The MINEDUC (Guatemalan abbreviation for the Ministry of Education), in conjunction with the San Se mayor’s office, sponsor a trip every school year not for the students, but the teachers of my district. They mostly pay for transportation costs, but are also able to finagle discounts that would be otherwise unobtainable on a smaller scale. I was pleased, but not terribly surprised, when my boss, the CTA (Superintendent) invited me to go along, given that I am, in some sense, both a teacher and an employee of the MINEDUC.
Who knew Guatemala has a perfectly respectable waterpark in the middle of the southern jungle?
I was torn. On one hand it seemed like a great way to build confianza with my teachers. On the other, it was exactly the kind of non-accountability that I’ve grown so frustrated with. This two day trip, on a Wednesday and Thursday, was another glaring testament to the maxim, “teachers refuse to do anything during the weekend.” Much of the trip seemed to say, “Students? What students?”
Forget that this was a trip to the Guatemalan equivalent of Six Flags with a quick stop off at the beach first. Forget that it was heavily subsidized by the MINEDUC. Forget that it was perched comfortably between the ordinary work days of Tuesday and Friday. Well, maybe don’t forget that part; that’s kind of my point.
There seems to be no continuity, no flow, to the school week. It’s as if an axe murderer is lopping off a day here, two or three there, until the supposedly nine month school year feels like 3 or 4. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a good vacation day as much as the next person, but it honestly feels like the MINEDUC panders to the teachers over the students, always forgetting—or ignoring—which ones are the children.
You might think that I would forgo the trip as a politick statement of my distaste for this style of education. You give me too much credit. Officially speaking, it was the chance to build relationships with my coworkers, and more personally, create friendships so I’m not stuck in the house every night after 4pm. Also, Xocomil (sho-koh-MIL) is a Mayan-themed water park. It seemed worthy of an anecdote.
Wednesday morning I woke up at 3:30am so that I could be waiting for the MINEDUC bus by 4. By this point a lot of the teachers know who I am, or at least my face, but I think they were still a little surprised that one of the two gringos in town was headed out with them for the coast. Lauren, perhaps more overtly dedicated to her principles than I, declined the invitation.
Only about 40 teachers came on the trip, and when we reached the beach at Champerico around 10, we immediately hit the surf. Well, I waded in with gusto, remembering just how hot the beaches can become. Swim lessons are not very popular (or indeed, available) here, so few teachers know how to cope in deep water. Combine that with a strong riptide and vicious waves, and only the most daring went past waist depth. The majority dipped toes.
We packed it in after lunch, where I had caldo de mariscos (crustacean stew). As I think I’ve noted in other posts, Guatemalans don’t put much stock in making it easy to eat food. The stew was excellent, but it was pretty shocking to see a miniature ocean biome floating in front of me. 3 crabs (shell on), a dozen or more shrimp (shell and heads on), a fillet of fish (possibly tilapia, skin on), and fifteen tiny mussels floating around the soup like a rocky garnish (shells opened, but attached). When I was done, there was a graveyard surrounding the bowl and nearly as tall. Filling, messy, delicious.
That night we stayed in Mazatenango. Some teachers, tapping hidden reserves of herculean energy, suggested we hit the discos after dinner. I was born with no such assets. I called it a night around 7:30 and was asleep by 8.
The next morning we finally got to Xocomil. It’s been quite some time since I was at a water park, but I can assure you, those I went to in my youth were nothing like this. Towering step pyramids, painted in garish colors, poked above the banana and palm trees. From your vantage point at the top, just before sliding down, you could see miles and miles of uninterrupted forest. Virtually the entire park was fill with teachers from other districts, apparently equally drawn by the MINEDUC discount of half-priced admission and free lunch (total cost for the day was 50Q, or roughly $6).
There were really all of the rides you’d expect at a large water park in the US: Waterslides for both inner tubes and people without, giant slides, a lazy river, and wave pool. Were it not for the exotic views, it could have been anywhere.
I spent the day alternating between two groups of people, and by the time I was done I felt like I had created some foundations for friendships that will last me while I’m living here. I think it helped to be seen in a less professional, stiff environment. Everyone bends over backwards to properly greet and acknowledge the titles of others. At Xocomil, standing there in my oversized bathing suit, laughing, wading, floating, just like everyone else, I think it helped me be seen as a real person. I’m still a light-eyed, English speaking, sorely burnt oddity, but now slightly less so.
So was it worth it overall, swallowing moral indignation in favor of further establishing myself here in San Se?
I hope so.
The pictures, of which there’s only one (it’s hard to take pictures at a water park!), can be found here: https://picasaweb.google.com/sigrinj/Week25?authkey=Gv1sRgCNT89MuHjszl7AE#5623078790259948386
That riptide is no joke. At Chulamar, not too far from Champerico, my mother, then a very strong swimmer, got swept out to sea. She rode the current and finally worked her way back in a couple of miles up the coast.
ReplyDelete