The Road Less Traveled

March 20, 2007 · Filed under Costa Rica, Monteverde

Faith is driving up a dirt road to a mountain town you cannot see. I learned this as we made our way to Monteverde a couple days ago. We had all heard that the road would be rough, but when we actually saw it, calling it a “road” seemed to be a rather optimistic description.

When we didn’t see any signs for awhile, we stopped and asked a man walking by.

“Is this the road to Monteverde?”

“Yes, you can go this way, but the road is ugly and it’s better to go back to the highway and take the other road.”

Turning around sounded daunting since we’d driven for three hours already, coming from Nicaragua. Plus, none of us really understood his Spanish description of how to get to this “prettier” road. So we continued on.

From that point on, our only indications that we were going the right way were two spray-painted arrows on a brick wall, one man on a horse, and one farmer who stopped us to ensure that we didn’t make a common directional mistake that evidently had left many poor tourists wandering lost in the mountains.

Every time we trudged up another steep, rocky hill in our Daihatsu, I thought we’d see some town or sign of life in the distance. But every time, all we saw were more rolling hills and the long, winding dirt path we had come to trust as our guide.

As the sun sank lower into the valley, I couldn’t stop my mind from conjuring up images of the four of us huddled inside our tiny jeep in the dark, rationing our water and portioning our the remaining Ritz crackers and Oreos we had, waiting for morning to come. At one point we reached a ridge of a mountain that fell to both sides of us. We were on top of the world and the only thing we could see were cows grazing on the hillsides. But we kept going—no turning back now.

Four men on horseback, 3 pee-breaks (for poor, pregnant Shannon), 2 hours, and 1 spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean later, we rolled into the beginnings on the town of Santa Elena. To our amazement, a whole slew of amenities from a big Super Mercado, to a tree-house restaurant, to wireless Internet were available in this middle-of-nowhere place. We even ran into Chris, our former British roommate from back in Antigua. The next day we spent the day hiking through one of few remaining cloud forests in the world—and all because we stuck it out with our little dirt road.

-Jessie, March 22nd, 2007

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Crossing The Border

March 19, 2007 · Filed under Nicaragua

Granada, Nicaragua is a sleepy town. It is midday Sunday and the central plaza is nearly empty, save for a handful of people finding shade in some of the park benches scattered under the trees. Located on the shores of Lago de Nicaragua, and an hour north of the border of Costa Rica, Granada is the oldest colonial-style city in Central America. Large colorful buildings line the streets. Peaches on Cremes on Oranges on Blues on Greens. Every few blocks someone is sitting in the street outside their home in a rocking chair, listening to the radio or catching a nap. There are no porches and it is a hot town.

The rocking chair just might be the most popular item in town. The only thing that could rival it in popularity is beisbol. In any other town in any other country in Central America you will find find kids kicking a ball towards goalposts made of rocks or tree trunks. In Nicaragua, baseball is king. On our first walk around town, we stumbled across an afternoon adult league game. Those not playing lined the outfield fence. Two consecutive batters lofted balls over the rather short porch in left field. Both times they stopped at second, victims of the local parks ground rule double restriction.

We didn’t come to Granada for the baseball though, we came to see the lake. Lago de Nicaragua is the 10th largest lake in the world and it is the largest lake in Central America. It rests just north of Costa Rica and stretches nearly the entire width of the souther pit of Nicaragua. It is home to several islands, the biggest of which has about a dozen towns on it and two volcanoes, the larger one dormant and the smaller active. On our second day in town we visited Las Isolitas, a series of small islands just south of Granada.

We followed a series of dirt roads that led us past beaches, several homes, some restaurants, and boats for rent before ending at the home and restaurant of a rather large family. We were looking for a place to read or write. After buying some beverages, we sat down at a table on a small point looking out into a protected bay surrounded by several islands. After about 30 minutes we were approached by a man European man wondering if we were interested in going for a ride in his sailboat. His name was Tomas and he moved to Nicaragua about two months ago. About two months before that he had bought four boats from a friend of his in his home land of Austria. And about one month before that he had learned how to sail. Actually, that last sentence is not true, but I would have bought if he would have told us so. In reality, he had been a sailing instructor in Austria for the last fifteen years and he and his friend Wolfgang had decided to move to Nicaragua to start a sailing school. They are hoping to get on the ground floor before the country is too developed.

A fter a few minutes of deliberation, we were in his boat sailing. There were a toal of five of us and the boat was a bit crowded. The water was a little choppy, but we had life vests on and we were told the water was not too deep. Tomas warned us of the risk of sailing and the possibility that we could always tip, but seemed assured this would not happened. Apparently, Lake Nicaragua is the only lake in the world with freshwater sharks – Tiburones Nicaraguas. It is believed they migrated up one of the rivers that connects it to the Pacific Ocean. We were determined not to see them up close. Tomas told us the only thing we had to worry about was the water depth and rocks that might scratch the base of the boat. Once we got away from the shore we were able to turn and see the lakeside. On land, Nicaragua seemed very dry and dusty, but from the boat you could see just how green the trees truly were where the hillside jutted up above the shore. Our trip went smoothly and we made it onto shore without incident.

When we docked our boat the family was in the middle of a baseball game in their yard with a makeshift bat and leather mitts. Home plate stood along side their restaurant and the branches of some tall trees hung down over second and short. If I had had a little more courage (or if I were Dane Steinlicht) I might have tried to join in on the game. Instead, we said our goodbyes and headed back into town.

Back in Granada the central square was filled with action. Old men were sitting on park benches, birds were singing in the trees, and a soccer games was taking place in the area outside of the Catedral. Teenagers lined the edges of the imaginary touchlines. It appeared completely impromptu, save for the guy with the whistle signaling the occasional foul or hand ball. I briefly changing into some sneakers and trying to get into the game. Tomorrow we’ll head to the border, back to Costa Rica. I decide to leave my sneakers at home and join the sideline and this scene.

- Josh, March 19-20 or so, 2007

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Living the Dream …

March 16, 2007 · Filed under Costa Rica

When the time had come for my family to arrive, I was surprisingly anxious to see them. We had arrived in the rainforest-surrounded Lost Iguana Hotel the day before them, and spent the day and night relaxing in the beautiful setting, anticipating their arrival. Part of me kind of doubted that everything would go off without a hitch. I mean we had traveled from Guatemala, then by bus from the beach in southern Costa Rica to this remote hotel in the middle of nowhere in the jungle. My family was flying from Minneapolis and Chicago, meeting up in Atlanta, renting a car in Costa Rica, and driving in to meet us. But lo and behold, at about noon on Saturday we got a call that they were in the lobby.

Since then we have been exploring various corners of this beautiful country together in our Suzuki. Some of the more interesting finds include:

  • There are monkeys that roar like lions.
  • It does actually rain—a lot—in the rainforest.
  • Luke and I have a love-hate relationship with provoking each other into heated political/philosophical debates.
    (Josh’s Note: Luke has a deeply rooted sense of justice inside him. Once, when he was about eight, his dad accidentally rolled his hand up in a car window. Despite Jim being very apologetic, and the incident a complete accident, Luke insisted on having his dad roll his hand up in the window to make things right. Jim politely declined.)
  • Little tiny insects can produce more pain then you’d think.
  • Josh’s Spanish level has exceeded the point that he can get directions from locals when we are lost, driving through dirt back roads, trying to find the beach.
  • Some roads in Costa Rica are actually not roads, just stretches of beach you get to plow through.
  • Speaking English loudly does NOT in fact make it easier for Spanish-speaking to understand (I love you mom).
  • My dad is a better surfer than both Josh and Luke.
    (Josh’s Note: This is an entirely subjective opinion based on no particular system for judging such things)
  • I am not a natural beach person. I wish I were. I watch the people lying right in the sand, going back and forth between the salty sea and the sandy towels, and I am jealous of their carefree ways. But alas, I am a Minnesotan, and being salty and sandy is not natural for me.
    (Josh’s Note: Touche beach. Touche. I am with you on this one, wife.)
  • Family vacations only get more fun when everyone is an adult.

This evening, our friends Shannon and John arrive at the beach next to ours. If everything goes as planned, we will see them tomorrow and spend the remainder of our time in Costa Rica with them. It is great to be renewed and refreshed by spending time with people who know you so well. No need for small talk or to explain yourself. Even the little annoying habits and character flaws are refreshing to me.

-Jessie, March 16th, 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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