Me Duelle mi Corazón

26.02.13

Guatemala is amazing. My time in Antigua has been incredible; my host mom is so sweet; I’ve been electrocuted in the shower, survived several tests, conducted interviews in Spanish; I have gone to church, made new friends, seen the sunrise over a mangrove, and spent a whole weekend beside the Pacific Ocean, feeling words only Kate Chopin’s The Awakening can express. I’ve lived an entire month with a different country, culture, a different continent. I have so many stories I want to tell everyone who takes the time to read this blog, and I will sharethose stories, but I have to write this.

I cried today. Not because I was homesick, though I miss my family, friends, and the presence of sofas. It wasn’t because I was stressed, though this week is going to push me academically. It wasn’t because I was sick or lonely or hormonal. My tears, barely held back all morning, were a result of the perfect (in a horrible way that strikes at the bitter reality of brokenness) mixture of academic knowledge combining with personal experience and being a witness to silent suffering.

My class this morning ended with a thirty-minute discussion between my professor, Rosa María, and myself. We’d just finished reading the book Cajas de Cartón, a story of so much more than a Mexican immigrant, and we were thinking about the cycle of poverty. One topic led to another and Rosa María started to talk about the habits of Latin American men – one of her favorite subjects. Today’s theme lacked the jovial tone of previous conversations.

Guatemala is a machismo society – kind of patriarchal. Men hold a large sway and many of the “rules” of society are swayed to fit their desires. Men’s wants and commands are put above those of women. People are fighting to change this, but it is a slow and tedious process. I can’t imagine it. My own patience wears thin as I avert my eyes, again, to avoid unwanted attention and mistaken intention. I dress modestly to fight against the stereotypes the media has portrayed of me and prevent uncomfortable encounters. I am careful with whom I begin conversations and I am to be in the house by 10:00, 9:00 in Magdalena. Extremes are taken to provide my safety in a system where men’s desires sit on a throne of violence.

These desires include wives who do not use any form of sexual protection – that would be interpreted as adulterous behavior, for that would be the only reason for birth control. Some women do try to use protection, going in secret to receive surgeries or buy pills, but they do so at their own risk – often a risk of being beaten. Guatemala’s extremely Catholic society frowns upon family planning that would prevent the will of God. And so the cyclical system of poverty continues as children are born into already poor families who barely manage to scrape by. And children work instead of going to school. And government gifts to encourage education are sold for extra cash. And people starve and beg and sell trinkets to tourists. And little people learn the bad habits. And it goes on and on and on.

There is a babysitter in our host family, Isabella. Isabella watches the granddaughter. The daughter of the daughter. The princess, the beautiful, the cutie, the lovely, precious, adorable little girl. That’s what they tell her. Constantly. What a baby. Que chulla. Princesa. Guapa. Bonita. Mi amor. Isabella watches Princesa every morning. Isabella is fourteen. She is quiet and shy and never speaks unless spoken to. She eats lunch in the kitchen with the other house worker, not with us. She does not go to school. She probably will never go back to school. Her skin is darker and her nose a little flatter. She leaves work after lunch to work at home. What will she do when the Princess is grown? Probably find another baby or a different home or be married off to her own children and labor. Or maybe both.

And today it was too much. Today my lessons from class and my own disgust of my ungratefulness welled up in an ocean of hurt and I thought my heart would burst right there at the lunch table. I watched as grandmother, uncle, mother, and even those of us sitting around the dinner table took the moment to coddle the baby, to tell her she mattered, to show her she was precious. And Isabella, herself a little girl, stood there holding this child, the same as everyday. And she stood there – a piece of furniture, an extension for the child, a hired hand – and no one let her know that just because she was poor, just because she was indigenous, just because she was a young woman, that that made her no less a human being. No one told her she was precious and treasured. That she was created and is loved.

So in my frustration, in my room, I burst into tears. I let them fall into my hands and I told myself that I would never again complain about school. I told myself that I would remember to thank my parents and family for their hard work so that, on a summer job, I can go to school and lead the life I lead. I told myself to thank God for the blessings I have each day, being born in a place that I take for granted, into a group that supports and encourages my dream – recognizing them as valid. And I told myself, I promised myself and God, that I would learn to take the time to make the most of each interaction. To spend the rest of my short time demonstrating to the people I encounter that they are valued, that they have worth, and that they are loved.

So I will, once again, post pictures and stories and expand on the joy I find here. I love my experience and I would not trade it. I know I’m here for a reason. I am having a good time and I can’t wait to share stories of this beautiful country I am living in, but I believe you needed to know. Maybe even if it is just to take a moment to say thank you and rest in peace, appreciating what seems the littlest blessing. And then, perhaps, to think of how to pass that blessing on. 

The Rising of the Sun

 It does not relate, exactly, to Guatemala, but I felt it was worth sharing. More posts about this wonderful place to follow. 

The Rising of the Sun

            I made my way out of our room out on to the deck, preparing myself to be still – always difficult for me. I sat on the wicker couch, covered in a weatherworn sheet, feeling the chill seep in. It was before the sun was in the sky, hidden behind the distant mountains. Pulling my sweatshirt around my stiff fingers, I could see my breath cloud around me. My flannel pajama pants soaked in the morning chill from the pillows that had been seeping in it all night long.

            I sat, trying to quiet my thoughts, admiring the few streams of light mingling with the clouds crowning the mountains, like streaks of blonde in the sky. That’s when I realized – I was going to witness the sunrise.

With a twitter matching the morning song of the birds, my heart fluttered. I love the sun. I watched in anticipation, craning my neck to see beyond the mountains. I was sure that with my limited schedule, I wouldn’t have time to see the full work.

But the rising was swift. In a few, short minutes, the sun pushed over the mountains. Once again, it reigned in the sky. I was shocked. Then I was shocked at my own surprise. Even with the repetition – the constancy of the sun – I hadn’t noticed the signs of the it’s arrival. I still didn’t understand the workings of the sunrise. Eventually, I was forced to avert my eyes – the splendor overwhelming my vision.

Having risen, I stood there with my feet flat on the cold cement balcony. My eyes closed and face upturned, I was amazed by the differences I’d experiences in only a couple of minutes. My body turned toward the warmth; I let it pour into me. My limbs that were once solid in the cold were almost instantly warmed. The radiating light washed over me, simultaneously energizing and calming me. My cheeks glowed in the heat resting on my face. Unable to look directly at the sun, I didn’t need to. I did not need my eyes to know where it was – to feel its presence, its place.

It was at this angle, with my hands limply at my side, that the sun wiped away my shadows. And it was here, in this position of helplessness – blind in the brilliance – I felt pure and enveloped. Assured. It was there – here – that I can rest and be still, feeling the warmth of grace in the midst of the morning chill. 

Un Mundo Muy Diferente

9.2.13

            Otra vez, what a day. We spent the majority of the day walking about, discovering the wonders of Antigua. It is truly an incredible city. With the volcanoes as our primary landmarks, we made our way about, trying to figure out those directions.

            We started in el Parque Central. True to its name, it’s the centermost part of the city. I think it would be accurate to say, based upon my incredible experience of a week of visiting, that it’s the heartbeat of the city. Filled with vendors, shops, hippies, tourists with high socks, children, students, visitors from all over the world, surrounded by shops and cafes, bordered by a beautiful church, with gardens and birds and the mountains for a backdrop – there is a place for everyone. The vibrancy is incredible and inspiring. Y los niños – que chullos!

            Our group was a little directionally challenged – obviously assisted by my famously impeccable sense of direction (my father is laughing out loud right now reading this I am sure) – but eventually we made our way to El Merced. The Merced is a beautiful church off of the park square, also filled with people. The beautiful purple trees (my favorite) poured their shade over the couple getting married. It was picture perfect!

            After much wandering and circling and general confusion, we found Centro Linguistico Maya – our school for the next couple of months. We visited, solely for the purpose of pictures, the most incredible McDonald’s I have ever seen. It was beautiful! Such a strange phenomenon. Afterwards, we made our way to lunch, stopping at “Bagel Barn” – I know, I know – and returning to the Central Park for a brief sit. After a discussion at the SI office (the Student International program is that which is hosting our stay here), we had tiempo libre.

El Arco - Tan Bonita, no?

Jordyn, Ronald, and I - You should see the fountain and chandeliers! 

Hermano Pedro - the place of my internship this last week

            My group used our time well to purchase coffee and spend a little more time in the park, watching and talking and questioning different things. Afterwards we walked to the market and tried our hand at bargaining – something that’s going to be extremely different for me, the person who doesn’t even like to ask for a different shoe size. I did not bargain, simply asked for prices and stood in awe of the numerous people and things available for purchase. Finally, we ended our walk at Luna de Miel and finished our time in Antigua with a variety of crêpes for dinner.

            It was a lot of walking, but I barely noticed between my enraptured glimpses of the city. Antigua is definitely going to be an extremely different living experience than Magdelena. Whereas in Magdelena it is bizarre to see any other gringos, Antigua is a city that caters to tourists – from all parts of the world. Antigua is rich and filled with “cobblestone” streets and nice cars. The majority of people who work there, the indigenous from the surrounding mountains, bus in to make their living off the people the city attracts. In Magdelena, it is rude not to greet the people you approach in the dirt streets and everybody knows everybody’s business; this is not so in Antigua. The new and modern stores of Antigua stand out against the small tiendas and panerias of Magdelena. It’s going to be a whole different world and I am sad to leave my family here, but excited to experience a whole new living. We move in tomorrow to meet our new families – I can’t wait! 

A Week Today

4.2.13

Fue un día loco. My short amount of time in Guatemala feels like weeks, not in a bad way, but like I’m beginning to be comfortable here. I have already lived in two different cities – kind of anyway. Saturday, our “troop” moved to Magdelena, a small town built into the side of the mountain. (Each day brings about sore legs, tired from constant climbing use.) Upon arriving – which involved a terrifying bus experience – we were placed into our host families.

The people here are incredible. It’s unbelievable to be in a place so full of generosity with a people who, materially, have so little. It’s been a strange experience to experience a really different way of approaching being part of a family – and my roommate and I are definitely a part of the family. Immediately upon bringing us into their home, both my “mamá” y “papá” made it clear to us that we were part of the family. My goal for the end of the week is to absorb the lessons I am learning here about how to be a generous and loving person – even to people I don’t know. Tonight we all played cards – “Uno” – a favorite game of my two hermanitas. The girls are very shy, but absolutely adorable and sweet.

I love it here in Magdelena. It’s small, the streets are crowded, the walks are steep, and the view leaves me in awe. I love walking down the streets and greeting each person I see – “Buenos Días!” “Buenos Tardes!” “Buenos Noches!” I love waking up in the morning to the sound of birds and the songs of my host family. I love the children playing soccer in the streets, the vendors behind their stands of fruit, and the intimate sense of connection between everyone who lives here. I wish I had the words to express the beauty of the tradition and the power of love that is found in this place.

My internship, unlike most here, is not in Magdelena; I travel to Antigua (only a few pueblos away) to work. Esta semana esta mi primer semana en Hermano Pedro. Hermano Pedro is a center – a huge center – for those who have a disability, either physically or mentally. The organization is run completely off of the generosity of those who donate money and time. It’s connected to a church and has a clinic, as well as a home for those who have been abandoned or whose family can’t afford to or don’t want to care for them. Housed in a old yellow building, crowned with creamy-white decoration – it’s huge. Nineth – my incredible supervisor who, Monday, became my hero – started our time on Monday at Hermano Pedro with a tour. We walked the huge rectangle, a space of many rooms filled with various gardens and open spaces, and stopped in each “part” to talk with whichever group was there at the time. There are spaces for the older men, the younger men, the older women, the younger women, and the children – the “children.” The children are, for the most part, actually young men and women around the age of 20 who simply haven’t developed and are therefore in the developmental stages of a baby. They can’t communicate, but they can understand their surroundings really well. I can’t explain what it’s like to see a room full of these people lying in their cribs for almost 18 hours a day and reaching out to simply hold a hand. Equally, I can’t explain the beauty of the smiles on their faces from a mere touch on the shoulder or a simple joke. I’m still a little unsure of what our role is there (I think primarily to provide stimulization and to be as their mission statement says – to be the hands and feet of Christ), but I should know more by the end of the week. When my friends and host-family asked me about my day on Monday, my only response could be to say that I had a good experience, but that it was very hard on my heart.

When I think about my experiences in Guatemala, I am reminded of one of the flowers that grows in the middle of the cracked sidewalk or in the road. Not a dandelion or a weed or anything like that, but one of those simple, beautiful flowers of a bright color that makes you stop and admire this product of nature for its beauty and strength. There is so much brokenness. There is pain and things happening that make me want to weep. Everyday I am overstimulated and my heart is already tired and I am exhausted from trying to comprehend all of this in a language that is not my first understanding. But everywhere I turn, there are flowers popping throughout the city. Everywhere I look there are brilliant spots of incredible beauty that make my heart swell. There are volunteers and workers like Nineth who commit their time to pouring out as much love as possible on those who have been dismissed. This place is beautiful – the trees, mountains, sky, buildings, and literal flowers. There are people like my host-family who truly understand the meaning of a gift. There are teachers and pastors and laborers and citizens who are working to clear out the cement weighing down the possibility of an incredible garden.  Guatemala is a place that fosters its beauty and possibility and waits for its people to grow into all that awaits it. 

Increíble

31.1.13

            As soon as we landed in Guatemala City, I felt like I was part of a movie. Everything was absolutely perfect. We stepped out of the airport (recently found luggage and all) into a busy street. We loaded into a tiny bus (minus seatbelts) with the feel of constant use. Everything shouted película, down to the little flowers on the linen covered sheets atop the seats. We drove through the narrow streets, complete with waving motorcyclists and brilliant colors visible even through the dark. Arriving at “Semilla,” the seminary housing us, we hauled our bags up four flights of stairs and made our way back down to los snacks.

            The morning followed suit in the aspect of perfection. I awoke to sun, the sound of birds and shouting children, and the hum of life. Making my way to the window, I immediately looked for what was cloaked in darkness the night before. Increíble. That was my only thought as the light exposed the city, mountains, and green just below the balcony outside of my bedroom. Bringing my Bible and journal to the balcony outside our room, I couldn’t help but praise God for the incredible works He had made. In searching for a way to praise His works, I opened to Psalm 145: “Great is the LORD and most worthy of praise; his greatness no one can fathom. One generation will comment your works to another; they will tell of your mighty acts. They will speak of the glorious splendor of your majesty; and I will meditate on your wonderful works.” And most of the afternoon left plenty of time to admire His wonderful works. We ate a wonderful breakfast, brought a solid game of “ninja” to Guatemala, and went into the city to make an absolute spectacle of ourselves – somos los gringos.  

 

            Después de la mañana, todos vímos una película sobre el basurero. Before the movie, we had lecture from a very passionate professor about the history of the Guatemalan culture. I was astounded at the 36 year civil war and how a people are able to recover. After finishing the documentary about the landfill located in Guatemala City, providing “work” for thousands, we drove out to the dump itself. In all of our excursions on the bus, I was amazed by the amount of people able to fit into a street or a very tiny sidewalk. People, busses, motorcycles, cars, taxis, veanders – no one in Guatemala has a bubble. They all scurried about and honked and laughed and yelled and talked in loud voices. I felt like an overstimulated child who needed a second to take a breath, but all at the same time it was incredibly exciting.We parked in a public cemetery crowded with people selling flowers and food and milling about. It was  full of huge monuments dedicated to families and individuals, many of them were very old. The glass had been shattered for a time, the flowers dried, and the carvings of Mary and Jesus worn away from weather and time. 

            After walking through the cemetery a short ways away from all of the people, we followed a gravel path around the corner. Before we could see anything of the dump, we could smell it. Years and years of toxic fumes that had caused a huge fire only a few years prior to our being there filled the air with an overwhelming aroma. Vultures circled the sky and guarded the grave markers closest to the cliff overlooking the landfill. They were everywhere - huge birds clouding the trees and streets. The bald-headed birds with large, black, shining wings cast shadows the sky with an aminous presence reflected only in the sound of the wind filling the silence as we gazed down at the site. It whistled through the graves, pulling at our hair and clothes, filling our eyes with dust. 

               Increíble. There it was again – that feeling of being completely overwhelmed. But this time was different. Instead of feeling the awe of the mountains and the color and the sheer beauty of my surroundings, I was stunned by the site before me. I cannot describe in words the way my heart seemed to want to hide from what I was looking at. What I had just seen on a screen was playing out before me – and it was only my first day in Guatemala. I felt like the city was trying to hide from the same feelings – putting the dump in a large valley, behind a cemetery – out of sight and out of mind. Looking down, through the swirling vultures, trying to focus past the nagging bugs attracted to my arms, I could see doll sized people. Real people. They were moving about past the large trucks, over the piles of trash and waste, many carrying large bundles atop their bent backs. Garbage made circles in the wind, scurrying up the hills and into the trees. This garbage would become a livelihood for the people below, earning them about 10 Q. a day – the approximate of less then a dollar and a half.

            We made our way back to the bus, much quieter with this sense of reality branded upon us. I felt tears pushing at my eyes, but did my best to restrain them. I felt so guilty – and so blessed. I get to go to a university because I desire a career, and really a life, in which I can thrive and have a sense of purpose, doing what I’m “called” to do. But the people I just saw – too far away to read their faces – they were working the dump because there only option at this point is to survive. And knowing that there are so many complications and factors into how it got to be this way and to helping doesn’t help the heaviness I feel when I think about the situation. When one in three people move from the country into a single city, there is simply not enough resources to go around. And it makes me wonder – what am I missing at home? What am I not seeing? Who am I ignoring – if only out of sheer ignorance? And then I thanked God because I have a hope and He is good and He is greater than the brokenness of earth. But I want to remind myself that having hope is not an excuse nor a reason not to reach out and share and sacrifice every day. I have been given much so that I can bless those around me – not so that I may choose only to see what is beautiful and pleasant. I know I cannot help everyone, but I can help someone.

            From el basurero we drove to a huge mall, "Miraflores," and were instructed to buy what we could with 10 Q. We split into different groups, some attempting to buy clothes, others food. My group was instructed to buy a can of pop – una lata.  I was struck – 7 Q. Almost a whole days work for un guajero. But I was also pleased from the pleasant conversation with the man who sold us the soda – which was exciting for me because I was able to hold a conversation with someone guatemalteca. Then my group and I discussed the happenings of the day while sipping our sugary orange sodas.

            Overall, it was an incredible day. In a single day I was able to see the wonder and majesty of the world and those in it and, simultaneously, discover the horridness and darkness with which we share this earth. I am struggling to process everything – this lovely place that I am allowed to stay, the people, the happenings, the food, how I find God here, the traditions and habits, how to interact with the people around me and my group, and what I have seen. All of that to say, I am so glad I came!