Often times, before I even have a chance to digest a day’s activities, or a week’s events, I find that another month has passed. I’ve suddenly been in Guatemala for nearly 11 months and have only produced an appropriate number of Blog posts and journal entries for someone who has been here for just a few months; in other words, I'm behind. I’ve found that writing long emails and letters that take a couple weeks to arrive stateside are my best outlet for writing in the moment and updating on specific events, rather than laborious summaries. In letters I don’t have the chance to recap the last 300-some days. Still, I owe it to my historical-side and loyal readers to say something more profound, more synthesized and more encapsulating about my experiences here in Guate. I will give the people what they want.
Enjoy the following posts and pictures! Que les vaya bien.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Scrapbook Moments
A family adventure way back in May when my sister and brother-in-law came and we returned to their old site, where they lived as former volunteers in Peace Corps Guatemala.
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My return home for my sister's wedding in September, after my first eight months in-country.
The clean-student award in one of my schools on International Hand Washing Day...sí profe...
My most pilas teachers in my most motivated school.
A college friend came to visit my site, after spending two months near Xela, taking Spanish classes.
Así es la vida…
I think I’m finally starting to understand the importance of my relationships with Guatemalans and that those relationships are not just tools to improve my Spanish skills or become culturally immersed. It’s inevitable that my friends here will progressively become closer confidants as I see them on a daily basis. And while, my friends from the U.S. will always play an important role in my life, these two years will be most fully understood by the people who I live among.
Last week my host-mom from training, Doña Berta, died. I had just recently found out that she was sick and planned to visit her on my trip to the Peace Corps office. As many Guatemalan stories end, I didn’t completely understand the conclusion on how she died.
Many of us who lived in Parramos, and particularly those of us who lived with Doña Berta, went to the funeral to support the family. It felt a little like a high school reunion, with various generations (or training cycles) of volunteers who came together for an event. The family’s property was filled with friends, family and neighbors, all grieving and celebrating Doña Berta. The family had a lunch to serve the masses, and while visitors ate in the yard, Doña Berta’s bedroom housed the casket where visitors paid their respects.
Before the funeral began, the family and family carried the casket to the church. After the service, the pallbearers carried the casket to the cemetery and we watched them load the casket into the mausoleum and cement the side wall shut.
Amidst it all, the family was welcoming and happy to see the PCVs who came. The host-family from my training days are real friends, with real hugs, and sincere saludos.
At the end of the day, the family was still serving snacks to visitors who came through the house, and eventually I went to the other side of town to stay with another family who hosts Peace Corps trainees. We debriefed the day and ended saying, "así es la vida"(such is life). Everything has its beginning and its ending; the ending here proved to be sooner than expected, but I am happy to have had Doña Berta be part of my beginning in Peace Corps Guatemala.
Así es la vida…so seize the day.
Last week my host-mom from training, Doña Berta, died. I had just recently found out that she was sick and planned to visit her on my trip to the Peace Corps office. As many Guatemalan stories end, I didn’t completely understand the conclusion on how she died.
Many of us who lived in Parramos, and particularly those of us who lived with Doña Berta, went to the funeral to support the family. It felt a little like a high school reunion, with various generations (or training cycles) of volunteers who came together for an event. The family’s property was filled with friends, family and neighbors, all grieving and celebrating Doña Berta. The family had a lunch to serve the masses, and while visitors ate in the yard, Doña Berta’s bedroom housed the casket where visitors paid their respects.
Before the funeral began, the family and family carried the casket to the church. After the service, the pallbearers carried the casket to the cemetery and we watched them load the casket into the mausoleum and cement the side wall shut.
Amidst it all, the family was welcoming and happy to see the PCVs who came. The host-family from my training days are real friends, with real hugs, and sincere saludos.
At the end of the day, the family was still serving snacks to visitors who came through the house, and eventually I went to the other side of town to stay with another family who hosts Peace Corps trainees. We debriefed the day and ended saying, "así es la vida"(such is life). Everything has its beginning and its ending; the ending here proved to be sooner than expected, but I am happy to have had Doña Berta be part of my beginning in Peace Corps Guatemala.
Así es la vida…so seize the day.
Celebraciones
The last couple months I have spent a significant amount of time in my site, free of traveling, free of weekend visits, and filled with lots of cultural immersion and integration. And though integration often proves to be a very frustrating process (still seven months after I arrived), some events make me feel fully engaged, knowing that I could not have done such things without the hours of rapport-building, or as we say in Guatemala, gaining confianza (trust).
After a quick surface dive into the U.S., vacationing to attend the weddings of four very important people, and a very challenging attempt to readjust, I felt like I finally had the chance to fully invest myself in my community here, once I returned. And it’s the “fully investing” part that is exhausting – mentally, emotionally, and physically.
Aside from Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, Guatemalans also celebrate one more Hallmark holiday called Día del Niño – a full day dedicated to celebrating kids. I went to my favorite school where I gave palabras (words), which Guatemalans consider essential to any sort of celebration. I danced to children’s songs with the other teachers and later, went home with a party bag full of candy. We were all included in kid’s day regardless that we are the teachers.
Vicente Fernandez, the renowned Mexican pop star appeared once again. I finished my parody for my students and sang to the tune of El Chofer about drinking clean water, washing your bedding and your body, as well as caring for the environment. I decided my career as a Mexican pop star might be more successful among the adolescent/adult crowd (my Spanish themes aren’t quite as funny among Mam speaking children).
I continue forced entertainment at birthday parties. One of my small friends turned one-year-old last month. The baby’s mom did not take any caution in celebrating big. Two clowns came to the party and whether the baby will ever know it or not, I participated with the clowns and a group of 150 Guatemalans…twice. I seem to be an easy target for audience participation, so I let the clowns direct me as they saw fit. Perhaps the pictures are the best explanation. I always have some doubts that I might get the directions wrong in Spanish, but that usually provides the perfect space for a well executed joke.
The big celebration, however, took place in Todo Santos for Día de Todos los Santos on November 1. After an attempted celebration of Halloween (not celebrated in Guatemala), we woke up early the next morning to watch the notorious horse races. Horses and their riders, run along a 250-300 meter track, back-and-forth until they reach exhaustion…or are eliminated along the way (I only saw two rider-less horses, after the riders had been thrown somewhere to the side lines). Todos Santos is filled with colorful indigenous traje (clothes) – women in the commonly worn woven skirts and blouses, and men in the less commonly worn red, striped pants and shirts with broad woven collars.
And then there was Guatemala’s Independence Day on September 15, and International Hand Washing Day for my students, and the list goes on.
.JPG)
I’ve come to know that Guatemalan celebrations are extravagant and that Guatemalans take as much time as they need in order to celebrate, regardless of stopping transportation or shutting down businesses. And that is the culture. Without a little added patience and a lot of willingness to participate and act like a fool in front of a crowd, my integration might have never progressed.
After a quick surface dive into the U.S., vacationing to attend the weddings of four very important people, and a very challenging attempt to readjust, I felt like I finally had the chance to fully invest myself in my community here, once I returned. And it’s the “fully investing” part that is exhausting – mentally, emotionally, and physically.
Aside from Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, Guatemalans also celebrate one more Hallmark holiday called Día del Niño – a full day dedicated to celebrating kids. I went to my favorite school where I gave palabras (words), which Guatemalans consider essential to any sort of celebration. I danced to children’s songs with the other teachers and later, went home with a party bag full of candy. We were all included in kid’s day regardless that we are the teachers.
Vicente Fernandez, the renowned Mexican pop star appeared once again. I finished my parody for my students and sang to the tune of El Chofer about drinking clean water, washing your bedding and your body, as well as caring for the environment. I decided my career as a Mexican pop star might be more successful among the adolescent/adult crowd (my Spanish themes aren’t quite as funny among Mam speaking children).
I continue forced entertainment at birthday parties. One of my small friends turned one-year-old last month. The baby’s mom did not take any caution in celebrating big. Two clowns came to the party and whether the baby will ever know it or not, I participated with the clowns and a group of 150 Guatemalans…twice. I seem to be an easy target for audience participation, so I let the clowns direct me as they saw fit. Perhaps the pictures are the best explanation. I always have some doubts that I might get the directions wrong in Spanish, but that usually provides the perfect space for a well executed joke.
The big celebration, however, took place in Todo Santos for Día de Todos los Santos on November 1. After an attempted celebration of Halloween (not celebrated in Guatemala), we woke up early the next morning to watch the notorious horse races. Horses and their riders, run along a 250-300 meter track, back-and-forth until they reach exhaustion…or are eliminated along the way (I only saw two rider-less horses, after the riders had been thrown somewhere to the side lines). Todos Santos is filled with colorful indigenous traje (clothes) – women in the commonly worn woven skirts and blouses, and men in the less commonly worn red, striped pants and shirts with broad woven collars.
And then there was Guatemala’s Independence Day on September 15, and International Hand Washing Day for my students, and the list goes on.
.JPG)
I’ve come to know that Guatemalan celebrations are extravagant and that Guatemalans take as much time as they need in order to celebrate, regardless of stopping transportation or shutting down businesses. And that is the culture. Without a little added patience and a lot of willingness to participate and act like a fool in front of a crowd, my integration might have never progressed.
Casa of 10
Next week marks my first eight months as a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer), after my initial three months as a PCT (Peace Corps Trainee). And the time since I began has been jam-packed with figuring out how to talk and then figuring out how to live. I was 23, with the skill-set of a college graduate and the functioning capacity of an infant. I feel a bit more competent in living like a Guatemalteco.
When I went on my site visit about a week before swearing-in, I secured my housing. Peace Corps Guatemala requires PCVs to live with a family for the first three months in site and after that time we can live in a house apart from a family. I came to the Martinez family as a stranger with limited Spanish and very little to talk about. The family converted their living area (mostly couch space) to my room where I’ve lived since I’ve been here. I had a bed that is a box-spring with a two-inch cushion on top and a table where I have two piles of clothes, my food, books, and toiletries. They accommodated their living space for me, but we all thought I would stay for three months.
After three months passed, I continually searched for a house. The house hunt in San Se is no easy task. Since classified ads don’t exist, I took on a door-to-door pursuit and asked multiple families and store owners if they were renting a house. About two months ago, I found an open house, and finally said I was interested in renting it, but was not sure how I would tell my host-family that I might be moving out. Suddenly the family was no longer just a group of people from whom I rented a room and instead became some of my closest friends in the community. We joke around, we’ve learned a routine, and despite the occasional confusing conversations when something is lost in translation, we “get” each other.
I seriously examined all the reasons for leaving the house where I am now, and suddenly came to the conclusion, that I’m happy where I am, and there is no reason to change that. Though frequently being watched and working around cooking, bathroom, or laundry schedules, becomes frustrating at times, it’s all overshadowed by the evening conversations, the stories, the jokes, or the two-hour-long games of Uno with the kids.
My roommates range in age from 6 to about 69 (the 60-something couple who owns the house, their 20-30-something daughters and son, and their 6-12-year-old grandsons and granddaughters). Including me, we’re a casa of a 10. We’d make a great sitcom.
I came to Guatemala, knowing that I would make connections and develop relationships, but never thought that I could have real friendships. Though it’s a bit more effort to communicate, the words are beginning to flow better, and suddenly I’m feeling more invested in my time here.
Don Romeo and Doña Enriqueta - the house owners.
When I went on my site visit about a week before swearing-in, I secured my housing. Peace Corps Guatemala requires PCVs to live with a family for the first three months in site and after that time we can live in a house apart from a family. I came to the Martinez family as a stranger with limited Spanish and very little to talk about. The family converted their living area (mostly couch space) to my room where I’ve lived since I’ve been here. I had a bed that is a box-spring with a two-inch cushion on top and a table where I have two piles of clothes, my food, books, and toiletries. They accommodated their living space for me, but we all thought I would stay for three months.
After three months passed, I continually searched for a house. The house hunt in San Se is no easy task. Since classified ads don’t exist, I took on a door-to-door pursuit and asked multiple families and store owners if they were renting a house. About two months ago, I found an open house, and finally said I was interested in renting it, but was not sure how I would tell my host-family that I might be moving out. Suddenly the family was no longer just a group of people from whom I rented a room and instead became some of my closest friends in the community. We joke around, we’ve learned a routine, and despite the occasional confusing conversations when something is lost in translation, we “get” each other.
I seriously examined all the reasons for leaving the house where I am now, and suddenly came to the conclusion, that I’m happy where I am, and there is no reason to change that. Though frequently being watched and working around cooking, bathroom, or laundry schedules, becomes frustrating at times, it’s all overshadowed by the evening conversations, the stories, the jokes, or the two-hour-long games of Uno with the kids.
My roommates range in age from 6 to about 69 (the 60-something couple who owns the house, their 20-30-something daughters and son, and their 6-12-year-old grandsons and granddaughters). Including me, we’re a casa of a 10. We’d make a great sitcom.
I came to Guatemala, knowing that I would make connections and develop relationships, but never thought that I could have real friendships. Though it’s a bit more effort to communicate, the words are beginning to flow better, and suddenly I’m feeling more invested in my time here.
Don Romeo and Doña Enriqueta - the house owners.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Top 10 Summertime Highlights
Though I’m gearing up for “summer” to begin (the school year ends in October), the traditional summer months fueled me with great stories and good memories. The top 10 is a slightly more condensed list, opposed to my other stories summarizing the summer.
Top 10 lessons learned from living in Guatemala, summer 2009:
10. Realizing that the greater proportions of my friends are between four and five-years-old, or sixty-four and sixty-five-years-old. Both age groups make time to chat and joke-around, which in turn improves my Spanish.
9. Learning to speak Mam from a woman in town. And though Mam is challenging it’s a strange relief to switch to Spanish. The happiest baby in the Northern Hemisphere lives in the same house.
8. Engaging in frequent conversations while walking down the four-street-town and allowing an extra fifteen minutes or more to get from place-to-place. The next thing is never as important as the present.
7. Making friends with nuclear-families as a means to be invited to family events. In May, my site-mate and I visited the Xetulu theme park with one of the premier fun-families in town. A day of riding Guatemalan roller coasters taught me that, “AAAaaaAAaaaHHHhhhhhHHHHhh,” has the same translation from English to Spanish.
6. Watching the AFI (American Film Institute) 100 list with my site-mate. Sixteen movies down and 84 to go, tells me that I’ve been missing out on an entire medium of expression, pre-2009.
5. Learning through teaching. Between my normal classes in the schools and my occasional English classes in site, I've been learning some important teaching tactics to engage students, as well as learning more Spanish to make me a competent communicator (even among my preschool friends).
4. Traveling to the U.S. for college friends’ wedding in Michigan for a fleeting five day journey. Though I live far away, maintaining friendships at home is equally as important as meeting new friends here.
3. Taking excessive day-trips for the sake of sanity. While most of what I learned this past summer occurred in my site, I’ve realized that taking a four hour trip to the ocean, sitting on the beach for ten minutes, swimming for ten minutes, and lounging with friends under a shaded hut for lunch, all before making the journey back on the same day, is sometimes just what I need to refresh my Spanish and cultural sensitivity.
2. Celebrating the Fourth of July outside U.S. borders. An American style BBQ, Guatemalan beer, and a collection of favorite music, can bring PCVs together for a common cause—to celebrate the country and culture we’re positively promoting in Guatemala.
1. Visiting family. My sister and brother-in-law, RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) who also served in Guatemala and ended their service in 2008, spent a week at my schools and visiting their old site as well, this past May. Another generation made it through 27 months here, millions of other PCVs have completed their service since 1961, there’s no reason I can’t too.
Staying strong. Overcoming obstacles. Accepting the challenge.
Top 10 lessons learned from living in Guatemala, summer 2009:
10. Realizing that the greater proportions of my friends are between four and five-years-old, or sixty-four and sixty-five-years-old. Both age groups make time to chat and joke-around, which in turn improves my Spanish.
9. Learning to speak Mam from a woman in town. And though Mam is challenging it’s a strange relief to switch to Spanish. The happiest baby in the Northern Hemisphere lives in the same house.
8. Engaging in frequent conversations while walking down the four-street-town and allowing an extra fifteen minutes or more to get from place-to-place. The next thing is never as important as the present.
7. Making friends with nuclear-families as a means to be invited to family events. In May, my site-mate and I visited the Xetulu theme park with one of the premier fun-families in town. A day of riding Guatemalan roller coasters taught me that, “AAAaaaAAaaaHHHhhhhhHHHHhh,” has the same translation from English to Spanish.
6. Watching the AFI (American Film Institute) 100 list with my site-mate. Sixteen movies down and 84 to go, tells me that I’ve been missing out on an entire medium of expression, pre-2009.
5. Learning through teaching. Between my normal classes in the schools and my occasional English classes in site, I've been learning some important teaching tactics to engage students, as well as learning more Spanish to make me a competent communicator (even among my preschool friends).
4. Traveling to the U.S. for college friends’ wedding in Michigan for a fleeting five day journey. Though I live far away, maintaining friendships at home is equally as important as meeting new friends here.
3. Taking excessive day-trips for the sake of sanity. While most of what I learned this past summer occurred in my site, I’ve realized that taking a four hour trip to the ocean, sitting on the beach for ten minutes, swimming for ten minutes, and lounging with friends under a shaded hut for lunch, all before making the journey back on the same day, is sometimes just what I need to refresh my Spanish and cultural sensitivity.
2. Celebrating the Fourth of July outside U.S. borders. An American style BBQ, Guatemalan beer, and a collection of favorite music, can bring PCVs together for a common cause—to celebrate the country and culture we’re positively promoting in Guatemala.
1. Visiting family. My sister and brother-in-law, RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) who also served in Guatemala and ended their service in 2008, spent a week at my schools and visiting their old site as well, this past May. Another generation made it through 27 months here, millions of other PCVs have completed their service since 1961, there’s no reason I can’t too.
Staying strong. Overcoming obstacles. Accepting the challenge.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Gems from the Summer
Though it's rainy season in Guatemala, and Guatemalans call this time of year "winter," I'll always consider June through August "summer." Summer passed quickly this year; I was still working (the school year runs January through October) and busy days turn into short weeks. Time flies. The following stories come from some of my favorite moments this past summer.
¡Ya queremos pastel!
The Guatemalan birthday party has come to be a common routine for me. Somebody invites me, or my site mate and me together. We go bearing soda or something to share. We become the center of attention at the party, where people sit in chairs, lined around the perimeter of the room. And I can always count on someone asking me to sing one of my favorite Spanish songs or say one of my favorite local Guatemalan phrases. And even if they don’t think I understand everything they say, they ask me to say “puchica” (wow) or the like, and I can fit in as if I’m a local.
Perhaps my favorite tradition, of course aside from serenading the group with one of my favorite Vicente Fernandez songs, El Chofer (“Voy a arrancar, soy el chofer…”), is the presentation of the birthday cake. The Guatemalan birthday cake always tastes a little different than it looks. The design is elaborate, and the inside is more like bread, soaked in fruit juice. One of the hosts brings the cake to the birthday boy, girl, man, or woman, and group sings, in English, “Happy birthday to you…,” followed by, “Ya queremos pastel…” And after singing, the guests scream for the birthday boy, girl, man, or woman, to take a big bite. And after he or she takes that bite, I usually step in to take a picture of the cake covered face. And then we eat, and people ask me to sing or say more select local words.
In May, we celebrated my birthday at my site mate’s house. My sister and brother-in-law returned Peace Corps Guatemala volunteers were visiting, and volunteers from near-by sites also came to celebrate. We made homemade pizza, I wore a birthday hat, and we ate cake (though I did not smash my face into the center of it). But when our Guatemalan friends came over, we put on the Spanish music, and per usual, I sang my favorite lines from Vicente’s greatest hits. The day would not have been complete otherwise.
Language Acquisition through TV and Film
Sometimes I find myself hanging around my house on a Friday or Saturday night, when I don’t feel like traveling part-way across the country for entertainment. And many times I find myself lingering after I cook dinner, at which time I find out the latest news, the best argument on Guatemalan talk shows, or a familiar dubbed movie. It was not until the family flipped the channel to Chucky the other night, that I had learned my host-mom is such a fan of horror movies. Daily, we make jokes, she listens to music while washing clothes, and she bakes bread in the brick oven (all very tranquil activities), but in the evenings when we see the horror line-up, she laughs at the little “muñeco” that happens to come to life. Simultaneously strange and amazing!
Sometimes I feel like every moment of my life here is like I’m in class, whether absorbing new vocabulary and engaging in conversation, or learning new cultural gems, such as the happiness a horror movie brings.
The Clash of Three Languages
Len nan.
(Buenos días señora.)
[Good morning ma’am.]
Ti nik’x teya?
(¿Cómo está usted?)
[How are you?]
B’a’n intine chjonte, yatzan teya?
(Bien gracias. ¿Y usted?)
[Well thanks. And you?]
B’a’n.
(Bien.)
[Well.]
Kwentanx tib’a, qin we.
(Cuidese, hasta luego.)
[Take care of yourself, see you later.]
Ku cheb’xa.
(Que le vaya bien.)
[Go well.]
At the end of July, I began weekly Mam (pronounced “mom”) class (the Mayan language that 94% of the people in my municipality speak). And though learning at least some words and phrases in Mam will be sufficient, while I hone my Spanish skills, the language (spoken predominantly in Huehuetenango and San Marcos), varies drastically in dialect from municipality to municipality.
The three schools where I teach are located in the municipality of Santa Barbara, anywhere from 20 minutes to an-hour-and-a-half from my town center in San Se. My schools are bilingual, meaning the kindergarteners are just learning Spanish and they are learning the majority of their curriculum in Mam, and as the years go on, students continue to learn more Spanish until the entirety of their curriculum is taught in Spanish. But even if I want to teach and/or greet my classes in Mam, I need to learn the Santa Barbara dialect.
Mam does not have similar sounds as English or Spanish. Mam is spoken manly from the throat. Of the 36 characters in the Mam alphabet, 13 of the characters include an apostrophe, which makes a sound that I am not trained or perhaps even able to make. I often feel like I’m beat-boxing, while I’m really just saying, “How are you? See you later.”
And more than anything, I think that translating from Spanish to Mam, while often thinking in English and translating my thoughts to Spanish, makes it that much harder to learn. This may be a sign that I need to stop thinking in English all together—in which case, I lose command of all languages and cannot communicate with anyone.
While the synapses work in rapid fire, completing my English thoughts and my Spanish words, I’ve found myself speaking Spanish and every once-in-a-while, absent mindedly slipping an English word into the dialog, confusing listeners more than they might already be confused by my Spanish, and/or my Spanish with a Midwestern accent. Even if I speak grammatically correct, my words are meaningless, if I slip a long Minnesota “a” (which makes a harsh “ay” sound) into any Spanish word.
But perhaps the most candid moment of the shift from English to Spanish, happened in the grocery store the other day. I was looking for milk (“leche”—a simple Spanish word). But somewhere else in the store, I saw the word “saludable,” shifted to English and thought “healthy,” switching to thoughts about my program “escuelas saludables,” and then pulling up a mental vocab. list concerning words for my health classes. Still, I couldn’t find where milk might be shelved, but all the time, I was looking for “leche materna”. Mother’s milk?! To which I had to think, “Wait…is that really what I’m looking for?” Generally confused by my Spanish and English thoughts, I was relieved that I didn’t ask someone in the store, “¿Disculpe, adónde puedo buscar leche maternal de la pechuga?” Yikes.
The preceding paragraphs were a jumble—such is my mind.
¡Ya queremos pastel!
The Guatemalan birthday party has come to be a common routine for me. Somebody invites me, or my site mate and me together. We go bearing soda or something to share. We become the center of attention at the party, where people sit in chairs, lined around the perimeter of the room. And I can always count on someone asking me to sing one of my favorite Spanish songs or say one of my favorite local Guatemalan phrases. And even if they don’t think I understand everything they say, they ask me to say “puchica” (wow) or the like, and I can fit in as if I’m a local.
Perhaps my favorite tradition, of course aside from serenading the group with one of my favorite Vicente Fernandez songs, El Chofer (“Voy a arrancar, soy el chofer…”), is the presentation of the birthday cake. The Guatemalan birthday cake always tastes a little different than it looks. The design is elaborate, and the inside is more like bread, soaked in fruit juice. One of the hosts brings the cake to the birthday boy, girl, man, or woman, and group sings, in English, “Happy birthday to you…,” followed by, “Ya queremos pastel…” And after singing, the guests scream for the birthday boy, girl, man, or woman, to take a big bite. And after he or she takes that bite, I usually step in to take a picture of the cake covered face. And then we eat, and people ask me to sing or say more select local words.
In May, we celebrated my birthday at my site mate’s house. My sister and brother-in-law returned Peace Corps Guatemala volunteers were visiting, and volunteers from near-by sites also came to celebrate. We made homemade pizza, I wore a birthday hat, and we ate cake (though I did not smash my face into the center of it). But when our Guatemalan friends came over, we put on the Spanish music, and per usual, I sang my favorite lines from Vicente’s greatest hits. The day would not have been complete otherwise.
Language Acquisition through TV and Film
Sometimes I find myself hanging around my house on a Friday or Saturday night, when I don’t feel like traveling part-way across the country for entertainment. And many times I find myself lingering after I cook dinner, at which time I find out the latest news, the best argument on Guatemalan talk shows, or a familiar dubbed movie. It was not until the family flipped the channel to Chucky the other night, that I had learned my host-mom is such a fan of horror movies. Daily, we make jokes, she listens to music while washing clothes, and she bakes bread in the brick oven (all very tranquil activities), but in the evenings when we see the horror line-up, she laughs at the little “muñeco” that happens to come to life. Simultaneously strange and amazing!
Sometimes I feel like every moment of my life here is like I’m in class, whether absorbing new vocabulary and engaging in conversation, or learning new cultural gems, such as the happiness a horror movie brings.
The Clash of Three Languages
Len nan.
(Buenos días señora.)
[Good morning ma’am.]
Ti nik’x teya?
(¿Cómo está usted?)
[How are you?]
B’a’n intine chjonte, yatzan teya?
(Bien gracias. ¿Y usted?)
[Well thanks. And you?]
B’a’n.
(Bien.)
[Well.]
Kwentanx tib’a, qin we.
(Cuidese, hasta luego.)
[Take care of yourself, see you later.]
Ku cheb’xa.
(Que le vaya bien.)
[Go well.]
At the end of July, I began weekly Mam (pronounced “mom”) class (the Mayan language that 94% of the people in my municipality speak). And though learning at least some words and phrases in Mam will be sufficient, while I hone my Spanish skills, the language (spoken predominantly in Huehuetenango and San Marcos), varies drastically in dialect from municipality to municipality.
The three schools where I teach are located in the municipality of Santa Barbara, anywhere from 20 minutes to an-hour-and-a-half from my town center in San Se. My schools are bilingual, meaning the kindergarteners are just learning Spanish and they are learning the majority of their curriculum in Mam, and as the years go on, students continue to learn more Spanish until the entirety of their curriculum is taught in Spanish. But even if I want to teach and/or greet my classes in Mam, I need to learn the Santa Barbara dialect.
Mam does not have similar sounds as English or Spanish. Mam is spoken manly from the throat. Of the 36 characters in the Mam alphabet, 13 of the characters include an apostrophe, which makes a sound that I am not trained or perhaps even able to make. I often feel like I’m beat-boxing, while I’m really just saying, “How are you? See you later.”
And more than anything, I think that translating from Spanish to Mam, while often thinking in English and translating my thoughts to Spanish, makes it that much harder to learn. This may be a sign that I need to stop thinking in English all together—in which case, I lose command of all languages and cannot communicate with anyone.
While the synapses work in rapid fire, completing my English thoughts and my Spanish words, I’ve found myself speaking Spanish and every once-in-a-while, absent mindedly slipping an English word into the dialog, confusing listeners more than they might already be confused by my Spanish, and/or my Spanish with a Midwestern accent. Even if I speak grammatically correct, my words are meaningless, if I slip a long Minnesota “a” (which makes a harsh “ay” sound) into any Spanish word.
But perhaps the most candid moment of the shift from English to Spanish, happened in the grocery store the other day. I was looking for milk (“leche”—a simple Spanish word). But somewhere else in the store, I saw the word “saludable,” shifted to English and thought “healthy,” switching to thoughts about my program “escuelas saludables,” and then pulling up a mental vocab. list concerning words for my health classes. Still, I couldn’t find where milk might be shelved, but all the time, I was looking for “leche materna”. Mother’s milk?! To which I had to think, “Wait…is that really what I’m looking for?” Generally confused by my Spanish and English thoughts, I was relieved that I didn’t ask someone in the store, “¿Disculpe, adónde puedo buscar leche maternal de la pechuga?” Yikes.
The preceding paragraphs were a jumble—such is my mind.
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