Tuesday, December 22, 2009

¡Feliz Navidad y Prospero Año Nuevo!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all my readers - reading to understand, stay connected, and support me from afar! Muchísimo gracias. It’s been quite the year and one that will likely not get lost in the mix of memories over my lifetime. Here’s to a great new decade; one of new challenges and abundant joys. My best to all of you!




Merry Christmas from my house to yours!

My Life as a Song Writer

Years after early inspiration from my first grade teacher who taught with his guitar and wrote songs for our class to get an early start on learning our multiples (7, 14, 21, 28, 35...), I've taken on the practice as my own form of teaching as well. Last fall, I finished writing a song parody to the popular Vicente Fernandez song, "El Chofer," and changed the words pertaining to healthy practices. I was also in charge of making up a cheer for the "Soy Pilas" theme at the sports camp with which I helped in November. These songs are now what I like to bring to birthday parties.



And the lyrics for my Vicente parody if you know Spanish...

Practicas Saludables
Parodia de El Chofer – Vicente Fernandez


Voy a tomar,
Agua hervida,
Porque no quiero infección en mi estomago.

Voy a vivir,
Sin microbios,
Porque no bebo agua fea del chorro.

Y sigan estos principios,
Por buen salud de sus cuerpos.

Voy a lavar,
Con agua y jabón,
Para quitar los chinches dentro del colchón,

Voy a vivir,
Con cuerpo limpio,
Porque no rasco la piel bien sano.

Aguas calientes y salvavidas de Huehue.
Adiós enfermedades.

Voy a tirar,
Desechos sucios,
En los lugares se llaman basureros,

Voy a vivir,
Con aire más fresco,
Porque no puedo respirar los químicos.

Y sigan estos principios,
Por buen salud de sus cuerpos.

No estamos enfermos (con gripe),
No estamos enfermos (con diarrea),
No estamos enfermos (con vómitos),
No estamos enfermos (con tos),
No estamos enfermos (con dolores),
No estamos enfermos (con amebas),
Porque seguimos las reglas.

Y sigan estos principios,
Por buen salud de sus cuerpos.

Soy saludable.

¡No tengo diarrea, no tengo lombrices, no tengo amebas, no tengo infecciones de los intestinos, solamente saludable y muy fuerte para vivir contento y alegre por el resto de mi vida!

¡Ay, estoy saludable!

¡Yo soy pilias! – Camp Season

I attended my first summer camp in 1998. I was gone for a week and it felt like two years (wait, that’s Peace Corps). I remember counting the hours until the end of the week, when I would be back in the comforts of home, where I did not have to "care" for myself (which I think just included deciding how much food I would eat at meal times). And now I’ve been living this camp-like lifestyle for nearly 12 months.

I’ve gotten over my fear of being away from home, so now is my chance to relive my childhood. I’ve now completed three camps since school has been out, and I’m convinced that this is my calling (second to being an eternal college student).

Camp #1 took place in Las Marias, Quetzaltenango – site of an environmental education volunteer. A handful of PCVs took direction from one organized leader who planned to teach soccer, basketball, and baseball, to a group of fourth through sixth graders. Mixed in with the sports practice, we gave mini-lectures on health, teamwork, and self-esteem – all important reasons for practicing a sport. I wrote a cheer based on the week’s theme, “soy pilias” (I am motivated, hard working, strong, etc. – not a direct translation). Simultaneously, all the PCVs had fun living together in one house for a week.



Camp #2 passed in San Sebastián, where my site-mate and I took on the energy of 60-80 kids, ranging in age from 6-12, along with other recruited PCVs. For 3-4 hours everyday, we taught environmental themed lessons, expressed ourselves in arts and crafts, and ran wild with reckless game time. And though we had many successes throughout the week, I felt like I got good practice for school (which always needs to be tailored) and recognized new ways to develop better classroom management.



Camp #3 brought me to San Cristobal, Totonicapan, where we performed epic duties as “camp councilors.” The camp in San Cris focused on English classes, outdoor recreation, and arts and crafts. I mostly manned the outdoor recreation part for three groups of younger elementary-aged kids in the morning and old-elementary – junior high-aged kids in the afternoon. My main objective for the relatively random games was for the kids to work together as a team. We sang embarrassing songs and I lost my voice by the end of the week – totally worth it for me.





And now, after successive camps, meetings and Spanish classes at the Peace Corps center, and a Guatemalan Thanksgiving, I have returned to my site, not wanting to travel again for a very long time. Living out of a backpack gets to be a challenge. My own bed has never felt so comfortable!

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Plenty of Material

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.

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.


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.

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.





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.

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.

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.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Life After Capacitación: To San Sebastián...

 

Our only emotions after swear-in and before moving to our respective sites. In a word: terror.

 

An aerial view of San Sensebatián (San Se), as seen running up the mountain through a nearby aldea community.

 
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My host-home for the first three months in site - a view of the big garden behind the pila, where I brush my teeth, wash my clothes and do my dishes. Second to the family, the garden was a selling point when I was choosing a place to live once I arrived in site at the end of March.

Juramentación - Swear-in Day, March 27, 2009: The First Day of the Next Two Years

 

Our Training Director speaking at the Ambassador's residence in Guatemala City, moments before we took the oath and committed to our service in Peace Corps Guatemala.

 

My Parramos host-mom Doña Berta and me on the Ambassador's grounds.

 

The families and other PCTs with whom I lived in Parramos for my first three months of training.

 
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The "Healthy Schools" half of my training group and Peace Corps Guatemala Country Director.

Peace Corps Training: My First Three Months in Country

 

Parramos host-mom Doña Berta - always ready with a joke on hand.

 

The Catholic Church in Parramos where my host-family attended.

 

College friend Ben and me, catching up in Antigua, while living in the same country and working in different programs. Small world. Necessary travel buddy.

 
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The outside view of my host-home in Parramos.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

The Life of Profe Marcos

In the U.S., the name "professor" is an esteemed title to describe a scholar who teaches at the collegiate-level and has completed years of education and various benchmarks on the faculty-ladder. Here, if you’re a teacher, you automatically get the title of "profesor" or "profesora". And though undergoing four years of college and obtaining an undergraduate degree in the U.S. is important to enter into any sort of professional career, when considering the number of people in the U.S. who have post-graduate degrees, an undergraduate degree doesn’t usually deem the initials "B.A." after someone's name. Here, I may be referred to as "licenciado". And despite having a college degree, as a minimum requirement for a Peace Corps Volunteer, I more-than-likely communicate at the level of a first grader.

I’ve completed two months, working in three rural schools. My job as "school health facilitator" seems like it is beginning to evolve as I continue to work and live here. These past two months I’ve been giving health lessons to 26 classes per week among my three schools. More and more, I’m learning: what will work and conversely what will not work, what classes will participate and conversely look at me like I’m speaking a foreign language (sometimes Spanish is foreign, as all the schools are bilingual Mam speaking as well), and which activities are too childish for sixth graders and conversely beyond the capabilities of the completely Mam speaking kindergartners.

Each day lasts from 7:30AM – 12:30PM—piece of cake compared to U.S. school schedules. Nevertheless, my farthest school is an hour-and-a-half away from my site. The alarm goes off at 5:00AM, I revert to my college behaviors and hit the snooze button multiple times and I’m on the road, starting at 5:45AM or 6:00AM. From my site I take a "camioneta" (or converted U.S. school bus) and hop on a "microbus" or "camion" (a flatbed truck that tightly packs many people). The dirt road is bumpy and standing often feels better than absorbing the shock with my shoulders, as I smash into the bars onto which I hold, with every teeter across the rough terrain. We hit some construction on the way and wait for 30 minutes until the road opens back up. The short five hours of school becomes a nine hour day, from wake-up time to the time I return home.

One school, however, is an easy bus ride away, with about five minutes of careful walking, as an attempt not to tumble down rocky hillsides. It’s often a welcome relief to sleep-in a bit and to know that just transporting myself won’t be the hardest part of the day.

Commonly sung songs during my lessons include "Canción de los Piojos" set to the tune of "La Cucaracha," singing about such an eloquent topic as lice, as well as the song, "Con un cepillo, me cepillo yo…," which becomes a sort of jig, using your whole body, demonstrating just how many "toothbrushes" you might use to brush your teeth (two arms, two legs, butt, head, and your whole body). I’m starting to lack taste in real music.

Everyday classes of students range from half-asleep to receptive and participatory, and my confidence fluctuates from that of despair to feeling successful. Such is Peace Corps—you never know what will happen next!

Friday, May 8, 2009

And so it was...Easter

It's been awhile since I had a chance to update; however, I had full intentions of doing so Easter weekend. The following is a little gem I decided had to be typed up soon after the event (now almost a month ago). A must read - enjoy. This is my life.

This past Saturday, ready to get back to San Se after a Semana Santa diversion in Xela and another Volunteer’s house, I left early in the morning to catch a bus. Transportation was limited during Holy Week and the country virtually shut down, so leaving early was the only hope of making it back at all.

I set out on the street that I thought led me to the highway, but it made an unnoticeable turn, so before I knew it I was going up a mountain and into a nearby aldea. I stopped to ask for directions and despite my wrong turn, I could still access the highway and could even hear cars driving past somewhere in my general vicinity if I continued walking up.

I checked-in one last time with a woman who was standing on the dirt road, just to make sure my early morning quad workout wasn’t completely worthless. The woman ensured me that I was headed in the right direction, but it became clear that she was standing on the road in search of a passer-by. She asked if I would be able to help her lift something. Seemingly harmless, I said I could help out. I assumed she had to move a table, as many street vendors (before I thought about the fact that this was not the place for a typical street-vendor-setup).

I entered the house compound area and entered the kitchen, including a table, a man standing next to the table and a woman brewing a large pot in the corner, over an open-fire-stove. More family members entered the room and looked surprised of the stranger their mother had picked up along the dirt road. I still thought we were lifting the table until I stepped around the table, where I encountered pig—feet and snout, both tied with a long rope.

I started laughing. I’m not sure if the family thought it was, even in the slightest, a strange proposition to ask a stranger to help lift a pig onto the butcher block in its last moments of life, but all I could do was laugh and say, “Lo siento. Este es muy comico.”

Backup arrived on the scene and two more people entered the room. I’d never lifted a live pig onto a butcher block before. I wanted a tutorial. Do I get gloves? Do I have to bear hug the mid-section, or can I just pull on the rope? Why can’t this just be done from the floor? But there was no time to ask logistics or even logic. I was about to offer all my strength and lift this animal onto the table. This was rather personal…we had just met.

On "tres," we lifted. Uno-dos-tres…and here I am, holding the mid-section of a bound-pig, suspended by a rope. Squirming in the hands of the other helpers and flailing from my rope, I hoped that we didn’t drop it. I wouldn’t have been nice to leave, but I really wasn’t experienced in this area of raising livestock. And on the table it laid.

The woman who recruited me offered me a couple Quetzales. I had to refuse the tip, but instead, asked if I could take a picture.

And there I had evidence to back up my adventure. One wrong turn and I was nearly a butcher. One wrong turn and I made a story, all before 8AM.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Integrating

I’m now experiencing my second week in site. This week is Semana Santa, so life in Guatemala has taken a hiatus while observing Holy Week. Despite the fact that the majority of San Sebastián residents are taking a break for the week, which presents some challenge in carrying out everyday-tasks, this week is giving me a good chance to meet people and integrate into the town I will know well during the next two years.

I’ve done my share of blending-in with crowds (blending-in meaning that I’m making attempts to look like a Guatemalan who speaks perfect Spanish and/or Mam, but in actuality, stand out as if I’m dressed for Halloween). I consider my life as a set of mini-experiments, intersecting the lives of others at various instances throughout my days, inevitably walking away, while they think to themselves, “He’s crazy,” and I think to myself, “Am I even a person?”

Experiment #1: Market Day Strut

My first chance to become widely known as the new Gringo in town was to take on the streets during market day. With good intention that I would meet some vendors and pick up my needed produce, I first stopped at a tarp where a woman was selling avocados.

Marcos (me):¡Buenos días! Quisiera cuatro aguacates, por favor.

-Rational thought: I only need four avocados.

Vendor: Lo siento, no tengo cambio para diez Quetzales.

-Rational thought #2: No change? I could leave...

Marcos: “Esta bien. Entonces quisiera cinco Quetzales de aguacates.”
-Irrational Solution: Throw in some more avocados to make up the difference.

My first day at the market ended with me carrying home 10 avocados, a pound of tomatoes, and a pound of onions. I didn’t have the foresight to know what I would actually make with this cornucopia, but when given the opportunity to act like a local with smooth Spanish and a cookbook in the back of your head, seize the day.

Experiment #2: Keep the Conversation Flowing

Even having used four years of high school, three semesters of college and three months of Peace Corps training, as attempts to become proficient in Spanish, I don’t notice a marked improvement until I have long conversations and go hours or days without speaking any English. Usually, responding with, “Sí,” is relatively harmless, whether understanding the actual question or not. Still, observing such factors as the setting, the communicator, and his or her body language are usually good indicators of the person’s intentions and whether or not, “Sí,” will actually prove harmless.

I may have found a way around all of the obscure questions that I don’t exactly understand. And while it’s important to perhaps review the questions and store unknown words in my memory to study at a later time, keeping the conversation going and perhaps entertaining the other person is the best tactic.

Marcos, quire _____?
-Rationalization: I might want to go, it could be fun…or did he ask me to do his laundry? Give you all my money? You’re offering me dinner? What is going on?!

So for those ambiguous questions I throw in words such as: “Por supesto!” (Of course!), “Pan comido!” (Piece of cake!), “Puchica!” (Wow!), or “Saber?” (Who knows?).

Knowing laughs always follow, the interrogator might know that I in fact have no idea what he or she asked, but at least I’ve picked up some locale jargon to give a pithy response. And adding a little signature to each word makes it more memorable: “Pan comido!” and snap, or “Saber?” spoken in a guttural, confused voice.

Experiment #3: Asking and Remembering Names


Even in English, whenever I meet someone new, 75 percent of the time I will not remember his or her name. I usually get caught up in presenting myself. Do I start out with a joke? Is it better to just listen? Nevertheless, lasting impressions are not nearly as lasting if you can’t remember someone’s name the next time you meet.

Initial greeting—calm, cool and collected:
Hola! Me llamo Marcos. Voy a vivir aquí en San Sebastián por dos anos. Como se llama?

Next day:
Buenas…
END SCENE.
-And we meet again…Doña María…or Doña Esperanza…um…Don Mario?!

Goal: record people’s names immediately after meeting them.


I’m only skimming the surface of this tale.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Anticipation...again

I have completely renounced all my principles as a historian and have failed to give an accurate outline of my daily routines for the last month or so. Someday I will give a better overview.

Today is moving day. We were sworn-in as Volunteers this past Friday, during a ceremony at the Ambassador's house. We took the same oath as the Vice President and committed the next 24 months to faithfully executing our duties as the newest Peace Corps Volunteers.

It feels a little like I just graduated from Peace Corps training, a little like I'm leaving home again, and a little like I'm not prepared, but in actuality, have no choice. I've merely skimmed the surface of this adventure. Over the next few weeks I'll make attempts to figure out how to "do life" in Huehuetenango. I'll set up a room with a new host-family (with whom I'll live for the next three months), while I try to figure out all the steps in Spanish. It sounds like an easy task, but scares me a bit.

This past week we talked as a training group and expressed our commitment to service. When I can't figure out how to get from point A to point B, or I can't figure out how to cook a meal when I can only find Tortrix and water in the town, I'll have no choice but to go with the adventure and chalk-up the stories I will have when I'm 90-years-old.

Commitment to Peace Corps Service
24 March 2009

I like to think of my commitment to serve in Peace Corps as a linear progression of both paperwork and emotion. Whether my commitment began with the first few hours spent working on my application, during my extensive interview, once I was nominated, after I was invited, or finally upon leaving the U.S. and becoming a trainee, in a few days my service will actually begin. I’ll swear-in as a Volunteer, I’ll move to Huehuetenango and I’ll start all over, making more new friends and attempting to integrate as the newest resident of San Sebastián.

As I undertake this somewhat vague task of teaching others and creating a sustainable system, I will learn equally, as I work with what Peace Corps promotes as “a spirit of cooperation, and mutual learning and respect.” And though it’s likely that two years will bring enchantment, countered by disenchantment, joy, countered by frustration, and accomplishment, countered by defeat, I will do my best to remember why I first committed to become a Peace Corps Volunteer: to know more thoroughly another culture, as I do my best to act as an ambassador for my own culture.

I hope the next two years will be filled with challenges to make me stronger and goals to keep me moving forward.

-Mark Forsberg

The bus rides are beginning. The move is starting. The adventure is underway.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Enlightened, Enchanted, Excited, Exhausted...and the Antonyms

I’ve finished my first month of Peace Corps training and needless to say I can’t explain everything in a concise blog post. I’ve successfully reentered the college-mindset. It’s still devastating that I ever left college by default of graduation, but I’ve returned to the regiment of daily classes, alternating among general Peace Corps training and development philosophies, technical training, and Spanish. Spanish is more of an ongoing process—never quite “finishing class for the day.”

We spent three days with temporary host-families in Santa Lucia, before moving to Parramos, where I’ll live until I am sworn-in as an official PCV. Parramos is a small town about 30 minutes northwest of the Antigua (the tourist capitol). I live with a host-mom and host-brother in one house, while my two host-sisters, their spouses and daughters live in two other houses—all situated in the same housing-compound. I think of my house/yard more like a motel, as I enter separate rooms from the outside of the house and the kitchen/dining room are in a building separate from the bedrooms. Meanwhile, like a motel, new family members and friends are coming and going daily.

I’m mastering my daily routine of eating, studying, running, bucket-showers, and getting to bed at an hour far too early for someone my age. My bedtime habits are more like that of my 10-year-old-self; and if you knew me in college, you might be able to imagine this paradigm a bit more vividly.

At every meal, I enjoy corn tortillas, usually accompanied by black beans that are prepared any of three ways. Beside the basics, I’ve tried a gamut of Guatemalan dishes too—¡Que rico! For dessert, I take a prenatal vitamin. No, I’m not expecting—Peace Corps prescribed.

The weather is comfortable during the day and cold at night. Each morning, I warm-up with a cup of coffee and a cup of hot cereal drink—one for each hand.

I’ve toured historic parts of Antigua, attended a quinceañera , attended a funeral (piggybacked onto a wedding), climbed Volcan Pacaya and roasted marshmallows on the molten lava, visited Guatemala City, and ridden on packed, converted-school buses that interpret the “Capacity 77” guideline as “100 Riders Minimum.” This is my life.

My good friend from college, Ben, visited me in Parramos, before starting his job at a school on Lake Atitlan. We don’t like to travel very far apart while abroad anywhere in the world. The world is my backyard and it has just gotten very big (or incredibly small).

Everyday, every hour, every minute feels different. When I feel most comfortable and confident, a new challenge arises. When times are rough, I’m re-enchanted and get excited for what is to come. I can never quite articulate a single emotion. I’m trying to keep a list of words summarizing each day. In the end, I think I’ll have manifested an amalgam of nonsense—such is my brain right now. No continuity, just one winding rollercoaster. I think I’m prepared for the succeeding months—just ask me in five more minutes.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Mere hours left

I depart for Washington D.C. at 7:20 AM tomorrow. I'm filling my time with every last minute piece of business and packing. I'm a flood of emotions from extremely nervous to incredibly excited. It feels like I'm just moments away from a race - ensuring that I'm hydrated and well stretched, that I've changed my spikes and that I've performed all the necessary traditions for success.

I will write often. I will record liberally. And I will document thoroughly. I'm ready for the social biography to begin - read, respond and enjoy.

I will miss you all!