Week 6 & 7 - Verbal Defenestration

Dear All,

Field-Based Training is over…finally. A week of presentations, early mornings, cramped minibuses, and being trotted around the greater Quetzaltenango metropolitan area is finally over. It was great, and I definitely learned a lot, but with such a high-stress/low-privacy situation, it feels good to be back in San Lorenzo, where I again have my own space.

Field-Based Training, or FBT as it’s usually called, is roughly the midpoint of Healthy Schools training. It’s the summit of the three-month slog through procedures, cram sessions, and general orientation to Peace Corps; everything from this point, volunteers assure me, will be downhill in terms of difficulty. Frankly, that’s probably a good thing—I’m kind of missing my snowboard anyway, and look forward to riding gravity to my final destination, the Swearing In ceremony on March 25th. For the moment, I’m going to forget that March 25th really marks the beginning of my two-year commitment.

So more about FBT—I suppose all you nosey types will want to know what that actually entails, besides a tired sentence in an exhausted trainee’s first paragraph. As I mentioned in the last post, I—along with 8 other trainees from my cohort—were placed in Olintepeque, a town not far from Xela (SHAY-la). For those of you who are both nosey and overachievers, you won’t find the name “Xela” on your map; it’s the common nickname for Quetzaltenango, Guatemala’s second largest city. Olintepeque was a fairly nice place, though we really didn’t have much time to hang out and see the sites.

Instead, we spent most of our time in schools throughout the area. Some were in Olintepeque, obviously, but others were miles outside of its borders. Yuna and Christie, the volunteers stationed there (and our gracious hosts for the weekend), have been busy doing what I’ll be doing in a little more than a month, namely coordinating with schools, administrators, students, teachers, and parents to improve health in the area. Naturally they were pretty excited to show us what they’ve been up to, which, as it turns out, is a fuckin’ lot.

Sunday – Drive from San Lorenzo to Olintepeque. Begin preparing for a presentation to be given the next day on the importance of washing hands to 4th graders. Joe discovers that writing legibly on a poster is hard. Joe also discovers the utility in writing in the third person.

Monday – Joe wonders if he’ll shit himself in fear as he waits to give his first presentation in Spanish in Guatemala. Wishing he could go to the bathroom first (just to be safe), he is ushered into a classroom where 30-odd students grin at him expectantly. All Spanish suddenly leaves Joe. He’s sure that ten year-olds never looked so intimidating. Rallying, Joe gives the approximately 20 minute presentation in about 10 minutes, though it took 4 hours to create.

Tuesday – Marginally less likely to crap himself in public, Joe gives a different 15 minute presentation at a magisterio, a school for aspiring teachers on classroom management techniques. Joe quickly realizes that the assembled group of 50 middle-aged adults are not students, but the professors at the school. All Spanish again heaves itself out of the third-storey windows, preferring defenestration to staying and helping Joe be articulate. Joe is left wondering if it’s presumptuous to think he has anything to teach career teachers about classroom management.

.

Wednesday – A final presentation (repeated three times) for parents is given on the recipe for Suero Oral (oral rehydration liquid). Spanish tries to escape, but Joe, using a powerful combination of forethought and lecture notes, manages to keep it roughly immobile.

Thursday and Friday– 12 meetings over two days with education administrators, mayors, and health centers is too much. Joe finds himself fantasizing about three-hour siestas and un-dubbed American filmography.

Saturday – Return to San Lorenzo, begin writing an post that hopefully sounds irreverent rather than jaded. Joe recognizes that he's probably failing.

Aaaaaand scene! No more third person, I swear.

There’s more, of course, and much of it almost seems too foreign to describe—hearing Kiché (Key-CHAY) spoken fluently (and Spanish only by a few), seeing the truly remote aldeas and the traditional Mayan-style of dress known as traje (TRAH-hay) become more common than jeans and t-shirts, and the wind-burned and scabbing faces of school children because the air is too dry and cold (at 8,000+ feet of elevation) for healthy skin maintenance. With almost all of the families, moisturizing lotion is an unaffordable luxury item.

Some parts of it really appealed to me, and it’s perhaps for this reason that I almost exactly described Olintepeque when I was handed my “Site Preference Form”, to help Peace Corps figure out where to place me.

“I want a temperate-to-cool environment, with a significant indigenous population. If possible I’d like to be placed in a middle-sized cabesera (basically, a regional hub) of 5,000 to 10,000 people with easy access to a larger town.”

Of course, I’m sure almost everyone else put the same thing. Add that to the fact that Peace Corps Guatemala has a suspicious track record of placing volunteers in sites almost the polar opposite of what they desired, and  I’m not expecting my site to match up very well to this ideal.

For the most part that’s fine by me. We also have a site partner (a “co-“), and to me that’s way more important. We work virtually side by side for two years, and may be the only breath of familiarity—at least at first—for miles around. Perhaps it’s for this reason that I am way more concerned with a good co- placement than a good site placement. I think that I could be happy with a really difficult site if I had a great relationship with my co-, but even the best site would be terrible if ours was a toxic relationship.

On Monday we had a speed-dating activity to help us discuss work styles and general pet-peeves, which I think to relatively little to change the mental list I had already compiled. Still, it was fun to sit in the park, the trees with their waxy leaves shading us from the harsher afternoon rays, and see all the people who I’ve been missing for the last few weeks. I will say I have a pretty firm list of people who I would be very happy to work with, and an equally firm list of people who I’d despise working with. For now, I’m going to keep both lists to myself, but I’ll find out my co- by next Tuesday. It feels a bit like prom right now: I’m super excited, super nervous, and more than a little afraid I’m going to do something stupid to screw it all up. Can you have two left feet when it comes to work relationships? As someone who’s left footed, would that help me??

Best,
Joe

PS, here’s this week’s link to the accompanying photos: https://picasaweb.google.com/sigrinj/Week6?authkey=Gv1sRgCN_J39ynqN-MkgE#

Week 5 - Heads Should Usually Remain Attached

Sorry this post is coming late. It’s not my fault; someone (drug lords?) cut the fiber optic cable connecting the Peace Corps center to the internet people in Guatemala City. To make up for it, I promise that this post is going to be good. Really good. Perhaps. A lot has happened in the last week, much of which I’m still trying to process. Because it happened first, I’ll start with the good stuff.

Thursday night I received a call from one of the Peace Corps staff asking me how I thought my Spanish classes were going. I thought this a bit odd, and immediately started to answer as ambivalently and diplomatically as possible until I could figure out just why they wanted to know. Mid-training reviews weren’t for another week, so this clearly was something different. “Um, they’re going well, I guess. I think that I’m doing alright, but of course there’s still a lot left to learn.” After circling around in such a fashion for far longer than was necessary, I finally decided I was being stupid and just decided to go the “mature” route: “Can I ask why you want to know?”

“Oh, it’s just that your Spanish teacher called us and said that you were doing really well. Perhaps formal language classes are no longer the best way for you to learn. How would you like to do an independent study project during the time when you’d ordinarily be with him?”

I was stunned. I had placed into Intermediate-High (level 6 of 9, with 1 being not-a-word and 9 being a native speaker). I have of course noticed that my Spanish has gotten loads better since coming here, but she was saying that I was essentially fluent, that I had learned all I could from grammar classes and that all that was left was for me to do something in the community that would allow me to practice my speaking ability and increase my confidence. I told her that I’d do it, and she gave me the weekend to choose a focus.

I found out later that this is slightly less rare than it sounds. Anyone who achieves Advanced-Medium (level 8) and higher are given the choice to work independently. Allison, another trainee with me in San Lorenzo, got the same call, along with several others in our training cohort. Still, I’m not going to short-change myself. I’ve been working my ass off to learn, speaking with my host-family for hours during the day and studying at night, and it feels pretty good to be recognized for it.

After a comprehensive game of Twenty Questions with another staff member, I found out the bounds of what is an acceptable study. Apparently, a “critical investigation of the Guatemalan agronomy” (read: sampling the coffee in Antigua) does not pass muster, but “independent study” did not necessarily preclude the possibility of working with a partner. I’ve been talking with another trainee, Rebecca, who lives in a neighboring town, and we’ve decided to investigate issues of domestic violence. Our host families put spousal abuse at around 70%, and Peace Corps estimates it’s closer to 80 or 90% in some areas. With such a high incidence, it seems quite likely that we’ll run into it in at our permanent sites; it would be nice to know what the resources are when confronting it. It’s still in its infancy of course, but since there are few, if any, official organizations in the area that work with survivors of domestic violence, we’re expecting to speak to other groups that may run across it. Puestos de Salud (Community Health Centers), police departments, divorce attorneys (women leaving their husbands are rare here, but it does occasionally happen), and survivor accounts are the sources we’re going to tap first. Given the timeframe we have, this will of course not be a hugely in-depth exploration, but we’re supposed to give a presentation about it at the end of training. It would be really great if we had useful things to say. More as it develops.

The weekend was great. Our final Spanish class was in Antigua on Friday, where we were essentially big tourists (but feeling outrageously superior to “normal” tourists because, after all, we’re Peace Corps). Just like the last time I went, I spent greatly outside my means—this time both a morning snack and lunch, which totaled about $12—but I felt profound gastronomic contentment, so I think it was probably worth it.

Saturday we went to the Peace Corps center, where a Mayan priestess demonstrated a traditional religious ceremony. I wish I could describe it better, but most of it was in Kaqchiquel, one of the 20+ Mayan languages. Further, I was more tired than I’d like to admit since I’d had to wake up at 5am to get there. I eventually understood that she was praying to 20 different energies (Gods?) who are in charge of daily events, using offerings of tobacco, candles, sugar, rum, incense, and a tarry brown solid that may have been a large brick of chocolate. It was really interesting, especially from an anthropological standpoint, and I hope to see more of such ceremonies when I get to site.

Sunday was really the only bad part of the week, though “bad” is almost certainly not the right word. It was melancholic, odd, and violent, but perhaps not truly “bad.” It was the Corrida de las Cintas (Running of the Ribbons), which originally sounded like a fairly dainty event; I thought it might be the Guatemalan equivalent of decorating a Maypole.

But May Day it is not.

It started out innocently enough. 20 or so men on horses took turns galloping at full tilt at a clothesline strung across San Lorenzo’s main street, a pencil clutched firmly in their dominant hand. Along the line were dozens of short ribbons with metal rings tied to them, each approximately one inch in diameter. Using the pen as a lance, they tried to put it through the ring, tearing the ribbon from the line while charging past. The cowboy with the most ribbons by the end was the victor, and the recipient of prizes which included leather goods, cash, and liquor. It was quite fun the watch, especially since the crowd lining the street got very into it and would “ooh” and “ahh” when someone made a particularly skillful pass. Eventually, though, the ribbons had all been plucked from the line, and it was time for the main event.

I had some forewarning for what was coming. My family had explained it to me, but I had been so incredulous that I didn’t fully believe that such a thing could actually occur. Not there on main street. Not virtually outside my bedroom window. Not in San Lorenzo.

The festival organizers led out the duck, which squawked resignedly, as if it knew the fate that was to befall it. The men tied it by its little duck ankles to the line, letting it dangle above the street upside down. Another man began to grease up its little duck neck.

“Aw shit,” the duck squawked again.

And so it began. Each of the 20 cowboys took turns charging towards it, their hands empty this time. As they flew by, they tried to grab the duck’s head. Like with the ribbons, this event would not be over until someone had torn it from the line. When someone was able to grasp the head, it was too greased for them to hold on. As they galloped past, the line would become taut, then slingshot the duck back to its original place as it slid out of their hand.

Cowboy after cowboy, round after round, the event continued. The duck didn’t die until the middle of the third round—after more than 60 attempts to decapitate it. Finally, at the beginning of the fifth round, attempt number 82 or 83, the head could take no more and made its escape. Pin wheeling beak over eye sockets, it flew twenty feet into the air before falling to the cobble stones below. It bounced wetly a few times before finally coming to rest.

People cheered, the victor was congratulated, and prizes were distributed. The festival was done.

I couldn’t figure out what to think. On one hand, it was a cultural event that clearly held meaning in the community. On the other, it seemed horribly barbaric and unnecessarily cruel to my PETA-loving sensibilities. At the very least they could have killed the duck first, sparing it the pain and ignominy of having to wait for its neck to leisurely rip in half. It seemed, at least to me, that life was not a necessary perquisite to the actual sport. I suppose, though, that I’m superimposing my own moral code onto the fabric of Guatemalan culture. In my defense, I’ve been taught that complete moral relativity is both a non-sequitur and often morally reprehensible, so does the fact that I can’t achieve it really make me a bad anthropologist?

I guess, after a couple days of reflection, I’m glad I saw it, though I will be quite content to never see it again. In many ways it’s like so much of my time here so far in Guatemala: Thoroughly foreign, simultaneously disquieting and intriguing, and occasionally difficult to get through. I still maintain that I love it here, but I will be quite pleased to forego any other animal-mutilation-for-the-crowd’s-enjoyment style events.

Oh! One last thing before I sign off: I found out my Field-Based Training site, where I’ll be basically shadowing real, live, volunteers in my technical program (Healthy Schools) for a week starting this coming Sunday. The site’s called Olintepeque (Oh-lynn-teh-PEH-kay), and it’s in the department of Quetzaltenango, in the western highlands. I don’t know what my internet situation will be while there, so don’t be surprised if I don’t post next Tuesday. If that happens, I promise to make up for it by writing a double one during week 7.

PS: As per usual, I’ve uploaded some photos (and a short video clip) taken over the course of the week. As a warning, some of the photos are a little graphic. If you don’t want to see a duck being tortured, tread carefully through this week’s selection. For those of you that do, they can be found here https://picasaweb.google.com/sigrinj/Week5?authkey=Gv1sRgCMv7wt762t3NqgE.

Week 4 - Healthy Schools and what It Means

Another week gone, and tomorrow will mark one full month in country. It’s odd looking back on my time here; on one hand, the sheer number of things that I’ve done and experienced makes it seem like I’ve been here for ages. On the other, those same experiences keep catapulting me headlong into each day, and the weeks themselves seem to fly by. Time really is quite a tricky thing.

I suppose it’s about time that I actually explain what it is that I’m supposed to be doing here. When I came, I had little more than a paragraph abstractly explaining that I would be working as a “Municipal School Health Coordinator” and attempting to improve the health of school children. The number of specifics I could divine were depressingly few. Well, now that I’ve been receiving training for a while, I feel much better informed.

There are around five or six technical programs currently in operation in Peace Corps Guatemala, but only two in my training cohort—Healthy Schools and Sustainable Ecotourism. Though it probably goes without saying if you read the previous paragraph, I’m a part of Healthy Schools (“Escuelas Saludables”). The Healthy Schools program began several years ago, but recently it has undergone a change in focus. Whereas Volunteers used to take an active role in teaching K-5 students directly, mine will be the first training group to focus on the larger picture. The Peace Corps has determined that a single volunteer working with five to ten schools is much less efficient than two volunteers working with 30 to 40 schools. We are, they tell us, going to become “trainers of trainers.” We’ll continue to lead lessons focusing on preventative health, but rather than teaching students we’ll be leading workshops and seminars aimed at parents, teachers, principals, and superintendents. The belief is that if we train the educators, they’ll teach their students. We can reach ten, even twenty schools in a single session rather than going to each school individually to teach the same material, , and it will be a lot more sustainable over time because there will be much greater continuity from one year to the next.

The lessons focus on the biggest health issues in Guatemala, almost all of which are a direct result of poor nutrition and/or hygiene. Essentially, this means a lack of hand washing, brushing teeth, and eating a balanced diet. Guatemala is in the top five for stunting (shortness due to chronic malnutrition) in the world. The average height here is probably around 5’4” for men and 5’1” for women. At 6’0” I’ve towered over almost everyone that I’ve met; many women do not even come up to the base of my neck. As for contamination, the rivers and general body hygiene here can be awful. At the risk of denying the agency of economically-disadvantaged Guatemalans, it’s in many cases not their fault. Occasionally the only source of water is the river, which is used for everything from washing clothes and food to defecating and throwing away trash. Thus, one of the most important infrastructure goals of Healthy Schools is to get at least eight clean running water faucets installed in the school for hand washing before and after meals and trips to the bathroom. The implementation of a healthy snack—which in some areas can account for up to 30% of a child’s daily caloric intake—runs a close second.

If a school fulfills a set of given goals, they can be certified by the Peace Corps as a “Healthy School.” Admittedly, I was a little dubious about the value of such a certification, or rather the motivations of a teacher to teach this curriculum, but apparently it’s pretty legitimate. Peace Corps is well respected in Guatemala (or at least that’s what they tell us!) and it’s a good career move, especially for non-tenured teachers, to get certified. Administrators take pride in running such schools, and parents are, just like in the rest of the world, pretty gung-ho about their children’s health.

So in a word, that’s basically it. I will be working with dozens of schools in a given area with a partner from my same training cohort, conducting baseline surveys, leading workshops, and monitoring each school’s progress towards certification. As our program director often reminds us, “In 20 or 30 years we can change the face of health in Guatemala.”

In more local news, this weekend was San Lorenzo’s yearly Feria (fair/carnival). It’s pretty wild. Men dress up as women and act hyper sexually, especially with each other. While it’s not uncommon (or so my anthropology professors tell me) for a society to have socially-acceptable occasions for usually socially-unacceptable behavior, it was a bit shocking to see in my own sleepy little town. As a rather obvious target, many of the men felt that it was their duty to include me in their displays of pseudo-homoerotic behavior. In essence, I was “all grinded up on”…a lot. It certainly caught me off guard, and at times it felt like people were invading my personal space, but I admit that it was pretty amusing.

A lot of teenage couples, who usually canoodle in secret, away from the devoutly Christian eyes of their parents, appeared to have no problem conducting their more PG-behavior in the streets. Things like hand-holding, dancing closely, and even moderate kissing seemed to be permitted for this weekend only. On Saturday night there was a live salsa band, and on Sunday there was a DJ from a local radio station playing Guatemalan top 40. I went to both and had a surprisingly good time. There seemed to be no end of 15-to-19 year old girls that wanted a chance to dance with the awkward gringo. For the most part, all the girls closer to my age are married with children, so keep that in mind before you start haranguing me for being a cradle-robber!

As per usual I’ve uploaded a couple of pictures to go along with this post. They can be found at: http://picasaweb.google.com/sigrinj/Week4?authkey=Gv1sRgCKu_yLnGusWS4AE#