Archive for Guatemala

Surrounded

April 3, 2007 · Filed under Guatemala, San Juan La Laguna

Before we met up with the Solomon´s Porch group to work in San Juan La Laguna, I didn´t know how much I had missed feeling a sense of community.

Community was what the week in San Juan was all about. The first glimpse I caught of Doug (our pastor who is almost 2 feet taller than the average Guatemalan) and then everyone else from our church among the many strangers at the airport, my heart leapt inside of me. None of the people coming from the Porch were long-time or close friends of ours (except for Ruben, who Josh mentors), but it didn´t matter. For me, they represented a community to which I belonged, and it made me feel at home.

As we gathered together as a group, it didn´t take long for people to warm up to each other. By the end of the first night, Doug was assigning personality types to people based on the oh-so-famous enneagram, Ruben and Taylor were dropping water balloons on people from the rooftop, and a lot of laughs were shared after a story involving one of our group members (who shall remain nameless), a Wedge Co-op cashier, figs, and a failed seduction.

The next day, when our boats pulled up to the dock in San Juan, our community joined the larger community of San Juan. Families from the village quickly swept us up the hill, carrying our bags alongside us. They prepared a feast for us in a tiny school classroom of chicken stew, tamales, rice, tortillas, and coffee. They opened their homes to us and engaged us in conversation and their daily routines at our homestays. And that is just in the first 24 hours. Throughout the week, we are constantly reminded that we, the people of Solomon´s Porch, are out of place yet somehow exactly in the right place. We provide materials and a little sweat and muscle to build a few homes and desks, and they return the favor ten-fold with hospitality, conversation, generosity, and lessons of grace. Families from years past visit with us, and I run into several familiar faces and receive many kisses on the cheeks. Blessings and salutations are sent with us for those who were not able to return to San Juan this year. Although we do not speak a common language (except possibly Victor, who mysteriously can communicate in any language) than us, we learn from eachother, laugh together, and find common understanding.

As our time winds down, the strong bond of community becomes even more evident to me. First when we go to each home for the “house blessings.” Tears are shared between group members and homeowners of gratefulness and connectedness. Taylor gives a photo to his 2 friends, both named Andres, along with his best Spanish explanation of his plans to return as soon as possible. Many tiny children climb every possible limb of Jeff and Josh. God has brought us together and I think we all feel a sense of this, making it hard to say goodbye.

The second time I realize the strong sense of community surrounding me is our last night together as a group in Guatemala. Tomorrow the group will return to Minnesota and Josh and I will continue to Europe. By now, I feel comfortable in this group and relationships have been formed. The thought of breaking it up feels like a pit in my stomache. But one thing God is teaching me is that community does not only happen when we are all in the same room, talking face to face. Community has the ability to span time and space, which is lucky for us as we move on to a new continent, in a new time zone.

-Jessie, April 3rd, 2007

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The Sun Goes Down

March 6, 2007 · Filed under Costa Rica, Guatemala, Manuel Antonio

It is 6 A.M., Jess and I are waiting in the airport for our flight to Costa Rica, and I have just spent the last 24 hours wondering if this is the first time I will poop my pants since I was about 8.* It is our last day in Guatemala for a few weeks and my stomach has decided to turn on me. The same thing happened the last time we were on our way out of this airport nearly a year ago. We were with a group from our church, Solomon’s Porch, and I am hoping history does not repeat itself. Sort of.

A year ago we were on our way home via Houston after a week of building homes with and for some Mayan people. The flight was a mostly uneventful one, save for the brief time preceding and up until the take off. Nearly everyone on our plane was white, save for less than a hand’s count of Guatemalans. A large group of about 50 people from another church took up a large portion of the plane. They were mostly high school aged, save for a few leaders. They were probably on their way home from a spring break trip. As we boarded the plane the were getting rowdy, laughing, most likely anxious to get home.

Jess and I were seated together in front of Eric Smith, a member of our group and the regular drummer at Solomon’s Porch. In his row was a man from New Orleans, who had made a practice of spending a week every year volunteering on construction projects in Guatemala, and a Guatemalan man. As the airplane began to take off the large church group took to raising their arms up, roller coaster style. Most everyone outside this group were resting their arms at their sides, but as I lifted my head to look around** the Guatemalan man decided to join this group. It didn’t take him long to realize that he was the only one outside of this group practicing this pre-flight ritual, slowly lowering his arms to his sides. In his mind, he was probably just following what momentarily seemed to be airplane protocol. The funny thing, though, is that he had probably never ridden on a roller coaster, let alone in an airplane.

I am quasi hoping for some sort of cultural misunderstanding like this to happen on our way to Costa Rica. unfortunately it is a mostly uneventful 90 minutes trip. Most of the passengers are of latinos and everyone is speaking Spanish. When we land, in San Jose, we are greeted by the nicest airport in Central America. There are tiles everywhere, fresh cut flowers in the bathroom, and you can even flush the toliet paper down the toilet. After getting our luggage*** we take a $20 taxi ride 20 minutes to the bus station for tickets to Manuel Antonio National Park, a national park and beach town in the Central West Coast. We are immediately greeted by a taxi pimp who proceeds to ask us no less than 5 times if we want to spend $80 on a taxi to our destination, this despite having walked us to the ticket office and watching us buy our tickets (retail value: less than $10).

It is 10:54 a.m. and our bus does not leave for another two hours. Lunch is in order. A few blocks from the bus station we find a food court across the street from a hospital. Most of the doctors in line here do not seem deterred by this fact. Two sodas, a burger, a chicken sandwich, and some fries later and the bathroom is sounding like a good idea before our three hour plus bus ride. The only problem is that the men’s bathroom went ahead and decided that toilet seats and toilet paper were not necessary. I disagree, and my stomach is on my side. Jess informs me that the women’s bathroom are much nicer. She checks to see if the coast is clear, waves me in, and head down I rush into the nearest stall. I move quickly, wash my hands, and get out without incident. Onto the bus we go.

The seats are cramped but their is air-conditioning, so long as the windows are open and the bus is moving. The buses are nicer than in Guatemala, and their is actually assigned seating (as opposed to the Guatemalan school bus style three to a seat). Outside of San Jose, the roads are like the interior pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Our ride is extended by a good hour due to an accident, several construction zones, the occasional one-lane bridge, and some unmarked bus stops dropping passengers off seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

As we near the coast the roads straighten out. We pass over mountains, rivers with crocodiles in them, a plantain farm, and several towns. We arrive into Manuel Antonio 100 meters from the ocean, about a half-hour until the sun will set, sweating, and without a place to stay. A wet man in a bathing suit on a bicycle takes us to his place, Jorge’s Cabinas where we will spend the next three nights. We drop our bags, get out of our sweaty clothes and watch the sun go down on our time in Guatemala on our first night in Costa Rica.

- Josh, March 6, 2007

*I had been camping with my family, we were on a hike, and I didn’t quite make it behind the tree that was to act as an outhouse in time. Needless to say, the underwear found a new home where I had been hoping to fertilize some trees. Unfortunately, I remember this.
** In reality, Eric is the one who caught this and pointed it out. I was sitting behind them and only realized what was happening after Eric made it clear to me. It just sounds better in the context of the story like this and would not flow as well to describe it in terms of what Eric saw.
*** One thing I think would be extremely funny in airports is a photo booth, like the kind amusement parks place at the end of a roller coaster. A flash of a bulb from a camera set up when you get off the plane and then a booth where you can buy photos of yourself looking dumbfounded and quizzical while you try to figure out where your bags are or how this airport differs from the ones you are used to (it doesn’t really, just follow the signs). Maybe stick the booth after customs, maybe next to the baggage claim. Probably wouldn’t be much of a money maker though.

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Christianity in Guatemala

February 28, 2007 · Filed under Guatemala

Thus far, my experience of religion, or Christianity I should say, in Guatemala can be described through the stories of 3 Guatemalans we have met.

Amanda
Amanda was Josh’s Spanish teacher. Her brother is Juan Carlos, the owner and director of our school. Almost everyone in their family is also Catholic. Amanda has a sense of pride about the beautiful Catholic churches in the town and an appreciation for the processions that have begun to take up the streets each Sunday now through Easter.

Josh and I have gone to a few Catholic masses while in Antigua. Each church we went to was immense in size and almost always filled with people—families, babies, breastfeeding mothers, people dressed in fancy clothes, Mayan women dressed in traditional clothing, and some of the older women with shawls covering their heads. Everyone knew all the words and actions—everyone except for us—and everyone seemed to have great reverence.

Cony
Then there is my teacher, Cony, who is Amanda’s sister. As I said, almost everyone in Amanda’s family is Catholic—everyone except for Cony. She is the only “evangelico” in her family. Cony and I have had some interesting conversations. For instance, I found out from Cony that in Guatemala you are either “evangelico” or “catolico” and there is not much to speak of in between. I also found out that there is quite a chasm between the 2 groups and that, at least at Cony’s church, being “catolico” is equivalent to not being Christian at all. I tried to explain to her how I was a Christian but didn’t really consider myself catolico or evangelico. I tried to explain how I had friends who were catolico and that we shared most of the same beliefs. I tried to explain how it wasn’t taboo or sinful in my church to drink moderately or to dance. All of this was confusing and a bit overwhelming for Cony. It was like I told her we painted our faces and danced around a fire where there was a full moon. She ever talked to her pastor about Josh and I, who apparently quoted scripture to her about how we are not to “give into our flesh.”

All misunderstanding aside, Cony is a great person with a very strong faith and desire to be in relationship with God. She has witnessed miracles in her own life and has overcome great obstacles through prayer. But the underlying animosity between the 2 Christian groups was difficult for me to take in. Cony’s whole family thinks she’s crazy, and Cony believes her whole family will be going to hell unless they convert.

Betty
Thankfully, there is also Betty. Betty is a missionary who lives in Guatemala City and arranges and assists our church group’s trips when they come down every year. She offered to pick us up in Antigua and let us stay at her house the night before we flew to Costa Rica. In the car ride, I questioned Betty about Christianity in Guatemala. She confirmed my experience but also shared with us about her church. Although her church is on the “evangelico” end of the spectrum, Betty grew up Catholic and has an appreciation for it. She has some frustrations with the evangelical churches in some of the small, Mayan towns, with preachers dressed in suits and ties. She told me that she recently had invited a group of elders from her church over for dinner. She had needed wine for her recipe, so there was an almost full open bottle in the kitchen. One person came in and said, “We’ll have to drink the rest of that wine, or it will go bad.” This surprised Betty, as she considered them all to be rather conservative members of the congregation. Out of the six that were there, 3 decided to have a glass and 3 did not. But there was no judgement or arguing about it. Just a shared meal and conversation.

Betty is also one of the best examples of hospitality I have met in a long time. Not only did she pick us up from Antigua, but also bought us lunch, made us dinner, and woke up at the crack of dawn to drive us to the airport. And she did all of this with such a joyful spirit.

- Jessie , February 28, 2007

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Turtle Liberation

February 25, 2007 · Filed under Monterrico

This weekend we´ve been at the beach in Monterrico. Life is good here. Laying on the beach, dipping in the Pacific, sleeping in hammocks, eating good, cheap food, playing Scrabble in Spanish with our Italian friend, Adriana. Life feels simple and peaceful here.

Yesterday we attended a “turtle liberation” on the beach. There is a turtle hatchery here, and during the summer they release them into the sea to be set free. Guatemalan, European, and American alike gathered at sunset to wish the baby turtles well. Children pay 10Q for the opportunity to carry a tiny turtle to it´s place of departure. Then the turtle, about the size of a chestnut, faces the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean and awaits its big moment: when the tide will come up and pull it into its new home.

I am told that these little guys are very good, fast swimmers and that they will grow very large, but I can´t help but feel a little nervous for them. They sit there with no idea of what is to come, and then with one splash of a wave, they are carried off to sea. And we all cheer them on as they begin their journey.

-Jessie, Sunday, February 25th, 2007

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El Bigote

February 21, 2007 · Filed under Antigua, Guatemala

“Who is your teacher?” I was asking this question to Greg. He goes to the same language school as Jessie and I, and we all live together in the home of a family in Antigua.

“Rafael,” he replied. I did not know him.

“What does he look like?”

“He is a short Guatemalan guy.”

“Does he have a mustache?”

“No, but he drives a motorcycle.” My roomate had just described roughly half the population of Guatemalan men.

Nearly all of the men in this country are short, and a large number of them drive motorcycles. Roughly half the men in this country have mustaches, or bigotes, and if you don´t already have a one, you are probably in the process of growing one. You don´t need to be an ethnographer to figure this out. In the states, if you have a mustache you either drive a ferrari, work in an adult business, or played professional baseball in the ´80s. I have never seen so many mustaches in my life. To have a bigote here is practically a duty of national service.

I saw what I think is Guatemala´s greatest mustache in Antigua´s parque central.  It is dark black, thick, extremely well groomed, and sports a slight curve at its edges. It is fully pronounced and covers the entire length of the upper lip it rests upon. Its owner is one of several men you can find working the parque central shining shoes nearly every day of the week. He walks with a slight limp and carries a black  box and miniature stool that look reminiscient of something you would find in a rudimentary shop class where the assigment was to make a wooden mailbox. The box carries his supplies - shoe polish, brush,  cloth – and doubles as a footstool for his customers. He is one of several men who work the park regularly, clamoring to shine shoes for a nominal fee. These men tend to keep quite busy. Antigua is a dusty town, and there are quite a few pairs of shoe that could use some cleaning.

Several times a week, Jess and I will sit in the parque central reading, writing, or studying spanish. Most of the time we get distracted people watching. Parents and their children stroll past foreigners and locals resting on any of the number of green metal benches evenly spaced throughout the park. Spanish language students meet to talk in their native tongue. Children chase flowers falling from the trees that provide a canopy of shade from the afternoon sun. In the center of the square rests the fountain, where sculptures of women pour water from their breasts into the pool below. People flock to have their picture taken next to it. Nearby, photographers with Polaroid cameras linger, hoping to take visitors pictures for a small fee. To the east is the cathedral. On the weekends tourist groups gather to listen to locals tell varying versions of the city´s history. Small Mayan children absentmindedly wander throughout the park while their parents attempt to sell ice cream or woven goods nearby.  To the south is the tourism office and a goverment building where troops with large machine guns can be seen walking about. The other two sides of the square are surrounded by tiendas, cafes and several banks. In the middle and end of the months, long lines the entire length of the north side of the park form. The lines are mostly full of Mayan women waiting several hours to cash checks for as little as five dollars.  On the perimeter, 50 horsepower motorcycles rev their engines alongside horses waiting to give children rides. At night teenagers court each other on benches where the lights do not shine as brightly.     

The park is a smattering of Gringas  and Guatemalans alike (Gringas = fair skinned and fair haired people, and is generally a friendly term in Guatemala). Antigua is the hub of Guatemala´s tourism. Its cobblestone streets are home to Dutch, German, English, American, Korean, Canadian, and many other nations of people here to see the ruins, study spanish, bargain in the markets, or seek an introduction to this nation. I am told that not that many Guatemalan people actually live in Antigua, most people just work here and live nearby. For the most part this seems to be true. But every day, we all meet in the parque central. And for at least a little while we are all visitors, all tourists, all here to see something new.

 - Josh, roughly February 17, roughly Sunday

  

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Building Homes in San Juan La Laguna

February 21, 2007 · Filed under San Juan La Laguna

On Friday, March 23rd, a group of folks from our church, Solomon´s Porch, will be coming down to Guatemala to build homes.  Josh and I will be meeting up with them.  Our church sends a group of people to San Juan La Laguna, on Lake Atitlan, at least once a year. 

Last year, Josh and I went also.  Our group built four homes altogether.  The families that we build homes for are people who either must rent from someone, or live on the outskirts of the town in a makeshift “lean-to.”  Providing them with a home is providing them with stability, as many times people who rent must move often and pay more than the home is worth.  The families cannot afford to buy the materials to build the home themselves, although the family members work with us to build their home.

We are looking to raise some money to pay for the costs of supplies for the homes.  This year since we are already in Guatemala, there is no need to buy our plane ticket, just the cost of the building projects.  If you are interested in participating in this, you can either email Josh or I, or can just send a check directly to the church.  The check can be made out to Solomon´s Porch with “Guatemala–Jessie and Josh Krohn” in the memo line. 

The address for Solomon´s Porch is:  100 W 46th street, Mpls, MN 55419. 

Please pass the word to anyone you think may be interested in supporting this project!   Donations are tax-deductible.

Peace.

-Jessie and Josh, Wednesday, February 21st
 

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Family Visits (Part 2)

February 21, 2007 · Filed under Antigua

The Family of Señora Maria Luz

The 2nd family we stopped to talk with lived a bit outside of the pueblo on a quiet dirt road.  Actually, I´m not sure if we had planned on visiting this family or not, because we just happened upon the son as we were walking down the road.  All I could gather from the conversation between Lidia and the boy was that his mother, Maria Luz, was ill, and he had to run to fill her prescriptions.  Lidia assured him that “el proyecto” (Common Hope) would help cover the costs of her medicines.  After he ran off, we continued toward their home.  Lidia explained to me that in the past, Maria Luz had worked on a finca and had been sexually assaulted more than once.  As a result, she had problems with her uterus and had to have a historectomy.  She had been very scared about having the surgery but eventually went through with it.  Although the surgery went well, Maria Luz had developed a bad infection and was in a lot of pain.

When we arrived at her house, her younger son greeted us at the door and led us to his mother, lying in bed.  The boy, about 7 or 8, pulled up a chair for each of us to sit by her side. As I looked around, I noticed how lovely and well-kept this house was, complete with flowers planted in big ceramic pots.  But Maria Luz lay in her bed with the look of pain across her face.  She had a plethora of pills beside her bed. 

Apparently, she was doing better than yesterday.  Yesterday she had some really bad episodes and thought she might have to go to the hospital.  I wasn´t sure how she would have gotten there.  As far as I could tell, they had no car and lived quite a ways from the nearest hospital.  She was thankful we were there to visit with her.  Her husband was off working.  As we got up to go, she held my hand and smiled.  Lidia promised to return soon to check on her.

Doña Esmeralda

Our last stop was just down the road to the home of Doña Esmeralda.  Doña Esmeralda sat in a wheelchair at the top of the cement block steps of her casita made of wood poles (similar to bamboo, but I´m not sure what it actually is).  Her hands were shriveled from severe arthritis .  Her long gray hair was pulled back in a pony tail.  She was missing some teeth.  She spoke with Lidia for quite awhile, although I could not catch most of what she was saying.  Her eyes twinkled, even as they seemed to be filled with sadness.  Around her one room house she was confined to were other buildings.  I found out later that these where the homes of her daughters and their families.  Lidia explained to me that neither her husband nor her daughters wanted to help her out anymore.  She was cold at night in her room, but they refused to build her a cement block home to keep her warm.  She had become a burden to them and they didn´t want to deal with her.  Being confined to a wheelchair in this town basically meant you were not going anywhere.  All the roads are dirt and there are no ramps to get in and out of places. 

Lidia told me that she had tried to convince Doña Esmeralda to move into a nursing home where they could take care of her, but she had refused.  She did not want to leave her home.  Lidia promised to bring her some warm blankets once she returned.  Doña Esmeralda told her not to forget about her.

We then headed back to el proyecto on a bus.  Lidia had assumed a lot of pain and suffering on the part of these families and now she must return to work to fulfill the commitments she had made to them.  To me, it seemed like an exhausting job.  To Lidia, who has done this for over 20 years, this was all a part of a days work.

……. 

I feel tempted to feel sorry for these people, to feel as if there is some much pain that there is little that can be done.  Then I am reminded of these words of Henri Nouwen:

“I want to help. I want to do something for people in need.  I want to offer consolation to those who are in grief and alleviate the suffering of those who are in pain.  There is obviously nothing wrong with that desire.  It is a noble and grace-filled desire.  But unless I realize that God´s blessing is coming to me from those I want to serve,  my help will be short-lived and soon I will be ´burnt out.´ What is a blessing?  It is a glimpse of the face of God.  Seeing God is what heaven is all about!  We can see God in the face of Jesus, and we can see the face of Jesus in all those who need our care.” 

-Jessie, Saturday, February 17th

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Family Visits (Part 1)

February 20, 2007 · Filed under Antigua

Recently, the good people of Common Hope (where we currently volunteer) arranged for me to accompany a social worker on her visits to meet with a few families supported by the project.  Here are the three families I encountered:

The family of Senora Olga

Our first stop was to gather some information from a family.  The agency needs to keep all their data as current as possible on the families.  We entered a complex of cement block square buildings, connected by a common outside area, where roosters, dogs, kittens, and occasional rabbits run free.  This is the way most homes are set up in the pueblos in Guatemala.  When we think of a house, we automatically think of one building with various rooms.  But to these families, a house is a series of small, one-room buildings, each with different uses.  Usually the kitchen is partially outside, as they use woodburning stoves to cook.  The buildings may be made out of bricks, wood poles tied together, or sheets of steel. 

This particular family was having some trouble with cleanliness.  Dishes were strewn about with old food stuck to them.  The mother we had come to talk with was not home, but selling at the market in Antigua.  Fortunately, her sister-in-law and 7-year-old son were home and willing to help Lidia, the social worker, update the information.  The little boy cleared the table of dishes for us to sit down.  The social worker asked them a series of questions, basically about their current situation:  How much did they have to pay for water?  How many beds do they have?  What grade are the children attending in school?  The little boy answered the majority of the questions for his mother, but when Lidia asked him his birthday, he had no idea. 

After we left, Lidia told me that the mother, Olga, is having problems with her husband.  He used to be abusive, but now he just chases after other women.  She´s thinking about leaving him, but there are no shelters for women to go to in Guatemala, so it´s important to have a strong family network.

To be continued with the families Maria Luz & Dona Esmeralda…

-Jessie, Saturday, February 17th

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A Let´s Not-Go Guide to Panajachel, Guatemala

February 13, 2007 · Filed under Guatemala, Panajachel

I would not recommend the Hospedaje San Francisco to my friends.

Located just off Panajachel, Guatemala´s main market and tourist road, the Hospedaje San Francisco boasts of ¨private bathrooms¨ and ¨comfortable prices.¨ For 35 Quetzales a person (roughly $4.50) you can get a double bed, a private bathroom, and a roll of toilet paper. The rooms don´t boast something as luxurious as door handles, but a padlock and some hooks screwed into the door actually make this place seem quite quaint.

In the daylight the rooms appeared nice enough, but at night the flourescent bulb hanging from the ceiling (where a light fixture had once been) illuminated our room´s finer details. Among the amenities the kindly owner forgot to mention, include: seven spiders perched in several webs spread across the room; one light fixture hanging limply from cables above our bed; the aforementioned roll of toilet paper, but no toliet seat to sit upon to use said toilet paper; the false assurance of hot water; and some rather noisy upstairs neighbors.

After pulling the bed into the center of the room, and away from the majority of spiders congregating on or near our headboard, Jess and I layed down for bed knowing that this we would be only one night, as we were heading to another town in the morning. About half way though a dream I was having centering on the reunion of a former roomate of mine and his Acappella group, the owner´s rooster decided it would be a good time to begin our wake-up call. As there were no phones in any of the rooms, I might have considered this a nice gesture by the owner. However, I do not recall discussing a wake-up call, let alone a time, with said owner. Of course, the rooster decided it would be a good idea to crow for five minutes, every fifteen minutes, over the next five hours. This started at 1 A.M. I don´t know about the rest of the world, but the roosters in Guatemala in have got to be some of the dumbest in the world. This was like the worst snooze button ever.

It didn´t take us long to get ready in the morning. The shower was ice cold and we had a bus to catch up with. While we saved some dollars, we might have been wise to heed the advice another visitor had left on the wall in pencil. Hidden behind the door when we first saw the room, the note simply stated, ¨This room is Nasty.¨Touche fellow traveler. Touche.

- Josh, Sunday Morning (February 11, 2007)

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The Machete and The Machine

February 12, 2007 · Filed under Chichicastenango, Guatemala

Yesterday we spent the day at the large Sunday market in Chichicastenango, about 2 hours outside of Antigua.  Hordes of people, Mayan and tourists alike, flooded the narrow aisles of the maze-like market.  Everything from chicken feet to toothpaste to hand-woven bags to cashews is available for a price.  In the middle of it all is a church, towering over all the madness.  On the steps, women burn incense and sell rose petals to leave as offerings on alters in the church.  Tired tourists sit next to wrinkly old Mayan men selling eggs. 

We climbed the grand stairs to the church and entered it´s grandeur.  If felt like an oasis in a desert of people pleading for you to buy their merchandise.  Inside, although tourists milled about, devoted Mayan men and women bent on their knees in prayer, burning candles and incense.  Josh and I spent some time sitting near the front of the church.  One woman, who appeared to be at least 70 years old, prayed earnestly at the front alter.  Then she would walk back about 15 feet and then walk on her knees back to the alter.  She continued to repeat this over and over for as long as we sat there.  I wondered if this was an act of penitence or something else I did not quite understand.  Another man knelt at the front and stretched his arms up high, praying out loud for quite awhile, as if pleading for something he desperately needed.  A banner overhead read, “Lord, teach us to love.”  For me, there was a sense of unity inside the church, as if to say, “Outside, you are the tourists with money to spend, and we are the people trying to get by on selling to you.  But inside this place, we are all just trying to learn to love God and each other.”

 On the way back to Antigua, we drove through the mountains.  I´ve never seen such steep, curvy roads.  Our van huffed and puffed all the way.  At points, I seriously thought the poor thing was going to die of exhaustion.  Right alongside us, however, old Mayan men carrying large bundles trekked up the seemingly endless incline.  Children walked alongside their parents, not even appearing out of breath.  As tourist vans, chicken buses, and crusty old trucks filled with too many people speed along the highways, farmers cut wood and walk pigs tied up by a rope.  We pass through towns selling Coca Cola and Cheetos, and then we pass through mountains where people cultivate corn with machetes.  Guatemala is a place where the traditional and the modern, the agrarian and the industrial, rub against each other all day long.

-Jessie, Monday, February 12th, 2007

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