Forward
I took my third mission building trip to Xela last week, spanning October 18, through October 23, 2004. Each trip has had almost the same lockstep schedule, sometimes down to the hour. I even slept in the same bed at Xela on the first and second trips. Any chronological journals of mine could resemble those of other team members due to the shared and repeated experience.
This time I decided to organize an essay around personal observations of people instead of logging events by days. Each of the following sections is about a person or a group of people that I interacted with on the trip.
Adolfo Juan Santina Santina
I’ve been asked why I go to
He drives a stick shift diesel Mercedes truck with a Bluebird bus body dropped onto it – the UMVIM chicken bus. The road is difficult. The passing conditions on CA-1 are difficult, but he gets us through safely.
Adolfo is a renaissance man. He is vice president of the
I was the first to move outside at the
I’d been in
It was a joy to talk to him without an interpreter. He’s
gone from zero English to knowing a good measure of it in two years. When I
first worked with him two years ago he told me one afternoon, “I have to leave
at 4:45. I have an English lesson.” I almost fell off the wall we were
building. I’d been hearing nothing but Spanish from him all week. It was the
first English I heard him speak. On this trip I was able to converse with him
one-on-one several times as we together walked the streets of Santiago Atitlan and
Figure 1 Adofo Juan Santista Santista, renaissance man ( and ECU fan?)
My Name is Marco
Marco is Adolfo’s helper and co-pilot on the bus. The copilot job encompasses at least the following:
- Jumping out to stop traffic while Adolfo maneuvers the bus
- Spotting for Adolfo during parking in tight places such as a fast food Pollo Campero parking lot.
- Motioning a bus or truck to cut speed while Adolfo passes it. This activity seems to be a ceremonial protocol. A passed vehicle never slows down lest its driver would suffer a machismo hit.
- Loading luggage that we pass up through the rear door.
- Unloading luggage from the rear door.
- Opening and closing the sticking windows for us and inserting “the stick” on a couple of them.
- Sleeping on the bus all night to guard our knapsacks. On the first trip we were told, “Your stuff is safe to leave on the bus.” Sure, because Marco slept on the floor of bus. We quit leaving our possession on the bus after we found that we were inadvertently abusing Marco.
During the first trip, Marco was a background character. He did not mix or interact with us much on the first trip. He had a sad look in his eyes. On the January trip I went out of my way to pay attention to him. He spoke zero English and my Spanish is almost zero. I tried to always smile and greet him.
I’ve seen Marco come out of his shell. He made an end-run around security during our January departure to see us one last time. This was a major compliment to us.
His smiling while shaking my hand and saying “Buenos tardes” on the sidewalk at the airport at the start of this trip was something to remember.
Figure 2 My Name is Marco
Carl, one of our crew, speaks a good measure of working Spanish. He and Marco hit it off. They were able to talk about sports and normal male-to-male interests. I was happy to see Marco getting attention. One day Carl had to go to a remote clinic to work. Marco seemed disappointed and asked where Carl was.
Carl started teaching Marco to say “My name is Marco.” This is harder than it seems, if you’ve ever tried another language totally by ear. Marco kept saying “My mane …” By the end of the trip, however, Carl had Marco saying, “My name is Marco. … You are … crazy!”
I’d heard that Marco’s family lives at La Costa – the coast. We’re always confused about this term, because the locals refer to a region near the Mexican border as La Costa, while the real coast is an almost uninhabitable torrid mangrove swamp. I unfolded my map and tried to get Marco to show me where he lives. He didn’t seem to be able to do it. Belinda said he probably couldn’t read, so I gave it up.
On the morning of departure some of us walked down the avendia to a coffee vendor. We asked Marco if he wanted coffee. He said “Si.” I walked with him behind two of our women. We all had our team shirts on that said “Una famila de dios.” Marco pointed to the phrase on one of the lady’s shirts and repeated it to me. Marco could read after all. He just does not have any practice at reading maps. This kind of spatial cognizance is something many Norte Americanos, including some of our team, cannot do either. It takes practice. The bottom line is that I still do not know where Marco lives on weekends.
Later, on departure day, I got on the bus early as is my habit. Marco was waiting with a photo. He came to my seat and pointed to a good-looking little girl and said, “hija” and pointed to himself. It was his daughter. She is a nice-looking teenager. That he would come to me and show me his daughter’s picture made the trip for me.
Alex
We stay in Xela at a Catholic seminary nicknamed COFA, which stands for Catholic something-or-other. The place is a great deal because we each got a bed, running water, and good meals, all for $10 per head per day. Notice that I didn’t say hot water. We only got hot water when Alex, the caretaker turned it on, and not a minute longer than the stated duration.
Alex speaks no English but can communicate with gestures
better than anybody I’ve met in
As we dragged in after our first day of ditch-digging at work, he rattled off a bunch of Spanish and made a sleeping gesture with his head and hands. It translated to “I’ll bet you’ll sleep well tonight, won’t you?” Alex is another person that compels me to take these trips.
Figure 3 Alex of COFA
Children at Iximche
We always find children at the 15th century Iximche ruins, site of the first Spanish capital in the 15th century.
Figure 4 Courtyard at Iximche
On the first trip Susanne Cobb had three cute kids in tow almost immediately. On this trip there were about 200 kids at some sort of function with a clown and piñatas.
Figure 5 Children at Ixmiche
As we returned from seeing the ruins the kids had just broken some piñatas. Several kids gave me part of their candy. This was extremely touching. I love these people.
Figure 6 Boys offering their candy
Iximche Mayan Ceremony
I’ve been to Ixmiche twice. Each time we’ve found a Mayan ceremony in the woods out back. The first time was quite open. Many tourists were there snapping photos. There was a lot of incense burned and some colorful stuff littering a hill. I remember a priestess extolling how much more accurate their calendar is than the Gregorian calendar (she’s right, but too late). The gist of the ceremony seemed to be people cursing their business competitors while others did some kind of penance. I have no doubt the most of those people attended Catholic mass the next day.
This time we followed girls carrying bins of dead chickens into a ceremony. The ceremonial group was much smaller than the first time. This was a healing ceremony. There were about 50 dead chickens with no blood in them. We asked if we could take pictures. One man made a grimace like “Now we’re all in trouble. You’re going to rile the priest.” Another man, presumably the priest, made a time-out signal. We left pronto. Ann said it well: “We had no business being there.”
Slappin’ Dough at Chi Choy
What would a trip to
Figure 7 Slapping torlillas at Chi Choy
Brenda, Jorge, Debora, Josef, Fillipe, …
On the first trip we built a security wall and completed a house for the caretaker, Fillipe, and her children. We got quite close to those folks during the course of that week. I especially got to know 11-year-old Jorge, a little guy that scampered along the wall like Tarzan. Often we would sit in the break room of UMVIM and try to teach one-another our languages. Jorge used to poke me in the stomach and say “Gordo!” This means fat. We was right about that.
Jorge had a fascination with watches. He kept touching mine like he wanted it. I needed it to keep to the schedule, so I later sent it back with Susanne on the youth trip.
One day I passed Debora on the path. I said “Buenas dias.” She let me know that I should have said, “Buenos tartdes.” This is another reason for keeping the watch.
Brenda is the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen. I’m not totally sure who are sibling and who are cousins in the caretaker’s family. Graham was taken with Brenda right away on the January trip.
Josef was quite small two years ago. Now he’s just emerging from his toddler years.
Figure 8 Toddler and Josef
I was warned about the “Latin American goodbye” on that first trip. The goodbye to the caretakers was rough. Jorge was crying. Everybody was crying.
In January Jorge was more reserved. I gave him school supplies and a Wolfpack hat. He had broken his watch by getting it wet. I had no watch to give him. Gerry King gave me hers to give to him. I figured it would have a short lifespan. Near the end of the visit Jorge wouldn’t come out of the house when we left. He’d been jerked around by the comings and goings of Americans too much.
We made two visits to the UMVIM site during last week’s trip. Jorge still had Gerry’s watch! He lit up when he saw us, but seemed reserved and mature. We told him to take care of his mom. He solemnly said in Spanish “I always will.”
Figure 9 Filipe's family with Murial and Bellinda
School had just let out for three months. I’ve come to
realize that Jorge is fortunate to be able to attend school. Many kids in
Figure 10 Ed and friend Jorge
The Elenes of Santiago Atitlan
On my first trip I met a little vendor girl with a sunny
smile as I got off the boat at Santiago Atitlan. She asked me my name. I told
her “Ed.” She said, “I am Elene. You will buy from me.” I kind of liked this.
She had beaded bracelets for sale. I told her that I would buy later when I
came back to the boat. She told me to reserve the colors I wanted now. I liked
her accent, which resembled that of some hypothetical
Everywhere I went I would see Elene smiling at me from the crowd and mouthing “You will buy from me.” I finally bought five dollars worth of stuff from her and her friend Michelle. Tom Huffstedler chided me for being so easy, but Carey liked the stuff when I got home.
On the second trip I looked for Elene. I could not find her.
I called Carey to check in. As I hung up I heard a familiar voice with a
This trip Carey had told me “Don’t buy any more beads from
her.” I still wanted to find her, as I admire Elene’s smiling chutzpah. When I
got to
Figure 11 "Elene" and Delores
Suddenly the real Elene materialized next to me. I had three girls claiming to be Elene. I went around in back of them called “Elene.” Only the real one turned around.
Figure 12 Michelle, Cindy, and the real Elene
The girls, a boy, and an old crone became an entourage that dogged me every step of the way. When I called Carey, they were laying beads across my arms. I handed the phone to Michelle and told her to say hi. She did.
Later Aldofo and Carl tried to peel them off of me. By this time it seemed like ten kids were on me. I was glad to get on the boat. They all smiled and waved, saying they’d see me next time. I don’t think I can show my face in that town again.
The $5.38 Picture
Three old guys in full local dress sat on a ledge behind me as I tried to fend off the vendors. I slowly moved my hand in a horizontal cutting motion and said “Finito.” The three old men cracked up laughing.
I asked if I could take their picture. They made the
universal sign for money. I took one picture and then check my money. I had a
coin purse heavy with metal Quezales. I gave each one. In return I got a
sentence that sounded like Quiche for “Oooh. Last of the big spenders.” So I
went hunting for small bills. I found a
Figure 13 Three old men in Santiago Atitlan
Clinic in the Mountains
Murial Clark and Dr. Vicki Morris traveled a considerable distance out of town to work in a Camajah clinic that served indigenous Quiche Mayans. Carl went with them as a combination bodyguard and interpreter. He came back and said that his interpretation skills were not needed and would I like to go in his place next time? I hated to miss the work crew for a day but was drawn by three issues that arose. First, nobody could tell me where the clinic was. Second, Carl talked about a Wizard-of-Oz cornfield where munchkins could be heard giggling, and last, I was curious what clinic duty entailed.
Adolfo took us to a rendezvous point near UMVIM where we would transfer to another vehicle to take us to the remote clinic. Adolfo was not happy with me for taking a day off work, but I wanted the expanded experience and really wanted to see the things the Carl and Murial described.
Figure 14 Rendezvous for ride to the Methodist clinic at Camajah
I rode to the clinic with two American nurses, Juan the
dentist, Marco his toddler son, his wife (I forget her name, but she’s a
wonderful mother to Marco), Dr Freddy, Murial Clark, and Dr Vicki Morris of our
team. The clinic turned out to be less than two miles from a Texaco station
where we always rendezvous for a coffee delivery from Solala during our return
trip to
There was indeed a cornfield out back with paths and even a
road going through it. Pat, a nurse from
Figure 15 Family sorting apples in Camajah cornfield/orchard
We came to a village a bit farther on. The houses were only separated by the width of the road. We saw two children and asked if we could take their “foto.” They nodded yes, but their mother looked terrified and nodded “no” almost imperceptibly. I said “No foto,” and walked on. Others were happy to let me take a foto.
Figure 16 Quiche mother and children at Camajah
Figure 17 Camajah
On the way back we walked along the main road, meaning a paved road. We saw a school that looked like any US school except for the little girls peering into it from the road. They apparently cannot afford to go to school.
Figure 18 School near Camajah
We also passed some interesting shops, including a bicycle repair shop.
Figure 19 Bicyle shop at Camajah
Murial and I bagged about 3000 vitamins that day. At noon we
here given heuvos rancheros. I sat near the end of the table with a nurse from
Figure 20 Lunch break at Camajah clinic
Yodie Yodie
I claim to have a masters degree in bucketology. This means that I can participate in a bucket brigade all day long without failing to notice more than 50% of the empties coming back down the line.
While I was gone to the remote clinic, the crew back at the church had poured some concrete. This required transporting buckets of the stuff in a classic bucket brigade fashion. Boo! I missed it.
Not to worry. There were several more occasions that required bucketology. Part of the drill requires that the line lengthen or shorten as the pour point moves. Apparently Tom Leonard had yelled “Yodie yodie” when this was necessary. This may have been a takeoff on Seinfeld’s “Yada yada,” but we’ll never know for sure.
The locals wanted to know what this new phrase meant. We had to tell them it was made up. That didn’t stop Adolfo. Whenever he wanted things to move, he yelled, “Jody jody.”
Figure 21 Digging ditch for security wall footings
Women and Children
I’m usually misunderstood when I say, “I admire Mayan women because they are dignified and work hard.” No, I don’t presume that we males could slack off if surrounded with strong Mayan ladies. I mean that those ladies are admirable people. It’s about results and dignity. The results involve delightful, handsome, well-behaved children with eyes that would melt the hardest heart, and wonderfully crafted articles such as weavings.
Figure 22 Maria Louisa's infomercial
There were four-and-a-half-foot tall ladies carrying many pounds of firewood on their backs. I’ve often seen large toddlers strapped to a small lady’s back. In church, a really small woman climbed onto the stage to talk. She had a little baby bouncing on her back. I now think of her when I think of Mayan women.
I’ve seen ladies in full, CLEAN, ornate native dress making cement blocks, carrying large bundles on their heads, carrying babies on their backs, and some even dug a ditch with us. An older lady, Maria Louisa, in imperfect health, helped me carry a five-gallon pail of water, unasked. I’ll never forget this. She also helped us dig a ditch.
Figure 23 Maria Louisa and other women digging ditch for security wall footing
Their children are well-behaved. They are often kept close to their mother’s body until well into toddler years. I’ve never seen a Mayan mother yell at anybody, much less at her children. I have seen a mother whisper to her child and swat him gently. The product seems to be happy, well-adjusted children.
I rode about 60 miles in a van sitting next to a three-year-old child sitting in a car seat. Normally, I would rather take a beating, but his child was a well-behaved joy. He gently pulled at my arm to get my attention. He showed me how to wink with two eyes and imitate the sounds of barnyard animals. He spoke Spanish, English, and the Mayan Quiche dialect, often all in one sentence. When he addressed his parents they would always answer. If he wanted to do something that was wrong, the answer would be, “I don’t think that would be a good idea, do you?” When it was time to drive back to Xela, he was asked what mode of transportation we should take. His parents encouraged him participate and think while helping him discard all suggestions except using the van to return.
Hey!
All strangers greet one-another, a nice change from the
These phrases, along with “gracias,” are a must for the traveler. Unlike the French, Spanish speaking people seem to quite tolerant of Americans clobbering pronunciations.
Our last day in
Ed Mauget, October 27, 2004