Well, I’m in site. After an opulent swearing in ceremony, a rowdy weekend of celebration, a day of meetings, and a hair-raising car ride in the back of a pick-up on the intercontinental highway, I’m finally in San Sebastián Huehuetenango, my home for the next 2 years.
Unfortunately, I only arrived in San Se (SAHN-say, as it is usually called) less than 48 hours ago, so I don’t know very much about the town yet, other than what’s in my dossier that the Peace Corps gave me. Demographically, it’s about 90-95% indigenous, with people hailing from the Mam indigenous group, there are a little less than 25,000 people in the county-like municipality (though I have no idea how many actually live with me in the cabesera (municipal capital)—perhaps 1,500-5,000?). We are at approximately 6,000 feet above sea level, which means that the days are warm and the nights cool-to-cold. I know these details are pretty impersonal, so I’ll try to describe the few things I’ve seen and fill in the rest during next week’s installment.
As per the Peace Corps rules I must live with a family in San Se for 3 more months before I can live on my own, though it’s such a small town that it’s unlikely that I’d find a residence removed from a family compound even if I wanted to. Lauren and I are replacing Mark F., another Minnesota native, who ironically went to St. Olaf, Carleton’s crosstown rival. Despite this, he seemed pretty nice when I met him, and I’ve been lucky enough to inherit some of his stuff that he chose not to take, including a portable propane stove, various herbs and condiments, and the family that he lived with for the entire 2 years of his service.
The dynamic of this homestay will be very different than my last one which, frankly, is a good thing. I have no ill will towards my family in San Lorenzo, but almost anyone would chafe under the constant supervision of “parents” when you’ve already tasted the sweet, sweet freedoms afforded to you during college. I still haven’t gotten a handle on how many actually live here, but it would appear to be at least 3 generations, with the oldest about 65 or 70 and the youngest not yet 12. Names too will be forthcoming, but I know that the people I pay rent to are named Don Romeo and Doña Enriqueta.
Lauren lives about 4 blocks away from me up a gently ascending hill. Her house is perched both above and behind a pharmacy and a comedor (independently-owned restaurant), spilling over the two family-owned businesses not unlike a distended belly over a belt. She has more space than me, as well as a truly fantastic rooftop balcony overlooking the park, but I’m not too jealous. We had no choice in the matter of where we live—Peace Corps approved 2 houses, and the CTA (Coordinador Téchnica Administrativa, basically the superintendent and our boss) picked where we would go based on those two choices. Her landlord/host mom gives off a liberal vibe and we both liked her immediately.
The park is a leafy affair with several cement paths bisecting it in quarters, each about 50 feet in length, leading to the town’s administrative and social centerpieces—the municipal building, or muni, and the cement, brightly painted cancha (court) that serves as the field for virtually all sports in the community, though most notably soccer and basketball. On the east side there are bleachers for the scores of townspeople who attend every game.
I know this is slightly out of order, but I figure I should probably talk about what swearing-in was like, even though it was chronologically before my arrival to San Se. Both Doña Mayra and Don Tereso accompanied me to the ceremony at the US ambassador’s residence, which was also doubling as the 50-year anniversary party since the establishment of Peace Corps. Virtually all of the 220 volunteers in country were expected to be there as well as dignitaries, plus ones, and, of course, us.
The ambassador’s house is in one of the better parts of Guatemala City, and its front façade betrays little of the opulence inside. As we passed through security, the Ambassador, the PC-Guatemala director, and the chief of staff for PC-Washington shook our hands in welcome and congratulated us on getting to this point.
It might seem expected to be reaching the end of training successfully, but more than 10% of our group did not. Each manner of flaming out has its own parlance: 2 quit within the first two without prejudice, which we call Early Terminating—or ETing for short; 1 was declared unfit for service by the medical staff and sent home (Medically Separated, or MedSep’ed); 2 were fired by a combination of PC-Washington and PC-Guatemala due to conduct unbecoming of a Peace Corps Trainee/Volunteer (Administratively Separated, or AdSep’ed); Finally 1Trainee was very politely told that he did not successfully meet the criteria of their technical program and Peace Corps did not think that they would perform adequately during their service (we don’t have a clever abbreviation for that so we call it with grim humor what we would in the US: Getting shit-canned).
So there you have it: 6 people were removed from our surrogate family here. I’m not going to say which separations I agreed with and which I did not, but there were some that seemed well founded, and others that in my mind almost certainly did not.
But I digress; the Ambassador’s backyard is comparable in size to a football field, and had a pavilion-like tent to protect us from the harsher solar rays. It seemed as though everyone in Guatemala spoke about how great Peace Corps was, but only a little of the ceremony was devoted to us as about-to-be-sworn-in volunteers. Still, the reporters sneaking around the front of the stage with their huge cameras and lenses seemed to find no end to the number of opportunities to take people’s photo when they were least expecting it. The next morning we’d find the story on the front page of the Guatemala’s national newspaper, Prensa Libre. In the print edition, you can clearly see me, which is pretty cool. I am now a celebrity.
When the time finally came to stand, raise our right hands and repeat the oath given to us by the Ambassador, I found myself grinning like an idiot. During the more indecisive moments after my acceptance of the Peace Corps I always wondered about the part of the oath—the same taken by military personnel and the president—that says I take this oath “without reservation.” I think it was born of nervousness at the gravity of my decision, but while I was still in the US I assumed that I would hate Peace Corps service by this point, but be too constricted by my pride to ET.
The moment approached and I found myself saying those weighty words with an almost careless exuberance. I reflected on my service thus far: Training was both a terrible onus and exactly the type of hand-holding I needed to become comfortable here; For the last 3 months I have found myself among some of the coolest and adventurous people I have ever known, becoming their surrogate family and them mine. Mostly, though, I thought about the sense of mutual obligation and trust to each other that we had formed through our darker moments: They’re here for me, and I am proud to be here for them.
The fateful words were uttered, and they were among the most emotionally substantial that I have ever spoken: “I take this oath without reservation.”
I am now a Peace Corps Volunteer, with all of the rights and obligations afforded to one.
There’s only one picture of my room in San Se, but there are several of the swearing-in ceremony. See them here: https://picasaweb.google.com/sigrinj/Week12?authkey=Gv1sRgCK_alauY-rzuygE#.
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