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?

Tangible project or relationship building?

Sometimes I wonder if I started on the wrong foot. I’m about a year into my service and, as such, I’ve really tried to reflect upon what I’ve done thus far and where I would like to go. The other day I was talking to the person I replaced in site to gain a better understanding of what she missed the most about her service and Canillá. She told me that the people, the play dates with children, the strength of the women who fought for their families while having so little; those were much more impactful than the “work” aspect of her service. It made me think, “What am I doing with my service?” Have I just been imposing my American work values and definitions of “success” on this incredible experience and opportunity to appreciate life in a new and exciting way?

In my defense, this past year has been quite interesting due to the election period. Women in communities stopped showing up for meetings due to fear of giving the impression that they were in support of the mayor when in fact they supported someone else. I also believe strongly in working with my co-workers. I could go out to communities by myself and start from scratch but, at least for now, my co-workers are very knowledgeable and workshops go much better when they are present with me. I continuously go back and forth between telling myself that I’m just making excuses and telling myself that I should stick true to the capacity building aspect of Peace Corps. Anyway, in lieu of community outings and workshops, my co-worker and I have been going full steam with the construction of a Cultural Center. Right now we’re about a month into the construction but we have had several delays due to transportation delays, weather, elections, etc. So currently the workers are putting up the metal rebar skeleton for the cement columns that serve as the support of the entire structure. But once again, after having that conversation about how the people truly make a service, I’m beginning to wonder if I went about all of this incorrectly. Have I sacrificed relationship-building opportunities for a tangible project? Perhaps I’m being too critical, but I think it’s important to analyze the past year in order to make a stronger effort to explore new realms in the next coming year. When I think of new projects, I tell myself, once the Center is done, I’m too busy now. I don’t want to go home thinking that I didn’t take full advantage of this opportunity. I guess sometimes it just gets so exhausting to be an outsider; I’d prefer to spend my free time holed up in my room working on “personal growth” or, let’s be honest, crossing off must-see tv episodes. As with everything in life, it’s about balance. (On that note, here’s a funny video clip about PC that I got from a fellow PCV’s facebook )


Hopefully I can balance the tangible and intangible successfully enough to finish my two years feeling satisfied and being able to tell new volunteers about what I miss the most after I have COS’d.

Election time

This past Sunday, on September 11th, Guatemala had its first round of elections. I say first round, because if a presidential party doesn’t reach over 50% of the popular vote, there is a second round of voting in November between the top two candidates. This is the first election of my life, where I was more concerned about the outcome of the local election than of the national election. (Just an aside, this whole experience is teaching me the importance of local politics and it will be a personal goal of mine to become more involved in and informed about local government when I return to the US). Because I work in the municipality, my second year of service is dramatically contingent upon the results of the local election.

The morning of the election I received word that a car carrying 16 people crashed coming down from a community in order to transport people to the urban center to vote. One woman died and fifteen were injured. A woman died because she wanted to exercise her right to vote. Apparently the breaks went out, but there are tons of rumors as to the “truth”. An opposing political party immediately took advantage of the situation and started telling people that the event was the perfect illustration of how the current mayor doesn’t take care of his people. I was immediately revolted by the ability people have to take something as serious as death and manipulate the situation into a political attack. I decided to spend the day in my room catching up on reading, tv shows and laundry. What I thought could have been a potentially dangerous day turned out to be fairly monotonous. Around eight at night, I decided to join my host family and watch the news as well as catch up on the gossip concerning the local election. According to my host mom, we would know the results by eight thirty. We watched as people went from one political party center to the next in order to enjoy free food. At around ten thirty, one political party center immediately began throwing fire crackers and yelling (that’s the way people typically figure out who wins – the winner throws a big party). It turned out to be a false alarm. What was strange about this election night was that it took incredibly longer than usual to know the results of the election. After some midnight munchies and chit chat, I finally decided to go to bed a little past one am. At around two am I received a phone call from one of my co-workers. The current mayor lost. Her tone of voice was a mixture of shock, sadness and fear. Not only did my co-workers candidate lose, she also essentially lost her job that night. When a new mayor is elected, the entire municipal staff is wiped out. During campaign season, candidates promise all sorts of jobs to family members and supporters. Therefore, my hardworking co-workers could easily be swopped out for a candidate’s sister’s friend who has no particular interest in women’s rights.

The next morning I awoke and my host family was ecstatic. Apparently, they were huge supporters of the new guy. “I’m going to have a job!” my host mom exclaimed. Since moving in, my host mom has expressed an interest in returning to work with women’s health. The fact that my host family was so happy made me think that perhaps things would turn out for the best with this new guy around. I expressed my concern for my project. Rumors and gossip are huge here, so I was particularly concerned of a rumor that people were trying to convince the new mayor to get rid of the Mayan Council (the community group I’ve worked closely with over the past months). My host family assured me that there was no need to worry and that anything I needed they would be sure to let this new guy know to give his support. In a land of false promises, I took their optimism with a grain of salt. Either way, my host mom has been suffering through a lot lately and it made me happy to see them full of hope and promise. Later in the evening, I had a two hour conversation with one of my co-workers to try and figure out a way she can continue her job at the municipality. I’ll keep you posted on how that goes but essentially she’s setting up a meeting with the new mayor and the Mayan Council in order to discuss the work that they’ve done for the community and how they’d like to continue to receive municipal support. That meeting is tomorrow, so I’ll keep you all posted. As for the construction of the Mayan Center, the current mayor informed us that he will continue to support us with the labor cost. Unfortunately, there are some loose ends with funding that I was hoping he’d pay for if he won but obviously I’ll have to go through with the SPA funding process in order to make sure we have enough funding to finish the construction.
I’m extremely curious about what my job will be like after January 14th when everything gets formally passed over to the new mayor. I continue to repeat the same mantra I’ve inculcated into my brain over this past year “everything happens for a reason”.