Spanish

Learning a new language is never an easy thing. I have my good days and I have my bad days. Overall I feel like I’m improving, but I can’t wait for the morning where I wake up and I’m fluent. Apparently it doesn’t happen that way. My level coming in was “Intermediate-Low”. Basically that meant I can ask and answer simple questions. After 5-weeks we had another evaluation. I’m improved to “Intermediate-Intermediate” which means I can ask and answer slightly more advanced yet still simple questions. It’s good to know I’m getting better, although I was hoping to move up one more level. A saying we hear a lot is “Poco a Poco” which roughly translates to “Little by Little”. It’s a little intimidating to think that in less than four weeks I will not have any more Spanish classes and my lessons will consist of living by myself in a Guatemalan community and trying tto function with government offices, communtiy groups, and NGOs. O’well “el es que el es” (“it is what it is”, at least I think that’s what I said!)

Noise

Our Volunteer handbook mentioned that one thing that causes most volunteers some irritation is noise. I didn’t believe it when I read it, but now after living in Guatemala for about 6-weeks I know what they were talking about. It’s always noisy. I mean always. Right now in the background there rain on a metal roof and an electric guitar and drums coming form the Evangelical Church next door. By next door I mean I can step out of my room (from the door that leads to nowhere) and onto the roof of the church. In the morning there will be Roosters doing their thing. There is a random loudspeaker about 15ft from my room that makes occasional announcements about whatever needs to be announced. Saturday night there was a rather loud prayer and worship service occurring no more than 20ft from where I was trying to sleep that went until 5am. Like many places in the world, Guatemalans tend to celebrate by blowing things up. In their case they do it the civilized manner of lighting a string or six of firecrackers. At least they aren’t shooting guns in the air like some other countries I’ve been in. I can guarantee you when I get to my permanent site I’ll be paying particular attention the proximity of my house to any Evangelical Church and/or farm animals.

Name that fruit or vegetable

I suppose it should come to me as no surprise that there are fruits and vegetables down here that I wouldn’t find back home in the States, but it never ceases to amaze me. From time to time my host family will put a bowl full of a vegetable soup in front of me and I start trying to figure out what exactly I’m eating. One popular vegetable is called Guicoy and it’s a cross between a potatoe and a cucumber. There are tiny little apple like fruits called Guayava and there is a little nectarine like fruit with at large seed in the middle. I feel kind of silly having to ask whether you eat the peel (and seeds), but I guess you just grow up learning that with the fruits you encounter in your youth. Any guesses on the fruit in the photo?

It’s harder when it’s not your native language

I really don’t have much of a fear of public speaking. Between different jobs I had in the Air Force I was given ample opportunity to speak in public to varying sizes of groups. This past week we had the opportunity to give our first (of presumably many) talks in Spanish. Although my Spanish is certainly better than it was when I arrived, I’m nowhere near fluent. It makes it a challenge and at the same time fun. The talk covered the organization of a community group so I felt comfortable with the topic and actually we pulled it off very well. An interesting observation which was made to me was that it’s possible that we may know Spanish than our audience if they come from an indigenous village. Not sure I’m ready to pick up a Mayan language…vamos a ver.

Yes, that nice old lady just pulled the head off a Chicken

Today we had a bit of a cutural experience. My Spanish class went to a village called San Andres Iztapa. The village is fairly typical except that they have a special chapel there to worship the wicked Saint Simon. To call it a church is a bit of an stretch, although it’s in the shape of the church. There were a couple of rituals occuring simultaniously. Inside the church, people were lining up to go up to the alter and be hit all over their bodies with herbs and then have aguardiente (alcohol) spit out all over them by a lady in front of the statue of Saint Simon. There were people kneeling and liting cadles as well. Outside people were making small fires of incense, wood, candles, eggs, candies, and a number of other odd and sundry items. There would be some words said and then the fire was lit. Some people knelt really close to it and others jumped over it. We watched this for close to two hours waiting in anticipation to see what would happen with a chicken we saw one group of ladies bring into the courtyard. As the ladies were getting the fire ready, the two young girls were playing with the chicken. The chicken’s minutes were numbers because when the fire got going this nice old lady pulled the head off the Chicken (about 10 feet from where I was sitting). With blood soaked hands, she proceeded to throw the head on the fire and then when the body stopped moving (as in “running around like a chicken with your head cut off”) she threw the torso on the fire. The worshiping of, or perhaps praying to, San Simon is a mixture of some Catholic rituals and some indiginous riturals, although neither would claim it and I’m certainly not ready to sign-up. It wasn’t at all tourisy, but we didn’t feel out of place or unwelcome either. I’ve seen a lot of things in my time, but the sacrificing of a Chicken now ranks up there. After our few ours in Iztapa we returned to the town of Chimalentango for lunch…I had beef.

Camioneta Etiquette

My primary mode of transportation besides my own two feet is Camionetas. These are old U.S. School Buses which have made the journey down here to transport the majority of Guatemalans from one place to another. They are also affectionately known as “Chicken Buses”, although I have yet to see a chicken on one. The buses are painted in bright colors. The drivers are usually competent, if not a bit aggressive. Every once in a while you get a Mario Andretti want-to-be. As a guy who is 5’11 ¾” it’s sometimes hard to fit in the seats, especially if you find yourself sitting over one of the wheels. When it’s full they put 3 to a seat and then they fill up the middle as well. There is a guy who they call the “ayudante” (Spanish for Helper) who makes his way thought the bus with some frequency and collects the fare form the new faces. This guy is amazing. He can remember who is new on a bus packed with 70 people. I suppose recognizing me isn’t that hard. When you have more than just a backpack the ayudante climbs up ladders that have been affixed to the bus and puts your stuff on a luggage rack. I’ve seen lots of baskets on their way to market up there as well as an occasional bicycle. One of the more amazing ayudante tricks I saw was one night a few weeks back when on a crowded bus the guy climbed from the doorway to the top while the bus was going down the road at 35mph to retrieve the goods of someone who was getting off at the next stop. It’s really a great experience, although not always the most comfortable. Perhaps after a few years it might get old.

Bucket Showers

You kind of get used to certain creature comforts that you may have had for more than 30-years. One of the ones which I was used to was a “normal” shower. As I recall, you turn the water on and adjust it so hot and cold meet in the right proportion and you enjoy and adequate amount of water pressure to thoroughly clean your body. No so much here. At least not at the house where I’m staying. Every morning I boil a decent size pot of water and bring it into the “shower” with me. In the shower there are two or three 5-gallon buckets of cold water. I then proceed to fill a bowl which is about the size of a dog-food bowl with a bit of the hot water and a decent amount of cold water and dump it over my head. Repeat about 25-times with different amounts of lathering and shampoo and I’m pretty clean. This morning I accidentally dropped my soap in the hot water. Not thinking, I reached in there to grab it. Not a good idea. I think the technical term is “scald”, but whatever it was it wasn’t pleasant, but I know it could have been worse.