Three days of mind-numbing meetings, two days of bus travel, and I'm happily back in site, back to my routine. PC/Guate pulled out all the stops at this all-volunteer conference--catered food, high-ranking visitors from PC Washington, open counseling sessions--we were even handed an extra "personal day" this weekend (nice try, but all I wanted was to go home.) Am I any less pissed about the
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...the most terrifying and stress-inducing question that you could possibly ask me. And I've been asked it two, maybe three dozen times in these past few days.
What is next for me? Apparently I have eight whole weeks to figure that out.
Upon receiving the Peace Corps news tonight I cook. I chop every vegetable in my house, I pressure cook some white beans, and I make a delicious pasta dish that I have no appetite for. I clean up, tupperware my uneaten masterpiece, and sit down with my computer. I talk to several of my closer volunteer friends, still in shock from the news. I blog an angry blog. And then I lay in bed until 2
It's happened. Peace Corps has dropped the bomb that I've been dreading for the past year. My training class of volunteers are being forced to end our service by March 24, four months before we were scheduled to (I'm mentally exhausted to the point I'm ending sentences in prepositions). I now have two months to pack up my life, and worse yet, say goodbye to an entire chapter of my life, a
I wake up at 5:30 to the sound of the table saw downstairs. My landlords are putting the finishing touches on their new house in the market center and have set up a wood shop in my backyard. The carpenters they hired are super friendly and even slightly apologetic for the noise and sawdust that's infiltrated every corner of my life. I lay in bed until 5:45, get up and start heating my bath
My volunteer friend Winfrey sometimes describes certain events and happenings in his rural village as "National Geographic moments." All PCV's have these; those moments that despite how accustomed you've become to the local language, food, way of life, etc., still make you stop and think "Where am I?" Those moments that if you stopped and snapped a picture, that picture could headline an
It's 2012. Can't really say that I know where the time has gone, but here we are, me with a mere six months left in my PC service, and only one month left in my 24th year.
For New Year's I traveled to El Salvador with four fellow PCV's, two of whom are my neighbors down in Baja Verapaz. The trip was graciously planned by one of the girls in the group, so I was happily along for the ride, and
A little over one year ago to the day, volunteers from Alta and Baja Verapaz were pulled out of site for security concerns associated with the State of Siege that the government declared to combat the drug cartels. PC security officers told us that we should expect to be out of site for a week while the situation was evaluated, and could return thereafter. Two and a half months later I was
'Tis the holiday season in the village of Campur. All week long Christmas pigs were being slaughtered, fireworks tested, women and men gift vendors knocking on my door hawking traditional dress, radios, plastic children's toys, and Avon. Those who have electricity have twinkle lights hanging, some even have a tree.
I'll admit it; I can be a bit of a Grinch back home when it comes to Christmas.
Riding home on the Campur bus after dark. I could count on one hand how many times this has happened over the past twenty months, mostly because I tend to travel early in the day. But every once in a very long while, it works out that I end up on the bus that doesn't leave the city until right before dusk. It's perhaps equally as rare that I end up in the passenger seat of the microbus.
Some
On my way back from Mexico I spent two lovely nights in Aguacatan, Huehuetenango, where my volunteer friend Callie lives and works. Aguacatan is a larger pueblo situated in a nice sunny valley of Huehue, equipped with a central park, market, countless tiendas, a pool, and much more. I was immediately jealous of Callie when I discovered that she can buy fresh whole wheat bread in her site,
December is flying. After a Gender and Development committee meeting in Xela on the 2nd, I took off for Chiapas, Mexico with two of my fellow GAD ladies for a four-night stint in San Cristobal de las Casas. I'll quote some of my journal notes on the trip:
Xela/Huehuetenango.
Only a day after plunging head-first (via two terribly long and tiring bus rides) into the heart of the Western
Sometimes we just read the right book at the right time, and to everything in it we think "Yes! Exactly; I've been thinking this for a while now but couldn't put it into words. And here it is, in ink." Well this Kapuscinski book has been that way for me. Even though he writes only of his travels in Africa, at times I feel like he could be writing about Guatemala. If nothing else, this book has
10 things I'm (belatedly) thankful for this year:
I'm thankful for my amazing family and friends back home who I missed so dearly over the holiday. Without their undying support and encouragement, I'm not sure where I'd be.
All the amazing people I've met, relationships I've formed, places I've seen, and experiences I've had over the last 19 months.
All the mistakes I've made and learned from
This is Any (pronounced like Annie with a soft "a") Cordova Caal, a 16-year old recent graduate of Tercero Básico, the Guatemalan equivalent to 9th grade. Out of over 50 of her peers, she was one of only 24 to pass the final exams, and has one of the highest averages. She's an amazing student--driven, hardworking--and wants badly to continue her education. She would like to enroll in Emilio
I've gotten in the habit of taking the tourist shuttle between my site and Antigua/Santa Lucia for when I travel for Peace Corps business. Caesar, one of the drivers/owners of the shuttle company, is really great with PC volunteers and cuts us a great discount. He also picks me up on the side of the highway outside of my site and takes me directo--it's just so nice not having to worry about
It's around 5:00pm, and we're sitting in stop and go traffic (more stop than go) on the way from Sumpango to Zaragoza where I'll be spending the night. Every year on November 1st--Dia de Todos Santos--there's the big kite festival in Sumpango, a pueblo about an hour's drive from the capitol. Teams of people spend months crafting enormous kites out of tissue paper and bamboo and gather in
I wake up early, 5:00am. It's still dark, and too damp and chilly for a cold shower. I sponge bathe in the pila, get my things ready, and go out to catch the 6:00am bus. Olga told me yesterday that today they'll probably burn the "culpable's" house in retribution for don Mario's death last week. So I thought it best to spend the day in Coban, run some errands, and avoid being witness to a
Nothing like a sunny Friday to pull me out of what's been a week-long slump. I went to bed last night wearing wool socks, two fleeces, and sweats, and woke up to a beautiful, sunny morning. Peace Corps lifted the Standfast today, as well, although with warning that another storm is threatening to pass through on Sunday. I don't know if I can take another week of cold and rain.
I will try to
Standfasted yet again. Yesterday the President declared the country under a "State of Calamity*" due to the damage done by the recent rains. I suppose Peace Corps had little choice but to declare another standfast for all of its volunteers in response to this, but it doesn't make it any easier. I try not to complain--I wasn't planning on traveling anyway; it's just hard to be reminded, over
"He says I have different personalities: that my Lingala is sweet and maternal, but in English I'm sarcastic. I told him, 'That's nothing--in French I'm a mine sweeper. Which personality annoys you the most?'" The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver, p. 433
I read this passage this morning while outside basking in the ever glorious sunshine. I've always wondered this myself; how
The sun finally showed itself today, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, it wasn't raining when I went outside to brush my teeth after breakfast.
This morning, post coffee, I headed up to Tzibal to meet with the women about getting the pila drainage systems done so we can finally finish the project. We had the meeting in Estella's main room (living room, I suppose) even though
This is a hanging baby. I "borrowed" this picture from one of the OG volunteer's Fbook album. Thanks, Laura!
Ever since I traveled to Morocco back when I was living abroad in Spain, I've been intrigued by the baby-carrying habits of other cultures. Particularly in developing countries, where it often still falls solely on the mother to raise the children while the men work, mothers carry
I wake up to more rain. Another overcast day full of chipi chipi (light, drizzly rain) broken up only every so often with real, lamina-beating, puddle-causing rain. It's been five or six days of this, I've lost count. I hate when it's like this; days and days without the sun shining--it throws off my whole sleep pattern. But I guess we still have it a lot better up here in Alta Verapaz than
It's Wednesday, which means it's been five days since the inauguration of the Tzibal eco escuela/bottle school. It's strange being done, and having so much more time on my hands while I wait for the next project to start. September was another whirlwind of a month here. The inauguration was originally scheduled for the 30th, but due to construction delays and whatnot, we had to push it until
This is Dilan, my best friend in Campur. He's the four-year old son of my friend Olga who works at the small libreria I live above. He loves my homemade granola, mandarines, and is frequently seen wearing belly shirts and tiny orange Crocs. While his mother works her long daily shifts to support Dilan and his older brother (Olga has been a single mother ever since Dilan's father was
Erick Rodolfo Cuz. Five years ago, Erick arrived to Campur and began working as the director of the Tzibal school. Shortly thereafter, he began working with Peace Corps to develop sustainable projects in the community.
Erick is one of the few people I've known and worked with here in Guatemala that continues to surprise and impress me. His dedication to his job is beyond anything I've seen at
Getting ready to sign the Acta
To say that life lately has been a whirlwind would be a gross understatement. Maybe it has to do with the school year winding down, maybe it's because Peace Corps hasn't pulled me out of site lately for another worthless three-day workshop, or maybe it has nothing to do with anything at all--but for once in my service I feel like I'm on some kind of roll--things
Remember this?
Today I took advantage of a lull in the rain and went for a run. I don't know if it was the cool weather, the new mix I had blasting on my iPod, or my currently fuming frustration with my semesterly Peace Corps report, but I was really in it. I charged up the hills I usually struggle with, dodging puddles and chuchos all the way. As I approached the large boulder that marks my
I'm drafting this post by candlelight. Now there's some irony.
I've had a bit of blogger's block this week. Will update soon.
-I love picking through my beans before soaking them. I love the sound they make against the blue bowl I put them in, and I love the feeling of running my fingers through their smooth shells. Each little pebble, dirt clump, or piece of grass I find and remove is a small victory.
-I love just barely beating the rain home, then snuggling up in my hammock with a book and a hot mug of tea while
Recently I listened to a Volunteer Voices podcast called "A Typical Day," in which Kimberly Ross details a typical day in her life as an English-teaching volunteer in Guinea, West Africa. I really enjoyed hearing about her life and routine and comparing it to my own experience here. So I wanted to do my own "typical day," but thought that one day didn't quite paint the picture. A week, however
It's funny, but these days, when I wake up and see that it's a nice sunny day (which are few and far between this rainy season) I don't think, "look at this great sunny day, I should go hang out in it." Instead I think, "I should wash my clothes today."
¡Feliz Cumpleaños, mi amiga! Te extraño mucho!
This is my second happy birthday blog post to you which means two things:
1. We are getting old.
2. I've been here a really long time.
Wish I could be there to celebrate with you! Enjoy your day ix Lizzy...tatinra.
xoxo,
H
The 16th of July marked one year since I swore in as a Peace Corps volunteer in Guatemala. I am officially at mid-service and have just 12 months left here. It's all downhill from here.
Another week in Antigua. Midservice meds are done and I am happily cavity, TB, and intestinal parasite-free. One day of midservice technical conference and I'll return to the campo where I am anxious to jump
There have now been two lynchings in my village since I arrived a year ago. Luckily I've been out-of-site both times and was thus spared having to witness any of the events or aftermath thereof. This past Thursday, six people were violently lynched up in a neighboring village. The 5 men and 1 woman were apparently caught (or accused of) stealing peppercorn crops and Q3,000 in cash from a
As I write this I sit upstairs in an Antigua hostel, on a sheetless bed, listening to the hostel owner scold his reticent child for making noise during their movie. I am the only patron at this hostel, and it's nice. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday this week I spent in Antigua with somewhere in the range of 200-250 fellow PCV's, who flocked to the Old City for the annual All-Volunteer Conference
Another busy week has come and gone. Between meetings, charlas, and Dia de Maestros (Teacher's Day) festivities, I've been keeping busy. This past week I also hosted two Youth Development trainees/soon-to-be volunteers--Craig and Brady--so they could see what it's like to be a volunteer, ask questions outside of formal training, and get away from their host families and Spanish classes for a
Host country counterparts. They can make or break your service. Without them, forget about getting anything done. As volunteers, we are change agents; we're here to act as catalysts for the changes that host country nationals already envision and want for themselves. Without HCNs, the idea of sustainability is lost. I've found that many of my counterparts that I was assigned to work with
Happy birthday Mom! I ate a piece of cheesecake in Coban for you. It was delicious.
Enjoy your day!
Love,
H
Bridge!
Feliz cumpleaños a ti!
Enjoy your day, girl.
xoxo,
H
"Be strong, Hannah. This is part of what it is to be a human being," my neighbor and friend Olga assured me as I wrapped Nola in a sheet and handed her to the man who, for 10 quetzales, was to go and bury her. To a Guatemalan, my crying over a dog is hard to understand. Dogs die here everyday. What's more, people die here everyday. Death is a part of life here, and people treat it as such.
Happy Birthday, little sister!
Hope you find that 22 is even better than 21.
Miss you, and I hope you are celebrating!
xoxo,
H
Neighbor's son Dillon learning to pet Nola nicely.
When it rains in Guatemala, it pours. The rainy season is upon us, and I must say, I'm happy it's here. The cursed dust that has covered every surface for the past three months has settled. The smell of drunk men's urine on the main roadside has been graciously washed away. And at night, the rains bring in a lovely breeze that allows me to
I walked to the center of town today to buy a light bulb. On the way, I came upon a bolo--a drunk old Guatemalan man who upon my approach promptly dropped his machete, then his pants, squatted, and started defecating in the middle of the road.
It being Sunday, the store was closed. I took the long way home.
It's the sembra, or the planting season, so many families are planting their corn for the year. The Mayan belief here is that the men must go out to sembrar with "panzas llenas," or full bellies, or their crops will be eaten by pests and destroyed before harvest. Therefore each day that the men go out to sow the crops, a woman from the village hosts a midday feast at her house. She and her
Stuff. Clutter. Cosas.
Stuff is quite a peculiar concept, if you really think about it. Stuff can be owned, had, bought, sold, gifted, stored away, kept, tossed. Lots of times we use stuff to define us, show others who we are, how much money we make, and what we enjoy. For this reason, some stuff is put on public display, and other stuff is hidden. There's so much stuff, everywhere, and
"I'm pretty positive we haven't passed base camp already," I remember assuring the other girls as we struggled up the steepest section of rocks yet. Well, we had definitely passed up base camp, and would soon find ourselves at the summit of Tajumulco, the tallest peak (at 4220 meters or 13,845 feet) in Central America.
Rey, Devon and I decided to do Tajumulco, as things tend to go in Peace
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