levi's travelblog

Since I´m going traveling for a pretty lengthy time, I decided to skip the group emails and instead write a weblog. Please go ahead and post replies if the spirit moves you, or send me an email. I can´t promise timely replies though as I probably won´t be spending much time on the internet. However, I can promise to try and keep the blog interesting and not too long!

Thursday, March 24, 2005

change of plans

No spaces opened up for me at the Proyecto Linguistico next week, but by a stroke of very good luck there is a space for me at their famous Escuela de la Montaña. It's a very rural school situated at a cooperative coffee plantation in the mountains. It only accepts 8 students at a time and normally has a long waiting list. The internet cafes will be closed here this weekend and there is no phone or internet service at the mountain school, so I will be out of touch for more than a week. Sorry if I don't make a couple phone calls I was going to make before leaving - the change of plans happened today so I'm scrambling to wrap things up here. It was really sad telling the kids that I've been tutoring for the last 4 weeks that I'm leaving sooner than planned. Sigh. It will be nice though to get away from the traffic in Xela which has been irritating me more over the last couple days. Pedestrians never have the right of way, and there's one intersection between this school and my house where you can wait for minutes for a break in traffic to run across the street. It's a "Y" intersection so you can't tell which way each car is going to go, so it's only really safe to cross when there are no cars at all nearby. Cars move fast down narrow streets and drivers normally lay on the horn without slowing a bit if you cross aggressively in front of them. Yesterday while starting a walk with about 10 other students and a guide up a local mountain, I used a critical mass tactic, and to the annoyance of the car occupants, corked the intersection while we crossed. It felt good to switch control of the street, if only for a moment. Que les vaya bien, levi

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

new school

I said goodbye and got my diploma from Juan Sisay last week, and started with a new school and new home in Xela this week. It just felt like time for a change, and I made it up the waiting list into what seems to be the most prestigious school in Xela, El Proyecto Linguistico Quetzalteco. The teachers here are primarily middle-aged women, as opposed to primarily young men at Juan Sisay, and the atmosphere is much more professional and mature. Not that Juan Sisay was that bad, but there was definitely a noticable amount of juvenile machismo around, at least if you went to any of the school parties. On my first day at the Proyecto, they had an orientation which included a political history of Guatemala and a documentary film (all in English) of a narrative of an indigenous Guatemalan woman who escaped alone from the massacre of her entire village during the civil war when she was 8 years old, and later adopted by an American family. During the film she returned to the former site of her village, found relatives still living in the Guatemalan countryside, observed the exhumation of the mass grave, and testified before a genocide hearing (the actions of the Guatemalan government during the civil war have since been officially labeled as genocidal by the UN). The film brought tears to my eyes, which is very rare for me - there´s something about being here which makes knowledge of the country's history so much more real. It should be noted that the civil war here started in 1960 after a CIA-organized and funded coup overthrew a democratically elected government in favour of a military dictatorship, and US military supplying and training of the government continued throughout the 36-year civil war. Primarily for the sake of the United Fruit Company (since purchased by Del Monte), and bananas, because the democratic leftist government in the 50's began forcibly buying land from the UFC at declared tax-value and returning it to campesinos (peasants). During the war hundreds of entire indigenous villages were massacred (men, women, children, and domesticated animals), because they were believed to be potential sources of guerrilla rebels. I could go on, and perhaps will again later. Both schools have interesting conferences which I must talk about more when I have time, but the first two at the Proyecto have been especially interesting. This morning an ex-guerrilla from the civil war came in and told us stories about hiding in the mountains and fighting against the army. I wish I could have understood better, but I picked up parts about being in a group of 4, separated by the army from the rest of his group of 90 geurrillas and going for days without food until he found his way back to a camp. He spent 5 years as a geurrilla, fighting in the mountains. Monday, someone gave a conference about the TLC, Tratado de Libre Comercio, or Central American Free Trade Agreement. The Guatemalan congress just ratified it last week, and there have been protests since then stopping highway traffic around the country. Most of the reasons he gave for people opposing the agreement were familiar to me - it's an agreement between each central american country individually with the US, fears that Guatemalan companies won't be able to compete against large US corporations without protection, industries in which Guatemala would have an advantage (like sugar) are not being fully opened up, and fears of further conglomeration of land holdings by large corporations. I learned a new one though: Guatemala will be forced to accept imports of genetically modified corn seeds and products. This is very troubling for a lot of indigenous Guatemalans, whose primary food is corn and whose most accepted creation story (told in the book Pop Whuj) says that their people were literally made of maiz (corn) and they are decendants of the maiz. Perhaps you can imagine then the repercussions of eating a corn whose essence has been modified by the colonists. That's a concern against GMOs that I was never told about in school. Indigenous activist groups have been active in the anti-free trade protests, however even though they form a majority of the population, most live in the countryside and don't vote, and are not such a big a political force. Only 33% of the eligible population voted in the last national elections, which was a race between the neoliberal winner who ratified the free trade agreement, and an ex-general who many consider to be a war criminal. On a completely different note, although it was very sad to leave my last place, my new home is wonderful. I'm living with a single mother (Lila) the same age as me, her 12-year-old daughter Maria-José, and her 70-year old mother who is visiting right now because she´s sick. I have a key to the home and Lila lets me help around the house and do the dishes, both of which help me feel more at home than my last place. I have lots of opportunity to speak Spanish at home and watch cartoons with Marie-José, which is great for my Spanish. Lila is teaching me how to make corn tortillas by hand which I am absolutely thrilled about. As you might imagine, it is not easy to form a perfectly circular tortilla with even thickness, using only your two hands. One day though I will, after a lot of practice. I'll sign off with a quick vignette about the corn tortillas here: Maiz tortillas and tamales are the staple food of the indigenous population of Guatemala. In the city particularly there are many modern foods also in the diet now, but maiz is still the staple. I've been told that a hard-working campesino will eat a stack of tortillas, oh, 20cm (9") high every day. The tortillas here are unbelievably delicious, and can be purchased hot off the griddle in tortillerias all over the city, 5 or 6 for Q1 (CDN$0.17). When making them from dried corn by hand, the corn must first be boiled and agitated to remove the skin. However the skin will not come off, unless you add the mud of a white rock called "cal." As it turns out, cal rock is rich in calcium, and several people have now told me that for this reason, osteoporosis is almost unheard of in the indigenous population of Guatemala. I find is so remarkable that thousands of years ago, someone figured out that the mud obtained from dissolving this particular rock could help in making maiz dough, and that furthermore it became an ideal source of calcium. OK, that´s all for now. This weekend, including Friday, is a national holiday called Semana Santa and most everything will be closed, so I likely won't be able to access any internet cafes. I have more photos to post next time though, including photos of the kids I've been tutoring and of my first family.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

in the back of a hired small truck, en route to Fuentes Georginas

in the back of a hired small truck, en route to Fuentes Georginas

Only 3 students wanted to come on this weekend school activity, so we
took a chickenbus to the nearby town of Zunil, then hired this truck
to take us to the "warm" springs Fuentes Georginas. The back has high
rails, which is why we can stand up.

sunrise from the upper floor of my Xela home

sunrise from the upper floor of my Xela home

the view from the doorway of my room

the view from the doorway of my room

Note that this stairway is open to the elements, so when it rains the
water runs down the stairs and into drains in the concrete floor. My
room is elevated and has a ceiling, so it stays dry.

The "inside" of my home in Xela

The "inside" of my home in Xela

This is taken with natural ambient light, using a tripod. The door to
my room is directly to the left of where this photo was taken,
opposite the stairs. Note the 3 handmade wooden looms on the right,
the dinner table in the distance, and behind that the curtain
separating the house from the little store. Also note the light
beaming through the translucent ceiling, the absence of any electric
lights during the day, the brightly painted walls, and the many
plants. It really is a lovely living space.

a view from my home in Xela (pronounced Shay-la)

a view from my home in Xela (pronounced Shay-la)

A view of the hillside to the south of my first home in Xela, from the
upstairs of the house.

en route Guatemala City to Xela, Feb 22.

en route Guatemala City to Xela, Feb 22.

looking through the front windshield of my "first-class" bus, 2 photos
here - the back of a "chickenbus" (that´s actually what the locals
call them here, no translation needed), and a pretty typical
streetscape of Guatemala City. Not sure how posting 2 photos at once
will work.

en route Guatemala City to Xela, Feb 22.

en route Guatemala City to Xela, Feb 22.

looking through the front windshield of my "first-class" bus, 2 photos
here - the back of a "chickenbus" (that´s actually what the locals
call them here, no translation needed), and a pretty typical
streetscape of Guatemala City. Not sure how posting 2 photos at once
will work.

Hotel Dos Lunas, Guatemala City

Hotel Dos Lunas, Guatemala City

Looking over the compound walls, from the second floor of the hotel.

Finally, some photos!

Finally, some photos!

the view over Washington, through the airplane window. Feb. 21.

Saturday, March 12, 2005

staying healthy, unlike a couple others

Yesterday morning a woman in traditional traje got hit by a truck right in front of our school. We heard the commotion from upstairs and I ran down to apply my first aid skills as best I could. The woman was lying in the street but talking and with with no obvious serious injuries, but holding her leg. With my body full of adrenaline, I tried my best in spanish to ask her where it hurt, and to tell the others not to move her. She showed her left knee, which was terribly dislocated and probably broken. Even with the help of a translator from the school, no one seemed to listen to my requests not to move her. Like seemingly every person in the world without first-aid training, their first reaction was to move her off the road to get traffic moving again. They also tried to get her to stand, all while I tried to splint her leg with my hands. The woman was remarkably calm and not showing signs of pain for such an injury, which I interpreted as shock. She took it quite well as we literally manhandled her into a ta*i with me still just trying to keep her leg stable. (sorry, that letter between w and y doesn't work on this keyboard). Her two daughters got in the front of the cab and the driver of the truck, who had thankfully stopped, paid the fare. A friend of hers rode with the truck driver who make sure he went to the hospital as well. The standard of first-aid care and transport to the hospital were so bad, I'm only glad that it was "only" a knee injury, not a spinal injury. I found out later from others that she was from the countryside just visiting the city. At least the public hospitals in Guatemala are free, and she'll be able to get treatment. Medicines are not free, but hopefully the truck driver will pay for them. I have no idea what her name was or where she went, so all I can do is hope. And I keep wondering how she is doing. Automobiles are such terribly dangerous things to have roaring around a city where people are trying to walk. The other person referred to in the title is another student of the school, who had her appendi* removed this week in a private hospital here in *ela. I visited her for a couple hours this afternoon at her house where she's recovering. Sheesh. Mom, Dad, I am now even more careful than before when I cross the street :)

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

8 marzo, día internacional de la mujer

As hopefully you all know, today is International Women´s day. Myself and one other student from the school, with our teachers in tow, skipped school to take part in a 2-hour women´s day march through the city this morning. There were about 500 people in attendance, at least 95% women. The majority of the attendance was school girls in uniform on a class outing, and women in traditional traje (dress), although there were lots of women in western clothing as well. I wore an arm band and sun visor that were being handed out, which said something close to "No a la feminización de la pobreza - pan y rosas para mujeres" (translation: No to the feminization of poverty - bread and roses for women." That´s from memory because my items are at home, but if I got anything wrong I´ll post it tomorrow. There were all sorts of signs in both Spanish and indigenous languages, on cardboard, paper, and fabrics. Some other signs read, translated, "woman: know your sexual rights" and "equal rights and equal opportunities for men and women." A handout and many of the signs related to the situation of women and children worldwide, not just in Guatemala. There was something very moving to realize that similar marches were occuring in Canada and presumably across the world, and that these women felt united with women around the world through violence and/or economic disadvantage. I´ve taken very few photos with people in them, but since there were press and many cameras recording the march, I felt good about taking a lot of photos. If I had them here I could recount more of the signs, but hopefully I´ll be able to get some posted here in the near future. This afternoon I went to a free show of The Vagina Monologues with a standing-room only crowd of a few hundred at the local Teatro Municipal, organized by an association of mujeres trejadores (women fabric workers). Again many school girls and women in traditional traje, although with significantly more ladinos and gringos at this event. Unfortunately, I could understand parts of the show but not enough to be able to understand much of what was going on. It was a lively crowd, with lots of murmuring, laughing, applause, or giggling from the kids at different parts.

Saturday, March 05, 2005

3 Mar, a jarring conversation with Feliz

I just had a jarring conversation with Feliz, the great'grandmother and matron of the house. When I came in she was roasting cocoa beans to make chocolate to sell at the Semana Santa next week. She accepted my offer to help shell the beans after roasting. I tried my best to converse with her in my still pretty rough Spanish. She told me (I think) that her son Manuel, who lives in the house too, had been to Canada several times to attend Mayan studies, which surprised me - Mayan studies in Canada? Amongst lots of conversation I couldn´t quite understand, she told me there were many indigenous persons in Canada, and asked if I knew any. I said that as a kid I knew some, but now in Toronto I don´t know any. This really upset her, and I believe she began scolding me for not knowing any indigenous people, then for not knowing the indigenous history of Guatemala, and asking me where my necklace came from (which looks like it might be an indigenous craft and is from Thailand). I felt like I had a big rock sitting in the bottom of my stomach as I gradually realized she must think I´m either a redneck racist or completely ignorant of the existence of indigenous peoples, and I couldn´t explain myself. At one point while asking what I knew of Mayan history she asked if I had been sleeping at school, because they have conferences and trips regarding the Maya. I told her of the Maya-related activities I´d attended so far and that I was reading "I... Rigoberta Menchu." I also tried saying that where I live is expensive and most indigenous peoples in Canada are poor, which I´m sure in hindsight didn´t help. She informed me that indigenous persons in Canada have plenty of money without having to work because of casinos. Thoughts of moving soon flashed in my head. Finally her son, Manuel, in his 50´s, came into the room and to my rescue. She told him that I didn´t know any indigenous people in Canada, and he said that´s normal in Canada because the indigenous people live on reservations, far away from the city where I live. He gave an example of somewhere in Guatemala with no indigenous persons, and amidst much nodding of comprehension, within 30 seconds she was happy and smiling again, and thanking me repeatedly for helping her with the beans. Of course the situation for indigenous peoples in Canada is somewhat more complicated in Canada, but I just wanted to keep my mouth shut now that Feliz no longer seemed angry with me. Whew. Later I ate almost a whole fancy chocolate bar brought from Canada in bed, after having brushed my teeth, to help me feel better. I had originally brought it as a gift, but a gift of chocolate seemed kind of pointless now anyways. That was the furthest I can remember being outside of my comfort zone for a long time, and something I haven´t finished processing yet.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

a trip to the doll-makers

The city is a interesting and puzzling combination of rich and poor, traditional and modern, indigenous and colonial, and it´s not always clear which is which. Furthermore, there aren´t even clear divisions between these classifications, since there have been multiple waves of colonialism, up until the present day under the banner of "globalization." For example. The school´s activity this afternoon was a trip to the edge of town to a house with about 10 workers (including 4 children) making realistic dolls in the form of indigenous persons wearing "traditional" Mayan dress, accurately depicting the different dresses of each region of Guatemala. This dress is traditional, and I only say that in quotes here because of the history they told us at this shop. Before colonization by Spain, the indigenous people of Guatemala wore plain, undyed, clothing woven from plant fibres. When Spain invaded they divvied out the land in large parcels to settlers, who then "owned" both the land and all the indigenous people living on it. In order to discern each other´s slaves, they forced the people to wear clothing in colourful patterns imported from Spain. Thus the pattern of each person´s clothing told who they belonged to. It must have been a very effective means of control in preventing escape or travel, because indigenous people then wouldn´t have had the means to replicate such colourful patterned clothing, so if they were caught outside their own region or without the required dress, they could be sent back or killed. This really astounded me, because I had thought it was a surviving piece of pre-colonial, indigenous tradition. I already knew that in North America, some of the indigenous customs many of us commonly assume are ancient were actually forced adaptations to colonialism. I suppose that after so many centuries of successful colonization it´s hard to tell what life was like before, but I´d really like to know. I´d also like to know how such a significant indigenous population survived in Guatemala (I think 40-60% of the total present population, I forget which), whereas the colonial genocide was nearly or totally completed in many other parts of the Americas.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

mi casa

A little entry about the house where I´m staying. It´s about a 1-minute walk from school, and maybe 7 minutes to the parque central, the centre of town. The house has a solid metal gate, or maybe more like a garage door, which completely closes the front of the house with no windows. This is closed at night, but open during the day. Inside that, there is a little tienda (shop) with mostly candies, behind bars which protect the wares because it is (almost always?) unstaffed. There are a lot of these little tiendas, most with someone at the counter, so I doubt many people stop here and push the buzzer for service. Behind the tienda and the metal door beside it, there is a large curtain which gives the rest of the house privacy from the street. Behind the curtain is a large living, eating, and working space, long but fairly narrow. In this space are 2 sewing machines and 3 handmade wooden looms which the family uses for their livelihood, making traditional colourful, patterned mayan fabrics and products from these fabrics which may be less traditional, like pillowcases and handbags. The loom is a remarkable machine, and they´re very good at using them. I never understood how fabric was woven before seeing these machines, but perhaps that´s not a topic of general interest. Next to the looms is a dinner table, doors on the opposite side to the chicken coop, kitchen, bathroom, and their bedrooms. Appearing somewhat out of place between the dinner table and the bathroom door is a magazine photo of nearly nude white woman in lingerie. Further back is my bedroom, the washing sinks, and a stairway with no ceiling going to the roof. So the house is completely open to outside air, and the air is always fresh inside. During the rainy season the rain would fill the stairway, so their must be a drain inside somewhere. During the day, light pours in through the openings and through the translucent plastic roofing, and no lights are needed. There are a few fluorescent lights to dimly light the place at night. The floors and walls are concrete, but the walls are painted different and cheerful colours. There are plants everywhere. They have a few caged canaries who sing during the day, neighborhood dogs who tend to bark in the evening but not so much after 9 or 10, and chickens who start making a racket around 5am, 1.5 hours before sunrise. There is some sort of Christian festival happening right now, although I forget the name, so every evening there are lots of bombas (fireworks). I have a lovely little room, colourful, bright, a comfortable size with a couch, single bed, desk, some shelves for storing my clothes and miscellany, and a fluorescent light for reading, writing, or working at night. The decorations are an odd combination of landscape photos, a christian calendar, an ad for some American transport truck, and a sombrero. I have a single bed which is much more comfortable now that I figured out to fold one cover in half for more warmth, and flip the mattress over so this one rogue spring isn´t poking me any more. We only have running water from the afternoon to the evening, so lunch is the time for a shower if I want one. When the water runs out, we flush the toilet by pouring in a bucket of water from some basins they fill up while there´s water. I´m not sure yet if they´re on a water grid which turns off, or if they have a holding tank which is refilled daily and emptied again by usage and by the leaky toilet. In the house live two indigenous* grandparents Feliza and Alberto, their son Manuel, and another guy who works here during the day. I will write more about them later, but have to run now to dinner. *personas indigenas, or indigenous persons, seem to be the common term in use here.