All Souls Day

If the Halloween celebration was pure-tourist, the next day I got to witness a holiday that was pure Chapín—All Souls Day. In Guatemala, the tradition is to fly kites as a way to connect the living on earth to the souls of the departed in Heaven. It’s also traditional to visit the cemeteries. The biggest and most famous celebration of the holiday in Guatemala just happened to be in Sacatepéquez, the department where we lived in during training (and where Antigua is). There are 3 towns that have the most famous celebrations and draw the big crowds, but my small training town also had a big celebration and I had promised my host family almost in the first week of training that I would go there to celebrate it with them.
In these towns, the people take the tradition of kite-flying to another level. Secret committees of young men in the town form to create paper maché kites as tall, or taller, than the houses. These enormous kites, supported by bamboo posts, can’t actually fly. The climax is when they are lifted into standing position off the ground, a process that involves a lot of ropes, poles and coordination… and many of the biggest ones crack as soon as they’re lifted, and supposedly sometimes they fall onto the crowd. This is a shame because the secret committees spend around 8 months making the most elaborate ones. The designs are incredibly intricate and beautiful and often depict a scene related to religion or traditional Mayan life.

Almost half of our training group ended up going to my small training town rather than the larger and more famous towns for the celebration which was a nice surprise (I was expecting at most only the 3 others girls that lived there during training). And it was really good to spend some time with my first host family. They surprised me with a birthday present of blue jeans that fit me perfectly (last thing I expected from a family of mostly women who wear traditional traje). I still have no idea how they managed to pick out my size, and they were very pleased to see me wear them. I also got to meet the volunteer that came after me and who had just graduated from training (so strange to not be the new kids on the block any more). We spent the morning watching the kites being raised and the smaller ones flying. Then I had lunch with my host family and visited the cemetery with them. They prayed at the grave of the son who was killed by gang members some years past (the gang mistook him for a member of a rival gang that they were hunting). Then they sat amongst the graves and ate corn on the cob and sweet potatoes. The cemetery was full of Guatemalan families doing the same thing, only some were eating pumpkin and other things. I was the only non-Guatemalan there, and I felt privileged to have a more complete experience of the holiday than the tourists who would only see the kites.

And it was interesting to see the calm even celebratory attitude of the Guatemalans as they visited their departed loved ones. I know my host family was sad in thinking about the loss of their family member—who had died so unjustly and at such a young age—but there were many smiles and jokes as well. The point seemed to be remembrance in peace, rather than remembrance in sorrow, and a true acceptance of their death. Such attitudes are not easy for anyone, but I felt like I saw more calmness and peace than I ever have in cemetery visits in the US.

All Hallows Eve

Conveniently, our 3 month in service conference Reconnect was scheduled for the week following Halloween weekend. So of course almost all the volunteers from our training group arrived on Friday to celebrate Halloween in Antigua. I had grand plans to be Dorothy from Wizard of Oz, playing up the fact that I live in the department of TOTOnicapan, and we’re certainly not in Kansas anymore. BUT, due to lack of funds/time and the scarcity of blue gingham dresses in Guatemala, it just didn’t come to together. So I had probably the most boring and obvious costume of my life—a witch (especially because I am a person who prides herself on the resourcefulness and creativity of her Halloween costumes). My parents had mailed me a simple, renaissance-style black dress that I had bought in Boston and I had just bought rather unattractive and orthopedic-like black shoes to wear to my students’ graduation that could be sort of witchy-ish. And because the city of Antigua is centered on the needs and desires of travelers (NOT Guatemalans, who generally don’t celebrate Halloween, as the general belief is that its devil-worship) I was able to find a witch’s hat… and fishnet stockings, just to make it slightly less boring.

But I guess if you’re ever going to go classic Halloween, it should be in Guatemala, where the very act of celebrating Halloween is rebellious and unorthodox. In the afternoon in one of the camionetas I saw a flier that had a picture of a witch flying on a broomstick with a circle and cross through it (like the non-smoking pictures), beside a picture of saintly Jesus. The print said, “Say yes to Dios, Say NO to Halloween.” I would have liked to keep it as a souvenir but I don’t think the driver would have appreciated that.

It was a fun night. Some of the costumes were much more impressive than mine, such as my friend Aliyya who wore nothing more than a costal (a plastic woven shopping bag) and my friend Amanda who was a very charming flapper girl. The biggest hit was probably Kelsey, who went as an “ayudante”, the men who collect the fares on the buses. She did an impressive impersonation of the ayudantes who frequently lift their shirts to rub their bellies and obnoxiously shout out the names of the buses destinations (“Chimal!Chimal!”) while rapidly waving their hand. Mostly it was good to “reconnect” with all the people from my training group, many of whom I hadn’t seen in 2 months. And obvious though my costume was, there was scarcely another witch in sight and I did get several compliments (even, “the cutest witch I’ve ever seen”).

Feliz cumpleanos to me

So this birthday was a memorable one, that's for sure, if only for how uneventful and, I'll admit it, downright depressing it was.

I had been bothered for a few days by a cough and head and body aches, but I woke up on Saturday, my birthday, feeling worse than ever. It was a gray day and already drizzling outside, which is a bad sign. Rain in the afternoon in Guatemala during the rainy season is an almost certainty, so when it rains in the morning, it means you're in for a full day of rain.

In an attempt to celebrate, I fixed myself some yummy French toast. Then I was determined to do laundry, despite the rain, and after breakfast, got started scrubbing in the outdoor (but thankfully covered) pila. None of the family members I saw wished me a happy birthday, but I wasn't too concerned. I figured we might have a little celebration at dinner, and perhaps it isn't the tradition here to wish a person a happy birthday various times throughout the day as it is in the States. I felt confident that they knew it was my birthday because I had mentioned it a couple of times to the sister as we did the dishes earlier in the week, and I had seen her tell the older mother. The sister had even told me, “We'll get you your birthday cake to celebrate.”

After a while of washing, I was feeling quite crummy and exhausted and dispirited by the rain, so I contented myself with washing only undergarments and socks and left the rest for another (perhaps sunnier) day. I passed the afternoon coughing in bed, sleeping and reading, and the rain continued. As the day wore on, I became less confident that the family was aware it was my birthday, as no one said anything.

My fears were confirmed when I was called down to dinner and there was no cake in sight. To make matters worse, for dinner I was served my absolute least favorite dish, in fact the only thing they make that I truly dislike. I don't know what the Spanish/K'iche' name is, but privately I call it “Pig Skin and Fat Chunk Soup”, which is basically what it is. A thick, greasy tomato-based soup filled with bits of tough, chewy pig skin and chunks of fat or tendons. Everyone else seems to really enjoy it, but it's a hard one for me (especially considering I've been mostly vegetarian for the past couple of years). The one perk was I also got a baked sweet potato. After finally getting down the soup, I relished the sweet potato and pretended it was my birthday cake. I also didn't have to wash the dishes, but I think this was due to the fact that they could tell I was sick and I finished eating later than the others.

I really can't feel too sorry for myself because, considering the number of mis-communications I've dealt with here in Guatemala, I shouldn't have trusted that mentioning it once to someone several days beforehand was good enough. It's also possible that this family doesn't celebrate adult birthdays because of their religion (I've heard some Evangelicals don't). And although I saw them celebrate the small girl's birthday, I haven't seen an adult birthday celebration in the family yet. Still, I find it odd that no one said anything. I don't think a friendly “Happy birthday!” would have really done too much religious damage.

I did get some wonderful phone calls throughout the day, including one from my first host family that almost made up for everything. They passed around the phone so every person could enthusiastically exclaim, “¡Feliz cumpleaños Yessica!” And of course my family back home called and were wonderful and sympathetic and serenaded me over the phone with “Happy birthday to you...”. And technically, I had already celebrated my birthday a week before, out dancing and drinking with my fellow volunteers in Panajachel, which was a great time.

Still, this rainy, coughy, clothes-washey, lonely birthday is not going to make my top 10 list.

surviving... THE FIRST THREE MONTHS

So now I am in Reconnect, the conference that marks the end of THE FIRST THREE MONTHS in site. THE FIRST THREE MONTHS is in all caps because every time that you hear anything about it from other more veteran volunteers or staff members, they will let you know that it is the "hardest part" of Peace Corps. Many times in training I would think ahead to the dreaded FIRST THREE MONTHS that loomed ahead of me and wished I could press the fast-forward button to just get to the fourth month when things start to get good.

Now that I have reached the ended of that supposedly dark and very much dreaded time, it's hard to know if truly it will be and has been "the hard part" for me. I can definitely say that I had my tough moments... many encounters with chuchos, many less-than-friendly stares, many uncomfortable dinners with the host family as they chatter away in K'iche' and more than anything, many moments of feeling very very alone... the most alone I've been in my life. Also being surprisingly busy and stressed as I've tried to juggle too many things (an experience that is not typical of Peace Corps).

But on the flip side, I have had so many moments of feeling welcomed into the community-- such as when I walk past the house where 6 little girls live (they look almost identical, just different sizes) and they shriek with excitement and smother me in hugs, or when I get onto the bus and some other young women from town joke with me, or when I play a game of basketball with some of my students in the town center. Now when I am on the bus heading in on the dirt road into the valley to my town, I really feel the relief and comfort of coming home.

I think I've reached a new point. I no longer feel such a sharp pang when I think about Montana or look at photos of home. I no longer have a tiny panick attack when I hear the words TWO YEARS (which is in all caps because I feel like that's the number one hang up that prevents people from doing the Peace Corps and also the biggest stumbling block I've had). I feel so comfortable getting around this beautiful country. I'm starting to feel like a member of my community (whenever I leave the house or take the bus, someone stops to chat with me). And lovely Xela is always waiting for me when I need an escape and some perspective from the Peace Corps Community-- my fellow volunteers. All-in-all, it really feels like my life here-- no longer this strange and overwhelming experience that I'm struggling to be comfortable with. It's just my life. And I feel good about it being my life for the next 21 months.

So if this is the point I was so desperate to reach, it feels good to have arrived.