What a deck of cards, headlamp, iPod, and two eager girls can create...

My two oldest host sisters and I have developed a fun routine of every night after dinner going to my room and having girl time.

Before explaining the joys of girl time, I must state the rules.  They are:

1) “NO ZAPATOS EN MI CAMA!”,

2) “NO PERROS EN MI CAMA!”,

3) “NO PERROS MOHADO EN MI CAMA”, and

4) “GRITANDO NO ES NECESARIA!”  even when the power goes out (as happens rather frequently during our times together)

After establishing and reminding them of the rules (primarily rule 1… the others are situational (yet all very applicable when the power goes out or the dog escapes from her rooftop abode)), we can begin our time together.  

The time commences by playing cards.  We have a repertoire of about 10 games, but our favorites are “Mentiste!” (BS), “Rapido loco” (Speed for 3 people), “Sandwiches” (Egyptian Ratscrew without card value), “Marcadores” (Spoons… I only had markers on hand when we were learning that one…), and “Via Pescar” (Go Fish).  We play cards for about 45 minutes, mixing up the games and the handicap that the younger one receives.  It is a very heated time for them that reminds me of how much I miss the times when simplicity and repetition were easy to enjoy. 

Then, after the cards, our next step of the girl time process begins – dancing.  We first have to remind ourselves the rules again and add another three…

“NO SALTA EN MI CAMA!”

“NO BAILA EN MI CAMA!”

“APAGA OR ENCENDE LAS LUZ… HACE UNA DECISION!”

 Then, the iPod comes out and the headlamp turns on (sometimes, depending on the decision regarding the lights), and dancing begins.  It’s like magic – the headlamp turns into a spotlight and suddenly the girls are on stage, fulfilling their dreams of becoming a rockstar.  While I have the iPod in my hand positioning the earbuds in the optimal location for total sound, they take turns introducing each other with the ballpoint pen microphone.  Then, the one who was introduced comes out and sings along with Hannah (which goes something like “Yo ma man may wa….” because they don’t actually know the English words (don’t worry, thanks to Google, we have already translated it to Spanish so at least they know what it means)) while rocking out and head banging when it’s not the parts of the song that already have the choreographed dances we made up last week.  The presenter suddenly becomes the audience, sitting on the bed and screaming (quietly with my reinforcement) and grabbing “Hannah’s” hands like an overly eager 10 year old member of the audience.  When the headlamp is on, the presenter also uses it as a strobe, making “Hannah” look really cool.

This routine occurs every night, yet every night I continue to be amazed by the beauty found in the simplicity.  Kids yearn for boundaries and routine, and for these girls, this boundary and routine is becoming something they yearn for and love every night.  It’s also my favorite part of the day (I really enjoy yelling, “NO ZAPATOS EN MI CAMA!” because they find it hilarious… ) and one of my favorite parts of Guatemala. 

 

Maybe we should all become nightly rockstars… I’ll provide the headlamp and music.

So incredibly thankful!

 It has been one of those weeks. You know those weeks when stuff just is out of funk?  As of Wednesday, I had sat through 8 days of teacher training in my second (and very new) language.  One of these days included reading official government documents about educational requirements using words that I had never heard or seen in my life… probably not even in English.  Between the language barrier and the fact that if I were to sign up for a talent show, my talent would NEVER EVER be the talent of attentive listening in a group meeting (my brain was built for one on one and group conversations where I am held accountable for listening and am actually engaged), I was definitely giving off the “dumb gringa” aura.  This was really frustrating me because it was my first real time to get to know the fellow teachers whom I will be barging into their classrooms to teach English and music every week (yep, I’m now a music teacher too!) and I was pretty convinced that they all thought I was just an idiot. 

On top of the dumb gringa isolation, there was the realization that my heart was finding itself yearning for home (don’t ask me where my home is though… for me, home is people (and kayaks), places are harder to identify). This past week, I have had the opportunity to talk to some really close friends whom I love about life back at home.  As we talked about the pains and the joys, I wanted nothing more than to be there with them and the people around us through the pains and to celebrate the joys, as well as to run the 5k Turkey Trots either the one in Walla Walla with my friends there, or the one at my parents’ house with the slew of fun people and inevitably large population of yellow labs and golden retrievers.  Furthermore, with snow covering the state of Washington and me living here at 8500’ and looking at the realization that this will be my first season of not skiing since I was 3, I missed home even more.   Then, on top of everything, I was sick.  And although I was (and am) still in the celebratory mode of rejoicing about my victory over the fleas (my final battle move was to leave my down vest (the accused nesting site) in the street for a small, cold child who already has fleas to have to keep him/her warm), being sick is never fun.

However, I’m not one who is able to easily find words to express my thoughts and emotions (this may explain why this blog is later than my 1-2 blog/week minimum goal that I set for myself), so I wasn’t really able to articulate what was going on in my head.  But then, one night, it all clicked.  My sisters were dancing to Hannah Montana from my ipod (don’t judge… I got her songs off itunes for a Sunday School lesson), and the song, “You’ll Always Find Your Way Back Home” (yes, I did just share a youtube link with you...) suddenly gave me those words I cannot articulate.  She sings, “your best friend’s your little hometown, waiting up wherever you go now.  You know that you can always turn around.  Cause this world’s big and it’s crazy and this girl is thinking that maybe this life is what some people dream about.  Because when I’m feeling down and when I’m alone, I’ve always got a place to go…. You can change your hair, you can change your clothes.  You can change your mind, that’s just the way it goes.  You can say goodbye and you can say hello, but you’ll always find your way back home.  You can change your style and you can change your jeans you can learn to fly and you can chase your dreams.  You can laugh and cry but everybody knows you’ll always find your way back home.”  For some reason, that was really reassuring.  

Then, later that night, I read Henri Nouwen’s, Gracias:  A Latin American Journal.  For the past four years, Nouwen’s writing has consistently given me words that I have had but couldn’t articulate.  This was the same case. He said,

“As the days and weeks pass by and I come to know the students of the language school better, I realize more and more how insecure, fearful, and often lonely many of us are.  Not only do we continue to hope for mail from “home,” but we also continue to be submerged by the powers around us.  At home we at least had our own niche in life, our own little place where we would feel useful and admired.  Here none of that is present.  Here we are in a world that did not invite us, in which we can hardly express ourselves and which constantly reminds us of our powerlessness.  And still, we know that we are sent here, that God wants us here…” 

As I am coming from a world in which I was so occupied with being a student, serving at the church, and working with three different swim teams a year to a world where I am a teacher who arrived during summer vacation that I struggle to speak their language, let alone understand jokes and puns, I am finding that let down, my lack of niche.  Life isn’t unfulfilling, not in the slightest, it’s just that it’s fulfilling in different ways and I have to learn to allow myself to be fulfilled by those ways.  To allow the offer of a lady on the bus to hold my backpack as I’m hanging out the front door or the opportunity to teach the lady from whom I buy orange juice in the mornings a word of English because she is so eager to learn to fulfill me.  It’s just a matter of learning how to accept fulfillment from the small things of life... sometimes, that’s a tough lesson to learn. 

Anyways, back to the things I’m thankful for.  I’m really thankful for Hannah Montana and Henri Nouwen (I never thought those two names would be in the same sentence…) as well as many other things for giving me words for what I’m thinking.  And I’m thankful that I have been adhering to my two main Guatemala rules, “always say yes to offers” and “don’t ask too many questions about upcoming events and activities (because asking questions makes me want to know the answers really badly and chances are that I won’t understand anyways so it will just lead to frustration)”.  These rules have resulted in attending a birthday party for a 91 year old at 6am who was a stranger to both my host mom and I, but for some reason we were invited, and walking with our 87 year old abuelita (grandma) down the hill to the cemetery so she could put flowers on her husband’s grave and just admiring the beauty of her love and personal history as well as hear her whisper “ladrones” (thieves) under her breath as the police drove by.  

This rule also resulted in the best Thanksgiving I have ever had (sorry mom and dad).   In the midst of my struggles, I was informed this week that the staff at the school was going to go to Xocomil and Xetalul for the end of school year celebration.  Although I was a bit suspicious about a waterpark and themepark in a country where I consistently win the “find lots of things/actions that are illegal in the US” game and has a bunch of machismo, I eventually did say yes.  It was amazing.  For some reason that I don’t fully understand, the social security/hospital system issues cards and on certain days those cards can get the cardholder and the number of people in their family into the park for free.  So, it was a free day for us all… that’s always nice.  Then, there’s the park itself.  They are set up kind of like Silverwood and Boulder Beach in Idaho (which brought back a ton of fun memories from youth group trips there and to the water park at Silver Mtn), but they, especially Xetalul the theme park, have the feel of Disney World.  And, the best attractions EVER.  So, I found myself palling around with 12 Guatemalans, many of whom are middle aged, and Malea going on massive slides and the best roller coaster of my life.  It was absolutely amazing.  Then, to make matters even cooler, the Agrellus family was also at the park!  So, I was able to have lunch with Mark, Kim, and the kids and just catch up.  It’s so nice to have them as a connection from home.    

I’m incredibly grateful for the beauty of people and love. The most beautiful thing that happened at the park was as we were leaving and walked past the Marimbas.  Jorge, our school director who is one of the most dedicated men I have ever met, began dancing… you know, the silly dancing where you’re doing a strange version of the personal polka.  Then, he said something I didn’t understand and his youngest daughter who is 15 came running across the plaza with a giant smile.  She grabbed her daddy and they began dancing to the music of the Marimbas.  I have never seen either of them smile as big as they were smiling at that moment.  It was incredible.  I am thankful that I am able to partake in that beauty and, more importantly, that I’m learning to have the eyes and mindset to slowdown enough to enjoy the beauty. 

What beautiful world we live in.

Companions make this world go round

The Gallo beer team mascot at the bike race...

Although I tend to be a fairly independent person, there are some adventures that really just cry out for a partner in crime.  Like when was walking down 20th Avenida this morning (which, by the way is a rather prominent road), and two ladies with styrofoam cups were walking their 3 goats and selling fresh milk by the cup.  Or also this morning when I went to visit one of my favorite juice vendors to buy a bag of fresh squeezed orange juice (they don't have cups to go) and the guy before me ordered his with two eggs inside (evidently that's normal because she looked at me funny when I denied her offer).  Or, a few weeks ago when I got off the bus only to discover that the Tour de Guatemala bike race had a stage ending in Xela and found myself in the middle of the festivities... including two 20something men with a cart full of banana leaves walking the cart until they hit a hill and the cart suddenly began walking them pushing them, out of control, down the hill.  Or, finally when I am in my room with my two oldest host sisters learning a dance to Hannah Montana's Hoedown Throwdown and listening to them attempting to sing along in a foreign language, clap, and dance all at the same time.  I guess my coordination isn't much better... so it's great confidence building and fun :) for us all.

It seems like just when I find myself REALLY WISHING that those companions were here, I get really pleasantly surprised.  I may find a letter in the mail holding inside it a picture of "Jesuss" drawn by Alexander from College Place Pres.  Or, I may receive other letters from my Great Aunt Betty, high schoolers in Walla Walla, or a Halloween Card mysteriously signed by my dog.  Then, there's the really cool days when nieces of friends from the states who live here call and Hannah and I get to have coffee and just chat it up (and, might I add, drink coffee that isn't instant... the choices of cafe drinks in this country really hurt my heart...).  Or, like yesterday, when I'm checking my email and Kelsey Beckmeyer from CPPC walks in the coffee shop and we get to talk for almost an hour about life, her research with the Vagina Monologues throughout Latin America, and shared memories from Walla Walla.

During our hike around the Finca at the river...I really like rivers and friends... :)

Then, there are the really special times when all of us in our program get to come together for a retreat.  These happen every 4-6 weeks, and we had our first one this past week.  It was truly phenomenal.  Although I really love my host family and my school, I really appreciate the time that I get to spend with the four other YAVs and Marcia - we have amazing conversations, laugh really hard, and I've come to respect them all as beautiful people and really good friends.

Trajes on the line drying at our house in Pajac

The focus of this retreat was the history of Guatemala. This past month, we read "Silence on the Mountain" (a book that I totally recommend if you have ANY interest in Latin American history and politics) and also "Nunca Mas" (a book that is also printed in English but I can't remember the name... maybe Never Again?  Anyways, I totally recommend it in small doses or with a punching bag and box of tissues next to you because the stories of people make you really mad and sad).

Santa Aguito - an active volcano.  The books quoted
the wise people in the villages saying, "as long as the
mountain is smoking, we know that we're okay"

Now that I'm done with my recommendations... back to the subjects. The books were about the 30 year civil war that took place between the mid 1960s to 1996.  It was a part of the Red Scare and there were thoughts that the land reforms that were proposed and allowing the Mayan people to have land of their own outside of the plantation were all a part of the communist movement.  As the pride and pains of humankind spiraled, it turned into a bloody war of Military versus Guerrillas, often resulting in forgetting the tolls on human life.  Thousands of people died, and the fear is still palpable today, as is the racism. As an example, yesterday in staff training at the school we were talking about racism and the kindergarten teacher said that she went to a dance club last year and a woman in traditional traje was denied access to the club.

Juli, Tina, and I with her family at her birthday party

The women who make scarves and are widows from the war

It's really hard for me to think about racism in this way.  I ride the bus every morning with people from a town up the mountain and I am often the only woman not in traditional dress on the bus.  Tina's family (pictured with us at her birthday party to the right) is a traditional Mayan family and her mother and extended family all wear Trajes.  Three of my five host moms have worn traditional dress.  The women we visited when we were first here who are almost all widows from the war and have come together to make scarves now for a living all still wear the trajes.  The resolve these women have to wear their traditional clothes despite the persecutions they often face today and the history of their family's persecutions is very admirable, and I imagine the results may be so incredibly painful.  Yet they continue to wear them because it's important.  They believe that their culture is important and they hold to it.  They teach their children K'itche, Ma'm, or whatever their dialect is (fortunately the government is recognizing the importance of language now and is requiring it for school).  However, many still do not talk about the violence, and it's understandable because the ones who do talk have painful stories.  The director of my school who had to seek asylum in Mexico after getting a death threat (in the form of a dead body on his lawn) and losing a lot of his friends because they united as activists is an example.  As is my host dad who watched his dad get beheaded when he was seven.  His family was so scared that they left their home town and culture and don't speak Ma'm any longer and live in the coastal lands that are prominently Ladino.

Part of our hiking adventure

As I processed through this painful and troubling history and began to look at the pain I've been seeing and the fear I feel through these people, it was really good to be with friends and we could all process together; shared experiences have incredible power.

But our retreat wasn't all work.  We had a lot of fun!  We got to pick cafe, go on an incredibly gorgeous hike, laugh some more, and eat really good food.  With those powers combined, I think it's safe to say that it was an amazing weekend.

Cafe Beans... there are good and bad shades
of green.  I can't tell the difference

Beautiful views!

One of my cafe teachers

Tina became a professional!

Andrew, Tina, and Laura in our (harrowing at times) truck ride

Laura raking (A LOT OF) cafe

The Finca also has really tasty "Bananas to Go" (Individually wrapped sundried bananas) 

I'm totally mesmerized with the beauty of banana trees...

A brief advertisement for FrontLine

Dear Animal Owners -

I would like to alert all of you to the excellent benefits of FrontLine flea treatments. My experience in this third world country is teaching me a lot about fleas.  Primarily that... they are not fun. Fleas are persistent, itchy, and unattractive. They lead to crabby, sad friends and strange bumps that resemble the Chicken Pox.  At times, you also can sense the little creatures jumping on you which just enables you imagination to have all sorts of fun and games that you would rather not experience.  As a veteran flea experiencer (going on my third time around with my previous experience lasting two weeks...), and one who is friends with many other veteran flea experiencers (flea experiencer is the official title for one who has experienced fleas), I greatly desire FrontLine to come out with medications that can go on the back of the neck of humans and make all the little buggers (excuse the pun) go away.

Insert a picture of Katharine Curles as the Definitive Host :(

As I await the release of the new strong chemical toxins for humans, I will continue my battle. My first line of defense is denial - if I don't acknowledge it, it is a lot less overwhelming and doesn't become an obsession.  I think that's how a lot of life's problems are, and although some problems need acknowledgment, not all do, especially not the ones you cannot do anything about. This is another life lesson that I'm learning in Guatemala (thanks, flea friends!).  If  my first line of defense fails (aka I visibly see a flea), then I bring out the artillery.  This includes Deet for me, killer spray for everything I own, and flea bombs that I borrow from Malea.  It also includes washing EVERYTHING and drying it in the hot sun.  If I knew how to iron, I would use that as a tool as well.  In great acts of desperation, I put all my especially attractive (to fleas) clothes in a plastic bag, coated with toxins, and leave them for a week or two. This is becoming less possible as the weather gets colder because unfortunately, the most attractive to flea clothes are also the most necessary clothes to keep me warm.  I think I'd rather be itchy and warm than less itchy and freezing cold.  So, after weighing all the options, I am going to keep my hope, continue learning my lesson about surrendering control so it doesn't become an obsession, and dream of the day that there is a solution.

How could you not want to help that face?  Toby doesn't like itching... no dogs do!

In the meantime, I highly suggest that, no, in fact, I beg you all to purchase FrontLine for your animals.  It will make them happy and lead to a better life for all.   (Mom - don't forget to give some to Toby!)


Sincerely, Katharine

Dia De Los Santos

My host sister... ella esta un poca loca

Within a week of moving in with my new family, I have developed three good friends (they are all giggling in my room as I write, sitting on my bed and coloring while the two eldest are having a competition to see who can give me the most pieces of art... definitely not my goal when I gave them crayons, but it’s fun to see what they come up with!) and two equally awesome friends, the parents, who are willing to coach me in Spanish and invite me into their family.  Also within moving, I have scored myself a family vacation… to WARMTH! 

The volcanoes near San Felipe

We spent this past weekend in San Felipe, where my host dad's family lives.  As we drove there, I watched the thermometer on the car raise and I grinned… I don’t mind the cold but I really enjoy the heat.  We were going for three days/two nights to visit the family, celebrate his birthday, and celebrate Dia de Los Santos. 

Dia de Los Santos really surprised me.  It is a holiday unlike anything I can describe in US terms… it’s kind of like the meaning of Memorial Day meeting the 4^th of July, Labor Day, and Halloween all in one…  kind of.  You see, the holiday is to celebrate those who have died.  Sad, right?  Well, not really. 

Cemeteries in Guatemala are naturally more colorful and entertaining than cemeteries in the States.  Families have their own “Casitas” (small houses) where the family members each have a place.  When more people die, you simply build the casita higher so it can hold everyone (this is what happens in casas (regular houses) when people are born or have more money as well…).  At least, this is what the middle class does.  I was told that the public cemetery has an area for the people with less money as well, but we did not visit over there.  The “rich people” have a private cemetery above the public and it is slightly reminiscent of a country club for coffins equipped with a private church, marble, and pretty views of the city and cemetery.  The cemeteries are naturally pretty with all the colors, but on November 1^st, it gets even more interesting!

First of all, Dia de los Santos celebrates the people in the cemetery.  It is an obligation/honor/opportunity to visit all relatives and bring them flowers.  Before we left Xela, my family went to the cemeteries where different relatives are buried to drop off flowers.  Sunday, after church, we went to the private cemetery to put flowers at my host mom’s grave.  Then, Monday, we went to the cemetery in San Felipe to put flowers at their son’s and my host dad’s grandpa’s grave, as well as a distant relative.  All these visits were solemn in that we were respecting those who have passed on, but they weren’t depressing, sad, or even lamenting.  It’s more like they treat it as a fact of life that’s not great but not worth the tears to overtly lament.  Some people, like my family, remember with flowers.  Others, use tons of decorations, papers, flowers, and other objects to celebrate those they have lost.  It is so pretty!

Fruit cart going down the cemetery paths

Clowns in front of a casita

Besides simply giving tribute to the graves, there is almost some sort of fiesta.  There were food carts, clowns, and my host cousin who walked down with us in late morning, returned around dinner time completely drunk from all the beer that was being sold throughout at all the little food stations.  I already knew that Guatemalans knew how to have fun from simple ingredients, but this was pretty impressive.

I’m was really surprised, mostly, by how a national holiday can be honored, celebrated, and held for the dead and their families.  It is a day that has a solemn pretense but a joyful way of celebrating.  The balance is beautiful.  

 After visiting the cemetery, the family and I headed to the pool to beat the heat.  I got to teach them some swimming and I am convinced that, although they don't have much experience now, they will be pros by the end of the year.  While we were kicking and floating, it reminded me that, although I came to teach, I am learning a lot more.  This is a country of beautiful traditions, people, and stories that we all can learn from.

We learned to blow bubbles!

My host mom and oldest host sister