New York times Article
Thursday, December 31, 2009
MicroSavings
Here is a great article by Nicholas Kristof, reporting from Esteli Nicaragua, on why savings programs for the poor are so important.
New York times Article
New York times Article
Monday, December 28, 2009
Parasitos
Well, I have a new topic to now blog about. I won't go into painful detail about it, but I seem to have contracted a parasite from either unsanitary water or food here in Nicaragua. I can't say that I'm too surprised, it was really only a matter of time. What did however take me aback a little bit was the visit to the hospital to see a doctor and get a lab test finished.
Knowing that Nicaraguan health care is free in public hospitals, and having heard many of the horror stories of awful doctors and hours-long lines, I decided that the better option would be to go to the private hospital down the road (where you have to pay a very small amount, but care is supposedly better). So I arrive and explain that I need to consult with a doctor. 200 cordobas ($10 dollars) upfront. OK. Next I enter a dingy dark hallway with peeling wallpaper and a foul odor (not of ammonia, like in the US, but something decidedly less pleasant). At the end of that hallway is a "waiting area" full of plastic chairs, some with 3 legs, some with four. Ants and other insects abound. After waiting about 30 minutes I gather there is only one doctor on staff, and one nurse who has me stand on a scale in the waiting room and takes my blood pressure as I wait. I am told the doctor is ready and go in and try to explain things about my digestive tract I never wanted to explain in English, let alone stumble through in Spanish.
Long story short, in all it cost $13.50 for this doctors visit (including the lab work). What I really got out of the visit, however, is that if this was the state of the private hospital, I probably never want to step foot into the government-run public hospitals. In this hospital there were gross one-stall bathrooms, and only one sink that didn't work and no soap in sight. I can't even fathom what public care must be like to induce people to come cough up the $10 or so instead that is probably at least a day's pay for most people. Sometimes the hardest thing of 3rd world country annoyances is that even as I'm sitting there in a frustrating situation thinking "this really sucks", the knowledge that 99% of the people living in this country have it much much worse than me makes me feel even more frustrated and grumpy.
On a brighter note, it appears that the government also subsidizes medicine here, as I took my slip saying what I needed to a pharmacy (well, three really, before I found one that had the medicine) and it costs approximately .75 cents for the entire dosage I needed. Now if only medicine in the US were so cheap!
Knowing that Nicaraguan health care is free in public hospitals, and having heard many of the horror stories of awful doctors and hours-long lines, I decided that the better option would be to go to the private hospital down the road (where you have to pay a very small amount, but care is supposedly better). So I arrive and explain that I need to consult with a doctor. 200 cordobas ($10 dollars) upfront. OK. Next I enter a dingy dark hallway with peeling wallpaper and a foul odor (not of ammonia, like in the US, but something decidedly less pleasant). At the end of that hallway is a "waiting area" full of plastic chairs, some with 3 legs, some with four. Ants and other insects abound. After waiting about 30 minutes I gather there is only one doctor on staff, and one nurse who has me stand on a scale in the waiting room and takes my blood pressure as I wait. I am told the doctor is ready and go in and try to explain things about my digestive tract I never wanted to explain in English, let alone stumble through in Spanish.
Long story short, in all it cost $13.50 for this doctors visit (including the lab work). What I really got out of the visit, however, is that if this was the state of the private hospital, I probably never want to step foot into the government-run public hospitals. In this hospital there were gross one-stall bathrooms, and only one sink that didn't work and no soap in sight. I can't even fathom what public care must be like to induce people to come cough up the $10 or so instead that is probably at least a day's pay for most people. Sometimes the hardest thing of 3rd world country annoyances is that even as I'm sitting there in a frustrating situation thinking "this really sucks", the knowledge that 99% of the people living in this country have it much much worse than me makes me feel even more frustrated and grumpy.
On a brighter note, it appears that the government also subsidizes medicine here, as I took my slip saying what I needed to a pharmacy (well, three really, before I found one that had the medicine) and it costs approximately .75 cents for the entire dosage I needed. Now if only medicine in the US were so cheap!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Americanizing the World
I will write a full account of our “trials and tribulations” this weekend very soon, but for now I just wanted to write a little observation. It is so different being here for Christmas—there are still Christmas trees, Christmas music (far too much of it, and the Spanish version of “Jingle Bells” is EVEN MORE annoying), and plenty of seasonal festivities. The middle class here all have their Christmas lights and big plastic Christmas trees in front of the doors. We even saw two real pine Christmas trees on top of a Chicken Bus being transported from the highland region of Matagalpa {where there are pines) to Managua this weekend. The thing that really sticks out to me actually is the lack of “Happy Hanukahs” and Hanukah decorations, oddly enough.
While in Managua this weekend we decided to make a stop in one of the five malls of the city (probably the only 5 in the country). It was rather amazing—my first time seeing an American-style mall in a third world country. Besides the lack of American stores, it was remarkably similar actually. Department stores, beauty shops, and even a sports store selling Nike gear at twice the American price. The food court included a Quiznos, Mr. Lee (Chinese food), Subway, Dominos, and then a variety of Nicaraguan McDonald-like chains (such as Tip Top, a chicken place). If I had glanced quickly I would never have known the difference between this food court and any food court in America, I swear. And at 2 pm on the Sunday before Christmas, the mall was packed. I can’t believe how far the “Americanization” of the world has spread—I mean Nicaragua is a country where the average GDP per person is some $2,000 a year. And the mall even included a Cinemark movie theater where we saw “Avatar”, the same day it was released in the U.S. I believe (although we only paid $3 a person, haha) It’s incredible how being so far from home I could feel so at home. In a place where I usually eat beans, rice, & tortillas at least once a day, wear my rattiest clothes, and go through the day smelling like dirt, dust, & sweat, to sit in an air-conditioned movie theater and consume a diet coke and snack was a blast of American culture much welcomed.
I feel slightly guilty being so “American” in Nicaragua, where I’m supposed to be soaking up their culture and living like they do. But let’s face it, they love American culture and integrate it into their lives whenever they can (at least those who have the money to). Most of the men here wear American baseball hats with Boston or the Yankees being the most popular teams, everyone and I mean even the poorest of the poor own a TV with American channels, I’ve heard more ABBA and Michael Jackson here than I ever wanted to listen too in my life, and coke, McDonalds, and pizza are available everywhere. There is even a TGI Fridays in Managua! And the reason for this is that America is “trendy” and goods from American are considered of better quality—even the Sandinistas can’t change this, although they try their damndest. This is the reason that their anti-American rhetoric doesn’t really sink in with people here anymore. It has every reason to, seeing as how we caused a war which killed thousands of their people, and have had some trade policies meant to actively ruin their economy. But people LOVE American stuff, and it is that consumerism and longing to live even more an American lifestyle that is keeping people from really hating us. So ironic.
While in Managua this weekend we decided to make a stop in one of the five malls of the city (probably the only 5 in the country). It was rather amazing—my first time seeing an American-style mall in a third world country. Besides the lack of American stores, it was remarkably similar actually. Department stores, beauty shops, and even a sports store selling Nike gear at twice the American price. The food court included a Quiznos, Mr. Lee (Chinese food), Subway, Dominos, and then a variety of Nicaraguan McDonald-like chains (such as Tip Top, a chicken place). If I had glanced quickly I would never have known the difference between this food court and any food court in America, I swear. And at 2 pm on the Sunday before Christmas, the mall was packed. I can’t believe how far the “Americanization” of the world has spread—I mean Nicaragua is a country where the average GDP per person is some $2,000 a year. And the mall even included a Cinemark movie theater where we saw “Avatar”, the same day it was released in the U.S. I believe (although we only paid $3 a person, haha) It’s incredible how being so far from home I could feel so at home. In a place where I usually eat beans, rice, & tortillas at least once a day, wear my rattiest clothes, and go through the day smelling like dirt, dust, & sweat, to sit in an air-conditioned movie theater and consume a diet coke and snack was a blast of American culture much welcomed.
I feel slightly guilty being so “American” in Nicaragua, where I’m supposed to be soaking up their culture and living like they do. But let’s face it, they love American culture and integrate it into their lives whenever they can (at least those who have the money to). Most of the men here wear American baseball hats with Boston or the Yankees being the most popular teams, everyone and I mean even the poorest of the poor own a TV with American channels, I’ve heard more ABBA and Michael Jackson here than I ever wanted to listen too in my life, and coke, McDonalds, and pizza are available everywhere. There is even a TGI Fridays in Managua! And the reason for this is that America is “trendy” and goods from American are considered of better quality—even the Sandinistas can’t change this, although they try their damndest. This is the reason that their anti-American rhetoric doesn’t really sink in with people here anymore. It has every reason to, seeing as how we caused a war which killed thousands of their people, and have had some trade policies meant to actively ruin their economy. But people LOVE American stuff, and it is that consumerism and longing to live even more an American lifestyle that is keeping people from really hating us. So ironic.
Micro-Finance in Leon
Yesterday we traveled about 3 hours up towards the north of the country to see the second important colonial city in Nicaragua, Leon. Leon and Granada have had a historic rivalry in terms of political power, Granada being the seat of the Conservatives, and Leon of the Liberals (which is kept alive today by the numerous universities there and the college-esque feel of the town). Leon was also the hometown of Ruben Dario, Nicaragua’s most famous poet.
While there we were meeting with a small MFI called “MiCredito” which operates in many towns giving loans to the poor who operate small businesses (such as fruit stands, pottery, small farms). These are people who usually would not be able to get a loan from the bank because of their lack of funds, and instead if they wanted to scale up their business and make more money would need to borrow money from loan sharks who charge upwards of 100% interest. MiCredito offers a fair interest rate as well as business skills training and guidance, savings accounts for their clients, and remittance services. Although I’ve read and heard a lot about micro-finance secondhand, this was my first time actually getting to see the process and speak with the high-ups directly. Veronica, the CFO, accompanied us to Leon and was extremely knowledgeable about the business.
On the crowded side streets of Leon we met Lesbia (a fairly common name here, believe it or not), a 22 year old woman who makes a living along with her mother and sisters selling fruit in the hot sun all day. She has a 3 year old and 1 ½ year old, and she and her husband Javier live on her $5 a day salary. She had requested a $500 loan over the course 9 months in order to buy more inventory for her stand. We accompanied a credit agent out to meet with her, see her stand, what she would use the money for, etc. She seemed nervous about talking with us but very nice, and we also went with them across town to see her house and her mother’s house (the credit agent was assessing the collateral she was guaranteeing the loan with—in this case a stereo and 2 TVs).
The state of the houses was pretty shocking, especially after seeing her and her smiling daughter looking so “normal” out on the street. The house (or rather, really a shack) was a crumbling adobe room, with a tin roof and no running water. The only pieces of furniture in the house were a small stove, a bed with no mattress, a hammock, a small table without chairs, and a TV and stereo. No bathroom, only one light, no real shelter from a hard rain or from the heat. The dirt floor, faint odor surrounding the house, and the decrepit state of everything except the electronics was a huge incongruity. The priorities of the very poor are sometimes appalling to me, and it is hard not to judge, although of course I try not to—I try to remember that if I had grown up in similar poverty and without an education as well, I would probably have the same outlook on things. But it’s really hard to imagine saving up to buy a $200 TV instead of putting a cement floor in the house, or buying the children a mattress to sleep on or toys to play with. But such is life—and as later explained by Veronica, in poor communities, having a TV and good sound systems are symbols of status and class in the community, not having them would mean being ostracized.
(a heard of cattle crossing the road in front of us on the way back to Managua)
At the end of the day, nothing is black and white, and everyone has a right to decide what to spend their money on, even the very poor. But hopefully with a micro-loan and an increased profit from the business, Lesbia will be able to keep her TV and start working on some other things like health care and a cement floor to protect her kids from disease, and also hopefully be able to send them to school when they’re old enough. No matter what other projects development focuses on, what is really needed is education for the children. This is how people can really start changing their lives and being empowered, and why micro-finance usually lends only to women-- while the men might spend their money on beer (or TVs)women tend to spend it on food and education.
All in all a somewhat frustrating, but very necessary and educational experience.
While there we were meeting with a small MFI called “MiCredito” which operates in many towns giving loans to the poor who operate small businesses (such as fruit stands, pottery, small farms). These are people who usually would not be able to get a loan from the bank because of their lack of funds, and instead if they wanted to scale up their business and make more money would need to borrow money from loan sharks who charge upwards of 100% interest. MiCredito offers a fair interest rate as well as business skills training and guidance, savings accounts for their clients, and remittance services. Although I’ve read and heard a lot about micro-finance secondhand, this was my first time actually getting to see the process and speak with the high-ups directly. Veronica, the CFO, accompanied us to Leon and was extremely knowledgeable about the business.
On the crowded side streets of Leon we met Lesbia (a fairly common name here, believe it or not), a 22 year old woman who makes a living along with her mother and sisters selling fruit in the hot sun all day. She has a 3 year old and 1 ½ year old, and she and her husband Javier live on her $5 a day salary. She had requested a $500 loan over the course 9 months in order to buy more inventory for her stand. We accompanied a credit agent out to meet with her, see her stand, what she would use the money for, etc. She seemed nervous about talking with us but very nice, and we also went with them across town to see her house and her mother’s house (the credit agent was assessing the collateral she was guaranteeing the loan with—in this case a stereo and 2 TVs).
The state of the houses was pretty shocking, especially after seeing her and her smiling daughter looking so “normal” out on the street. The house (or rather, really a shack) was a crumbling adobe room, with a tin roof and no running water. The only pieces of furniture in the house were a small stove, a bed with no mattress, a hammock, a small table without chairs, and a TV and stereo. No bathroom, only one light, no real shelter from a hard rain or from the heat. The dirt floor, faint odor surrounding the house, and the decrepit state of everything except the electronics was a huge incongruity. The priorities of the very poor are sometimes appalling to me, and it is hard not to judge, although of course I try not to—I try to remember that if I had grown up in similar poverty and without an education as well, I would probably have the same outlook on things. But it’s really hard to imagine saving up to buy a $200 TV instead of putting a cement floor in the house, or buying the children a mattress to sleep on or toys to play with. But such is life—and as later explained by Veronica, in poor communities, having a TV and good sound systems are symbols of status and class in the community, not having them would mean being ostracized.
(a heard of cattle crossing the road in front of us on the way back to Managua)
At the end of the day, nothing is black and white, and everyone has a right to decide what to spend their money on, even the very poor. But hopefully with a micro-loan and an increased profit from the business, Lesbia will be able to keep her TV and start working on some other things like health care and a cement floor to protect her kids from disease, and also hopefully be able to send them to school when they’re old enough. No matter what other projects development focuses on, what is really needed is education for the children. This is how people can really start changing their lives and being empowered, and why micro-finance usually lends only to women-- while the men might spend their money on beer (or TVs)women tend to spend it on food and education.
All in all a somewhat frustrating, but very necessary and educational experience.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Nicaragua has been an amazing experience so far. There are many fascinating things about this country, including the thing which drew me here in the first place—the political history and their experiments with socialism in the past. And not even the past, but right now as well since Daniel Ortega was re-elected in 2007 (and probably will be again next year). One day I’ll get around to writing a lot more on Nicaraguan politics, and U.S. past interference here, and how it permeates many aspects of Nicaraguan life.
For now just let me tell you a little bit what I've been doing. I’ve been working on a project about “Dependency and Development” because a big issue in the aid community is how people intended to benefit from aid can actually be hurt in the long run if they develop a dependency on the aid money or the people distributing the aid. When the project comes to an end or the money runs out, they’re worse off than they were before. Nicaragua is an interesting place to delve into this issue because of the country’s long history of foreign interference and dependence. A big part of the Sandinista revolution was about freeing the country from foreign influence (including ideas of capitalism which they believe keeps the poor poor and the rich, rich). But now, 30 some years later, the country remains the 2nd-poorest in the Western Hemisphere (2nd only to Haiti) and dependent on foreign aid and nationalized social services for it’s over 50% of people who live below the poverty line. While working on this I plan to explore many of the NGO’s who operate here, some government services, and also to talk to as many people about their views in different parts of the country as possible.
There are many ways development and aid projects can be done—some good, some really really bad. What’s interesting to explore and hasn’t really come up in debate until relatively recently are questions of empowerment, sustainability, and how to inspire the people themselves to take responsibility for maintaining what a project is meant to accomplish after the NGO/Government Service pulls out. In the long run the goal should always be for the organization/aid money to leave, and the community to be accomplishing the goals that were intended, now on their own.
So far I’ve been around Granada (in the south-west of the country), villages outside of the town—accessible only on my sweet mountain bike or by foot, the island of Ometepe, and the capital city of Managua. Although Nicaragua is decidedly poorer than Guatemala, the poor here seem to be in a much different situation in terms of quality of life. Granted, they don’t have much, but the quality of life does appear to be better than in most of the rural villages I witnessed in Guatemala. For one thing, their indigenous population is all but extinct, and thus most people speak the same languages and feel a lot more integrated as a whole (and oh yeah, the government didn’t try to carry out a genocide against any of its citizens a few years ago…) Also, they are much more “Americanized” in some ways-- including dress (some women even wear short-shorts or skirts here!), generally knowing more about American culture, and even accepting the dollar along with their native Cordoba as a form of payment. I guess this isn’t all that surprising, considering the history of American involvement here. Anyway, they also have free health care more or less available, free school, many public services, and – most important of all, I think—a much increased sense of safety and security. Unlike Guatemala, here people feel safe enough to sit out on their stoops after dark to chat and enjoy the breeze, business owners can trust that gangs or police forces won’t exort them for protection, and the police in general can be trusted not to be incompetent and corrupt. Most of all, there isn’t a culture of violence and guns here—its more “tranquilo”. Maybe it’s just because I drastically feel the relief of being in a place where I feel personally secure that I’m projecting that feeling onto them, but I really do think that personal security and a culture that respects a person’s right to security is a big contributor to quality of life.
This week I’m planning to head up north to Leon and some surrounding towns, as well as to visit Waslala. Perhaps those of you from Villanova have heard of Waslala, because one of our alumni started the program “Water for Waslala” a few years ago. They are an NGO which builds pumps and well-systems for people in this rural town who before had no access to clean drinking water. To get there requires a 5-hour bus ride to Matalgapa and then getting another bus to go east a few hours, and then possibly hiring a 4 wheeler, horse, or walking through forests/fields to get to the town of Waslala. Apparently it’s realyyyyy out in the middle of nowhere. I’m really looking forward to visiting since we will have Villanova contacts there and because I’ve heard so much about it before. It will also be interesting to hear some thoughts from Nicaraguans from the North, since the north-central area is supposedly much different.
Well, I think I’m going to end this post for now. Over the weekend I must have eaten something contaminated with bacteria and I’ve had a fever and severe stomach problems ever since—thank God for Cipro (antibiotic)! I’m hoping not to have to discover the state of the Nicaraguan hospitals from ending up there myself.
For now just let me tell you a little bit what I've been doing. I’ve been working on a project about “Dependency and Development” because a big issue in the aid community is how people intended to benefit from aid can actually be hurt in the long run if they develop a dependency on the aid money or the people distributing the aid. When the project comes to an end or the money runs out, they’re worse off than they were before. Nicaragua is an interesting place to delve into this issue because of the country’s long history of foreign interference and dependence. A big part of the Sandinista revolution was about freeing the country from foreign influence (including ideas of capitalism which they believe keeps the poor poor and the rich, rich). But now, 30 some years later, the country remains the 2nd-poorest in the Western Hemisphere (2nd only to Haiti) and dependent on foreign aid and nationalized social services for it’s over 50% of people who live below the poverty line. While working on this I plan to explore many of the NGO’s who operate here, some government services, and also to talk to as many people about their views in different parts of the country as possible.
There are many ways development and aid projects can be done—some good, some really really bad. What’s interesting to explore and hasn’t really come up in debate until relatively recently are questions of empowerment, sustainability, and how to inspire the people themselves to take responsibility for maintaining what a project is meant to accomplish after the NGO/Government Service pulls out. In the long run the goal should always be for the organization/aid money to leave, and the community to be accomplishing the goals that were intended, now on their own.
So far I’ve been around Granada (in the south-west of the country), villages outside of the town—accessible only on my sweet mountain bike or by foot, the island of Ometepe, and the capital city of Managua. Although Nicaragua is decidedly poorer than Guatemala, the poor here seem to be in a much different situation in terms of quality of life. Granted, they don’t have much, but the quality of life does appear to be better than in most of the rural villages I witnessed in Guatemala. For one thing, their indigenous population is all but extinct, and thus most people speak the same languages and feel a lot more integrated as a whole (and oh yeah, the government didn’t try to carry out a genocide against any of its citizens a few years ago…) Also, they are much more “Americanized” in some ways-- including dress (some women even wear short-shorts or skirts here!), generally knowing more about American culture, and even accepting the dollar along with their native Cordoba as a form of payment. I guess this isn’t all that surprising, considering the history of American involvement here. Anyway, they also have free health care more or less available, free school, many public services, and – most important of all, I think—a much increased sense of safety and security. Unlike Guatemala, here people feel safe enough to sit out on their stoops after dark to chat and enjoy the breeze, business owners can trust that gangs or police forces won’t exort them for protection, and the police in general can be trusted not to be incompetent and corrupt. Most of all, there isn’t a culture of violence and guns here—its more “tranquilo”. Maybe it’s just because I drastically feel the relief of being in a place where I feel personally secure that I’m projecting that feeling onto them, but I really do think that personal security and a culture that respects a person’s right to security is a big contributor to quality of life.
This week I’m planning to head up north to Leon and some surrounding towns, as well as to visit Waslala. Perhaps those of you from Villanova have heard of Waslala, because one of our alumni started the program “Water for Waslala” a few years ago. They are an NGO which builds pumps and well-systems for people in this rural town who before had no access to clean drinking water. To get there requires a 5-hour bus ride to Matalgapa and then getting another bus to go east a few hours, and then possibly hiring a 4 wheeler, horse, or walking through forests/fields to get to the town of Waslala. Apparently it’s realyyyyy out in the middle of nowhere. I’m really looking forward to visiting since we will have Villanova contacts there and because I’ve heard so much about it before. It will also be interesting to hear some thoughts from Nicaraguans from the North, since the north-central area is supposedly much different.
Well, I think I’m going to end this post for now. Over the weekend I must have eaten something contaminated with bacteria and I’ve had a fever and severe stomach problems ever since—thank God for Cipro (antibiotic)! I’m hoping not to have to discover the state of the Nicaraguan hospitals from ending up there myself.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Nicaragua
I've arrived safe and sound in Nicaragua (although my two checked bags, not so much). It is so different from Guatemala, which really took me by surprise. Not only the town but the culture is very different-- Nica not having a very large indigenous population now probably contributes a lot to that. The Spanish is also spoken much more rapidly and with some different words (and the "vos" form) so that is taking some getting used to. I promise I will post more, with pictures, very soon! I haven't actually started working at my project yet (everything moves veryyy slowly here) but I will update soon.
In the meantime-- here is the link to the website I made for the orphanage in Haiti where James and I worked over this summer. Hope for Tomorrow
This is my first attempt at really designing a website so its very basic, but hopefully it will help them with donations/volunteers. If anyone is interested in purchasing some of the cards made by the orphans, let me know! We have plenty!
In the meantime-- here is the link to the website I made for the orphanage in Haiti where James and I worked over this summer. Hope for Tomorrow
This is my first attempt at really designing a website so its very basic, but hopefully it will help them with donations/volunteers. If anyone is interested in purchasing some of the cards made by the orphans, let me know! We have plenty!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Why Its All Worth It
One question people often ask me when I tell them that I’m interested in working in international development is “But that’s such a hard thing to do, working with starving kids all the time. How can that be worth it when you’re never going to be able to even make a dent? There are so many poor people.” Some people think it’s naïve, that I think I’m going to be able to make a huge difference and save humanity from poverty and war single-handedly. I often get looks meant to convey that they think it’s sweet that I want to help people, but that surely it’s just a phase and soon I’ll grow up and want to be a lawyer or some other real profession.
Often, especially when far away from family and friends, facing the little everyday inconveniences of living in a developing country like Guatemala, I often wonder myself. Poverty is such an overwhelming reality. In a world where 3 billion people-- almost half of humanity-- live lives of misery and suffering on less than $2.50 a day, a world where 25,000 children die each day due to poverty, what difference can one person make? What difference can even one group of people make?
Working at La Asociación Nuestros Ahijados (Our Godchildren- because the children are sponsored by “godparents” in the US) has really changed my perspective on what it means to “make a dent” in poverty. The organization was started by one man, Patrick Atkinson, during the time of Guatemala’s civil war. It began when he allowed an orphan street boy to share in his dinner at his house one evening, and the next day the boy brought some of his friends who also had no home or food to eat. Soon, Patrick could not bear making them face the dangers of sleeping outside in a country that is not safe for anyone, let alone children, after dark (and still isn’t). Soon he had twenty-some children living in his house. In 1991 ANA was started to provide foster homes and education for all of the children. Today, it has grown to include over 12,000 children and family members a year who are being supported by the program.
("Weiss", one of my favorite children ever)
ANA exists to help the poorest of the poor—these are people who sleep on dirt floors, have no sandals, and are lucky to get one meal a day. They live in rural huts, sleep with goats and pigs, and have never even touched a computer. Their fathers are often abusive or alcoholics, their mothers unable to find a job, and their prospects are very bleak. Only 50% of children in Guatemala get to attend school—23% are forced to work outside the home from ages as young as 5 or 6. It is not unusual at all to be walking down the street here and see 6 year old boys offering to shine your shoes or a 10 year old girl alone at a booth selling fruit. The situation for most people is really desperate.
If it weren't for the project, these kids would have a horrible childhood. At the program they provide not only a beautiful school with large playground, fully-stocked library, and bubbling fountains, but two meals a day for the kids, free health and dental care, and various other programs designed to allow them to grow up in a loving and supportive environment. Orphaned and abused children are taken out of their situation and placed with foster families, paid by ANA.
Every day at work I hear the sounds of laughter and shrieks of pure unbridled happiness, the kind that exists on in the realm of childhood. Often I’m greeted by a group of 8 year olds with hugs and a faltering sentence in English (they love to test that out with real gringos) or a smiling little girl comes to chat for a bit during recess. What’s most amazing about the project is that all of the good intentions and programs they have really do seem to produce results (quite unique in the realm of aid-work, unfortunately). Instead of imposing on the community what they think they need, they’ve really made an effort to listen and to address the issues, no matter how small, that really exist (for example—because boys were getting pulled out of school because their mothers said they were needed to collect firewood, the school now provides firewood each week for those who have perfect attendance). Every year, hundreds of the program’s kids who never would have even gotten to middle school otherwise, get scholarships to universities. Many of them later come back to work in the program as teachers, doctors, or support staff.
And although the ANA project cannot help everyone—in the scheme of all the poor in the world a few hundred at a time is only a dent—it reminds me of a story I heard on a Villanova break trip:
One day, a man was walking along the beach, enjoying the morning sun and cool breeze from the ocean.
Suddenly, far off in the distance, he saw what looked like someone dancing. But as he drew closer, the man noticed that it was a little girl picking up starfish from the shore and tossing them back into the ocean.
As he approached the girl, he paused for a moment, kind of puzzled, then asked, "Young lady - why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?"
And she replied…"Well, the sun is up, and the tide is going out. If I leave these starfish on the beach, the sun will dry them up and they will die."
And the man said “But there are thousands of starfish washed up all along this beach for miles! You can’t possibly make a difference!"
The young girl thought for a moment, then slowly leaned over, and carefully picked up another starfish from the sand. And with the starfish in hand, she turned to the man and gently said "You may be right, but it will make a difference to this one"
(above are pictures of Maria, when she first came into the malnutrition center, and then when she left)
The babies who come through our malnutrition center—so frail and near death when they first arrive, often in the arms of a worried mother who does not yet fully realize how sick her child is, his life is changed when he leaves months later. He is now a few pounds heavier and his parents have been trained in proper nutrition or given a micro-finance loan to raise chickens. This baby’s life is changed because of the program. The girls who are rescued by our human trafficking officers from people who abuse and degrade them (the youngest trafficking victim we have now is 7 years old)-- these kids get a second chance at life. The mothers who attend the weekly “Mothers Meeting” and finally have people give them tools and education needed to empower them and their families, and feel a sense of dignity and empowerment for the first time. Tell it to these people that nothing we can do can make a difference.
It’s true that poverty is a very complicated and difficult issue—but it is the problem of our time. Just like slavery in the 18th century, some day human beings will look back and be astounded that in the 21st century, a time when half of the world had ipods, high-speed internet, and TiVo, the other half of humanity was literally allowed to live like animals. As we’ve discovered time and time again, when the collective intelligence and will of humanity decides to solve a problem, it will be changed. And perhaps that change will come about slowly, one person at a time. Even if its only one life at a time, it makes all the difference to that one person. And for me, being part of that difference makes it all worth it.
Often, especially when far away from family and friends, facing the little everyday inconveniences of living in a developing country like Guatemala, I often wonder myself. Poverty is such an overwhelming reality. In a world where 3 billion people-- almost half of humanity-- live lives of misery and suffering on less than $2.50 a day, a world where 25,000 children die each day due to poverty, what difference can one person make? What difference can even one group of people make?
Working at La Asociación Nuestros Ahijados (Our Godchildren- because the children are sponsored by “godparents” in the US) has really changed my perspective on what it means to “make a dent” in poverty. The organization was started by one man, Patrick Atkinson, during the time of Guatemala’s civil war. It began when he allowed an orphan street boy to share in his dinner at his house one evening, and the next day the boy brought some of his friends who also had no home or food to eat. Soon, Patrick could not bear making them face the dangers of sleeping outside in a country that is not safe for anyone, let alone children, after dark (and still isn’t). Soon he had twenty-some children living in his house. In 1991 ANA was started to provide foster homes and education for all of the children. Today, it has grown to include over 12,000 children and family members a year who are being supported by the program.
("Weiss", one of my favorite children ever)
ANA exists to help the poorest of the poor—these are people who sleep on dirt floors, have no sandals, and are lucky to get one meal a day. They live in rural huts, sleep with goats and pigs, and have never even touched a computer. Their fathers are often abusive or alcoholics, their mothers unable to find a job, and their prospects are very bleak. Only 50% of children in Guatemala get to attend school—23% are forced to work outside the home from ages as young as 5 or 6. It is not unusual at all to be walking down the street here and see 6 year old boys offering to shine your shoes or a 10 year old girl alone at a booth selling fruit. The situation for most people is really desperate.
If it weren't for the project, these kids would have a horrible childhood. At the program they provide not only a beautiful school with large playground, fully-stocked library, and bubbling fountains, but two meals a day for the kids, free health and dental care, and various other programs designed to allow them to grow up in a loving and supportive environment. Orphaned and abused children are taken out of their situation and placed with foster families, paid by ANA.
Every day at work I hear the sounds of laughter and shrieks of pure unbridled happiness, the kind that exists on in the realm of childhood. Often I’m greeted by a group of 8 year olds with hugs and a faltering sentence in English (they love to test that out with real gringos) or a smiling little girl comes to chat for a bit during recess. What’s most amazing about the project is that all of the good intentions and programs they have really do seem to produce results (quite unique in the realm of aid-work, unfortunately). Instead of imposing on the community what they think they need, they’ve really made an effort to listen and to address the issues, no matter how small, that really exist (for example—because boys were getting pulled out of school because their mothers said they were needed to collect firewood, the school now provides firewood each week for those who have perfect attendance). Every year, hundreds of the program’s kids who never would have even gotten to middle school otherwise, get scholarships to universities. Many of them later come back to work in the program as teachers, doctors, or support staff.
And although the ANA project cannot help everyone—in the scheme of all the poor in the world a few hundred at a time is only a dent—it reminds me of a story I heard on a Villanova break trip:
One day, a man was walking along the beach, enjoying the morning sun and cool breeze from the ocean.
Suddenly, far off in the distance, he saw what looked like someone dancing. But as he drew closer, the man noticed that it was a little girl picking up starfish from the shore and tossing them back into the ocean.
As he approached the girl, he paused for a moment, kind of puzzled, then asked, "Young lady - why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?"
And she replied…"Well, the sun is up, and the tide is going out. If I leave these starfish on the beach, the sun will dry them up and they will die."
And the man said “But there are thousands of starfish washed up all along this beach for miles! You can’t possibly make a difference!"
The young girl thought for a moment, then slowly leaned over, and carefully picked up another starfish from the sand. And with the starfish in hand, she turned to the man and gently said "You may be right, but it will make a difference to this one"
(above are pictures of Maria, when she first came into the malnutrition center, and then when she left)
The babies who come through our malnutrition center—so frail and near death when they first arrive, often in the arms of a worried mother who does not yet fully realize how sick her child is, his life is changed when he leaves months later. He is now a few pounds heavier and his parents have been trained in proper nutrition or given a micro-finance loan to raise chickens. This baby’s life is changed because of the program. The girls who are rescued by our human trafficking officers from people who abuse and degrade them (the youngest trafficking victim we have now is 7 years old)-- these kids get a second chance at life. The mothers who attend the weekly “Mothers Meeting” and finally have people give them tools and education needed to empower them and their families, and feel a sense of dignity and empowerment for the first time. Tell it to these people that nothing we can do can make a difference.
It’s true that poverty is a very complicated and difficult issue—but it is the problem of our time. Just like slavery in the 18th century, some day human beings will look back and be astounded that in the 21st century, a time when half of the world had ipods, high-speed internet, and TiVo, the other half of humanity was literally allowed to live like animals. As we’ve discovered time and time again, when the collective intelligence and will of humanity decides to solve a problem, it will be changed. And perhaps that change will come about slowly, one person at a time. Even if its only one life at a time, it makes all the difference to that one person. And for me, being part of that difference makes it all worth it.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Pacaya!
Tuesday was the big day! For a long time I’ve been trying to climb Pacaya but something always stood in the way. Finally, I found a reputable tour group to take us there, and the day was bright and sunny- not a cloud in the sky. Pacaya is an active complex volcano near Antigua, which first erupted approximately 23,000 years ago, and has erupted at least 23 times since the Spanish conquest of Guatemala. After being dormant for a century, it erupted violently in 1965, and has been erupting continuously since then. Apparently sometimes it even showers Antigua with ash. But scientists monitor it, and usually its safe to climb.
We met our wonderful tour guide, Wilbur, and also in our group was a couple from England on a year-long sabbatical from the real world. After an hour and a half long car ride we reached the base of Pacaya. Pacaya is an interesting case in how innovation in development can work. Safety conditions here at any given time in Guatemala are precarious. One month a volcano or an area of town might be safe, the next month the most dangerous place in the country. Right now Agua, the volcano closest to Antigua, is not safe because of bandits. Tourist agencies and groups go with the flow and change their schedules and tour locations accordingly. In the late ‘90s until only a few years ago Pacaya was extremely dangerous, with tourist muggings, rapes, and assaults happening alarmingly frequently. Because of pressure from tourist businesses as well as tourists themselves who wanted a chance to see the lava without risking their lives, the government did something extremely rare for Guatemala- it actually took action. They made Pacaya a national park, which means that they can charge admittance fees (only $4 still I think) and have guides available for hire at the base of the volcano.
Thus, all the locals who live in poverty underneath the volcano who previously had believed that tourists were coming in and taking advantage of their country and sites without giving anything back, and thus felt it appropriate to take it forcefully, now work for the park. Over 100 are deployed as security for the tourists on the volcano, standing amidst the jungle with walkie-talkies, always keeping an eye out as groups hike up. The rest work as guides or as the fee-collectors at the bottom of the volcano. Now the extra money made from groups going up goes towards upkeep of the village and of Lago Amitlan, a few miles away. A very interesting solution, and one that has worked wonders so far, with no reported assaults or robberies since the solution was invented. 
As we got out of the car to begin our trek, a herd of young boys crowded around trying to sell us walking sticks. Nearby guides with horses for those too lazy to actually do the 2 hour hike up to the top stood ready (although as we hiked I became more and more convinced that to trust a pony on these treacherous and slippery rocks just feet away from a steep drop would be suicidal). In fact these men with the ponies followed us up the trail about a quarter of the way up, just in case. Every time we stopped to take a breath their eyes lit up, seeing the dollar signs already. A little 13 year old boy named Jorge tagged along with us as well, as he is the friend of Wilbur and helps him out when he has larger groups sometimes. His energy knew no bounds, and his chatter kept us entertained the whole grueling way to the top.
The worst part was the very last stretch before the cone, where the rocks and dirt turned to about a 2 foot deep black sand-like substance which was really hard to wade through up a steep cone—for every three steps we took forward we went back at least two. But the views were fantastic, and Wilbur was full of information about the volcano. A mangy and skinny looking dog named Tigra tagged along with us for a bit, and Wilbur said she was born on the volcano and has been there the past 4 years. Later she shared in our lunch.
When at last we reached the top, we got to roast marshmallows (“angelitos”) on a long stick over the lava. At some points the lava was runny and at some it simmered a bright orange-red under the big rocks of coal. It was extremely frightening to walk too close to the lava because we could feel the heat come through our sneakers, and the “rocks” we were walking on were really just coals that sometimes began to crumble under our feet. The heat on our faces felt like a sauna. It was truly a unique experience. After hanging out at the top for a while we “skied” down the black sand cone and set up camp for a nice Guatemalan lunch—rolls, squashed avocados, black beans from a baggie, and vegetables. After a very tiring morning, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted more delicious food. Because of how steep the volcano is, it took us only about 45 minutes to get back down, at times almost running down to keep from falling flat on our faces. Despite being known for my lack of coordination I only fell badly once and skinned my hand a little bit, not a complete disaster for me.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Day of the Dead
The Day of the Dead is one of the most sacred times for Guatemalans in the whole calendar year. It is the one day each year when they believe they can commune with their deceased loved ones, that they can return to earth from the spiritual realm. Its a great tradition and a great holiday. Most people spend the day with family in the cemetary with all of the tombs of their dead. They eat there, sit and talk, and listen to music. They decorate the tombs with flowers and also in some towns leave food and drink on the tomb for the dead to enjoy. In two towns near us there are also great kite festivals. Kite flying is a tradition here around this time of year because it is believed that the kites reach up to heaven and therefore link the living with the dead who reside above. During the kite festival, only one day a year, kites are flown in the cemetaries.
For over 100 years in the town of Santiago there is also a kite competition between children and adults who spend months making gigantic colorful kites that have themes such as "Peace for everyone in the world" and "How beautiful Guatemala is". These kites are then displayed upright for the whole crowd to see.
I don't think there is anything more uniquely Guatemalan than Santiago's kite flying-- the colorful and flower scented graves (where people sit to watch the kites), children running around flying their little kites, typical Guatemalan food being sold by vendors in typical dress everywhere. And most of all the fine crafstmanship and love of color and beauty- this is something the Guatemalan people have never forgotten. I'm not sure that the dead really come back today to join their families in the literal sense, but there definitely is no denying that today in Guatemala is a very special day.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Montericco
This weekend we headed for Montericco, a black (volcanic sand) beach on the Pacific Coast, only about two hours from Antigua. Back at home at Villanova it was Homecoming weekend which obviously was sad to miss, but the beach almost made up for not getting to see everyone.
Montericco is most famous for its nature preserves and especially an endangered species of turtles (tortugas) who lay their eggs on shore. An interesting conflict exists between the locals who poach the eggs from the beach to either feed their families or sell to make a living. The environmental advocates are obviously opposed to this, but because many of the poachers are very poor and count on these eggs for their survival, it really is an ethical dilemma. They've solved it by setting up the conservatory, and allowing the poachers to keep half of the eggs they get as long as they donate half to the conservatory, who then hatches them in a protected environment before releasing them into the ocean every night. Tourists can also pay to "sponsor" a turtle and release it into the ocean, and that money goes towards buying some of the turtle eggs on the market. The conservatory also has a collection of Kaimens and iguanas as well.
Of course, being the tourists we are, James and I "liberated" two little hour-old baby turtles. In fact, there was even a race among the tourist liberators to see whose turtle got to the water first. Guatemalans really really really have the tourist thing down. If only the country were a tad more safe, they would really have a booming business. As it was, we spent a very comfortable weekend in a cabana steps away from the beach, hanging out with friends at a local hostel/restaurant, and of course, "hammocking". Another cool thing was getting up this morning for a 5:30 AM canoe-ride through the presevatory's swamp glades. Great views of the volcanoes and we saw some pretty cool birds as well. Afterwards I went back to sleep on a hammock on the beach for a few hours. Man, life is rough.
One thing that does break your heart though, and you would never see at say, Ocean City New Jersey, is the impoverished campesinos trying to sell their wares on the beach. They literally have these huge packs on their backs of hammocks, wicker products, or food, and walk all day bent over on the (very hot) black sand. I don't know how they do it, but anyone who dares to call the poor lazy would definitely think twice if they saw these people. And meanwhile since Montericco is also the nicest beach is Guatemala, lots of the majorly rich folk from the city come to spend the weekends, and drive their 4-Wheelers up and down the shore at breakneck speed. Although the gulf between the rich and the poor in America is bad, in Guatemala its sometimes shocking in its blatentness and the proximity in which the two classes coexist.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
October 21
Yesterday morning I was awoken at 5 AM to the sound of fireworks being set off from next door (and the sound really carries because our rooms open up to the outside). Not that unusual for Guatemala, and I figured I’d go right back to sleep as soon as they stopped going off. Little did I know that the fireworks were a form of “wooing” girls here in Guatemala, and were soon to be followed by an hour and a half of a live Mariachi band playing outside of her window. Ohhhh Guatemala—sometimes I can only shrug. When I told Helen about this all going down between 5 AM and 6:30 AM she laughed and said “aww its so romantic”. Really? At 5 AM? A mariachi band? I guess there really are some huge cultural differences I will never understand.
After the wonderful wake up this morning I headed out early to Nuestros Ahijados to go out in the field with some of the social workers. We went to visit the houses of the kids in our care, either at the Dreamer Center of with scholarships to other local schools. There are 5 social workers (“guias”), and each one has 100 families to check up on, both at the school (making sure the kid gets health care if needed, isn’t being abused at home, is doing ok in school, etc) and at home with the family. They visit each family about 10 times a year in their houses. We had to walk from the project to the village (about 30 mins) because its really hard to get cars around there, and then spent the entire morning walking around within the village to different houses.
The houses varied in size and state of disrepair, but a general trend was that some rooms had concrete floors, others only dirt floors, usually sheets or towels hung in doorways to block of rooms instead of doors. They smelled slightly like urine, and one house did not have a bathroom, the family used the grove of trees behind the house. Some had enough beds for everyone in the family, some only had 2 or 3 beds for a family of 5 or 6 people. All were dingy, dusty, and poorly lit. None of the ANA kids were home since it was during a school day, but at one house there were four younger children playing under a sink, using old towels to cordon off a “fort”. I ducked my head under to say hi, and noticed some of their toys—old water bottles, some string, old candy wrappers, one toy truck, and a kitchen knife. Not a kitchen knife like a butter knife, but a knife for cutting steak. Their whole bodies were covered in dust from sitting on the dirt floor to play, and none of them even had sandals.
The main goal of our visit was to make sure that there is nothing going on or not going on in the house that the family isn’t telling us. These families are very impoverished, and a lot of times they’re embarrassed or don’t know how to ask for help. It is usually very obvious if there is something amiss, such as they don’t have any food in the house, there is a new baby on the way, the kid’s bed broke and now she’s sleeping on the floor, etc. Today all of the families seemed alright besides the usual grinding poverty. One woman told us about a mother and her two daughters that she has seen around on the streets—apparently she is worried that the older girl is being prostituted out at night. So Alex, the guia responsible for that family, gave her permission to tell the mother of the girls about ANA's programs. Its this kind of word-of-mouth information that allows ANA to spread and grow in communities.
It was an interesting experience, especially since I’ve noticed the feelings of shock and sadness that I use to feel in the face of such poverty don’t really bother me as much anymore. Have I gotten used to seeing this kind of poverty to the point that it doesn’t seem strange to me anymore? Is that a good or bad thing?
And more complicated issues are also raised—to what extent do we butt into their lives? Should we tell the kids to stop playing with a dangerous knife, take the 6 week old puppies that are being starved by an old woman who also looks very lacking for food away from her? Is it OK to take pictures of every room in the house for the organization’s purposes like we were doing, despite the fact that most of the families seemed embarrassed by their poverty and the fact we were documenting it? And how is it OK that an hour after seeing all this suffering and poverty, I go home to a terrific lunch prepared for me by Maria-Elsa, of more food than I could ever want to eat?
After the wonderful wake up this morning I headed out early to Nuestros Ahijados to go out in the field with some of the social workers. We went to visit the houses of the kids in our care, either at the Dreamer Center of with scholarships to other local schools. There are 5 social workers (“guias”), and each one has 100 families to check up on, both at the school (making sure the kid gets health care if needed, isn’t being abused at home, is doing ok in school, etc) and at home with the family. They visit each family about 10 times a year in their houses. We had to walk from the project to the village (about 30 mins) because its really hard to get cars around there, and then spent the entire morning walking around within the village to different houses.
The houses varied in size and state of disrepair, but a general trend was that some rooms had concrete floors, others only dirt floors, usually sheets or towels hung in doorways to block of rooms instead of doors. They smelled slightly like urine, and one house did not have a bathroom, the family used the grove of trees behind the house. Some had enough beds for everyone in the family, some only had 2 or 3 beds for a family of 5 or 6 people. All were dingy, dusty, and poorly lit. None of the ANA kids were home since it was during a school day, but at one house there were four younger children playing under a sink, using old towels to cordon off a “fort”. I ducked my head under to say hi, and noticed some of their toys—old water bottles, some string, old candy wrappers, one toy truck, and a kitchen knife. Not a kitchen knife like a butter knife, but a knife for cutting steak. Their whole bodies were covered in dust from sitting on the dirt floor to play, and none of them even had sandals.
The main goal of our visit was to make sure that there is nothing going on or not going on in the house that the family isn’t telling us. These families are very impoverished, and a lot of times they’re embarrassed or don’t know how to ask for help. It is usually very obvious if there is something amiss, such as they don’t have any food in the house, there is a new baby on the way, the kid’s bed broke and now she’s sleeping on the floor, etc. Today all of the families seemed alright besides the usual grinding poverty. One woman told us about a mother and her two daughters that she has seen around on the streets—apparently she is worried that the older girl is being prostituted out at night. So Alex, the guia responsible for that family, gave her permission to tell the mother of the girls about ANA's programs. Its this kind of word-of-mouth information that allows ANA to spread and grow in communities.
It was an interesting experience, especially since I’ve noticed the feelings of shock and sadness that I use to feel in the face of such poverty don’t really bother me as much anymore. Have I gotten used to seeing this kind of poverty to the point that it doesn’t seem strange to me anymore? Is that a good or bad thing?
And more complicated issues are also raised—to what extent do we butt into their lives? Should we tell the kids to stop playing with a dangerous knife, take the 6 week old puppies that are being starved by an old woman who also looks very lacking for food away from her? Is it OK to take pictures of every room in the house for the organization’s purposes like we were doing, despite the fact that most of the families seemed embarrassed by their poverty and the fact we were documenting it? And how is it OK that an hour after seeing all this suffering and poverty, I go home to a terrific lunch prepared for me by Maria-Elsa, of more food than I could ever want to eat?
Saturday, October 17, 2009
October 17
Hola again from Antigua.
Not a whole lot to report right now just wanted to update-- James is away for the next few days so I'm moving into a homestay with Maria-Elsa's family. My room there is amazing, I'm really impressed by how nice her house is. Apparently we're getting another student tonight as well from the US who speaks no Spanish. Maria-Elsa tried to tell me it was a girl named "Rose" but when she spelled it R-O-S-S I had to tell her that I hated to break it to her but that was going to be a guy named "Ross". She was quite dissapointed, I think she wanted me to have another girl at the house to hang out with.
Work has been going terrific, I'm finally getting somewhere on my grant projects and hoepfully will have most of the big one done by next week. Yesterday one of the other volunteers came into my office and kidnapped me to perform in a choreographed dance in front of 200 elementary school kids. As one of the few gringos in the group my dance skills were definitely not up to snuff with the Guatemaltecos. Especially when dancing to songs such as "I'm a Barbie Girl" and "Mamboo #5" (I have no idea why in the world they like this music). Somehow us gringos muddled through and it was all worth it to see the giggling little kids and also our quite-amused coworkers. Another experience I will never forget :)
I set out today on my own in the main part of town looking for the post office to send some postcards,and although I failed in my sending mission (Post Office closes at 12 on Saturdays here as well) I did find some interesting things. For one, I saw a poor woman in indigenous dress with a huge basket on her head get bumped by a car that was backing out of a parking space. Her basket and the things in it went flying, and she went over to yell at the driver. As I ran over to help I couldn't help but note the ultimate irony of culture clash within the same country: the modern ladino Guatemala in a car versus the traditional indigenous ways of life. I guess we know who is going to come out on top of that cultural clash in the end.
And I also finally found where the Guatemalans eat. Wait for it-- McDonalds! I stopped in out of curiosity/an overwhelming urge for a diet coke, and low and behold the place was packed with Guatemalans- only Guatemalans. It also turns out that prices at McDonalds are pretty much the same here as at home- .99 cents for a diet coke that I could have gotten for .25 cents at a local tienda. Same price for the fries. So why do Guatemalans eat at a relatively expensive McDonalds when they could eat really great food at a local restaurant for just about the same price? Another mystery. I'll have to ask Maria-Elsa tonight. I have a feeling that its for the same reason the teenagers watch badly dubbed MTV shows and old NSync videos on TV. Sigh.
This morning was a beautiful day and James has some great pictures of all three of the volcanoes you can see from here (on days when the clouds aren't so low that they cover them). As soon as I can steal them from him I will post.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Maestras
I thought I'd share a little bit about some of my favorite people here in Guatemala:
First, here is a picture of Maria-Elsa, the woman who shares her meals with us. She is originally from El Salvador, but she fell in love with her husband Manuel and moved here to Guatemala. Manuel is quite a character- a very short, skinny guy who is always laughing and cracking jokes. He is perfect for her because she is also very funny and seems like she is always laughing, even though she works really hard. She teaches as a maestra at the language school for 6 hours a day, hosts borders at her house, and also cooks meals for the people staying there + James and I. On top of this she also does the usual mom stuff for her two children, Claudia (20) and Jocelyn (16). Women here do not have the luxury of the things we take for granted at home. They have to care for all the matters of the house without modern convienences-- she washes the dishes by hand, cooks meals practically from scratch, and does all of their laundry by hand. Despite how hard she works, every day of the week, her attitude is still very light-hearted and fun. It amazes me how much work she does yet always has such a positive attitude. She is a Jehovah's Witness as well (very rare in Guatemala) and attends church a few times a week and goes door-to-door on Saturdays spreading her faith.
Below is a picture of Helen, my maestra. We've been good friends because we chat in Spanish for four hours every day. One of the most rewarding things about learning more and more Spanish is that I feel like we can have more in-depth conversations, and every day I learn more about her and her views on the world, and vice versa. Helen is 24 years old and is still completing her university degree in Social Work. She's been working at the language school for 5 years to help support herself while she is finishing school. The way she describes them her parents are pretty progressive (considering how traditional of a country Guatemala is) and her views are very modern as well. She doesn't want to get married until she is in her late twenties and she always wants to work so that she and her husband will be equals, not like many marriages here where the men are very macho and do not let their "women" work outside the home or have their own opinions about things. Like many Guatemalans her family is very important to her and most of her weekend activities involve her family (and like almost all young Guatemalans she will live at home until she is married). Helen has a very very large extended family-- she claims to have over 100 cousins.
Helen is really fun to talk with and right from the beginning we got along perfectly. Our personalities are very similar. Sometimes it seems like we spend almost half of our 4 daily hours together just cracking each other up and talking about boys. We do talk about serious topics too though, and its a great cultural exchange because of course I want to know everything I can about Guatemalan life and culture, and she is very curious about America and the other places I've traveled. She watches a ton of American movies and has actually asked me about American movies I've never even seen before. I just let her borrow "He's Just Not That Into You" in spanish, so I'm interested to hear what she thinks of it. I wish she could come visit the States and hang out with my friends and me there- I think she'd fit right in!
First, here is a picture of Maria-Elsa, the woman who shares her meals with us. She is originally from El Salvador, but she fell in love with her husband Manuel and moved here to Guatemala. Manuel is quite a character- a very short, skinny guy who is always laughing and cracking jokes. He is perfect for her because she is also very funny and seems like she is always laughing, even though she works really hard. She teaches as a maestra at the language school for 6 hours a day, hosts borders at her house, and also cooks meals for the people staying there + James and I. On top of this she also does the usual mom stuff for her two children, Claudia (20) and Jocelyn (16). Women here do not have the luxury of the things we take for granted at home. They have to care for all the matters of the house without modern convienences-- she washes the dishes by hand, cooks meals practically from scratch, and does all of their laundry by hand. Despite how hard she works, every day of the week, her attitude is still very light-hearted and fun. It amazes me how much work she does yet always has such a positive attitude. She is a Jehovah's Witness as well (very rare in Guatemala) and attends church a few times a week and goes door-to-door on Saturdays spreading her faith.
Below is a picture of Helen, my maestra. We've been good friends because we chat in Spanish for four hours every day. One of the most rewarding things about learning more and more Spanish is that I feel like we can have more in-depth conversations, and every day I learn more about her and her views on the world, and vice versa. Helen is 24 years old and is still completing her university degree in Social Work. She's been working at the language school for 5 years to help support herself while she is finishing school. The way she describes them her parents are pretty progressive (considering how traditional of a country Guatemala is) and her views are very modern as well. She doesn't want to get married until she is in her late twenties and she always wants to work so that she and her husband will be equals, not like many marriages here where the men are very macho and do not let their "women" work outside the home or have their own opinions about things. Like many Guatemalans her family is very important to her and most of her weekend activities involve her family (and like almost all young Guatemalans she will live at home until she is married). Helen has a very very large extended family-- she claims to have over 100 cousins.
Helen is really fun to talk with and right from the beginning we got along perfectly. Our personalities are very similar. Sometimes it seems like we spend almost half of our 4 daily hours together just cracking each other up and talking about boys. We do talk about serious topics too though, and its a great cultural exchange because of course I want to know everything I can about Guatemalan life and culture, and she is very curious about America and the other places I've traveled. She watches a ton of American movies and has actually asked me about American movies I've never even seen before. I just let her borrow "He's Just Not That Into You" in spanish, so I'm interested to hear what she thinks of it. I wish she could come visit the States and hang out with my friends and me there- I think she'd fit right in!
Monday, October 12, 2009
An Interesting Ride
This weekend turned out to be a comedy of errors, despite our best intentions. Our original plan was to try to get on a tour to hike Pacaya, one of the still-active volcanoes here that spews lava and is supposed to be really amazing. Unfortunately finding information and getting anything actually accomplished in a developing country can sometimes be a big pain. After finding a chicken bus to go to the “aguas calientes” (natural hot springs) near here also fell through, we resorted to Plan C. Plan C consisted of going horseback riding around the volcanoes, and we managed to pull that one off (barely) and avoid the afternoon rains that are very prevalent here during rainy season.
However, we ended up getting more than we bargained for on our little expedition. The Ravenscroft stables are located about 10 minutes by taxi outside of Antigua. We arrived there and asked directions to the stables of the locals, who were very friendly and walked with us right up to the door of the stables. Inside we found two very very quirky British ex-pats and their 10 dogs. The wife, Paula, had Wiccan-like tattoos all over her body, including her forehead, and the husband, Frederick, was a retired British Calvary-man who seemed to not completely be able to keep his thoughts together and hold a normal conversation.
At first this encounter was extremely farcical, and James and I laughed as we were mounting our horses and getting ready to set out on our ride (we also had to withstand a 20 minute lecture on how horses are smarter than people etc etc beforehand). Since I rode horses and was around a “horse-people” from the time I was 8 to 18 their behavior didn’t strike me as too odd—horse and animal people in general tend to like animals more than people and aren’t too afraid to let you know it.
Once out on the trails we saw many farms and plots of land belonging to indigenous peoples in the community. A white flag marked off where one person’s property ended and another’s began. It was really interesting to pass by the small farms and homes belonging to the people of the village. In the distance we could see Antigua and the volcano Agua.
As I began to ask questions about the villagers and the land, it became obvious that Mr. Fredrick wasn’t a big fan of the people here—going so far as to call them “brutes” and assert that the civil war didn’t for a large part consist of the army putting down a reformer’s rebellion by use of force, torture, and murder, but was just one example of “how brutal all of the people of this country are—they are all to blame and its an example of why the Guatemalan race will never become civilized”. Um, ok.
According to him, it’s a racial thing that is passed down through the generations—their ancestors are Spaniards (who kill bulls for entertainment- that didn’t sit well with him) and Mayans (who participated in religious rituals where they pulled out victims hearts?) and therefore Guatemalans will never be “cleansed” of this brutality that is in their veins. Children cannot be saved, and even when a Guatemalan child is adopted and raised in America or Europe “under the surface there will always be a brutal beast of a Guatemalan”. And countries who are struggling now because of their colonial past deserve whatever they got because they shouldn’t have allowed themselves to be colonized in the first place. I won’t even get into his rascist views on Africa.
When asked if anyone in the community had ever done anything bad to him, his wife, or his property during the 22 years they’ve been living here in Guatemala that would cause such a harsh worldview, he said that no, but he had “heard of brutality” in other villages. Sigh. So 22 years here and that was his point of view “and it would be mine too if I ever lived in an uncivilized country for an extended period of time”. Just when I thought the conversation could not get more bizarre he almost broke into tears when talking about how wonderful Denmark and Sweden are for passing a law that no horse can be kept in a field alone (because horses are pack animals and this is “horse torture”).
When questioned about why he has spent 22 years of his life living among “savages” that he despises, his answered involved not being able to “abandon” the horses until they all die of natural causes. I think this man would literally have rather watched all of the people of his village die than a single one of his animals.
Despite the beauty of the trails and how great it felt to be back on a horse again—and I have to say these were the most well-cared for tour horses I’ve ever seen—I could not wait to get back to the stable and get to stop hearing this crazy man’s ideas. While on the trails I was a captive audience. In fact it wasn’t until we got back to the barn that I saw the swastika tattoo on his hand. Good lord. And this tour was highly recommended as an “amazing experience!” by two separate guide books. It was an experience, all right. God I hope no non-aryan person ever tries to go on his tour.
I can’t believe people like this actually still exist in the world. Sometimes I wonder, especially with people who are very odd in general, if they aren’t pushed into this kind of point of view by their own feelings of inadequacy. As if moving from a developed country to a third world country allows them to escape the people who would ostracize them in their own country, and live amongst people who are much much poorer than they are. Then they can regain their sense of ego and strengthen it by forming the views that others around them are “inferior”. They are an island of civilized people in an ocean of savages. Sorry—it’s the psychologist in me—couldn’t help but psychoanalyze. Maybe this guy was just an asshole.
When we arrived back at the house, exhausted and hungry, the power went out all over Antigua (and all over the country as I later discovered). We walked to a nearby tourist restaurant hoping they’d have a generator. As it turns out they do not, but they did have lots of candles for lighting and they were cooking food still over a wood-stove. We had a wonderful and very interesting candlelight dinner with just about the entire Gringo population of Antigua, and by the time we returned home the power was back on! Thank God luck was finally on our side.
back in Antigua...
Monday, October 5, 2009
Lago Atitlan
This weekend I had a chance to experience a very cultural part of Guatemala, and to travel to a brand new place. The area around Lago Atitlan is full of history—it is heavily populated with indigenous peoples, and because of this was one of the areas targeted by the government forces during the civil war. 800 people were killed and over 700 “disappeared” here in the late '80s and early '90s. For more on the Guatemalan Civil War (1960 to 1996) see here or here.
I sought two things on this trip—a little bit of relaxation and quiet, and also to enjoy the festival of St Francis of Assisi (the patron saint of the pueblo Panajachel which is located on the lake). Like I’ve mentioned before, Guatemalans know how to party. Both turned out perfectly.
Lago Atitlan is a large lake surrounded by volcanoes on all sides, and is truly an amazing and beautiful place. Unfortunately the roads surrounding it are not very safe to drive because of thieves who have set up camp in the mountains, so its necessary to take a small boat to get across the lake to the town of Santiago, best known for its indigenous culture and chill vibe. We stayed at a wonderful hotel called Posada Santiago. The hotel is owned by an American ex-pat who has set out for a quieter life in Guatemala. Along with beautiful views, great food, and a cool town to explore, we also spent a good bit of time “hammocking” as we call it.
"hammocking"
On Sunday we set out back across the lake for the “feria” in Pana. By the time we got there at 2 pm there were already multiple Guatemalans passed out in the street, indigenous crafts being sold, and the enterprising setting up shop outside of the bathrooms, charging 2 quetzales to use them. The fair had a great atmosphere, lots of games, prizes, rides, and dancing. The main festivities were happening next to the St. Francis church. The most interesting thing was a native dance (complete with masks and costumes) and a parade with children dressed as conquistadors, statues of St. Francis, Jesus, and Mary in tow. (click to make the pictures larger)
On the way home looking out the window again it hit me once again how great the disparities between the rich and the poor here. Guatemala is a country where many people live very comfortable, if not “American standard” lives, while others suffer tremendous poverty. Nowhere is that more obvious than driving through village after village, some with big gated communities and some with little shacks set up along the side of the road. No wonder there is so much crime.
All in all, a wonderful weekend and now back to life in Antigua. Its hard work being a student, volunteer, and traveler all at the same time- but somehow, I think I'll survive :-)
Saturday, October 3, 2009
The Day of the Child
This morning was the “Day of the Children” celebration at God’s Child, so we threw a big party for the kids—Guatemalan style. There was music (Michael Jackson of course), ice cream, games, dancing, and, of course, piñatas. It was really a blast. I was with a group of first graders, so they were a little bit antsy and it was hard to focus their attention. After a while I gave up on the balloon relay race we were supposed to be conducting, and instead just started playing “who can keep the balloon in the air the longest”. None of them are used to cameras so of course having their picture taken and then getting to see the photo is also a very fun event. My favorite part of the day had to be when a group of teachers and kids got up and did a rendition (complete with costumes) of The Thriller.
These kids all come from very poor backgrounds, in fact the kids who’s house we built last spring also attend the school. A lot of them at one time have lived on the street, and over 10% of them have been rescued from child prostitution. Another large portion of them have dealt with sexual exploitation or forced labor situations in their own homes. All of them are very poor, or else they wouldn’t be in the program. So it was good to see smiles on all of their faces and to have a morning to celebrate who they are—kids. No matter what happened to them in the past, they’re all still kids, and today they got to act like it.
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