Well, I think this will be my official last posting on this blog. Since I last wrote I made the journey to Florida where I spent 4 wonderful day soaking in the wisdom and good cooking of my spritely grandmother. It was a perfect buffer between the old and new lives-- providing me a few extra days of the trilled sounds of Spanish and of warmth on my skin.

I now find myself bundled up in fleece and wool by the rotund potbelly stove that provides heat to my parent's house in Warren, New Hampshire. The Baker River and the kaleidoscope leaves are a perfect backdrop for all of the thinking and sorting-through that I'm doing. Two years of memories and images are dancing about in my head. People like to ask "so, how was it?" I wish I had some sort of concise answer. Peace Corps told us to memorize a 3 sentence answer to that question, but every time I try to, I come up with too much, or too little. So mostly I respond with something like, "It was great! Two years is a long time...how long have you got to hear about it?"

I'm expecting an eventual wave of emotion once I realize that I won't be returning to San Sebastián anytime soon, but for now I'm thankful to be among those that I love and am reveling in the autumn colors and the comforts of home. I thought that I'd have pages to write reflecting on all that I learned and gained in Peace Corps, but in the end I think I'd rather let the stories contained in these pages speak of my journey. It's been a wild one, with more twists and turns than I'd imagined, but I've made it to the other side and am happier and (hopefully) wiser for it. Peace Corps was one hell of an adventure; here's to the next one!

I'm sitting in the airport, sipping Guatemalan coffee and thinking about what the past two years have shown and meant to me. It's been totally wild. Like almost any worthwhile experience, my Peace Corps life has been an adventure and a struggle. I've learned about myself, about others and about the way the world works and where I fit into the big picture. The next few weeks will find me in Florida, Massachusetts and New Hampshire soaking up family and reintegrating into America. It will hopefully provide me some time to process and people to process with, so I'll be sure to post some post-Peace Corps thoughts and pictures. Thanks for sharing this adventure with me, for your emails and comments. I'm so glad to have been able to show you a little bit of this wonderful place that's been my home!

A view I will miss

My bags are packed. The house is cleaned and I removed my key from its spot on my keychain. In exactly 9.5 hours I'll load my enormous bags into my friend's car and say goodbye to SanSe for the forseen future. I don't have words to explain what I am feeling, it's something akin to heartbreak, that kind of feeling you get when something difficult and amazing is ending-- incredible nostalgia and sadness mixed with hope and a face pointed toward the road ahead.

I'm down to five days left in San Sebastián. Five days to spend with friends, to get in all the hugs and chats and tamales I can fit into my memory and stomach. I honestly never thought about making it here. I've dreamt about the coveted "Returned Peace Corps Volunteer" title and about life after my service, but the last week and the goodbyes were absent from those thoughts. Now that I'm here and staring down my last week, I'm nervous and sad and totally bewildered. This place, this strange and different land that I've been living for 24 months has become my home and it's nearly impossible for me to imagine life outside of it.

I'm used to the honking of camionetas being my alarm, Saturday nights always providing a tamale and piping hot cup of coffee, holidays meaning firecrackers and late nights. I've learned the way certain neighbors ring my doorbell, I've grown accustomed to the scream of "carrrrllllooootaaaa" from the street meaning that kids want to read books; I am a part of a family, of several families, and the idea of going away and unlearning all of those things is starting to break my heart. I love this place. I love my life. And even though I know it's time to move on, to live close to my blood-family and put down some semblance of roots, I'm having trouble saying goodbye. So I'll say "see you in a year" or "see you at so-and-so's wedding," because that makes it easier.

One of the things that I've enjoyed most about being a PC volunteer, and also one of the values that I hold most dear is the idea that culture is important and worth sharing. Technology and increased travel to far-flung places are both great things; I've benefitted from both. However, one of the pitfalls of those things is an increased homogeneity that has us seeing African kids wearing Tupac shirts and Guatemalan girls playing with Barbies (oh the lovely things that seem to spread most rapidly from our culture).

One of my goals as a volunteer has been to share my culture and others that I'm familiar with in a way that's authentic and engaging- and also that doesn't include pop music, crappy processed foods or English swear words. The world is filled with rich cultures that are worth studying and sharing, foods that are worth tasting, and music that no one can resist the urge to tap their toes or dance to. When we learn to embrace differences and appreciate what we don't understand, we learn empathy and the value of individuality. We also end up absorbing and learning a whole lot of really cool things. As such, I shared the secrets of Sushi with my Guatemalan friends a few weeks ago and loved watching them learn to make rolls and use chopsticks. So they ate it with tortillas...maybe that'll be the newest fashionable fusion food.

I have had the amazing privilege of working with incredible women during my time here. My job in the Municipal Women’s Office has included organizing and legalizing groups of women in each village and then getting them together on a monthly basis to train them in topics ranging from self-esteem to voting. They are women who are chosen for their leadership and their desire to improve the situation of women in their communities.

When I first started working with them they were incredibly shy, none of them wanted to talk in front of the rest of the group, and giggling was all I got from them when I asked questions. Now that we’ve been meeting semi-frequently for two years, the women trust me and each other and share stories of their lives and ideas for the future without fear. I have loved watching that transition and sharing in lots of great moments with them—my personal favorite being a game we played where we had to pop balloons with our bodies without using our feet or hands (try it, it’s hilarious).

I recently had my last meeting with them. They gave me hugs and asked me to come back next year. I’m going to miss these ladies but leave them knowing that they’ll continue meeting and that they have the confidence and creativity to make their communities and their own lives better.

I returned from my recent trip to the U.S. to find a very special surprise. My friend Doña Dora had given birth to a baby girl and she named her Carlota, the translation of my name into Spanish. When I arrived to Dora's house to meet the new baby she put her in my arms and said to me "when you leave we want to always remember you, so we named her Carlota." It was truly one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Here in Guatemala when someone names a baby after you, they are called your tocayo, or namesake. Here are a few photos of Carlota and her older siblings- Vilma, Dorothy, Froylan and Viviana.

Admission: I LOVE coffee. If you’ve spent more than 8 hours with me, you already know that. Naturally, I was thrilled when I heard I was going to be living in Huehuetenango, famous for its coffee. There has been no shortage of coffee drinking and learning in the last two years, so I wanted to share a few of the things that I’ve learned.

Lesson #1- Huehuetenango coffee really is unparalleled. It’s smooth and rich and wonderful. My uncle actually claims that the coffee I brought him for Christmas last year is the only coffee that doesn’t leave him with heartburn!

Lesson #2- The coffee process is incredibly labor and knowledge intensive. I’ve gotten to watch and participate in all of the stages of coffee production: growing, picking, de-pulping, drying, shelling, toasting, milling and brewing. In that process, there will typically be at least 4 people involved- a grower, who also depulps and dries, the businessman who buys it and shells it, the toaster, and the barista who makes the drink. Each of those knowledge sets is unique and requires time and patience to learn. Which brings me to lesson 3…

Lesson #3- The coffee industry is broken. The coffee farmers who live in my town and the surrounding areas are lucky if they receive $1 per pound of coffee (the price is based on international standards set in NY and is the price that farmers worldwide receive). The buyer then typically sells it to a buyer in the US for a 200% markup where it is toasted, packaged and sold again for another 200% markup- effectively keeping the producers in poverty and the middle men wealthy and powerful.

I have a friend here who is the son of a coffee farmer who grew up and decided to try and change the system. He owns a coffee shop here in Huehuetenango and also trains farmers in organic techniques and fair trade regulations.

I recently sat down with him and he explained that even “fair trade” labeled coffee in the U.S. isn’t usually fair trade, the extra $2 that we spend on the bag in a grocery store ends up somewhere in the pockets of the toasters and the “fair trade” certifying organization. He advised me that the best way to ensure that the farmer is getting a fair wage for his work is to buy direct- to buy from a toaster who has a relationship with the farmers growing his coffee.

Living here and having friends who farm coffee has made me much more aware of where my money goes. It’s easy to drink coffee detached from the system, we don’t grow coffee in the U.S. (except in Hawaii) so we don’t see farmers toiling for poverty wages. Now that I’ve seen it I’m committed to doing all that I can to buy direct and make sure that my enjoyment of coffee doesn’t come at someone else’s expense.

If you’re interested in learning more about direct buy, check out these websites/articles:

https://www.larrysbeans.com/

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/coffeecity/2012795613_direct_trade_seeks_integrity_f.html?syndication=rss

http://www.directtradecoffee.com/

Also, watch the film "Black Gold." It takes place in Ethiopia, but applies everywhere coffee is grown.

For the third time in my Peace Corps service I celebrated Independence Day with Guatemalan friends. Traditions here, much like in the U.S, revolve around parties, parades and food. The celebrating began on the 13th with events in the town center-- teenagers on stilts, soccer games, marimba music and then continuing at the elementary school with skits by the kids- including a full reenactment of Shrek done by the second graders!

The 14th brought antorchas in which traditionally schools drive hundreds of Kilometers away and run back to town, the various children taking turns running and riding the highly decorated school bus. They arrive the evening before independence day to the awaiting public of the town who cheers and sets off fireworks .This year, because of the landslides, the ministry of education prohibited the antorchas. Instead of being deterred, however, the kids hiked up into the mountains surrounding town and ran down!

And finally, the official independence day- 15th of September came and the whole town took to the street to watch the parade and fill themselves with candy apples, tostadas and cheveres. A good last Independence day—I spent time with friends who I love, saw my neighbors dressed up in their best traditional clothing and even heard Shakira’s latest hit styled by the school marching band.

I've become a delinquent blogger. Not because I don't have things to write about, but because as my time here quickly draws to a close I find myself becoming embarrassingly sentimental. So, you've been warned, the posts I'll be putting up between now and October 17th when I board a plane headed north will probably be filled with reflections and nostalgia. But before I get carried away with that I wanted to provide a little update on the madness of Guatemalan weather of late.

If you read/listen to the news you've probably heard about the crazy weather we've had lately in Guatemala. This year has been the rainiest and most unpredictable in 60 years, according to the Free Press of Guatemala and as such my plans for a normal home stretch have been thwarted at every turn. Two weeks ago I headed to the capitol city for some doctor's appointments (which went well, no tuberculosis!) and on my way home found myself trapped between two large landslides- both of them covering public buses and their passengers. The whole country went into a state of emergency as towns were flooded, bridges washed away and more than 100km. of landslides covered the Inter-American highway which bisects the country. I was thankful to be safe and found refuge at the house of a Peace Corps volunteer nearby. We bunkered down and were battered by 4 days of crazy storms. Eventually the skies stilled and the roads cleared enough to allow my passage back through the mountains and to Huehuetenango.

I've got exactly a month left in my site during which time I'll participate in my third Guatemalan independence day, bookending my time here. I'm looking forward to lots of time with friends and teary going away parties. Tales and pictures to come.

I've been a delinquent blogger these last few weeks, but not without good reason I assure you! Two of my most beloved friends got married last week in New Hampshire and I traveled home for the festivities. The ceremony was lovely and they couldn't have picked a more inspiring backdrop for their vows.

It's always a strange experience jumping right back into life in the states- with schedules running on time, warm water running from the tap and hugs from people I haven't seen in a long time, this trip was the same, surprising me occasionally with luxuries and oddities about American life that I'd forgotten. I think it was a good introduction to the life I'll soon be re-entering. This time, as I return to "normalcy" in Guatemala, it will be for a few short months and then I'll be saying my goodbyes. I've already begun with the teary moments and nostalgia...but that's for another post. I'm attaching a few photos of the wedding festivities, the rest are on Facebook, and I promise I'll be back to my regular tales of misadventure soon!

Huehuetenango, the city near where I live, is famous for their two week July party. Last year the festivities were canceled because of the looming threat of Swine Flu, making this year's fair was doubly anticipated. My friend Greg has been in town for the week and my neighbors were thrilled to have two fiesta newbies to show around. We walked the fairgrounds, towering above everyone, ate everything in site and rode the rides. The lasting impression: Guatemalans know how to party!

Inside the library building we hung balloons and laid out snacks, sweat beading on our foreheads from the Guatemalan heat. Outside, dozens of excited kids waited for the door to be opened so they could see the kids corner they'd been watching come to life over the previous months. The mural on the wall was painted, the shelves and child-sized cushions placed on the carefully polished floor and finally the shelves were stocked with colorful books. The kids corner was complete!

At 2:30pm, we opened the door and let the flood of little bodies pour in, most of them having arrived punctually for the first time in their lives- spurred on by the promise of a gifted book for the on-time arrivers. New books in-hand the kids sat anxiously as we welcomed them to their new space, cutting the giant red ribbon and finally allowing them to go inside and check it out. Each kid left with a crisp new book and the promise of a weekly story-time. The kids corner, I'm happy to announce, is open for business.

Driving down into the valley Tuisquimak occupies one catches glints of light reflecting off of the tops of tin roofs, the latrines recently completed. 41 tiny tin huts poke out from their surroundings, symbolizing a significant improvement in quality of life and hygiene of this small village of 300 people. This week was the celebration for the completion of the project. The women rose at 3am to begin cooking lunch and by the time we arrived at 10, the elementary school which also serves as a common meeting area was filled with the mixed smell of cooking fires and handmade pine decorations; our ears were met with the sounds of school children and the lively plom-plom of the marimba. As we walked up to the greet them, fireworks were set off and huge smiles were flashed our way. It was quite a day- truly one of my most joyful since living in Guatemala. I wanted to experience every moment, to make memories to carry home with me.

Don Mario, Don Juan (Mayor), my dad (who came as representative of my parents' church who donated half of the funds), myself, Doña Micaela (president of the womens' group) and her daughter Vidalia in front of a completed latrine

Doña Maria's gift to me was a "cinta" for my hair, which she helped me to put on

A little boy standing in front of pine decorations; women cooking in the background

The Marimba, a must-have at every Guatemalan party

Seated with the women of the Tuisquimak Womens' Group

The long-awaited visit from my dad has finally arrived. He flew in to Guatemala City on Sunday afternoon and our whirlwind week of activity began. We spent a night in Antigua, tasting the delicious coffee and getting a tour of some amazing colonial houses. The 6 hour drive to Huehue on Monday scared him into trying to convince me to come home, but after meeting my friends and neighbors he changed his mind and concedes that I live a good life, despite the apparent travel dangers.

So far we have participated in two project inagurations, 3 meals with friends, rides on bumpy village roads and world cup fever! There's more fun to come but for now, here are a few pictures of what we've been up to. Full explanations of the project inagurations coming soon!

On my porch- dad's new favorite hang-out

Creepy stuffed squirrel for sale on the side of the road. You can buy them live too.

Lake Atitlan

Antigua! In front of Volcán Agua

My plan for this week involved a visit from my dad and celebrating the successful finish of the latrines in Tuisquimak. Instead, I watched a volcano cover Guatemala in ash, ran for shelter from a tropical storm, and as a result spent 8 extra days in Antigua, all without my dad. Needless to say, sometimes things don't go as planned.

On Friday of last week I arrived in Antigua to say goodbye to a friend who was leaving for the US, however, the eruption of Volcán Pacaya covered the capitol city and airport in ash, grounding her for an extra day. Then hot on one disaster's heels, came another- Tropical Storm Agatha. Though she was much less powerful than meteorologists predicted, Agatha damaged something like 50,000 homes and left a death toll nearing 200 in her wake.

There were about twenty Peace Corps volunteers stuck in Antigua when we were put on "Standfast" meaning basically that we can't move from our current locations. Initially, we really had no idea what was going on outside of Antigua. The rain had stopped and all seemed okay. It took a while for the local news service to catch up on the story and by the time they did tales of giant sinkholes, whole towns covered in water and bridges out all over the country poured in. After a few days of sitting around feeling slightly helpless, we finally got an opportunity to help out with the clean-up effort.

We were brought to one of the Peace Corps staff people's houses to see how bad the damage actually was. Eduardo's house two story house was literally covered in mud up to the second story. As he explained to us the damage and the fear that his family faced when the landslide of mud poured down from off a nearby volcano he struggled to fight back tears. He then walked us through his neighborhood and showed us that many houses were in the same condition. The day was spent shoveling out hundreds of buckets of dirt from people's homes, working alongside people from all the surrounding towns who had come to help out their neighbors. The whole thing, really, was overwhelming. It's hard to know what to say to people who have lost everything. So we grabbed shovels and dug in.

Shoveling knee-deep mud out of a local business

A family whose home was flooded but who have been able to move back

Eduardo's house

The money is in, the holes are dug and the community of Tuisquimak is chomping at the bit to get their latrines built and ready for use. Purchasing materials is trickier than it sounds though, especially in Guatemala where any variable invariably makes for an adventure.

Our adventure started at 7am when I met the president and treasurer and 9 men from the community in front of the municipal building to go to the city to buy supplies. We bussed into the city and found our first hardware store closed (all materials must be purchased at pre-determined supply stores that are proven to be the least expensive by way of price listing which we did a month earlier). When it opened, the corrugated tin that we were purchasing from them wasn't cut to size so we spent our first 2 hours cutting them with scissors. We then moved onto our next hardware store only to find that almost none of the supplies that they promised us were always in their storeroom were available. However, a few frantic phone calls to my Peace Corps boss and my friend, Jaime the Architect, fixed the issue- we changed the design of the latrines and bought different supplies that were available (new skill to put on my resume: Adaptability)!

Next we arrived at my neighbor's house. He's our cement man and has been working 'round the clock for the last 2 weeks to pour and mold 41 latrine seats and 41 latrine floors. He finished the night before and all 82 pieces were waiting for us. Those things are HEAVY. The poor guys that came from Tuisquimak to help were dripping sweat in the 85 degree heat, but still smiling and joking, excited to get their latrines.

Finally (and I'll admit, I was stressed at this point...we were 5 hours behind schedule and my brain was seriously overworked) we were on our way up the dirt mountain road to Tuisquimak. We moved along at a snail's pace, being careful on the washed-out areas so as not to break the cement floors. As we crested the mountain and arrived in the outskirts of Tuisquimak the truck driver began to blow the air horn, signaling to the community members to gather. By the time we arrived at the school there was quite a crowd- I'm pretty sure literally the whole turned out to see the stuff arriving. Grandmas, mamas with babies strapped to their backs, old men puffing on cigarettes, little kids in galoshes..everyone came to see the action.

It was an incredible feeling to hear the womens' names called one by one and see the family members who will be the beneficiaries of the project come to collect the pieces. Rural Guatemalans have seen a lot of disappointment in their lifetimes, many have experienced the civil war and nearly all have been unable to attend secondary school because of lack of resources. I don't think they believed that this project was actually going to happen until they saw the truck pulling up. The next few weeks will hold a lot of busyness as we begin the process of building these babies. Keep checking back for updates!

Loading the 300 pieces of corrugated tin that will make up the walls of the latrines (first we had to cut them all to size!)

Doña Honoria (treasurer) and Doña Micaela (president) of the women's group from Tuisquimak. The trip to pick up the supplies was a fun field-trip for us and also a great opportunity for them to learn how to manage the group's new checking account.

These are the cement form toilet seats. They're actually pretty comfy, albeit a bit cold. They also weigh about 60 pounds.

Carrying their supplies to her house. Seriously, these women ROCK!

We're pretty excited about these guys

Thanks a bunch to Jaime and Emily for coming to help us with the construction trainings! Things are shaping up quite nicely...

Laying down the cement floor

Don't want a crooked outhouse!

Doña Honoria checking out the progress of her latrine

Doña Pascuala made us some yummy chamborote beans and tortillas for lunch

Doña Pascuala's son, Miguel, inside their brand-new latrine!

One of the main goals of my Peace Corps project is getting community members to participate more in community development by giving them the knowledge and tools to vote and participate in local development committees (that all towns have by law and because that's the way the collectivist culture here works).

I have been working with my high school students the last couple of months on something called "Proyecto Ciudadano" or "Project Citizen." In the series of trainings I've given them we've talked about what it means to be a good citizen, how to vote and what documents you need, how to choose candidates and how to be involved in the development process as young people. As a culmination to these talks I divided the students into small groups based on what villages they come from. I then had them sit down with poster-paper and brainstorm all of the issues that they see in their communities. They come up with things like deforestation, water contamination, spousal abuse, bad roads and insufficient classroom space. I then left them with the task of making presentations on their proposed solution for the problem they identified as the most pressing.

The following week when I returned I was impressed to find them practiced, organized and ready to present. Though they were incredibly shy and soft-spoken they had great ideas and I was impressed by all the hard work they had put into their presentations. Two weeks later I returned with the mayor's right hand man, the women's office coordinator, the forestry office coordinator and several local community leaders to act as a panel of judges for the presentations. The students again knocked the ball outta the park and impressed all those who came to evaluate them. I'm so proud. These kids are amazing.

One of the kids presenting

A group talking about environmental contamination

A skit about littering that had the kids in stitches

The judges calculating their winner

The winners!

Birthdays are BIG in Guatemala, so when my friend Katie's host family invited me to their son's second birthday party, I knew I was in for a good time (and a lot of tamales). Katie lives on my way home from the capitol and as I had errands the day before, a visit was feasible. A few other friends also made the trip to partake in the festivities.

The party preparations started early, we were up until nearly midnight the night before preparing almost 200 tamales for the feast. The next morning we were beckoned early to finish preparations, down a breakfast tamale, and herd the kids in to wait for the clown. No Guatemalan birthday party is complete without a giant paper animal to whack to death with a wooden stick, and this party was no exception- we had two piñatas and mayhem ensued after the candy began to fall. The morning ended with cake and birthday blessings for little Elkin.

The party continued throughout the day with a lunch, birthday church service and more tamales, but as friend's of Katie's we were excused to rest and hang out in her house. The four of us ended the day with a celebration of our own- Gringa style- kabobs, wine and some much needed catching up.

The birthday boy got a overwhelmed with all the activity

Stashing the spoils of the piñata

Fernando wasn't so sure about the clown

This update on the library project has been a long time coming. Due to the imminence of the rainy season, the Tuisquimak latrine project has take precedence in my calendar and blog-posting, but I assure you, it's still plugging along. Last month I finished the kids corner, complete with a red picket fence and matching red bookshelf. The mural is painted and the books are waiting to arrive and be devoured by eager kiddos. I've been mulling over several ideas for the management of the kids library, as I don't want the books to be brought home and never returned, and have finally figured out how I'm going to do it. But more on that all later...soon we'll be flinging the doors of the kids library open and I'll post pictures and updates on that final step.

For the moment, however, I'd like to write about an amazing donation we received last week from a Guatemala-based NGO called ChildAid. They coordinate with educational publishing houses to receive large donations of books that they then distribute to Guatemalan libraries at a very low cost. I got in touch with them about a month ago and last Thursday, after an overnight road trip with my town's mayor and librarian, we were invited into the storehouse and our trunk was filled with hundreds of beautiful, new books- math books, kids books, atlases, posters with poetry, natural history books. It was quite a sight.

One of the projects that many Peace Corps volunteers undertake is food security. Most of the communities in which we live are agricultural, but the food grown and eaten is often lacking in diversity. Here in the Western Highlands of Guatemala, we have a range of soils and temperatures making it an ideal place to grow a plethora of interesting foods, from tropical fruit to cold-weather veggies like brussel sprouts and spinach.

The sustainable agriculture sector of Peace Corps teaches local farmers to use organic fertilizers and to spice up their planting and eating habits with a variety of foods. One of the coolest things that they do is planting small raised gardens in abandoned tires. Though I’m not an agriculture volunteer, I’ve had some fun of my own growing food I can’t find in the market. I enjoyed it so much, in fact, I want to pass along the how-to. Maybe you have an itch to get your hands in some dirt and a few old tires in need of new life. If so, here’s how…

Step 1: Select a Tire

You are looking for a tire that is really worn out; the softer the better. Tires have wire inside them to help them keep their shape- you want to make sure this wire isn’t sticking out too much or you could end up running to get yourself a tetanus shot. When you kick the tire firmly with your foot, you want it to collapse a little.

Step 2: Cut the Tire

Lay your tire on its side and using a sharp knife cut the rim off, leaving two small handles on opposing sides. Cut loops in the handles so you can use them to lift up the tire later.

Step 3: FLIP!

This is the most physical (and fun) part of the process. Use your knees, feet, shoulders, butt, whatever necessary to flip the sucker inside-out. This creates more area for planting. Usually a good way to start the flip is to place the tire on its side and cave in one side using your foot- then shove your knee in the top and move around the edge of the tire, flipping it inside out with your hands. Have fun!

Step 4: Pause for photos

Step 5: Make a Bottom

Get a bunch of strong sticks and create a nest of sorts over the hole in the bottom of the tire. Then put porous fabric covering the sticks. This prevents your dirt from falling through the hole but allows excess water to escape.

Step 6: Fill it With Dirt

The best dirt is a combination of compost and plain old dirt. It should be moist but not wet and clump together when you squeeze it in your hand. Fill your tires most of the way with your soil mix.

Step 7: Plant

Because the tires have limited depth, some things grow better than others. Leafy greens, radishes, herbs, cucumbers, tomatoes and other above-ground small vegetables grow best. Make sure you pay attention to the depth and spacing suggested on your seed packet.

Step 8: Water

Keep your plants moist and watch out for weeds. If you find that animals are munching on your plants you can make a stick fence around the inside perimeter of the tire to keep them out.

Step 9: Harvest and Eat!

Tomorrow I will be giving my last pre-latrine training in the community of Tuisquimak. Following that we are simply waiting for the money to arrive in accounts to begin building, but we're optimistic and very excited. The following are a few images that my friend Jim drew up for me for the latrines! It's nice to have friends who are handy like this...

One of the ideals of Peace Corps that sets it apart from most other development agencies and volunteer organizations is that volunteers go to their communities without a cent to execute projects. Each month we are given just what we need to pay our rent, buy food and perform our duties, nothing extra. This isn't to make our lives more difficult (though it obviously does create challenges and make us creative) but to put us on the same economic level as our neighbors so that we can truly enter into life with them.

We are put in our communities as resources, but not economic ones. We are there to learn and to teach. However, every once in a while volunteers are smacked in the face with a need in their communities that the people they are working with are struggling to resolve alone. In these cases, the volunteer is allowed to seek outside funding to help with the project but is encouraged to do it in a sustainable way in coordinated efforts with the community so that everyone learns and benefits.

This is exactly what happened when I visited a womens' group in Tuisquimak. I was giving a talk about nutrition and needed to use the bathroom. The women blushed and started to talk among themselves and then sent me to a very rudimentary latrine constructed of bits of wood and tarp. They were obviously very embarrassed about the situation. A month later my co-workers and I returned to Tuisquimak to do a community diagnostic assessing the needs of the community. The need they expressed most fervently was for latrines to improve the hygiene and sanitation of their homes and families. The group is relatively small, 41 women, and after talking with María, we decided the project was feasible and necessary and began looking for funding.

The funding was found in various places. First, I was adamant that a large percentage of the project come directly from the community. They agreed happily to do all of the manual labor for the projects, and to purchase materials and food for all of the trainings that are a necessary part of the project. Second, we wrote a grant proposal for USAID's Small Projects Assistance fund (specifically for PC volunteers) and were approved for the materials for the little houses that cover the latrines. That left the cement latrine bodies themselves. For that I wrote a letter to my home church and local newspaper explaining the project and my service. To date, about half of the money has come in (just over $1,000) and we are hopeful that the rest will soon arrive.

I'll be updating my blog as the project progresses. We hope to have the money from USAID in less than a month and will immideately begin construction so as to avoid being caught in the rainy season. Check back and see how the project moves along! If you are interested in donating to this project email me at cskeniston@gmail.com

The president and secretary of the womens' group

They gave us pumpkins from their garden!

The "latrine" mentioned above. The new ones will be built of metal and wood and have actual toilet seats!

One of the things I miss most about life in New England is watching everything burst into bloom during the first weeks of April. There really is nothing compared to watching buds springing up from frosty ground or the sounds of birds chirping after a long winter. Even though I haven't spent months bundled in sweaters, I've got my own bloom going on here in Guatemala: my garden! The spinach has sprung and is looking read to eat...

Holy week in Guatemala means traffic, noise, and excitement, so instead of hanging around to see it all (last year was enough for me) I headed into the jungles of Petén with a few good friends. The goal: El Mirador, ancient Mayan ruins that boast arguably the largest pyramid in the world, sculptures in relief, and wildlife galore. Just getting to the state of Petén took us over 20 hours on buses. From there we hired a guide who led us 2 days into the jungle, passing buried ruins all the way, to El Mirador. The hike provided us relief from the busyness of Semana Santa in other parts of Guatemala and also a much needed vacation.

One of the interesting and often nerve-wracking things about Peace Corps is that it provides you opportunities to do jobs you aren't trained for and that you never thought you'd do, like teaching. Though I love working with people, I don't consider myself much of a teacher and after a 10 year old broke his wrist in a snowboarding lesson I was teaching, I swore off the job for good. However, in Peace Corps I've found myself doing many things that I never thought I'd do, and really having a lot of fun.

Twice a month I teach in a village high school a two hour walk from my house. The school is basically a government trial to see if putting high schools in villages will work (the current system requires high school students to come to town centers, often hours away, which obviously is prohibitive for many students). I began teaching life skills there last year. The lessons have ranged from leadership and self-esteem to basic sexuality. The kids are sometimes frustratingly shy, but I enjoy working with them and the progress I've seen in the students I worked with last year is remarkable.

In addition to the high school class, I jump at any chance given by my office to teach a womens' group. A few weeks ago another volunteer was visiting me and I gave her my camera so I would have a few pictures of me with these groups that I teach but never have the chance to take pictures with.

After nearly 21 months living in Guatemala, my brother Aaron made it down here to see what I've been up to. I kept him pretty busy, we visited Antigua, Guatemala City, Lake Atitlan, and some smaller local places. I also dragged him to work with me for 4 days and even got him to help me build a gate for the children's library I'm working on. I had a blast and despite 2 seriously burned legs, so did he! Photo evidence of the fun:

A few months ago I blogged about 9 things I'd like to do before I finish my Peace Corps service in October. By way of an update I have the following to offer...

Garden planted!

Beer brewed!

Keep checking for updates....there are more to come:)

..was not the day that Spanish rolled off my tongue thoughtlessly or the day I ate 5 tortillas at a meal, it was the day my 4 host brother was crying from cutting onions and instead of snatching the sharp, potentially dangers tool from him, I ran upstairs to bring him my swimming goggles so he could continue cutting, tearlessly. Apparently I've grown accustomed to children carrying around machetes and such. Oh my.

...was not the day that Spanish rolled off my tongue thoughtlessly or the day I ate 5 tortillas at a meal, it was the day my 4 host brother was crying from cutting onions with a giant knife and instead of snatching the sharp, potentially dangers tool from him, I ran upstairs to bring him my swimming goggles so he could continue cutting, tearlessly. Oh my.

In celebration of el Día Internacional de la Mujer I'd like to say a few words about some of the incredible women that I've been working with for the last 18 months. As I've alluded to in other posts, women here have the cards stacked seriously against them. First, Guatemala is infamous for "machismo." Machismo is a kind of socialized sexism that says that men are dependent on women for everything, that they should and will always be subservient, that their minds are weaker and their bodies good only for serving the "stronger" sex. Second, the women I live with are poor, often extremely poor. They are dependent on their land to produce so that they can eat, and in years of drought or plague the consequences are grave. Lastly, the women I work with are indigenous. Though their culture is rich and ancient, they are treated as second-class citizens by many of their Spanish-descent neighbors. They struggle to understand in school (if they are lucky enough to go) and they have to fight tooth and nail to gain the place in society that people of the dominant culture treat as a birthright.

Despite the odds, and all of the boulders placed in their paths, many of these women thrive. They whisper to each other that the world doesn't have to be as it is, that domestic violence and lack of education don't need to be the norm; they fight for the development of their communities, for their rights to clean water, education and vaccination for their children. And little by little they change themselves and the people around them. They are strong, they are persistent and they are inspiring.

Last weekend I had the great privilege of being invited to the birthday party of my friend Wendy's baby, Audy. In contrast to the other birthday party I wrote about, six months or so ago, this party was an intimate family-only affair where Audy's first year of life and the love of her incredible family were celebrated. Wendy is a single mom, living with her incredibly supportive parents and her two younger siblings. I've had the joy of watching Audy grow from a bundle tied to her mother's back into the lively one year old that she is. It took her a while to warm up to me, but now she knows me well and makes "ojitos" (heart-melting combination of winking and head shrugging) whenever I come over. I love this family.

There's something about holidays in Latin America; they're a little bigger, noisier, food-ier. It's like they take a holiday that the rest of us celebrate and add something extra. Fat Tuesday is no exception. I've always found Fat Tuesday to be a strange celebration in the US- we indulge on the day before lent begins, so that we can then go without that which we indulged in for the next 40 days. Slightly bizarre, if you ask me.

Here in Guatemala, Fat Tuesday or Carnival, is a chance for kids to run amok in the streets. Any semblance of parental control is relinquished for the day as kids roam the streets searching for victims on whom to smash confetti- filled eggs and smear metallic grease paint on. Though annoying, if you frequently have to walk between your office and house, making you an easy and predictable target, it is a hilarious practice. I left the camera safe in it's case for most of the day, but managed to snap a few shots of some more docile moments.

I went to elementary school with this kid whose Greek family owned the little pizza joint in our town. In third grade, for Valentine's day he made our beloved teacher Miss Billera a heart shaped pizza covered with anchovies, her favorite. There it lay, atop her desk amidst the pile of homemade paper cards and boxes of sweethearts- shaming the rest of us for our lack of creativity. To this day, it remains in my mind the coolest valentine I've ever seen.

The kids I live with, Jose, Ulises and Sofia love pizza. So I decided I'd take a page from my elementary school pal's book and make them some heart shaped pizzas, topped with their own favorite ingredients (and in true Guatemalan fashion also topped with ketchup and chile). It was a hit...

Solidarity with the poor is something that has been somewhat of a theme in my life over the last few years. I think I first heard the term during a class my freshmen year of college, in which we were reading Bryant Meyers' "Working With the Poor." The whole premise of Meyers' book is that if we really want to do development that actually transforms lives, for the better, in the long-term, we have to actually live among the poor. As a very green 18 year old college student, this idea rocked my world. I had been raised in a family that taught me to love the poor, who demonstrated that love in many ways- from taking our family vacations to Mexico to do construction to opening our homes up to foster children. But the idea of intentionally denying material wealth and taking up residence in forgotten and abandoned places among forgotten and abandoned people changed my whole worldview.

After college I took a fellowship as a grassroots organizer for an international NGO, which paid a pittance and gave me an opportunity to practice poverty and reliance on others. I moved into a poor DC Suburb (yes, suburbs are increasingly the abandoned and forgotten places- chew on that!) and lived for a year among motley crew of people who taught me lots about the whole solidarity with the poor thing. We had late night conversations about what it means to choose poverty, we shared meals with the homeless and we opened our doors a host of interesting kids. Though short and arguably un-intentional, I learned a lot about what it means to see a neighborhood from the inside out.

So now I find myself here, in rural Guatemala, a Peace Corps volunteer with a monthly stipend that would barely cover the cost of my old DC metro habit. The whole idea of the Peace Corps is to gain the trust of your community by living with them and like them, eating the same as them, washing your clothes like them, bumping shoulders in the market with them, and then the goal is to see where you can use your skills to maybe improve their quality of life a bit. While I often struggle to put into words, or even into my own head, how I've improved the quality of life of my town, I can say without a doubt that I have learned in small ways how to live in solidarity with the poor. It's a humbling and amazing and sometimes nerve-wracking experience to reach the 15th of the month and have very little month left. It evokes creativity, thrift and community- as you lean on your neighbors for advice on how to stretch what money you have left.

I don't pretend to think that I can ever truly take on the weight of poverty; my parents would bail me out the second they thought I was skipping meals so I could pay my light bill. Nonetheless, I am amazed at this experience that I'm immersed in, and thankful for the lesson.

The following article is about Mayan Mam speakers who are from my neck of the woods. Just a little glimpse into the prejudice and issues that they face. Though this article specifically speaks of what life is like for Guatemalans living in the United States, they face similar issues even here in their own country...

TAMPA — He was 28. She was 11. Her parents said they gave consent, claiming cultural norms of the Guatemalan highlands. But in Dover, Florida, a little girl with a baby raises questions.

When deputies came, Teodoro Pablo-Ramirez understood only some of what they said, according to his lawyer. He speaks no English and little Spanish — just the Mayan tongue of Mam.

The indigenous language, understood by few interpreters, has stymied court cases across the country. One interpreting service in Washington resorted to recruiting a Mam speaker out of a jail lobby.

In Hillsborough Circuit Court, two cases, both too serious to dismiss, are stalled for lack of a Mam translator. In one, a 4-year-old Wimauma girl was raped. The details are locked inside her mother, who speaks only Mam. And last year, Pablo-Ramirez was convicted and sentenced to life in prison, before the judge granted a motion for retrial.

The court could provide only Spanish interpreters.

In Spanish, the word "trial" is juicio.

In Mam:

Tun txi´ jun xjal twitz aj kawil.

Pablo-Ramirez lived next-door to the 11-year-old in a cluster of Dover trailers inhabited by migrant workers. He was her brother-in-law. They had sex at least three times in her bedroom, and in the spring of 2005, the girl got pregnant, records show.

She missed school and gave birth to a baby boy when she was 12. When she returned, a counselor asked why she had been away. By day's end, a Spanish-speaking detective was knocking on Pablo-Ramirez's door.

The man from the western highlands of Guatemala, who has only a first-grade education, had entered the United States illegally a few years earlier. Pablo-Ramirez picked up a bit of Spanish from other migrant workers. His lawyer says he knew just enough to understand the detective's questions. Did he have sex with the girl? Was the baby his?

Si, Pablo-Ramirez said. In broken Spanish, he tried to explain that he was paying child support. The lawyer says his client didn't understand his Miranda rights. As he was being led away in handcuffs on charges of sexual abuse and impregnation of a child younger than 12, he continued to promise he would pay for the baby.

The girl's family returned to their home town of Todos Santos Cuchumatan, Guatemala, and sent a notarized letter to the judge, saying the relationship happened with parental consent.

In the letter, the father said that in his culture, boys and girls marry as young as 11.

While more than 15 percent of Guatemalan girls are married by age 15, scholars with the Population Council say a pregnant or married 11-year-old is very rare.

When West Tampa lawyer Bryant Camareno first spoke to Pablo-Ramirez, the prisoner mixed bits of Spanish with Mam in a combination the lawyer couldn't understand. Camareno knew he needed to find a Mam interpreter. But how?

There is no state certification for Mam interpreters, no central bank. Texas linguistics professor Nora C. England wrote her doctoral dissertation on Mam grammar and has penned entire books about Mayan languages. Even she can't speak Mam well enough to translate, she says. She knows no one who does.

Public defenders and advocacy groups e-mail her regularly, sometimes once a week, looking for an interpreter.

The interpreter's office at the Hillsborough courthouse found a Mam interpreter in Lake Worth but could never connect with her to get her to court.

So Pablo-Ramirez sat through his jury trial last year with a Spanish interpreter.

An expert witness for the prosecution testified that Pablo-Ramirez spoke fluent Spanish.

Camareno argued that the Guatemalan didn't understand enough of what was said.

The jury found Pablo-Ramirez guilty. Then, on sentencing day, Judge Wayne Timmerman told Pablo-Ramirez he would spend the rest of his life in prison.

The words hit his ears in Spanish.

Pablo-Ramirez registered no reaction.

Timmerman asked Camareno if his client understood what just happened. No, the lawyer remembers saying; that was his point all along.

Camareno turned to Pablo-Ramirez and broke the sentence down to one word he thought the man might understand.

"Vida," Camareno told him.

Life.

Finally, Pablo-Ramirez looked shocked. "Por que?" he asked.

Why?

• • •

It's unclear how many people in the Tampa Bay area speak only Mayan languages, but officials at the Redlands Christian Migrant Association know the population in east Hillsborough County is growing.

The Immokalee-based non-profit provides early childhood services from Homestead to Plant City. Migrant Head Start manager Lourdes Villanueva said officials realized 10 years ago that about 80 percent of her children came from families who spoke only indigenous languages at home. That posed a problem, especially during child evaluation conferences with parents.

Program workers asked the Mexican consulate and local universities for help, but what they got couldn't begin to tackle the dozens of dialects spoken. So now, Villanueva said, staffers try to find Spanish-speaking neighbors to mediate. If that doesn't work, the child must interpret.

Court trials can't work that way. But Ed Fuentes, who owns an interpreter service in Washington, found a solution.

Seeing cases get dismissed, the Spanish interpreter considered learning Mam himself. Then one day, while waiting for a client in a jail lobby, he heard a man speaking the language.

The man had no interpreting experience. He earned a living by finding laborers to pick brush in the mountains. But Fuentes had never been closer to finding an interpreter. He spent 20 to 25 hours teaching the man legal terminology and court ethics.

Last year, when a Mam man faced a murder charge, Fuentes and his new interpreter worked in tandem at the same hearing — one from English to Spanish, and the other from Spanish to Mam. The case was dismissed and the man was deported.

Attorneys sometimes get lucky with Internet searches and track down Rosendo Leon Aguilar Carrillo, a San Francisco-based Mam interpreter who has traveled to Chicago, Kansas City, New Mexico and Seattle, charging $300 per day plus travel.

He says that when defendants in court can finally hear what's happening from a fellow Mam, some cry tears of relief.

• • •

Now 32, Pablo-Ramirez remains in prison. It's unclear whether he understands why. Or whether he'll get a shot at a new trial with a Mam interpreter.

Judge Timmerman was concerned about the defendant's ability to understand what was happening. The judge ordered a competency evaluation.

Doctors discussed his language deficits. Timmerman granted a defense motion for retrial, which prosecutors plan to appeal.

At a hearing this week, Pablo-Ramirez stood before a judge once more, a Spanish interpreter at his side.

Times researcher John Martin contributed to this report. Alexandra Zayas can be reached at azayas@sptimes.com or (813) 226-3354.

Well folks, I have officially reached the 18 month mark in my Peace Corps service. During my first week of training I spoke with a volunteer that was about to "COS" (Close of Service) and asked her to summarize her experience, give me some wisdom for the coming months, etc. She said to me that the days often crawl, but the time flies. She was absolutely right. I can't believe that I've been here for so long, and how far I've come during that time.

I try to be positive in this blog- sharing with you the successes and and incredible moments I've experienced. But if I am completely honest, these last 18 months have been more challenging than anything. It is indescribably difficult adjusting to a new culture, language and context without the comfort of those you know and love. My work situation has been less than ideal most of the time, with my Peace Corps assigned counterparts not knowing how to utilize a volunteer and often not wanting to deal with the hassle. My community has faced myriad challenges in my time here- from riots and violence to food shortages and drought. But I'm a part of this community, of my office, of the life here and I feel like I've finally emerged on the other side of the adjustment period.

I truly feel like I am a part of this place. People trust me and ask me to help them with projects and to participate in community events. I speak the language and even sometimes understand the nuances of the culture! It feels like an amazing accomplishment and privilege to be let into the life of this community and into the hearts of the people here. It was worth the struggle.

In the past month I've been thinking a lot about what I've learned and done so far in my 18 months in Guatemala, which of course, has me thinking about what'd I'd like to accomplish in the last 9. I've made my annual work plan and mapped out the projects that need attending to; there are latrines to build, a library to improve, and high schoolers to teach. However, there are a few things that I'm itching to do while I'm still here that don't appear in the work plan. So here they are, in no particular order:

- Celebrate my 25th year with something frightening (suggestions? para-glidng?)

- Make a flawless tortilla

- Grow Spinach

- Spend more time creating

- Hike to El Mirador

- Brew Beer

- Finish the AFI top 100 list

- Visit Rio Dulce

- Say goodbye to my womens' groups in Mam

I returned from the U.S. ready to dive into work, excited to see what fruits will come of the groundwork laid by my first year in Peace Corps. Naturally I was surprised when I returned on the 6th of January to find my town overtaken by carnival folk. ¨The Feria doesn’t start for another two weeks,¨ I thought to myself. How quickly I forget! Somehow my mind had eliminated the memory of the month-long celebration that was last years´ feria.

And so, it began…three weeks of crazy corn (more on that later), ferris wheels, dancing and general merrymaking. It was completely exhausting, but I enjoyed every last minute of it (okay, maybe not after I went on the ferris wheel 3 times in one night, interspersed with the partaking of street food, but you know what I mean.) Like I said before, one of the things I love about Guatemala is the strong emphasis on community, and town ferias are community at its best.

The creepy ticket booth for the ferris wheel

Churros! If you don't know...you should.

Watching my friend Lily play basketball (they won the inter-municipal championships!)

Kids dancing in traditional dress in one of the cultural events

The smoothie stand

A costumed dancer in a "convite"

Scariest ferris wheel. Ever.

I have this really vivid memory of getting to stay up late for the town street dance as a kid in the small town where I grew up, of walking around main street, my brother asleep, seated on dad's shoulders. The occasion, the yearly Street Dance. All of the businesses would stay open well past midnight, and my neighbors would take to the streets in bright colors and dancing shoes. Of all the summer activities I participated in as a kid, those nights are some of my most clear memories, maybe because even then I loved to get down, but I think it's more likely because it was a rare glimpse of community spirit. In our fiercely individualistic American society, there aren't many opportunities to experience community. A few times a year for county fairs, fire-department fundraisers, or fireworks Americans let down their guard and soak in the richness of community.

Something I have consistently loved about Guatemala in the last 18 months is the incredible sense of community. It's the kind of community that gets in your business, brings you food unexpectedly, that makes you late for meetings because you have to greet everyone on your way. I love it. On any given night in my town there will be people at a taco stand or cheering on the local soccer teams, rubbing shoulders and swapping stories. I literally can't take 10 steps from my front door without being greeted by my neighbors. Sure, it has it's annoyances, like the fact that the gossip mill is quick and harsh, but in general the blessings outweigh the curses. Community has been a keyword in my life for the last few years and I expect it to be for many more. This time here has taught me a lot about community that I think I'll look back on and draw from in future community settings.

I am totally in love with my friends and family. This visit to the States solidified that fact. I packed my bags and headed north; in an airplane, much to the awe of my neighbors, many of whom have visited the US via rivers and deserts. I arrived in the motherland in time to enjoy the full breadth of the holiday celebrations- I lit the last advent candle at church, went snowboarding, saw Mt. Washington covered in powdered sugar snow, attended the multitude of family christmas events, celebrated birthdays and holidays with my high school pals (who remain some of the coolest people I've ever known) and saw all of the little cousins, who have grown up far to fast for my taste. To add icing to the already very yummy cake (I'd say it was carrot cake- delicious and good for me) I got to spend a few days in NY with the housemates from college and then a few more days in DC with the gang there. I am a lucky, lucky girl.

Winter is absolutely my favorite time of year in New Hampshire. Sure, Autumn is beautiful in myriad colors, and spring is lovely; everything dead bursting into life. But winter is hushed and peaceful and never fails to charm me. I was packing last night for a trip to the winter wonderland that is NH in December, dreaming of all the snowboarding and sledding and snowman making I would soon be doing when I received a text from the Peace Corps security officer saying something to the effect of "DON'T TRAVEL, protests and roadblocks likely!" I panicked, picturing myself missing my flight. So I scrambled and asked friends and neighbors how to get to the city in time to catch my flight- the 1am night-bus en-route from mexico was the only offered solution (other volunteers affectionately refer to it as the "cocaine train" because there's no way you'd drive or ride on it unless you were on cocaine).

I quickly gathered my belongings, shut my eyes for an hour of sleep and then schlepped my giant bag down to the bottom of the hill where the buses from Mexico pass. The bus arrived only minutes later and I was ushered onto what was the most luxurious bus I've seen yet in this country. This magical midnight bus spirited me away, flying gleefully through the darkened Guatemalan towns I usually curse for standing between me and the end of my journey. I arrived in Antigua without a hitch, dropped my bags at my hostel and after a cup of coffee and a check of the ole-email am off for a full day of Christmas shopping and friend visiting. Thank you, delightful mystery bus for saving my Christmas spirit. If, the next time I rise in the middle of the night to take a bus to the city, the midnight express doesn't arrive, I won't be surprised...maybe it was just Christmas miracle.

To celebrate the end of Environmental camp I met up with a group of other Peace Corps friends and climbed Volcan Tajumulco- the tallest point in Central America! Tajumulco is a dormant volcano whose peak can be seen from all over Guatemala and has been a goal of mine since I set foot in this country.

We met up Saturday morning and hiked 4 hours to our camp site, our bodies screaming under the weight of packs that none of us had carried for a long time (it had been 16 months since my last backpacking trip! Unfortunately the PC schedule doesn't leave much opportunity for backpacking trips) We camped in a valley at the base of the summit and enjoyed a well-deserved warm meal made on a fire (Scott and I machete-ed a fallen tree to pieces to bring back wood. So hardcore).

We rose at 4am, knocked the sleep out of our eyes and ice out of our shoes and took off for the summit. I’ve only had the chance to hike above 10,000 meters 3 other times in my life and my lungs pinched at the lack of oxygen. But the moon was bright and the view was incredible so the push to the summit was lovely. I arrived at the top with Mark and Scott a little after 5am and enjoyed the full range of colors that the sunrise provided.

To say we were overwhelmed when 80 kids showed up on day one of "La Gran Semana del Ambiente" is an understatement. Mark (my sitemate) and I had planned for a maximum of 60 kids and were totally unprepared for the amount of “energy” these kids brought with them. The first day was CRAZY. But we learned from our mistakes and tweaked as we went along. Day two was significantly better and as the week progressed, things got continually better.

The kids learned about how to care for the land, water, air, animals, and the forest through lessons, crafts, games, songs and even snacks! On the last day of camp 57 kids received diplomas for attending all week, and as we sang our final camp song I realized that it was worth all the trouble and stress. It was a pretty wild week, and while I’m not sure I’m ready to jump into another one just yet, the kids learned tons and loved their time at camp.

I don’t believe that poverty is measured in numbers but rather in quality of life, mindset, and the ability for growth. In my experience I would say these factors which make a person poor or not have more to do with environment and mindset than they do with money.

Many of the communities I visited during my time in Tanzania were by typical standards very poor, however, their ability to provide for themselves from their land, their desire for growth and ingenuity in making that happen, created a quality of life that I have not seen in many other places. The family I lived with in Mbeya had very little money. They ate the food they grew and raised, and sold sunflower oil to put their daughters through school and pay for the occasional luxury.

This attitude of self-sustainability is not something that I’ve seen much of in my community here in Guatemala. I think it probably has a lot to do with years of oppression by minority groups. It probably also has a lot to do with the fact that the model of development that many NGOs have used here: giving out stuff (latrines, school supplies, houses, animals, etc.) Because of those two factors, many of the women that I work with aren’t interested in listening to talks about hygiene or cooking unless there is a promise of a project or gift at the end. It can be pretty disheartening.

Six of the women that I work with have recently connected with a local company in a very interesting project, generating income via a model called micro-consignment. It differs from traditional micro-credit programs in that the women aren’t loaned any money and don’t owe anyone anything- they simply sell products for the company and earn a percentage of the profit. The products are sold at a very low cost and are items that are needed in their communities, such as eyeglasses, water filters, solar-powered lights, seeds, etc. I have been accompanying the women to their trainings as they’ve learned how to give eye-exams and promote the products.

It has been really exciting for me to see these women show a lot of commitment and ingenuity in this project. They are paying their own travel expenses to come to the trainings, taking time away from their fields and kitchens to learn a skill that will serve them in generating income and self-esteem. This Friday will be their first community campaign to put their skills to the test. I’ll keep posting on the progression of the project, but for now, here are some photos of the women learning to give the eye exams…

I have so many things in my life to be thankful for. I have lived a remarkably healthy life for 24 years, I have incredible parents who have supported me in every endeavor I’ve ever undertaken, I have a brother who is one of the coolest people I know and a great friend, I am surrounded by friends who love me unconditionally and push me to grow and learn. I am living an exciting life, fulfilling dreams, being challenged and changed, learning about the world and about myself.

So, this Thanksgiving, while celebrating with a group of other volunteers, I raised my glass to friends, to family and to authentic experiences. Here’s to you- thank you for being a part of my life and giving me so much to be thankful for.

Throughout the last handful of years I've spent a lot of time thinking and talking about the disparity of wealth that is present in our world, our communities, and even in our relationships. It effects the way people view themselves and their roles in society. A child who grows up knowing that her needs (food, shelter, clothing) are taken care of is much more likely to finish high school, to go to university, not to marry before she chooses to, simply because she has had the luxury of security.

Disparity of wealth is visible in Guatemala in many very obvious and tangible ways. In the municipality where I live and work it often correlates with race (Spanish or indigenous descent) and location (urban or rural). The reality of my current situation is that the town center, where most of the necessary basic services- the market, the health center, the municipal offices, are located is populated by the 2% of the population that is Ladino, or of Spanish descent. The outlying rural areas, where there are much higher rates of poverty and malnutrition, is where rest of the 98% of municipal citizens live, a sweeping majority of them of indigenous descent.

This disparity in my own town was almost sickeningly obvious to me a few weeks ago when I was invited to the first birthday party of a friend's child. There were over 100 guests present at the party, all of them well dressed and groomed, bearing presents wrapped in brightly colored paper. The party had clowns, pinatas, and an abundance of foods; it went on for hours. Meanwhile outside, a small hoarde of uninvited children watched the whole thing through dirty glass. Of course, not every child could have been invited, but the selection of who was and who wasn't, seemed less based on who was friends and more on socioeconomic status.

I was invited, though, and struggled with the implications of that. The party-throwers are my friends. The kids outside are my neighbors and impromptu playmates. So what am I supposed to do? I can play the outsider card, pretend I'm clueless and be friends with everyone. Or I can speak my mind, and loose friends and trust. It's a hard thing, at times, being an outsider in a new context, the very nature of our lives and jobs to analyze situations like this one that we see in our towns. So what do we do? I honestly, don't know.

One of the most important holidays on the Guatemalan Calendar is All Saints Day, or Dia de Los Santos. Families from all over the country return to the places where they grew up, where beloved family members have been buried to mourn and remember and honor their dead.

This year, I made my own pilgrimage to the town of Todos Santos for their yearly fair. This town is the heart of the modern day Mam speaking world and nearly all its inhabitants still wear the traditional dress of their ancestors. For the week leading up to All Saints Day the normally sleepy streets are abuzz with activity- vendors and tourists and returning family members tripling the normal occupancy of the town.

The central activity of the whole event though, are the horse races which are run by twenty-five or so local men who, by the start of the race, have been drinking for well over 24 hours. The men mount their horses and proceed to run back and forth on a half-mile track for most of the day, the goal being to remain on top of your horse. Though it may sound comedic, the results are often tragic; The tradition is that if you die in the horse race, your family will be blessed by a good harvest. Thankfully, no one was badly injured in this year’s races.