From Camp to Club to Garden

(Please note- those of you who are on facebook, the post below is verbatim for the Note I already posted, to spare you from reading it twice!)

As some of you may recall, last winter during the three month school vacations, I decided to put on a sports, art and community service camp for some of the girl students in my community. I had noticed that in my classes, the girls were much quieter and more self-consciouss than the boys, and whenever I saw kids playing sports around town, they were usually only boys. I hoped that in putting on this camp, I could help to build the girls' self-confidence and solidarity between them. I also hoped that in accomplishing a service project in the community, the girls would see their own leadership potential, and other community members would recognize it as well. I shared my idea with friends and family members in the US, and they responded by promptly sending their generous donations to make it all possible.

The camp was very exhausting, but a great success. I was impressed by the turn-out (some days, as many as 20 girls), especially because it was harvest time and many of the girls were needed to help in the fields. We had so much fun, and the girls decided to extend the two week camp to three. As part of the camp, we did a community diagnostic and identified a service project. The girls were immediately captivated by the idea of a community garden. They were passionate about creating a green space of beauty in the community. I knew that the garden would not be something we could accomplish in the time-frame of the camp, but the girls agreed to form a club to continue the project.

After the camp, the most dedicated girls continued to meet with me about once a month (the most frequently we were able to) to continue to plan the garden. It was a very long process, whose steps included: meeting with the local authorities to determine if planting a garden in a public space was feasible, meeting with the principal when we decided on the school as our location, designing a garden that we could afford, creating a budget, creating a plan for the ongoing maintenance of the garden, making a field trip to visit a greenhouse in the nearest city (almost 2 hours away) to see the plants available, formally presenting our idea and plans to the teachers to gain their support, and securing transportation to bring the plants from the greenhouse. (We also spent a good deal of time chatting and just goofing off.)

We were held up by many factors, including finding a location for the garden, the teachers' contention that there wasn't enough space in the school courtyard, the girls frequently forgetting when we had meetings planned, my inability to always meet because of Peace Corps functions and other activities, and the girls' shy hesitation to ask a community member to provide transportation for us.

But at last, almost 10 months later, we planted our garden. To see more photos of the planting and learn more about it, check out this link to my facebook album titled "The story of a garden": I have never seen such incredible hard workers as these girls. They got up at 5:30 am on Sunday to dig up soil and haul it, load after load, to the school. Then they met again in the afternoon and worked until long after dark in the pouring rain, breaking the earth, shoveling soil, laying grass, and planting the flowers, then got up at 5:30 am again the next day to finish the job. I could see how much this garden meant to these girls, particularly the club's president who was not able to continue her education after middle school for financial reason. For her, I believe this project of the garden has brought a new purpose into her life. It was a joy to see their satisfaction and happiness to have completed it.





















Of course, the story of the garden and club is not finished yet. School vacations are about to begin once more, and we will all be on a rotational schedule to water and tend the garden each day for the next three months. When school starts again, we will have to implement our plan to maintain the garden with the help of the student council. I hope that we can make presentations in all of the classrooms about the garden and how it came about, to discourage students from littering in the garden (a problem I have already seen) and from cutting/damaging the flowers.
As far as the girls, they have already told me that they hope to keep meeting, so that we can do other activities on a smaller scale, such as cooking classes, sports and art projects, as well as just hanging out. (Hopefully I can work in some health topics and information about obtaining scholarships as well.) My work with them as been one of the most rewarding experiences of my Peace Corps service thusfar. I deeply admire their spirit, their strength, their kindness and their sense of humor, and I have learned a lot from them.

I want to thank all of you who believed in me and made this possible with your contributions. It is a testament to your genoristy that we were able to hold a three week camp as well as plant a garden with the funds you gave. It has meant a lot to me... and so much to these outstanding Guatemalan girls. Wish you could meet them to see it for yourselves, but please take my word for it.

El Último Quince * The Last Fifteenth

Normally, the days here seem to grind slowly by, but the monthly calendar pages seem to fly off the walls. There are moments, however, when I am deeply struck by the passage of time here, certain landmarks when it becomes more apparent how long I have been here and how my place in the community has changed.

Approaching the “Quince de Septiembre” (15th of September), Guatemala´s Independence Day as well as my town´s biggest celebration, was one such landmark. A year ago, I was a struggling new teacher, grappling with my Spanish, still a bit insecure in the community, still a specktacle everywhere I went, still trying to figure out if this whole Peace Corps thing was a good idea. This time around, I am an accomplished and respected teacher that is wrapping up a complete school year working with the 400 students of the town's middle school. Almost everyone in this large community knows my name, and everywhere I go people stop to chat with me. People maybe make a bit more of a fuss over me than other community members, but generally I am seen as just that: another community member. I have my accepted place here, and I am content.

The Quince celebrations started to manifest themselves at the beginning of September with the appearance of more street vendors, “arcades” set up in temporary wooden structures on the street (one, conveniently, directly below my window which would blast music daily from 10 a.m.-10 p.m.), and the constant background of band practice as they all prepared for the big parade and various band competitions. And of course, frequent cancellations of classes due to practices for the parade. This year I was put in charge of “batonistas”, the baton twirlers, though they really just hold the baton. The fact that I know nothing about baton twirling was made irrelevant by the fact that neither did any of the girls.


The Veladas

But the real activities began for me September 7, with the “velada” for the town central primary school. “Veladas” are the big activity in my Indigenous village (though I´m not sure how common they are nation-wide). These are a cultural event meets beauty pageant meets talent show meets school dance. They are put on by all the local schools in the town´s event center.

This year my little seven-year-old host sister had been selected as the “Queen of Sports” for her school, basically a beauty queen, so she would be one of the stars of the show (along with the “Queen of Peace”). Part of this meant that half the community would be turning up at our house during the day of the event for a free lunch provided by the family. Starting the day before, many female relatives and friends of my host family turned up to help out with the food preparation, so the whole downstairs was transformed into a chicken-chopping, tamalito-making, bean-soaking factory. I tried to help but felt like I was mostly getting in the way. Still, I did enjoy the women's company and playful teasing.

The evening of the event, the little girl underwent about two hours of hair styling and then another hour of putting-on and readjusting of the special “traje” they had bought (and spent thousands of quetzales on), and anxious waiting with the other “queen” and “knights” and “ladies-in-waiting” that would participate. During the event, (after the flag-bearers have entered and the national anthem has been sung and many greetings and welcomings given by important people), the out-going Queen of Sports enters, and does a slow step down a long platform toward the stage, accompanied by marimba music, with the audience crowded on either side, as the announcer shares facts such as her name, age, grade, etc. Then the many “ladies-in-waiting” (of varying sizes), slowly enter one-by-one, sometimes accompanied by one of the knights, as the announcer shares her information. Once the whole “Royal Court” (they seriously call it that) is seated on the stage, at last the new Queen of Sports enters, accompanied by her knight, and does the dance-step down the aisle to the marimba. Once the new Queen of Sports is seated on the stage, last year´s Qeen of Peace enters, then the next “Royal Court”, then finally the new Queen of Peace. (As I said, there are two queens, each with an out-going queen and a royal court.) All this entering takes a long time, as you can imagine.


The queen and her royal court.


Entering with her knight.

Then the out-going Queen of Sports gets up an makes a long gracious speech, almost unfailingly about the dangers of drugs and delinquency and the importance of education. Then she gives her crown and sash to the new Queen of Sports, receives a diploma (Guatemalans are absolutely crazy about diplomas), and makes her slow exit down the platform. Then the new Queen of Sports approaches and gives her speech (usually about the same afore-mentioned themes). Then her knight comes forward and recites a poem about her astonishing beauty and grace and gives her a flower. Then she says her gracious thanks and gives him a diploma and they sit back down. Then we see all this again for the Queens of Peace (the out-going and the in-coming). Then, we see the long, slow return (one-by-one) of the ladies-in-waiting and knights and queens.



The whole queen business takes a couple of hours and is the “meat” of the velada. Every school in the community had a velada in the week leading up to the 15th, so there was one almost nightly (though I skipped most of them). None of them vary in their content or process: they each had two queens, two exiting queens, two royal courts, and follow basically the same script. (The biggest variance is in the size of the queens, depending on if it´s for the primary school, middle school, or the general community velada.) And still, the community turns up in flocks to see it all. I must be becoming quite Guatemalan myself because I really wasn't that bored in the two I attended.

Besides all the queen stuff, there are intermittent talent-show acts, which usually include skits or plays, traditional folklore dances, and grinding dance routines in very skimpy outfits to popular reggaetón songs (reggaetón is the latino hip-hop and usually the songs are very explicitly sexual in nature-- very interesting to see these dance routines in a rural Indigenous town where the women usually don´t show more skin than a bit of bare arm and bare ankle). Then when all the formal performances and queen stuff is over, the lights go dark and space is cleared for a social dance.


La Torcha

On the day of my Institute's velada, I participated in another school tradition. About 90 students went on a field trip to a hot springs park, and I went as one of the chaperones. The main purpose of the trip was the bring “la torcha” to town. This is a tradition where groups of students run with lit torches from a distant point to the center of town, arriving in the evening to a cheering crowd, as a kick-off for the festitivites.


"Swimming" at the hot springs. (We actually just waded. None of the kids can swim.)

But during the day, we just enjoyed ourselves at the park. It was a funny place that probably wouldn´t make for an impressive field trip in the U.S., but we had a good time. There were basketball courts and a sheltered soccer court (of course), and hot-spring fed pools, and bathing rooms... pretty much all favorite Guatemalan pasttimes. I spent time in the pools splashing around and playing ball with the students and trying to teach them how to swim. I also entered in one of the bathing rooms with some female students. That probably sounds really inappropriate, but bathing together is a common Indigenous Guatemalan practice with people you are close to (and these were mostly girls from my girls´ group and neighbors), and we stayed pretty much fully clothed. After that, because I had brought my camera, many students wanted to have photo shoots (getting their picture taken is a rare and special occassion). Then we piled into the bus and headed home.


Posing in a photo shoot with some of the boys.

About an hour's drive from town, we began the torch run. We did it in groups of about 10 students, attempting to run a couple miles. When a group got tired, they got back on the bus and another group got out to take over. Of course, the timing was ill-planned, so we all ended up getting into the bus and driving a good chunk of the distance in order to make it to the town center on time. Still, as we approached the end, everyone got out and ran together for a couple miles, chanting school slogans, and cheered on by townspeople lining the streets. Once we reached the town square, we threw all the torches into a big bonfire, did a lot more chanting and shouting, and set off fireworks. Then we all rushed home to quickly get ready for the Institute's velada, which would begin in a half hour.


The torch run, as seen from the bus.

My institute´s velada was all the content described above, but I enjoyed it a lot more, mostly because I know all the students that were participating and I got to watch it with the rest of the students and enjoy their company. I also magically escaped having to make a speech before the entire community, as I did the previous year. (Maybe not so magical... I avoided sitting on the stage with the other important people, and by the time it occurred to the principal that I should make a speech, he probably couldn´t find me.) So I actually got to enjoy myself. The social dance afterwards was also fun. My policy had been no-dancing-with-students, but after turning down about 5 of them, I finally caved in and danced with one. All the other teachers do here and no one seems to take it too seriously. It´s also just bopping back and forth to music, hands barely touching, with a good foot of distance between you, so probably not a big deal. I also danced with the handsome young man that works in my host family's hardware store. All in all, it was one of the best days of my service, mostly because I simply enjoy my students' company so much and it was good to spend time with them apart from the teacher role.


La Noche del Catorce

As much as I was enjoying the festitivities in my town, I was also itching to partake in the festivities elsewhere, in Xela. As in my town, the Independence Day festivities coincide with the nearby city of Xela's main town festival. The celebrations in Xela are nationally famous as the best Independence Day celebrations. The night of the 14th of September is the culmination of all of this. The streets flood with people for miles, famous bands play for free throughout the city, and the bars and discotecas stay open all night. I went in during the day on the 14th to do errands, but I couldn´t help feeling a little sad that I wouldn't be able to stay the night (especially because a big group of other volunteers would be there to celebrate) because I had to meet at 7 the next morning for my town's parade. Finally, out of last-minute desperation, I talked to a taxi driver about taking me to my town early the next morning, and he stated a reasonable price. So I ended up staying.


With friends in our hole-in-the-wall bar, pre-partying before going to the free concerts.

And it was a good time. We started out in the Central Park, which was flooded with people and had some small bands and parades going on. We moved on to our favorite hole-in-the-wall bar, and from there to where the more famous bands were playing for free. The music was great, the venue packed body-to-body with Guatemalans. When the concert finished, we headed to the discoteca to dance. Unfortunatley, I started to get tired because I was recovering from being sick, so I did head back to the hotel at around 3 a.m. to snatch a little sleep before my 5 a.m. taxi.


El Quince

I expected to be completely exhausted, but that was only true for the first hour while I was waiting for everyone else to show up for the parade. (Oh the irony of taking a 5.am. taxi after being out all night only to find that you're an hour early. After a year and a half in Guatemala, I should know nothing starts on time!) But once the students arrived and were waiting excitedly for the parade to start, my exhaustion left me and stayed away for the rest of the day. To the parade I wore the closest thing I have ever worn to full traje in my site-- a traditional blouse and a wrap skirt made from the traditional skirt material. I got many compliments and many more stares than usual (and when I changed back into American clothes for the afternoon, people kept saying how much prettier I looked in traje). The parade was fun, and I tried to keep my batonistas' energy up throughout.


Early in the morning with the batonistas, before the start of the parade, wearing a modified traditional "traje".


The trumpeters during the parade.


The dancers.

I spent the rest of the day wandering around with students and friends, eating street food, socializing, listening to the band in the square, playing foosball in the arcade, and riding the tiny ferris wheel. I also went to big soccer game, which was very exciting and ended in a tie-breaker. In the evening, I went to the town dance. A band had been hired to play popular durango hits (kind of like the Mexican version of country-western), and for the first hour or so the whole community was crammed around the rope that separated the dance floor, watching a couple drunks dance to the music and waiting for others to start dancing. The people in my town are very shy about showing any kind of romantic affection publicly. Eventually, some of the braver couples ventured out and the dance floor slowly filled up (but never got nearly as crowded as the audience outside of it). I got asked to dance several times by men of varying ages with varying degrees of sobriety, but I decided to just watch with the other shy people (especially because the local news camera was there and did several close-ups of my face as it was, and I still hear about the boy I danced with last year). I went home relatively early, satisfied from another year's feria in my town, but strangely sad as well to think that it is my last.


The Feria at night.


La Feria de Xela

It is my host family's tradition to go to Xela the day following the 15, which is considered a “day of rest” from school and work to recover from the festitivities. We went to the fairgrounds where the feria was still going on. I had not visited the fairgrounds yet and was excited to see the heart of the feria. Impressive carnival rides had been set up, including an extremely large ferris wheel and the terror-inducing flip-and-spin-you-all-around kinds of rides I usually avoid.

I like my host family and enjoy their company, but I did start to get concerned that the entire day would consist of watching their little girl (the afore-mentioned Queen) go on all the hokey little-kid rides, after I'd already watched a few rounds. Fortunately, my saviour arrived in the form of their 12-year-old nephew, who was my bumper-car-partner on a previous family outing. Forunatley, he seemed to be thinking what I was thinking, and we headed off to the ferris wheel. The ferris wheel was so fun and the views of the Xela and the surrounding mountain-ringed valley were astonishing.


Jonny, my fearless carnival rides partner in crime.

From there, we went on increasingly thrilling, fear-inducing rides. We took a break to eat a large traditional meal with the family (though I may have been happier filling up on fair junk food like churros and hot dogs and candy apples), then hit more rides. At one point, I noticed Jonny (prounounced “Yonny”) had fallen particularly quiet. I asked him if he was okay and he said yes. After the ride, I asked him if he liked the ride (worried he'd been scared). He told me that it didn't scare him enough. After that, I agreed to try to the truly scary rides with him, the ones that swing you backwards high into the air and leave you suspended there staring at the far-away ground, certain that you will fall. I've never been braver, and I owe it to Jonny.


With my host family.

We ended the day sitting in a sunny little park, and doing a photo shoot (of course, now that I am everyone's professional photographer). As soon as I got home, I collapsed in bed, completely exhausted and content from all the celebrations, and ready for life to get back to normal.