I have been thinking a lot about books this week. Right now, I am in the middle of reading my fourth novel since leaving Seattle--a raucous, funny, kind of gross Carl Hiaasen called Sick Puppy. When I finish it, I will leave it at Cafe Arco Iris (Rainbow Cafe) or the Bagel Barn, or some other place like that for another tourist to pick up and read. This is how it is done here; we share with strangers books we have finished and don't want to lug back to where ever we came from. Here at Centro Liguistico Internacional where I live and study Spanish, there is a big, cement bin in the "internet cafe" (the expression is used VERY loosely here--there are 6 or 7 old computers, and on any given day, maybe 3 of them work. I am writing on my HP notebook. TG for wifi!) filled with all kinds of cast off novels in many different languages. My friend Jason from last year, who happened to show up again the same week I did, is finishing a historical fiction book about the war here in Guatemala and has promised to hand it over before he leaves for Boston on Tuesday. I am excited to read it. For a lot of us, anticipating a good read is kind of like anticipating an upcoming vacation, and there are plenty of people who reread favorite books, even though we know the outcome, just because we want to go there again.

All of this leads to an irony: we, who have loads of money, can read anything for free. Poor people who do not frequent places like Arco Iris, Bagel Barn or language schools do not have access even to libraries and therefore, even if they know how to read, don't get a huge opportunity to do so. Another oddity is that, for as utterly inexpensive everything is here in Antigua, books are not cheap to buy. In fact, they are often more expensive than they are in the US. All of this leads me to ponder those empty library shelves at Nuestro Futuro. I am going to try to do something about starting to fill those shelves.

Juan Antonio is finally back at school. I saw him Friday afternoon. He only stayed for an hour of the two hour session, but he was running and laughing and wearing his Vashon Island tee shirt. The school is a weird, wonderful place.

But it is also a place with lots of (melo)drama. Herbert, the director, has resigned. I don' t think I told many people this story, but last year, right before I left, he hit me up for money. "Por los ninos," he said. Bullshit. Por sus bolsas (his pockets), is more like it. I mentioned his request to the teacher, who immediately called the head office in Antigua, and Herbert got an official dressing down, PLUS a write up in his Permanent Record. I got an extremely prompt, personal apology, face to face, from the two founders of the entire organization. For us Estadounidenses, it is unthinkable that a school principle would ask for money in such a casual, nonspecifc way. And let's call it what is was--graft, payola, boodle. And stupid. My small acts of generosity must have led him to believe that I was unable to discern who was in need and who was not. The obvious reality is that in many countries, people with various levels of power have what to them feels like a right to skim from the coffers. And lets not kid ourselves, it happens in the good ol' US of A, too, just with maybe a different kind of finesse. Let us not forget the past two years. But I digress, again. Sorry!

Anyway, Herbert will be gone by August 6th, and right now, teachers, volunteers and even newer office staff are having a delightful time pondering and sharing philosophies as to why Herbert is soon-to-be history. I have it from a reliable, unnamable source that "resign" is a bit of a euphemism, and I like to think that I played a small part in what I hope will be an improvement in an already incredibly wonderful organization.

So I hope that that little story does not turn anyone off from thinking well of, and maybe donating to, Ninos de Guatemala, as I have seen first hand the good that it is doing, and the growth of the school. The kids I worked with last year who were just beginning to read and do simple math are now doing multiplication and division--two skills that I don't remember my own kid learning in the second grade. Plans are in place and funding begun to add enough classrooms to teach through the sixth grade. Here, a sixth grade education opens a few doors; not many, but some. With a bit of grace, some of these kids will make it through high school and maybe even some sort of higher education/professional certification.

I cannot find the cord thingy that connects my camera to my computer. It must be some where, but that some where may be on my bedroom floor on Vashon. I had trouble getting my big suitcase down to less than 50 pounds, and when I finally did, I zipped it up, turned it over, and discovered a foot-long slash on its underside. So with about 20 minutes to spare before sailing on the 5:45 AM ferry, I was frantically repacking. Que sera. Pics will have to wait.

Next weekend, I am traveling to a place called Xela ("Shay-la") with Shiobon (sp?!?), one of the other volunteers.

Paz a todos--
Holly