with a high-level of living. In Canillá, you definitely see both cases. The people in the municipality are used to a certain amount of pay and some of them have even entrenched themselves in massive debt, thus, taking a low-level Guatemalan job just isn’t going to cut it for them. For others, it’s a matter of survival. It’s far better for them to find a low level US job that no American really wants to do in order to send that money back home (see NYT article about hiring locally for farming jobs). But then there are the risks associated with all of this:

• It’s expensive to cross the border, last I heard it ran for about $8,000 USD plus 10% interest and obviously if you don’t have money to live in Guatemala, you don’t have the money to pay that fee upfront
• It has become increasingly dangerous. Justin was telling me that a coyote from his town mentioned how the narcos are pretty much running shop in the border towns; you can play by their rules, get killed, or wait around indefinitely by the border to cross (and that isn’t guaranteed). This is on top of the other risks associated with illegally crossing the border: border patrol, injuries from harsh weather and walking conditions, illness, gangs along the way, etc.
• You leave your family. I cannot count how many family problems I’ve encountered because a child’s parents have left for the United States. In some cases, the children stay with the mother but then the father gets a new US wife and forgets his family back home. In other cases, both parents head for the US and leave the children with the grandparents who may not be able to dedicate the time and effort to raise another set of children. And in worse scenarios, the children become abandoned, forced to live on the streets or figure out how to fend for themselves.

Despite these risks, in their opinion, it’s still worth it to cross.

Never in my life have I thought about immigration so much. Honestly, immigration and the drug war are the two issues that have been completely eye opening for me. My mom is from another country, so of course I was familiar with immigration, understood the complexities of preserving an old culture while trying to fit in with a new one; but never had I experienced these sort of immigration issues on such a wide scale. I had never been on the other side of the fence.

Whenever I see news coverage about immigration, I immediately download the article or podcast. The New York Times posted an interesting article with photos and a documentary that I read a couple days ago. A couple salient points “Deportation is expensive, costing the government at least $12,500 per person”, “‘repeat crossers are singled out for removal alongside ‘serious felons,’ ‘known gang members’ and ‘individuals who pose a clear risk to national security.’” (I know repeat crossers…they are definitely not anywhere near the status of a gang member or big risks to national security), but what struck me most was the quote by David Shirk, director of the Transborder Institute at the University of San Diego “"If you think drug dealers and terrorists are much more dangerous than maids and gardeners, then we should get as many visas as possible to those people, so we can focus on the real threat…Widening the gates would strengthen the walls." Now before dismissing this comment, really think about it. Who should we really be targeting? The people in my town looking for work? Or the gang members and narcos that make a profit because they can manage increasingly intricate obstacles that the US creates to “stop” immigration? Immigration is incredibly complex and as I continue to meet people in my town who were born in the US, have crossed illegally, just want to visit, want to start fresh, I find myself wondering how can people in Washington, who probably have never seen the other side, make blanket solutions to immigration?