Stepping Back: The Holidays in Louisville

Christmas Day +1…

Everyone keeps asking me whether I am in culture shock. Is it strange, people want to know, to be home in the midst of the holiday bustle?

No. To be honest, I am doing just fine. I don’t mind the lights, the great food, the cell phones, laughter, or the filled calendar. As a matter of fact, I am still captivated by the instant hot water in the kitchen sink. And the coffee maker! Oh what innovation…

It’s easy, more or less, to forget about Pinalito when I am wrapped up in a busy life in Louisville— I’ve been selling jackets at Quest Outdoors, scheduling hair appointments, catching up with old friends—it seems that nothing much has changed, so why not burrow back into the routines of home? I can chill out on this change-the-world action for a few weeks.

My final weeks in Pinalito were tough… Dad’s trip was harrowing, to say the least. (I hope he’ll update you all with his own blog entry!) The roads were washed out, and we had to hike into Pinalito via “the back way”—a two-hour, steady incline. Upon arriving, we discovered a faulty propane tank, so we never knew if each hot dinner (or hot shave, poor Dad!) would be the last. Most shocking for Dad, and tiring for me, was the steady influx of need… the villagers lined up outside my door each day, inundating us with their entreaties: More jackets? Extra rice? A $20 loan? Up until my final 5 minutes in Pinalito, I wavered between compassion, nostalgia, and well… a fleeting desire to wring the poor peoples’ necks!

Jesus said that if a man sues you for your jacket, give him your overcoat as well…but when one Pinalito passerby, Rafaela, demanded the bath towel on my shoulder just after I handed her my Patagonia sweatshirt, Matthew’s verse didn’t dawn on me until after I had struck the limit of my own generosity. I wadded the proffered shirt under my arm and stomped away…and felt terrible ten minutes later.

On top of those demands of poverty, an angry son came back to his village for the holidays and chopped three of his mother’s fingers off with a machete when he had had too much to drink. (Sorry, no bloody pics of this one, guys. We took her to the hospital, and she is healing with strong antibiotics.) And, the mission lost more than 100 pounds of ready-for-market coffee to a late-night thief. The window bars were pulled out of a concrete wall, wire was clipped, and more that $600 worth of dried coffee beans was lost.

With this frustration sizzling, I high-tailed it home. I revived my “y’all” and relearned how to apply lipstick, and stocked the freezer with peppermint ice-cream.

But on Day 10, Christmas Eve, my mask wore thin. I kneeled on the fancy embroidered altar pillows at Christ Church to take communion, and began to tick off my prayer list. I prayed that God bless my little village this Christmas Eve; I asked that no one get hurt tonight, and the men steer clear of the moonshine. I asked that the children stay warm, and are excited to celebrate Jesus’s birth with tamales and music. With that prayer, I felt the concrete floor of the Pinalito church cutting into my knees. I forgot my mom kneeling next to me, and remembered the constant smell of urine and dirt that lingers around Pinalito. My sadness and disappointment in people flared for a moment, and then God’s greatest sacrifice dawned on me.

The realization started with Jesus in the manger. I’m considering a nativity scene, here; we’ve had one in our Christmas décor since I can remember. Baby Jesus lies in a little plastic manger upon a bundle of plastic hay. (I used to use him as Ken and Barbie’s baby; he had the same painted swirl of blond hair as his father.) Obviously that plastic figurine doesn’t quite do the scene justice. A manger is a feeding trough for barn animals; it would have stunk like the dickens. The barn would have been warm, sure, but it would have been filthy, and those shepherds outside would have been uncouth, unshowered men…. Now I’m thinking of Pinalito again.

On our first Pinalito house visit together, Dad asked if we could leave after ten minutes; he couldn’t stand the smell.

In the U.S., we don’t always see the filth of humanity. Our imperfections are easily covered—a baby’s dirty diaper stuffed into one of those fancy diaper genies. (And besides, we don’t eat nearly as many beans.) But in Pinalito, the stench is hard to miss. I imagine it’s a lot like Bethlehem; the houses are moldy and rank just like that barn where Jesus was born. To think that God sent His Son here, to live in this pit of human failing! What a sacrifice! God knew that there would be thoughtless men stealing coffee from the village ministry. He knew that there would be sons who chopped their mother’s fingers off with a machete. He even knew that a selfish American girl would turn her back on a woman asking for a jacket.

And yet, God still sent His Son to live, teach, and die among us humans, so that we can go to Heaven if we believe it all. It’s crazy to look at the world’s failing— I cannot ignore it anymore—and come to terms that Jesus took it all on his shoulders. The next realization is the joy that follows…

Merry Christmas, a day late. Thank you everyone for your support this year… Pinalito is an opportunity that I could not afford with out your contributions, and could not handle without your prayers.

Jilmer News

Everyone has been asking about little Jilmer... so I called Cindy and Jaime (the missionaries from nearby "Matasano") to check on him the other day! Here are the most recent photos of him. (From December 12th)

The doctors diagnosed Jilmer with giardia, a parasite that causes stomach bloating and general discomfort, on the 5th of December, and Cindy and Jaime dosed him up with Metronidozole. It didn't take him long to develop healthy eating habits, and sleep through the night without stomach pain. This picture was taken at Fridays in Guatemala City. I was craving a hamburger, and Jilmer helped me eat it. He loves ketchup!

At the end of Dad's Pinalito tour, Cindy and Jaime drove us back down to the city. At that point, we had been taking care of Jilmer for two weeks, and he was progressing by leaps and bounds! This picture was taken on a small restaurant playground, where he loved the slide, and even crawled through a few plastic tubes. He is not walking yet, but he is mobile, and loves to "cruise" on the edge of a chair, or with his pal, Jasmine, holding his hands.
When we first got Jilmer, I didn't think he noticed who held or chatted with him, so long as they had food! But after 15 days of comfortable life with the Ortiz family, it is obvious that he recognizes everyone in his fan club. He calls me "Sarita" in a sweet, scratchy little boy voice. Whew... I've fallen hard for this kid!

When I talked to the Ortiz family this week, I found out that Jilmer's father, Carlos, has recently stopped by to visit his son, and everyone was glad to see the sweet love of a father for his hurting child. This picture was taken at Jilmer's house in November. Carlos and Emilia (Jilmer's mother) hosted a group from Pennsylvania in their house for a morning of tortilla making.

I also heard that Jilmer has a terrible cold, and an ulcer on his eye is attracting a lot of worry from the Zacapa doctors. They are encouraging Jaime and Cindy to go to the capitol, where an eye surgery may be the only hope for Jilmer's sight. Please pray for this kiddo. He is a little Lazarus, raised from the dead. Check out the prayer page at www.fiaministries.org for more of his story from Rocky and Michael Beene.

Jesus said “The Burden I give you is light...” but what did He know about Pinalito?

What a month. I don’t know where to start. I’ve tried to write this blog four times in effort to keep up with the news and my own emotional reactions. We've had an amazing missionary team sweep in from Pennsylvania, the much anticipated visit of Michael and Rocky Beene (the directors of our small mountain ministry "Faith in Action") and a whirlwind of doctors visits, community birthday parties, coffee roasting, and mission wide brainstorming!

Four-year-old Gilmer Estaurato Perez has been foremost in my thoughts lately.
He lives up the hill from the mission with his 25 year-old mother and father, and his three oh so dirty and parasitic siblings. Two years ago, a Faith in Action intern took Jilmer in for 6 weeks. She fattened him up on chicken, pizza and vitamins, loved him, sang to him, and dressed him in Baby Gap and Gymboree. When Jilmer reached a healthy weight again, the intern returned him to his parents with toys and a baby bath and an almost comical preference for American food. But upon his return to poverty, Jilmer went downhill again. He refuses his mother’s tortillas and beans, preferring to sit dejected in his own pee all day. Jilmer is now four, and he weighs 15.8 pounds. His legs are deformed; his eyes are nearly blind, and his hair is so thin that he is balding above his ears. He cannot walk and hardly talks, and has been screaming in my arms for the past two days.

In the U.S., picky eaters can be frustrating; maybe Mom has to scrape the ketchup and pickles off of a McDonalds hamburger and cook a separate pot of rice for dinner. But in Guatemala, a picky eater will die. Melanie jokes that Jilmer is meant for pate and champagne, but as we struggle to find out what food this child will eat, we have both stopped laughing.

Jilmer’s mom doesn’t know what to do with her underdeveloped son. She cannot buy him chicken every day, and so, she expects he will die. Once again, Faith in Action has swept in to save Jilmer’s life. We love this cuddly child who lies exhausted on the nearest shoulder, perking up at the smell of food or the chug of a motorcycle. Jaime and Cindy Ortiz will take care of him while Melanie and I go home for the holidays. But what will happen to Jilmer when he is better again? Who will buy him his daily chicken?

At the same time, Melanie and I have started feeding 60 year old Sofia Lopez, the “crazy lady” of Pinalito, so say the children. At the worried reprisal of Michael Beene, we recently discovered that Sofia is dying of hunger… her family is not feeding her the corn and beans that we give her each month. So Sofia comes to the apartment for lunch every day, and we cook her chicken soup with hot vitamin drink, peanut butter and jelly, and a baggie of rice to take home. I clip her nails, and Melanie gives spoonfuls of anemia medicine as Sofia rambles on, slightly senile, and tries to be a “lady” at our table. (I have only had to reprimand her once, when she spit her congestion out on the kitchen floor!)

All of this has collided with Thanksgiving and the beginning of the holiday season… I find myself ready to go home, uncomfortable with the cold Guatemala weather, and wishing for a television to watch the Macy’s parade or the holiday movie marathons. Despite my willingness to love on the people of Pinalito, I confess to such selfishness these days… I didn’t want to share the sweet potato casserole from our Thanksgiving feast, though I cringe at the grandiosity of our table. I am reading about Paul this week, both in Acts and in John Pollock’s book, The Apostle , and I am amazed at all that he suffered to spread the Good News. I, on the other hand, am unable to feed the masses. In my frustration, I grumble “If I had 10,000 warm jackets, would the people then come to me for gloves and scarves? If I had 10, 000 chickens, would they then expect beef?”
These days, as I crave home, and wonder at the hopelessness of the lives of Pinalito, my burden seems unbearable… how can I possibly care for them all?

Does this seem like a repetitive question? Perhaps… I have written similar frustrations throughout my fall here in Pinalito. But tomorrow, my Dad is arriving in Guatemala to visit. Although I know that I am to be the tour guide as I bring a non Spanish speaker into new terrain, I am so relieved in his presence. To rely on the guidance of a parent is so easy; I can’t wait for him to see Pinalito, for he will have such great advice—encouragement for my worries. His arrival is a reminder, in fact, that I can look to my Heavenly Father for the same relief, the same trust that everything will work out. I just have to stick to my guns…

Jesus said “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:30) Whew, this verse is so hard to take in, most of the time.... but when it clicks, it clicks.

 

Working Women

These women of Pinalito have been faithful workers since my first meeting back in August. So far, we have three that clean the mission house and apartments weekly, (Jesus, Elena and Marta--note the purple, blue and red dresses on the far right) two that help handwash laundry (Juana and Ofelia-- pink and coral dresses on either side of me) and three that paint and do odd jobs (Prudencia in light blue, Rugina in yellow, and Tina in turquoise on the right). I hope to add more women to the group as soon as I have more work opportunities in January (read COFFEE PRODUCTION!).

Also in January, the group will attend weekly reading and writing classes, and one Healthy Living Seminar a month. Each woman in the group must attend at least classes and/or seminars a month...they are all excited about the classes, and look forward to preparing the coffee and toast with me on my propane stove!)

This picture was taken outside the college, where we will start our classes in several weeks. The women have been working to bleach out the mold on these walls, and now we are getting ready to paint murals! (I'll admit, the women could use a little practice with their brush technique! The murals may be a job to attack on my own... or are there any artists interested in making a Pinalito trip?!)
One funny complication of my woman's group has been the CHILDREN! Any mother could have clued me into this obstacle-- ahem, Elizabeth Mays-- but I just hadn't thought about daycare before I invited the women to start working all morning! Let's just say it is difficult to mop the floor when the children keep running into the kitchen with muddy feet. So... the solution? Grandmother comes to help out! I have started opening our library (which is growing, woohooo, thanks to thoughtful South Carolinians!) and the children spend hours reading, coloring and putting puzzles together while their mother's paint and sweep nearby!

Thank you for helping me support these women, and buy the paint and brushes... We are enjoying our chores! I'll be sure to keep these updates coming! 

Flying solo

I’m in Pinalito alone this week. Melanie is traveling with her parents for several days, and I have opted to stay in the village to attack my to-do list. Although I put on a great “tough-girl face” when Mel and her parents drove away last Friday, I have to admit to some shaky nerves throughout the first few nights alone. It is pitch dark by 6:30 these days, and my routine dinner-for-one—a peanut-butter sandwich-- takes a mere 20 minutes out of the evening. I’ve never known three hours to crawl by so slowly!

Much like a blind man will rely on his hearing to compensate for his lack of sight, I turn to the village to compensate for this empty apartment. In the morning when I wonder who is awake and making tortillas, I only need to listen to the coughing coming from the smoky kitchen. When the boys file into the mission gate to make their daily rounds, it’s easy to tell who’s who by the swing of their machete or their whistling.

Desperate to fill my daylight hours with voices and activity, I have redefined a 9-5 workday by spending it with the village. By 7 a.m., and I am making eggs for the boys. By 8, a few women have arrived to get their work assignment for the day. Now that my garden is well weeded, and mostly eaten, (advice on insecticides, anyone? I am finished with organic!) I spend the day outside the mission, checking on sick, swollen bellied children or planting beans and cucumbers in a neighbor’s garden. Even when it is dark, I’d rather be kicking the soccer ball around than inside my lonely apartment. The kids love having Sarita all to themselves… I forget to be a grown-up—to wash dishes and sweep the constantly dirty floor—when there is no one here to notice my mess!

And the village never fails to keep me occupied. Over the past two weeks, Pinalito has experienced two deaths. Freddy, who I have mentioned and pictured in previous blogs, returned to Pinalito after only a few days on the coast as a 14 year old “working man”. His mother Maria, having long suffered from chronic pneumonia, died last Sunday. Freddy got home in time to wrap his mother in a grass mat and bury her in the cemetery. He is orphaned now, along with two older sisters, three older brothers and his 11 year old sister, Rosa


Although I didn’t know the other man very well, Cleto was once a fixture of Pinalito. He was shot is a drunken argument before I arrived in July. Unable to purchase sterile dressing and to keep his wound clean, his family had been using plastic grocery bags to draw out the fluid in his body. Cleto has suffered infection and malnourishment throughout the 3 months that followed the gunshot, and he has been delirious since I met him. This death arouses an anger in me that is so deep… anger at myself (unfounded I know) because I don’t know enough about infection and antibiotics, and anger at the unfairness of his death. This man would have lived had he been in the U.S. His wound would healed easily in a hospital, and today, he would be working with a physical therapist and drinking protein shakes to work his abdomen back into shape.



When a death occurs in Pinalito, the villagers respond with extreme anxiety. An afterlife is a source of great anguish in an area that supports so little living. The people seek every possible supernatural assurance that their relative is no longer suffering. While making tortillas with Freddy’s sister-in-law this week, I noticed an altar built in the corner of the cabin. Inside a “crib” of several dozen pine branches, there was a fat Guatemalan-style cigar, a bowl of water with a piece of a banana leaf floating in it, a whittled wooden cross and a candle. This altar stands in the corner where Freddy’s mom once laid suffering. It is a mixture of more religions than I can relate… Christianity maybe, Catholicism and witchcraft. The family is unsettled about Heaven, worried that Maria’s long struggle in life has not ended with death.




This is another reason why I am working as a missionary… When Paul Farmer wonders why the people of Haiti mix medicine with voodoo and religious iconography, a wizened Creole woman challenges, “Well Doctor, aren’t you capable of understanding complication?” Well, I can understand complication. I really do. I understand the reckless desire to find something tangible in a place that otherwise offers so little assurance. But I also understand the simple abundance of God’s love. And although I cannot explain it to Pinalito in perfect Spanish, I can plant a garden with them, kick a flattened basketball for hours, and listen to a staticky radio while eating a bowl of bland black beans. Through this routine, I slowly find the words (and the courage) to share my faith in the simplicity of God’s grace. Jesus lived and died selflessly, so that we don’t have to anguish over our entrance into Heaven. Pinalito deserves the peace of God’s plan, and it is my task to share it with them.

…………….





So the week started out slow and sad, but as I collect my thoughts for this blog, I am happily exhausted. A week of “flying solo” has pushed me to depend on the people of Pinalito, and on God. I am not lonely, for my neighbors Maribel, Gladis and Rosa insisted on keeping me company tonight. I forced myself to set aside my book and chamomile tea, and I read fairy tales to the girls instead. I offered them a hot shower, which all three took together, and then I combed and braided their hair while they drank hot milk. My apartment is a now wreck of empty milk cups, muddy footprints, and gassy Guatemalan children sleeping in the bunk beds next to mine. It has been a memorable slumber party.

Good Night!


 

Another journey

I'm en route to Belize today. Melanie and I are renewing our Guatemalan visas, and the rules demand 72 hours across the border. Rugged mountain woman that I may be--don't expect me to argue a short beach vacation! I don't miss the traveling that this vacation involves... the buses, boats and taxi cabs could wear anyone out, but I have enjoyed this sights and sounds of the journey. I had not yet noticed the monotony of Pinalito... but this morning's reintroduction of black Caribbean culture, corn dogs, and jiggling bellies has reminded me of the world's variety and COLOR!

I'm writing this note on a pier overlooking a laggoon at the Belize-Guatemala border. There are about 15 other people waiting for a "water taxi," and the scene reminds me of a few things:

1)Poverty is widespread.
Although Belize is considered to be one of the wealthier countries in Central America, I am still staring at a clapboard house, and smelling tortillas cook on a wood fire. There is screen attached to the widows of this house-- which would signify great wealth in Pinalito, but this screen is ripped to shreads. And despite the toilet at the back of the house, there is a trail of muck that leaks from it's pipes and creates a moat around the yard. What's even stranger to me is the hint of south Alabama that I cannot help but associate with this place. (I am remembering the small town where my Mom grew up...) I know that I don't have to leave the U.S. to find this kind of poverty... I have seen clapboard houses, bad plumbing, and rotten teeth in small town Indiana, just outside of my bustling Miami University college town. My point is: the grasp of poverty is wide. My mind is knotted around its workings.
2) With that said, I never thought it possible to feel so connected to the strangers of the world. My experience in Pinalito has already created a compassion in me that is hard to contain. I am quick to give up my seat to a woman on the bus with me... I know that she has had a hard morning with her four hungry children. The nodding drunk hunched on the docks strikes a chord as well... he has opted out of his difficult life. Whereas I would have once judged his alcohol breath, now I pity his tired body. On another note, the strangers that have contacted me to encourage and support my work here have been incredible. I reiterate my thanks to them... I am finding new meaning in the term "family in Christ."
3) Depite such entertainment in this journey, I miss Pinalito. My mind races to think of all I could be doing right now. Upon leaving the mountain last Sunday, I discovered that my buddy and constant helper, Freddy, will be leaving Pinalito to start working on a farm near the coast of Guatemala. I am crushed. Freddy is about 15; his Mom is sick with chronic pneumonia, his sister counts on him for food. He needs to make money, but I fear this far-off "coast" will entail for him. At this point, I feel rushed to get more ACTIVITY established for the teenagers of Pinalito... I want to provide them with a little work if they need it, but mostly, I want to fill their brains with wisdom to make smart decisions. They have no reason to stay on the mountain, and they have no idea of what they will find below.

My return trip will take me through Guatemala city, the capitol, where Melanie and I will purchase some movies and computer software for the community center. I just want to provide my friends with SOMETHING TO DO... their brains crave it.

I have wept for love of them...

I, the Lord of sea and sky, I have heard my people cry.
All who dwell in dark and sin,
My hand will save...
I who made the stars of night, I will make their darkness bright.
Who will bear my light to them?
Whom shall I send?
Here I am, Lord. Is it I Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night. I will go, Lord, if you lead me.
I will hold your people in my heart.

You all may recognize this hymn—it’s from Isaiah 6:8. Before I left for my first Guatemala trip this February, I taped these verses to my car door in order to motivate myself beyond my post-college comfort zone of a rock-climbers life in small town North Carolina. It worked.

This is a picture of me putting on a puppet show last Tuesday... note my characteristicly goofy expression!) For months, I have been happy to hum and repeat this part of the song…in the car, in the shower… I confuse the words and start again! This song can really motivate the idealistic missionary! HERE I AM LORD!! Whoohoo! Send me to the corners of the earth! I can put up with the rats (yes, I had one IN MY ROOM this week) and remote living—JUST GO AHEAD AND SEND ME!

Eight short weeks into mission work, however, the balance between idealism, realism and cynicism has become a tightrope walk. Don’t worry—I am still happily humming “Here I am Lord...” but the other day, I remembered the next verses of this hymn.

I, the Lord of snow and rain,
I have borne my peoples pain.
I have wept for love of them.
They turn away.

Why are these words now so poignant? Here’s an example from the week:
Mariano, the sick man that I have pictured in an earlier blog, has been looking worse. His feet and face have swollen—a textbook sign of severe malnourishment, and he speaks of death. Last week, when I was in a rush to refill his medicine in the late afternoon, I asked a young boy to run up to Mariano’s house to deliver a package of antibiotics, rice and vitamins. The little boy smiled, told me his name, and said “Sure Sarita!” He was happy to take it. Supposedly, he lived nearby. I was relieved to forgo the long hike as the sun went down.
Come to find out a few days later, Mariano didn’t receive my package. The boy had stolen the rice and the vitamins and the crucial antibiotics. I was surprised to find out that an eight-year old would lie about his name—How’s that for a Guatemalan Oliver Twist? I felt lazy, naïve, and betrayed by the village. How could someone do such a…
BECAUSE THESE PEOPLE ARE INCREDIBLY DESPERATE! In the U.S., we have little temptation to steal… my only run-in with this commandment happened at age 5, and involved a pink golf tee and a furious mom. I have never felt so desperate as to smuggle candy from the gas station, or new clothes from the Gap, but that I’ve never been on the other side of suffering, either. The lure of stealing is so much ENTICING for the people of Pinalito… where the two tomatoes growing in my garden are the only vegetables a family may eat in a month…or the dishtowel in my laundry would be so nice for the new baby, who already has a terrible rash from sitting in wet bedding. When the bananas are so easily chopped down under the mask of night, and the corn and beans locked away for the widows are only a smashed window away…
I’ve had my frustrated moments, I’ll admit— I even threw my hat across the room upon discovering the stolen tomatoes! But really… the tomatoes were not mine. I was just a caretaker. I don’t need the vitamins as badly as these villagers. Their skin is flaking for lack of Vitamin E. They suffer from terrible night blindness, supposedly for lack of Vitamin A. I hate that the people steal, but I cannot be angry at them.

I will break their hearts of stone,
Give them hearts for love alone.
I will speak my word to them,
Whom shall I send?

Last Tuesday, I was given the opportunity to shadow a group of Guatemalan doctors as they worked in a nearby village. For hours, I scribbled medical terms and dosage furiously in my notebook, and laughed on cue as the doctors (most of whom spoke English, and had studied in the U.S.) repeated the same joke with their stethoscopes in hand—something about the monkeys inside the children’s chests. I learned how to examine the people… how to feel their swollen glands and bellies, how to check their eyes for anemia. I saw what their skin looks like when they are malnourished, and how their mouths develop sores from lack of vegetables. And so I have remembered compassion, and learned how to better help Mariano.


I, the Lord of wind and flame,
I will tend the poor and lame.
I will set a feast for them.
My hand will save.
Finest bread I will provide
Till their hearts be satisfied.
I will give my life to them
Whom shall I send?

So yes, thank you for reading my slightly "sappy" entry, and once again, THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT. It has been my dream to come here… Dr. Strunk was quite right, and so gracious to tell my story. I have stood with my hands in the air shouting “SEND ME, LORD! “ And now I feel famous—but undeservedly so! These grand “adventures” are those of a curious girl hoping to “step into other people’s shoes”… all of the good stuff is God.

 

ROAD WORK

Enter the Tractors!

Spirits have been high this week Pinalito; the tractor has arrived to level the road! Although no one owns a car, road access to Pinalito makes life a little easier for the villagers, and for my part, I am glad that a truck can get here in an emergency. The village men have been running around to fetch chickens, beans, and bananas to offer the lone worker in his John Deere hat, and with their machetes close at hand, they guard the machine at night. Everyone is amazed by its power! Even I, despite my familiarity with skyscrapers and steel, have just spent this Sunday afternoon watching the bulldozer demolish a hillside and an 80-foot pine tree in order to fill in the sunken road. The eastern highlands of Guatemala lag far behind the expressways of the U.S., but after watching the men struggle with shovels and hoes this month, the work of the one CATIPILLAR tractor is a relief.

While the village men strut beside the tractor with oil cans and wrenches, the women have been busily preparing for “The Quince”—Independence Day in Guatemala. The school was supposed to host a celebration last Friday afternoon, and whew! — For months everyone has been excited to eat sweets and dance! Sadly, no one raised money for the Marimba player and the school teacher canceled the plans. In one sense, I was relieved to bypass this “Independencia” celebration (I hear that things can get dangerous around here with such parties…Where there is a marimba, there are drunken men, and where there are men, there are machetes.) On the other hand, the women had sewn new dresses for the party, and everyone had their hopes up for a day of fun. It’s so sad that these people never get to CELEBRATE! How little living they do…

Everyone made the best of the situation, however. They seem to be so accustomed to disappointment. The women have spent the weekend making “tamales” over the fire; their laughter from the kitchens proves their light-hearted resilience.


The tamale process has been my official welcome into the Guatemalan kitchen—it takes a lot of work to heat banana leaves over the fire, chop the tomatoes and onions, shuck corn, boil masa and roll it all up into a steaming “burrito” I have only opted out on the killing of the pigs and chickens… the women double over in laughter when I run from the yard to avoid any headless squawking!

This week, I finally realized that my Spanish is improving, and I find myself joking and chattering on the floor with hens pecking at my feet. My heart lies with the women of this village…although they are timid, they are the communicators, and although they don’t always understand hygiene and nutrition, they are the caretakers. Whereas the men will often vandalize, drink and steal, the women remain in the background. They work their fingers to the bone, and yet their hands are always available to their children. (Here is a picture of me trying to “carry their load;” Can you imagine walking 3 miles with a 20-pound bundle of corn on your head?!)

On that note, I held the second “Women with Work” meeting, and even more have come to join our group. I want to give these women more ownership of their situations… more power to improve their lives. By giving them employment, I hope to strengthen their community. If given the opportunity; won’t they take action for their widows and orphans? Won’t they be interested in improving their children’s health? Still, as I mentioned in my previous blog, I am starting small. This week, we painted a building, bleached mildew, and talked about teeth brushing. Next week, Melanie, my co-missionary and partner in idealism, will take the reins and introduce some basic gardening. We have tomato, cucumber and onion seeds, and will fill several seed flats for the women to take home. The group expressed excitement over tomato and onion plants, but the fruit of this labor is weeks away. In Pinalito, the people rarely think about tomorrow… they need corn NOW, and their child needs shoes NOW. With that said, reality strikes at the end of the women’s meeting; teeth brushing is interesting, and the seeds may create hope, but the women are far more interested in the money they will earn from their work.

Now that the road is passable, the list of employment opportunities is growing, but quite honestly, I need money to make it happen. If anyone is interested… this is where I could use some support. $24 a month could employ 10 women. (One family will consume 30 pounds of corn in a week; 30 pounds of corn costs about $4.)

Thanks again for the emails, input and encouragement this week. I’ll be in touch soon!

Here are some pictures from the week. We had a bonfire, and the kids loved the marshmallows!
 
 

Poverty and complications...

Wooohoo! I’m back in civilization! It’s incredibly hot down here in the “pueblo,” and the noise and chintzy furniture screams 1980s, but I’ve been two weeks without internet, three days without water, and three hours out in the scorching sun-- hiking from Pinalito to a nearby village (and whew… my stomach hasn’t been feeling too great lately… what a hike!) I’m thrilled to have a shower, get some icecream, and type on my computer.
There is an old woman outside the door of this café. She has been selling empanadas from a plastic bowl all day, and has stopped on the curb to rest. I imagine she’ll be headed home soon; she has a live chicken tucked under her arm—ready to feather and boil for dinner. On the street in front of her, cars are speeding by. A guy in a Mercedes SUV whistles and winks at my blond hair, and nearly smashes the old woman’s toes.
This sight is typical of life in a Guatemala city, and much different from what I see every day. The disparity between the rich and the poor is so material, whereas in Pinalito, everyone goes without. One Pinalito family may make 28 tortillas every day, while another can afford to make 35. The store owners may have a skinny horse or a full bar of liquor, but no one will have, for example, tuna or lasagna for dinner, much less brand name jeans, fancy haircuts or cars. How interesting it is to see materialism again, now that I am in the city. It’s tempting to shake my fist at this man in the Mercedes; I want to bring him to Pinalito and show him what he could have done with that money, why won’t these people help their neighbors? But really, I cannot judge him… this is the same materialism that I live with in the States, and I love my Patagonia clothes as much as the Mercedes man loves his car. What a shame.
Two weeks ago (or, gosh, has it been three?) I wrote about my struggle with giving food, baby formula, and money to the begging women in Pinalito. I have read and observed again and again the disadvantages of giving hand-outs—the people become dependent, think that they are literally unable to survive without help, and therefore stop working, stop trying to pull through life.
While in the city earlier in the month, I came up with an idea. I noticed the number workers in the hotels, on construction sights, and in restaurants. You all wouldn’t believe how many people it takes to sand a wooden railing by hand…. they don’t use a machine here… talk about slow process! And the women standing around in the kitchen of a Chinese Restaurant?! I might as well be telling the dumb blond with a lightbulb joke! The point is, a source of pride in Guatemala is labor, and although it seems that the number of jobs is absolutely inefficient, at least there is ownership to be taken of that railing, pride in the soy sauce bottle at China café, and money to be made,
So I held a women’s meeting in Pinalito last Monday morning. 12 women came, and Melanie made pancakes and coffee, while I read about the woman of Proverbs 31—resourceful, compassionate, and trustworthy. I tried to explain that we could have a community of workers in order to solve some of the village needs. I offered several jobs at an hourly wage: painting a wall, cleaning an apartment, washing laundry. All twelve jumped at the work offer, and before I knew it, I was overwhelmed with the reality of my brainstorming.
A dose of hindsight clarifies my idea: how can one person offer a labor economy that will support 12 women? What if more women come next time? What if no one comes, thinking that my idea is going to fall through? Will they depend on me too much, or will they reject me altogether? I want to create a community of people that can depend on one another, but how do I first get the focus off of me?
These are the complications of development… nothing is straightforward. I would love to read your comments on this.

Other notes… I tried a bread recipe straight from the yeast packet last week, and it was delicious! (I know Mom, you would be impressed! I didn’t burn it!) In fact, my neighbor, Juana, wants to know about this mysterious ingredient called flour, so we will make fry-bread (or doughnuts) on her wood stove next week.
English classes have been a lot of fun. My favorite group is the class of young boys. I finaly figured out that they do much better OUTSIDE, so we have been learning TREE, GRASS, SKY, DIRT, ROCK, LET’S RUN and STOP! The girls are still so timid… I am just trying to be patient. They much prefer my new routine of reading at a village house twice a week… everyone loves Clifford and Peter Rabbit!

This quote keeps me going when things get frustrating:
“Rats and Rodents live by competition, under the laws of supply and demand. It is the privilege of Human Beings to live under the laws of justice and mercy.”
Wendell Berry

No matter what I do...

The internet has been out all week, please forgive my delayed update! I am alright! I returned from the first Zacapa “grocery trip” to find a severed electrical line. The night that we managed to fix it however, a windstorm came through, and the satellite was thrown off it’s course… ohhh....

The inability to stay connected with home has proven to be one of my most frustrating obstacles. Ha! This fact, I’m embarrassed to admit, especially considering all of the other quandaries I’ve faced since arriving! Still, the support I feel from home is SO ENCOURAGING. Your emails and comments are like a weekly dose of energy. Thank you to everyone for offering advice, recipes, service projects, prayer and smiles. I love keeping you all updated and involved in this mission.

Without this communication, however, general mission life has proven to be a daily encouragement. Like the villagers around me, my routine slows down to the simple pulse of work, food, sickness, children. I am humbled daily by the big picture. Up here in the mountains, we have little control… it’s pretty obvious God’s holding the reigns.

Although my Spanish is far from perfect, I decided to speak at church last Sunday.

My testimony was about my current love for HARD WORK. The men at church smiled when I mentioned my work, for it's true! Every time the villagers visit my apartment, I am outside hoeing in the garden, or moving cement blocks from one pile to another. Everyone laughs to see a woman buckled under the weight of a heavy wheelbarrow!

In my short (and slightly nervous) church message, I went on to speak of the cucumber seeds I recently planted, and the close care that I give them daily:
Every morning I move the seedling flat into the sun, water gently, and scrutinize the leaves for insects. How nerdy I am, but I’ll admit that if I had a ruler, I would probably measure the leaves!

“How ridiculous,” you all must be thinking, “Who has time for such meticulousness?” Yep. The women at church laughed as well.

I then pointed out that, despite all of my hard work... my care for these seedlings is nothing in comparison to the simple breath of God. While I carried the heavy seed box into the yard the other day, my roommate Melanie pointed out a large tomato plant growing out of the cement in from of our apartment. YES. THERE IS A TOMATO PLANT GROWING OUT OF THE CEMENT. It has 4 little green tomatoes… I don’t know who planted it, or how it got there or how the little fruit has done so well in the cement. But then Freddy, my right-hand-man wearing my old Camp Illahee t-shirt, said, “Look Sarita… it’s a gift from God.”

That’s how easy it is.

With that, please pray for this guy... Mariano. He has been sick ever since I arrived, and I just don't know what to do for him. He won't go to the hospital (which is a common thing around here) and he probably weighs 70 pounds. No fever, nothing noticable... it just seems that he doesn't care about living. I can only give him rice.


But I don't want to end on such a sad note. This is a picture of Santos, who came to my apartment recently to show me his toy: A beetle tied on a string. A little gross, yes... but what fun!

 

"Little House" Meets "Swiss Family Robinson"

Like any other father, my dad would prefer that I stay closer to home. Although he is always supportive, I know that he is harboring a secret hope that my first two weeks in Guatemala will be a reality check. He wants me to succeed, but he wouldn’t mind if I called from the Louisville airport tomorrow, asking for a ride!

But Dad, and anyone else who is wondering, I am going to stay! I do miss home, and ice cream, and electricity, but I love it here!

My routine is set. Everything I do seems so purposeful—whether I’m making a poster-board chart to organize the widows feeding program or hiking up the mountain to bring baby formula to a downtrodden family, or sitting on my front porch chatting with the always present village children…

This week has been a busy introduction to Guatemalan living and mission work: “Little House on the Prairie” meets “Swiss Family Robinson!” I’ve been learning how to cook without the grocery store nearby—we make lemonade by taking lemons from the tree outside! Gas is too precious to keep our refrigerator cold—but powdered milk can taste great when we froth it on the stove! Does anyone have an easy recipe for bread-making? I am excited to give it a try, because tortillas can get old quickly!

This picture is my and Melanie’s apartment—with my hand-washed clothes clipped across the line. On average, it rains about 2 hours a day, so it’s nice to have a sheltered place to let them dry.

There are many other gaps to fill around the mission, and I’ve been running full-steam to organize all of the programs we have in action. I think it’s important to stretch all of the resources that are already present in Pinalito to their full capacity, whether it’s taping names on the donated toothbrushes so that the children can brush their teeth after lunch, or decorating a classroom with cardboard from old cereal boxes!

Here is a picture of my neighbors, David and his son Tabo, working in the greenhouse. We were transplanting orange tree seedlings so that we can give several hundred trees to the families in the village in a few months. I have also gotten involved with the school again—English classes for the younger kids start tomorrow in my very own classroom
Visiting the families of Pinalito is a great way to spend the afternoon—It’s my chance to slow down a bit, work on my Spanish, and eat some boiled eggs and tortillas. Yes, I did say boiled eggs—what a treat. Melanie and I will visit houses until our shirts reek of wood smoke. I like to sit in the kitchens and talk with the women.
The older ones literally howl when I ask them about the rotten chili peppers and plants hanging from the ceiling. They always offer me a nice bench to sit on, while they fold their tiny, wrinkly bodies onto short stools beside the fire. The younger mothers (who appear to be 17, or maybe 20, and often have a baby on her hip and another hanging on her leg) love to write their names in the dirt with me. They show me how to grind and roast coffee, and help me with my Spanish. I am really excited to start some classes with them.

As I collect my itinerary for the week, I have to report on my only “low.” Even the Ingles family experienced some set-backs, am I right? The thing that I find hardest while working in Guatemala is coming to terms with what can change. I do not always know where to draw the line… how many bags of baby formula can I give away before I am unable to buy my own Kelloggs Cornflakes? How much time have I put into programs that the villagers will not sustain when I am gone? It is hard to keep pushing, when, as Dr. Paul Farmer says, “There are always more mountains beyond the mountains.” There are two things that keep my fire going:
1) My hope in education: and am grateful to have such a tangible TO-DO list: TEACH THIS VILLAGE. If one person learns how to read, how to plant a garden, how to keep a clean house, then I have succeeded.
2) God’s presence: Really, I never realized that following this path that God set for me would be so peaceful.

Welcome Back to Guatemala--3 Months Later

I’m here! I’m safe! I appreciate all of the thoughts and prayers as I get started in Guatemala. Despite some crazy travel predicaments along the way, I have felt everyone’s support so earnestly that I have yet to be discouraged…

Read on for some Guatemalan excitement:

Day 1, Tuesday: US Airways left my luggage in Charlotte, NC and I had to wait in Guatemala City an extra day.
Day 2, Wednesday: The roads were too muddy to take a truck up the mountain, and I had to wait another day.
Day 3, Thursday: I eventually caught a ride with another missionary family who live in a village halfway to my home, “Pinalito,” and I jostled in their overstuffed Suburban for two hours.
Day 4, Friday: With my backpack, water bottle,and some M&Ms to spur me on, I hiked the 2 remaining hours to Pinalito with a donkey carrying my duffel bags.

The road was treacherous, the rain has washed the once passable road into deep gullies and landslides.
(This is a picture of Melanie, my roommate, rounding a bend.)

Upon arriving, I found that my apartment has a very leaky ceiling and a rat invasion!

Day 5: SUNDAY: I went to church and, when the pastor invites me to the podium, I tell the tiny congregation that although my friends and family in the U.S. think that I am crazy, there is nowhere I would rather be than HERE, in Pinalito, Guatemala, spending a year with them. Their smiles are huge. It is all worthwhile.

With that said, here are the beautiful advantages to my wild arrival:
It was a pain to lose my luggage... but several other people on the flight also lost their bags, and so I had a team of tourists to sightsee for a day. What a great way to start out in Guatemala! We went to the Museum of Anthropology, and I read about Mayan culture, and how the indigenous people live. (Useful information, considering I live among them!)

In addition, I met a team of American missionaries that will be working very close to my village this week. They invited me to come and learn more about their program, for they have already started an orphanage, Christian school, and nursing home.

It was also great to meet the missionary family that lives nearby… It’s so nice to have someone to speak English with, and learn about Latino cooking, i.e., “It is SUPPOSED to smell like that?"
Bottom line, my arrival in Pinalito was just amazing. Although the roads are terrible, with all of that rain comes a lot of GREEN! The mountains are a sight to see. Before I even reached the village, there were children running around shouting my name, women offering tortillas as a “welcome back” present, and a general hubbub of excitement. And although the rats are pretty gross… ok REALLY gross… my roommate, Melanie, and I have decided to get a cat. And leaky ceilings? Well, let’s just say my minor discomfort really puts things in perspective… the villagers barely have roofs at all. Their doorframes are held together with stolen barbed wire… they cannot BEGIN to afford caulking and ceiling tile.