Day Seven: A Challenging Hike to Covadonga

I woke up early and anxiously started getting ready for our trip to Covadonga, the community at the highest elevation. I was really nervous about the hike because it was extremely steep and takes about 45 minutes. I was worried about Stephanie, too. She woke up feeling nauseous and with diarrhea, so I told her to stay in Sepacay.

We set off with Pedro as our guide and I made it pretty far without needing a break, but I ended up breaking about four times up the mountain, then we kept going farther than I had been in August 2009, so I needed to rest another four times. My thighs were on fire and ready to give out at any moment.

At one point I told Jarret that if we had to keep going for another 15 minutes I would have puked – I had reached that level of exhaustion. I was soaked from head to toe in sweat. I could actually taste my salty sweat, which was just pouring down my face and finding its way to my eyes, stinging. It was quite a challenge, but it felt good that I was able to complete the hike.

We were up in the clouds and it was misty. It seemed like it was always raining, always foggy.

Pedro brought us to a room full of aromatic wood and brought us breakfast, even though I’d told him we already ate. The eggs were oily and delicious, but I just could not muster up an appetite. A bony dog approached us and I began wondering if I could give him my food, which would just be wrong on so many levels because food is scarce for the people, and even more so for the dogs.

Then Jarret threw a piece of a tortilla to the dog and I decided to risk it and threw my eggs and beans at the dog until my plate was empty. The dog was grateful – I knew because he didn’t leave my side. I was paranoid the community members would realize what I had done.

A while after breakfast, many of the men came and gathered around us. Then I said our hello’s and thank you’s and began dividing up the vegetable seeds we had brought. That was such a nightmare! They had decided that instead of planting one large community garden, each family would get a few seeds. But that meant some families only got one pepper or one cucumber seed. There were tons of onion seeds so we tried to divide them in 30 piles for 30 families, but when the men were told to take a pile, there were dozens of hands reaching and taking more than just one pile. It was loud and chaotic, and some of them could see the disappointment in my face. Next time, I thought, I’ll have to divide the seeds before I leave the US. It wasn’t enough just to divide the seeds into 4 communities.

Then I asked about making the stove, since the supplies had already been delivered, but they were having a hard time deciding where to build it. They kept looking to me to make decisions, but how could I decide? Plus, that’s not what we’ve done in the past. We’re not a bunch of gringos coming to impose order, but it did remind me of what Juan Tiney said about them not knowing how to work the land because they were so used to being under a boss and being told what to do. There was not one obvious leader among them.

Finally, it was somehow decided that Pedro would build the next stove in his house. Then they presented us with a paper, a petition written in very good Spanish. Those who were literate signed their names, and the rest signed with their thumbprint.

They asked for roofs, and doing the math, it would only be about $231 for each family to have a tin roof. I told them I’d talk to William and CONIC…and at the mention of CONIC, conversations began and lasted for a while. Finally, I asked if someone was mad, and they laughed and said No, they were just discussing whether I would go to the CONIC office and present them with the petition. They also mentioned that they have not been able to pay CONIC’s yearly dues of 20 quetzales [$2.50] per family. I wondered about their relationship with CONIC, but every time I asked, I wouldn’t get a straight answer.

I also wondered about homosexuality here and sex, in general. I mean, there really isn’t any privacy in the homes, and I wondered how often they have sex for pleasure. I imagined they do it whenever the husband wants, and it made me appreciate American and European culture of free sexuality and the idea that women deserve to be satisfied.

Then we walked around and saw all the stoves that had been built recently and took pictures. The stoves in Sepacay were neater, but Covadonga did pretty well despite not having any technical accompaniment.

After seeing the last stove, I tried to lead a composting workshop, which amounted to me just talking and pointing. They said they would try the whole composting thing in a few months because the corn had already been planted. I think the only way we can get them to take up composting is if someone stays here long term and does a test plot to show how much more it will yield.

One old man, who I remember from last trip because he asked for more seeds for his own garden, asked when we were coming back and I said that we’d try for August, but I wasn’t sure. He emphasized that we needed to come back as soon as possible because who knows if he’d still be alive. He said that in all seriousness, and it got to me. Talk about immediate needs! Sure, there needs to be a balance between projects with short-term goals and those with long-term goals. You run into trouble when you only focus on one of the two.

Then we had lunch and it tasted just like the carne en bistec that my mom makes! It was delicious and such a treat to have meat. Then we waited for light rain and began walking back the long way (not down that super steep and slick slope). This was the route that trucks take, and it was still pretty steep, but not nearly as muddy and dangerous. It took us 1.5 hours as opposed to 45 minutes up the mountain. It poured and I was soaked from head to toe in sweat and rain.

Once in Sepacay, I changed clothes and took a 2 hour nap. Then I hung out with the kids and they taught me some words. I was glad that Isaias came by to help. His cousin is the teacher, Cesar, and he’s such a smart kid, even knowing a bit of English. Then we had dinner, which was soup with chicken – possibly duck – and potatoes and guisquil and cabbage and lime. It was such a treat!

Then eventually Cesar came by and said hello. We talked for a long time and I even teared up a few times. He talked about how he wanted to cross the border into the US, but he was scared because if they captured him and sent him back, he wouldn’t be able to try again many times because then he’d be in debt. We talked about Arizona and Obama’s promise of immigration reform, and he shared a conversation they had among teachers, criticizing how Guatemala receives foreigners with open arms but the US doesn’t let Guatemalans in. I told him there were many people in the US who believe that same thing is unfair, but the people in power haven’t done anything about it, because they’re only interested in accumulating power and money. He said one interesting thing about Afghanistan – he said they don’t believe in God there. I told him they do, but his name is Allah. He asked about religions in the US and he told me he went to an Evangelical church because he liked it better than the Catholic church.

I had mixed feelings about him wanting to go to the US because he was such an asset being a teacher here – improving the education for so many kids. But how could I say that he should stay, especially when I’m so grateful that my parents didn’t decide to stay in Colombia? What hypocrisy! I’m grateful for my parents’ choice because I had the chance to attend Boston University and study in Spain for a semester, and work on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. And my parents left conditions in Colombia that were much better than Cesar’s. I mean, sometimes I do wonder what it would have been like if we had stayed in Colombia. I wonder if I’d be the same person – besides being much thinner, but would I have been a dumb plastic Colombian girl? Would I have had the same political inclinations? Would I have learned to dance salsa?

As a sidenote, there was so much litter from bags of chips and candy that kids threw on the floor, and we keep saying how indigenous people protect the Earth, but the bottles and bags of chips throw a monkey wrench in the whole thing. They'd say, "Deje que eso se pudre." ["Leave it because it rots."] No it doesn’t, actually. Not for hundreds of years. They burn all their garbage, and there should be an effort to change the kids’ habits of just chucking the garbage on the floor.

But I was happy to have such a conversation with Cesar because he assured me that they were happy to have us come and assess needs and provide support whenever possible. I was glad to hear that because I do wonder sometimes whether we really are having a positive impact.

Day Six: First (and only) Stove Built

Breakfast was a challenge. We looked at the bland noodles mixed with really moist rice and a side of canned refried beans, and the generous women who graciously fed us were watching our every move. We swallowed every spoonful, feeling guilty.

After a while, Ricardo picked us up and we walked over to the house where they were building the newest stove. It was one of the first times that I’d been inside a house, and it was definitely one of the nicer houses in the community.

The woman of the house was outside washing some clothes, but she showed us the place in the kitchen where she grinds the corn for the tortillas.

So we got to work, but of course we didn’t help all that much. First, there was a lot to discuss in q'eqchi and no one was particularly worried about translating conversations.

Ricardo knew what to do and he lead the construction process. We gathered dirt and poured it in the holes of the cement blocks. When my sister and I grabbed the shovel and bucket and tried to gather dirt ourselves, the kids made us hand the tools over because they just did it so much better.

Jarret’s a certified mason so he helped with the cement and also the digging part. He tried to show them a cementing technique, but they didn’t repeat it. My guess is that it looked like too much cement would be used that way. But, it's always a struggle to convince other people to do anything another way.

As always, the kids demanded our attention. So, we appeased them and they sang for us.

Day Five: Buying stove supplies

Today was shopping day. I decided to leave Jarret and Stephanie in Sepacay, with the task of sorting out the vegetable seeds to be divided among the four q’eqchi communities (Sepacay, Chichicaste, Covadonga, and Xochela). I would travel into town to purchase the stove supplies.

A truck pulled up at 5:40 and as soon as I got on, I felt foreign – which doesn’t usually happen to me. As promised, Ramiro got on the truck with me at his stop in Chichicaste. He asked me why I wasn’t seated in the front seat with the driver and I said I didn’t ask, and it was no big deal. Like always, I wanted to endure just the same as everybody else. I hoped that my insisting on being treated like everybody else would be appreciated.

Eventually we made it to Tucuru and to the parish, and to my great surprise, Juan Tzib was right there waiting for us! I asked him if he had a headache (from the hangover) and he smiled and said “A little.”

The driver (Alfredo) got out to stretch his legs and asked if I wanted to ride up front and I reluctantly, but with a smile, agreed. Everyone smiled.

We set off for Tactic, a town nearby with all the hardware stores we needed to purchase the stove supplies. I sat in between the driver and Ramiro, and the seat was not as soft as I had hoped. I kept thinking to myself that I felt more foreign than usual. Perhaps it was that foreign feeling that inspired thoughts like, “I want to do this in Colombia” and “These are not my people.” I felt guilty about the latter. Of course these are my people! But I just didn’t feel the warmth that I felt on previous trips.

We went to the hardware store “El Obrero” [The Laborer] and I had my next moment of panic as a leader when I found out they didn’t have enough stove stops for us because I hadn’t confirmed that I was coming, so he didn’t order them from a third party. However, we quickly realized that we needed to cut our order in half because the last trip, in January, had many more participants, hence a much bigger budget, and they had bought twice as many stoves as I was counting on this time. This was an oversight on my part, but one that ended up being positive because I was no longer worried about going over budget!

We ended up buying 4 stove tops that were on display. Juan Carlos “saved us money” by recommending we buy the cement blocks at another store. We went there and made our order. While they loaded our truck, the owner struck up a conversation with me.

“Where are you from?”

“How long have you been here?”

“I thought you were from the US.”

It’s always the same conversation for me here.

The owner then started saying how bad he felt for the people who were kidnapped in Colombia (and I once again thought how it doesn’t make sense for me to be doing this work in Guatemala) and that he was in the military in the 70’s before Guatemala’s crazy violent period in the 80’s when kids and old people were locked in churches and burnt to the ground.

Then he complained about corruption in Guatemala’s government and that they shouldn’t just give handouts, that they should make people work (which made me feel bad about the donations we were giving people with the stoves). He kept looking at Ramiro as if he knew I was there giving him free stoves. Because I felt awkward, I tried to remain neutral and inoffensive to both, so I said people are trying to work, but there just aren’t jobs. The owner then shared that when he tried to donate his wife’s old clothes to “poor” people their reaction was to say: “If you’re going to give me clothes, give me new ones.” I assured him that not everybody has that attitude. There was just the slightest racism/xenophobia in his speech, and I tried to be as careful as possible.

Once the bricks and cement blocks were loaded, we headed to another hardware store and bought chimney hoods. The pretty lady at the counter with hazel-green eyes and dirty blonde curly hair waited about 5-10 minutes before she asked where I was from. I stuttered with my response. She was surprised and praised me when told that I was traveling alone, to which I replied, “I’m not alone, I’m with my two friends,” as I pointed to Juan Tzib and Ramiro.

Looking back, I felt only a tiny bit of relief at having these men accompany me. Mostly, I felt awesome because I was in charge and I was a woman in charge. I discovered it’s easy, if not instinctual, to turn to men for advice or help. But when they don’t come through, you can be surprised how well you can handle things on your own.

Then we headed back and it was an awfully long ride. We got stuck in the mud for two hours, until a tractor was hired to help pull us out. I was of no help, except to pay the tractor guy. There were some moments when it looked like I was going to sleep in the truck and I was nervous that my sister would think I died or something. But, I should know by now that there’s always a way. Maybe it was good luck. Some people would thank God. I’m just grateful, in general, that we rescued ourselves out of that. Plus I couldn’t endure another minute of the swarm of flying ants that decided to visit us.

With Ramiro’s help, we distributed what was left of the supplies (because bags of sand were used to give the truck’s wheels some traction in the mud), and dropped off the final pieces well after dark. I gave the driver 200 quetzales more than what he asked, to make up for all the gas lost trying to escape from the mud. He was very grateful.

Once back indoors, Jarret told a ghost story, which I translated into Spanish. That was really sweet of him, but it was awkward to translate a story like that, and most of the kids didn’t really speak Spanish. My sister and I were laughing, too, which really messes up a ghost story.

With the stove supplies purchased and the seeds sorted, we went to bed excited to begin working on our projects the next day.

Day Four: The journey into the q'eqchi communities

Excited to be heading out to mountains at last, we woke up early and met our driver, Fausto, at the hostel. I had to take some Dramamine because of my tendency to get car sick, and I rested most of the way there, listening to my iPod, diverting my eyes from the winding roads and dangerous (yet normal) driving.

Juan Tzib was supposed to meet us at the entrance where the road is no longer paved. But, according to Juan, the roads weren't dangerously muddy, so he decided not to meet us there, without letting us know. I asked Fausto if he would take us to Tucuru, but he wouldn’t because we were in a relatively new “microbus” and in Pavel’s (the chief chauffeur) words: “Their [the locals'] perception of the roads being good is different from ours, so I don’t want to risk it.” In other words: we're used to much better conditions than they are.

So, we jumped into a microbus that locals take for 20 quetzales ($2.50) each and rode into Tucuru.

We finally made it into Tucuru and saw Juan Tzib, who quickly notified us that he was drunk. I was so annoyed! I felt redeemed for all my complaints and judgements about him. I had told the other organizers that there was something fishy about him, and I didn’t like that whenever he was interpreting for us, it really felt like he was leaving out a bunch of things.

Then Ramiro - my favorite q'eqchi man! - from Chichicaste showed up, and we all had lunch, and I refused to give Juan Tzib the beer he asked for. That’s right. You messed up, and I’m not letting you get away with it! We had fried chicken – one small drumstick was my portion. I saw a naked chicken walking around in the restaurant – fully plucked and ready to be fried. Short life span, that skinny chicken, but probably lived a better life than a Tyson chicken in the US.

We had a somewhat labored conversation about various things, but one thing that stuck out and was important was that there is a community that’s having problems with another community encroaching on their territory. The concern is that CONIC’s image as a competent advocate for the people is suffering.

We finished lunch and Juan Tzib left. Ramiro rode on the back of the pick-up truck with us, along with about 15 other locals. It was a tough ride! We were standing the whole time and poor Jarret kept leaning all his weight on me. I tried to suck it up for as long as possible, but my left arm was getting weaker by the second and I was afraid it would give out. Stephanie suggested that I sit, and there was enough space for me to do so. At first I refused, because I wanted to endure the same conditions as everyone else, but after a while I thought my arm was going to give out so I had to sit.

Then it started to pour. I gave Stephanie my poncho, like a good big sister. But we got soaked and every time Stephanie shifted positions, water that had accumulated on her poncho would spill directly on me. Right before we pulled into the first village (Sepacay), I saw Herlinda (one of the more outgoing girls) and some other kids who recognized me. The locals in the truck looked at me funny when they saw the kids were calling my name. Finally we made it to Sepacay and I had barely any strength left in my arms. I looked around for Victor, my 13-year old boyfriend, but I didn’t see him and I was sad. [Boots, I know you're laughing right now.]

Ramiro stuck around for a while, and I tried to call Juan Tzib but he said he’d call me back, which he never did. We didn’t have electricity in this village this time around, so I turned off the cell phone to conserve battery life. Before I did, I sent Juan a text message saying to meet us at 7:00AM at the parish.

Then it was time to entertain the curious kids! I brought coloring books and a jigsaw puzzle.

And then Victor showed up!