As promised below:Pictures!

This is susana--my hijada (goddaughter). I love her.

upper left is a volcano that sits next to Lake Atitlan.

just to the left is Juan Antonio--Richard's god son. I love him, too.

above is Volcan Agua. I took this picture from my room. It is the volcano where ciudad viaja is.

To the right is 7 Altares (read the previous but still new entry)



Below is a pic from Livingston

These are somes of the marchers in the parade that I wrote about a few weeks ago, before the rain started


this thing is an electric water heater that is attached to the shower. A sure-fire way to die by electricity

Lake Atitlan

I will post more later. Love,Holly

Smoke is every where in Guatemala. The volcanoes occasionally send plumes of smoke mixed with ash up into the sky. On Volcan Pacaya, hot, flowing lava incinerates everything that touches it, including the dropped cameras and backpacks of the lines of tourists who climb up Pacaya daily so that they can say they climbed a volcano. The lava bubbles under its thin, slightly cooled-off crust and people plod on, dropping stuff as they go and counting the loss as their possessions turn into smoke. But they get great pictures, as long as the thing lost is not the camera. I am not going to climb Pacaya. I have heard enough stories about injuries caused by falling on razor-sharp lava and burns from flying globules that I just don't think I need to climb up in order to say I cooked a hotdog over flowing lava, which is, by one account, the best reason to climb. I guess if I ate meat, I would see things differently. Still, seeing plumes of smoke and ash is oddly thrilling. Nothing like 1980 when Mount St. Helens did her thing, but nonetheless, thrilling.

There is also something ironic about the displays that the volcanoes put on, for they are are reminders of the immense geothermal power that sits just below the surface of the pueblos and ciudades of Guatemala. If tapped, the geothermal power could provide enough power to keep the entire country lit up forever. Yet there doesn't seem to be much of a plan in place, mostly because the cost is prohibitive. So instead of cheap, natural and available fuel, people pay electricity bills that are higher than their mortgages and poorer people live without the use of electricity. The most common source of fuel is lena (tilde on the n, which means the word is pronounced lay-nia)--firewood. And firewood means smoke. Walking in Antigua, one is often met with a smell that, for most North Americans, brings up memories of family camping trips or cold winter nights in front of the fireplace and roasting marshmallows. For me, the smell reminds me of the firepit Richard bought a year or so ago that we occasionally like to nestle up to while he burns scrapwood from his projects.

In Ciudad Viaja, though, smoke is not an occasional smell, but a constant one. As I trudge up the Volcan Agua towards the school, the smell that often brings a sense of nostalgia is not my friend. I am sucking in air as it is (volcanoes, after all, are a type of mountain), and when the air is mingled with smoke, my lungs rebel.

Okay, so for those of you who don't want to read about the realities of life in Ciudad Vieja for kids, you can skip this part. For the rest of you (please, somebody read on:)), here is the reality:
These kids at Nuestro Futuro all have runny noses and coughs. At first, my germaphobic North American self thought,"Crap--swine flu." I got over myself, though because my health care provider on Vashon said that the early attacks were expected to be very mild forms of the virus. Also, these kids didn't have fevers and it seemed really implausible that 71 kids would all have the same bug at the exact same stage. Duh--I did a very small bit of remembering--lung disease is one of the most prevelant reasons for death under the age of 5 in this country. People live in very small homes where wood is burned constantly for the purposes of cooking. With only an open hole in the ceiling for ventilation, open fires means that kids breath in smoke ALL THE TIME. These kids might be sick, but it is nothing that I am going to catch.

Okay, now the preachy part. There is a project underway here that is changing this situation one home at a time. For a relatively small fee ( I think it is around $200), these open-fire stoves can be outfitted with an easy-to-install ventilation system that takes the smoke straight up and out, so that, at least while at home ,the air is much cleaner for the family and the small lungs of kids who spend their first 5 years, mostly at their mothers' sides as they cook. Let me know if you are interested in more info...

There is another type of smoke that is prevelant in particular places here in Guatemala. Livingston (which is pronounced, appropriately, "Leeveenstone") is a Garifuna community on the Caribbean coast of Guatemala. Garifunas are decendants of slaves from Africa and most people in Livingston speak, yes Spanish, but also their very own language. I went to Livngston last weekend, and felt as though I had crosseed into another reality. The town is a fishing village that sits at the mouth of Rio Dulce and is bordered by uncrossable selva, so the only real way to get there is by boat (but nothing like getting to Vashon!!!!!). People there live with wet feet. The climate is very humid and hot, so the formality that infiltrates life inland is nonexistent in Livingston. The food is amazing for it is filled with just-caught seafood, coupled with tons of fresh fruits and vegetables, and of course plenty fo rice and black beans.

From Livingston, a short 20 minute lancha trip lands at a place called "Siete Altares"--seven altars--which is a series of waterfalls. There is a swimming spot that we were told had "very cold water." Clearly, the guy had never been in the Puget Sound. The couple I spent that day with were from Denmark. They, too, wanted to know when we would get to the place with the cold water.

After a half hour, we moved back into the lancha, and headed for our real destination for the day: Playa Blanca (white beach). OMG--I have found heaven. Okay, for Richard, I'll say it sucked b/c, while I was basking in warm Caribbean water, sipping cold coconut milk straight out of a coconut, I think he was painting our living room. So really, it was just okay;).

Oh, yea--the smoke part. Like I said, "Leeveenstone." Everywhere wafts a faint odor from my distant past. We're Jammin'. Yellow Green and Red. 'Nuff said, except that I chose not to seek out the source of the smoke:).

Tomorrow I start my last week at Nuestro Futuro. I am going to bring 6 kids back with me for the afternoon. Sylivia, the social worker & I are going to buy them some clothes. For three weeks, they have had on the same things, and no, they are not wearing their good school clothes. Old flannel PJ pants from Old Navy that smell like pee because there is no toilet paper at home, do not count as good school clothes. Sorry, I am starting to sound like Sally Struthers on those old commercials where she whines on and on and on about the children.

I almost have the picture thing figured out--so my next entry will be lost of pictures, God and technology willing! Stop laughing, Lisa, and I can see your eyes rolling

Next week I wil be going to Tikal, which is a Mayan ruin, and then I will spend three days on the beach in EL Salvador. After that, home.
Peace, Holly

Every morning I get up at 5:30 so that I can catch the chicken bus to Ciudad Vieja. Ciudad Vieja, which means "old city," was once the capital of Guatemala, as was Antigua. One was destroyed by a flood caused by volcanic erruption (in Spanish, "to errupt" is "vomitar"), the other by earthquake (look it up--I can't remember right now). The similarities between the two towns pretty much ends with their shared historical distinctions. While Antigua is charming and quaint and designed to cater to tourists, Ciudad Vieja, a seven-minute bus ride away, is none of those things. It is charmless and void of all the restaurants, bars and mercados artisenias (artistan markets) that supply foreigners with all of the colorful textiles and art that we take home to remind us of the true wonders that are Guatemalan. Ciudad Vieja sits on the the foot of Volcan Agua that nearly obliterated the city. As the town moves up the hill, homes get poorer and sevices less available. Further up, there is no electricity, water, or phone service yet many of Guatemala's poorest people live on the rise of the hill. There is a line of demarcation between service and no service, and it is on this line of demarcation that the school Nuestro Futuro sits. This school is where I work.

Nuestro Futuro is a project of "Ninos de Guatemala" (NDG). NDG is an NGO started by the Dutch. If you look on the net, you will be able to read all about this project and what it does/plans to do in the future. You will also see pictures of the school and there is also a picture that shows the faces of Clara and Gabi--two of the 19 kids with whom I spend 32 hours a week. The kids at the school have been chosen for significant reasons: 1) they are very poor, and 2) they and their families are committed to making this rare opportunity to get an education work. There are only 2 public schools in Ciudad Vieja, and they both require basic stuff like, oh, I don't know, shoes and lunch money and backpacks, in order to be able to attend. The families of the kids at Nuestro Futuro don't have these things.

I think I will pause here for just a moment to evangelize: if you are wondering what you might be able to do to really help in a tangible, important and satisfying way, NDG has a padrino/madrina program. For $45 a month you can make sure that a kid who is in school gets to stay in school. This also means that the kid will get at least 1 meal a day and health services and a whole lot of hands-on people to love and support them. If you sign on now, I will be able to tell your kid all about you and I will also be able to tell you all about your kid. If your recession-strapped budget can't allow a monthly commitment, one-time donations go a very long way. And if you speak Spanish and are looking for a very cool way to spend some time, come to Guatemala:). I promise you will win Jesus points and/or really good karma and/or a fine sense of having done something that is nothing other than pure good. Sermon over.

Working with 19 kids, ages six to probably eight or nine is really hard, tiring work. Anyone who gushes nauseatingly about how much they can't wait to get back to the children and gee, aren't they cute and wonderful and oh so clever, isn't really paying attention. Jose occasionally punches Carlos in the stomach and I haven't yet figured out why and Julia and Gabi don't like Marcela so they are mean to her at recess and Fransisco, omygod Fransisco, he can't shut up or stop moving and he is always late and his clothes, the same clothes he wears every day, are filthy and his right hand is covered in what looks like warts, as is his face, and he can count to 200 and can do simple arithmatic and can also sound out the confusing differences between "gue" and "ge" and he drives me crazy because he is also a little liar and constantly seeks attention, any attention at all, and when he didn't show up on Friday, oh it was so much more peaceful and easy but where was the little hellion because dammit he should be in school. And yet...

Jose is probably the smartest kid in the class. He works hard and his homework is not only always done, it is also always perfect and neat. And sweet Carlos is, even to my untrained eyes, clearly dyslexic and yet Lisseth, the teacher, doesn't seem to be familiar with the term and what difference would it make anyway because it is not like there is anything such as a special ed teacher here who would know what to do to help the kid out. and Juan Antonio (not to be confused wth Juan Fernando or just plain Juan) is absolutely the best reader in the class and has the most charming and genuine smile. Maria Alejandra ( not to be confused with Maria Antonia) is quiet but astute--she was the first one to master counting by fives on Friday. Susana is a chubby kid, but damn, she can run and catch a ball better than most of the kids and is therefore always a score when there are teams during P.E.

Every day I collect 19 hugs times two. Every day my heart breaks and fills up and fills up and fills up. Every day I am so glad when it is finally time to get back on the chicken bus. And yes, every morning I can't wait to get to the school to see the kids.

I love seeing your comments--please keep them coming. I have been here for over 4 weeks now, and am getting a bit homesick. Time to do laundry...
some things never change!

Well, I must say that the bed & breakfast was muy agradable ("very nice," for those of you who don't wish to refer to your online Spanish to English dictionaries), but I knew that it was a very temporary arrangement--kind of like a vacation in the middle of, well, my vacation, really, although this isn't really a beach-and-a-book kind of experience. I moved into the school last Tuesday, and I finally feel as at home as I can feel in a space that isn't really my own. There are enough creature comforts (a GREAT shower being at the top of the list (how completely gringa of me:))) that I am no longer in fear of my intestinal health plus I can cook my own meals and do my own laundry. The women who were doing these things for me are utterly sweet, but no thank you, I really don't need my underwear ironed, and, gee, how about NOT frying those bananas, and just letting me eat them raw?

Another common occurrence that makes me feel at home is the occasional loss of power. For those of you who do not live on or near Vashon Island, we who do live there are very used to candles and cold showers, especially during the holiday season. So when the school "forgot" to pay its power bill, we went 36 hours in the dark. I got a lot of sleep. Before Anne left, we had also lost power, but only for about 4 hours. Still, all the little touches of home help:).

Also be fore Anne left, we went on an actividad (figure it out--it is a cognate) to a place of spiritual importance for many Guatemaltecos, especially some of those of Mayan descent. I think I want to tell about this place, and Anne, if you have a different take, feel free to add to my observations. Here goes:

Maximon (pronounced Maa-she-moan), also sometimes called San Simon, is a revered figure who purportedly lived in Guatemala at some very unclear time in the Past. Some legends say he was a Catholic saint gone a bit renegade, others that he was an indigenous person who did good things. Still others trace the origins of Maximon to ancient Mayan religious figures/dieties. Anyway, we got on the camioneta (chicken bus) in Antigua and traveled for about 1/2 hour to a pueblo whose name I cannot remember. We entered a compound of sorts that had a grass field and a very large cement-paved courtyard that was completely covered in the black, charcoaled remains of small fires. In one corner of the courtyard, a man was burning something (maybe clothes?!?) and chanting prayers. Next to him stood a woman and child, and behind him two men played guitars and sang. Our teacher said that most likely it was the man's birthday, and he was praying to Maximon (actually, here he is called San Simon, but I like the sound of Maximon better) for health and prosperity in the coming year. She went on to explain that those who follow Maximon believe that he can grant both good and bad requests. She then pointed to a place on a sidewalk off to the left. It also has the remains of sacrificial fires, but is much smaller that the courtyard. It is place supplicants go to offer sacrifices to support requests for things like pain and injury to an unfaithful lover, or financial ruin to an enemy. I think she also said that whores and dealers and other less repsectable folk used that particular spot to make sacrifices. Apparently, Maximon, like Jesus, hangs out with sinners.

On the opposite side of the courtyard stands a building,which is the local shrine/temple/church where people also go to worship. There are no actual services, but I think they do have meetings of some sort. Here's where the blurring of things Catholic and things pagan occurs: in the front of the room stands what I can only say resembles the front of a Catholic church, where, instead of a crucifix, a huge imagen (life size dolls, in Lisa's vernacular) of Maximon sits on a chair, elevated high enough to be in full view of the entire building. Directly to his left, only slightly less elevated, is another imagen, kind of like the Virgin Mary but not, in regalia as fully ornate as those found in La Iglesia de La Merced in Antigua. Furthermore, the entire room was filled, not with pews, but metal tables lined up just like pews in a church, covered with candles of various colors. And now I want to describe the imagen of Maximon, cuz, omigod, not at all like Jesus, or San Fransisco or Saint John Vianny or any other venerated Catholic VIP. Maximon is decked out in a black suit, kind of like the ones that Ackroyd and Belushi wore in Blues Brothers. Now that I think of it, Maximon looks like a third triplet, because he also wears a black hat and, yes, sunglasses. And around his feet are strewn the offerings that please him most: people leave money and bottles of booze and packages of cigarettes for him to enjoy, and carved into his face where his lips would be is a hole the circumference of a cigar. With a cigar in it. I have not had success in determining why the booze and smokes, and no one is really clear about what actually happens to the stuff, but they are the things that please Maximon.

I am not sure why a most of the Spanish language schools take students to the place where Maximon is worshipped because I have yet to have a conversation with anyone who actually believes in him. In fact, most people areveryquicktopointout that they DO NOT believe in him. My own teacher, Elsa (I just have to say again that she is the BEST teacher in Antigua), a Mayan woman, told me that her very Catholic church in San Antonio believes and teaches that Maximon is Judas Iscariot reborn. A curious belief indeed for a church that decidely does not hold to the idea of reincarnation. The spiritual world is a crazy place.

All of this sounds like I am making fun of another creed, so let me please point out that some of those who worship Maximon are dualists in that they also faithfully serve the Catholic church (but decidedly not Elsa--she is 100% catolica). Furthermore, the faces of those whom we saw worshiping were intensely ingrained with awe and reverence and deep sincerity in their supplications. I was hugely embarrassed by a couple of my fellow students who chose to take close-up photos of worshippers and the two young kids who decided to play with the melting candles and wax. It was kind of like if a couple of Buddhists came in and decided to play catch over the heads of Sunday morning worshippers because it was raining outside and they were, after all, bored.

I do not hold to the creed of Maximon. I do believe that the God and Creator of all things hears our prayers, no matter where we are when we voice them; thus, I lit a pink candle--the color of healing--and prayed for the health of my husband, daughters, sisters, mother, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, son-in-law and brothers-in-law and everyone else I could think of.

Tomorrow morning at 7, Gabi from the escuela, Nuestra Futura (Our Future) will come by to show me how to get there. I begin work as a teacher's aide/tutor. So once again, my life here in Guatemala is about to change...
!paz a todos de vosotros!
Jali (Spanishly phonetic for Holly)