http://www.usaid.gov/gt/elections.htm
I am putting this link up for everyone because a lovely woman I met at Lake Atitlan took them when she was working as an election monitor in Quiche. Her name is Maureen Taft-Morales and she was serving as a Senior Democracy Fellow with USAID when I met her.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Last Letter Home -- for Now
Last letter home-April 5, 2008
It seems fitting to complete the series of letters home with some thoughts about my return to Guatemala from Nicaragua and on the impressions and emotions that crowded in when returning to Antigua during Semana Santa and the week following.
I arrived on Tuesday of Holy Week and was fortunate to find a place to stay in a residence where I had spent a fair amount of time in the past because I knew some people who had or who still lived there. It was familiar territory and near my old neighborhood, and thus easy to visit old friends and haunts – although nothing in Antigua is very far from anything else in Antigua, one of the charms of this beautiful little town known as the “Disneyland” of Guatemala.
Re-entering Antigua during Holy Week was very emotional. Although I am by now used to processions, Semana Santa’s processions are a step up, with alfombras (pictured on the blog) being richer and more beautiful than any I had seen before. My two favorite processions (there are many every day, especially on Good Friday) were naturally those in which I had some small personal interest – one with Oscar, the son of my friend Ingrid – the ninos procession, and the other that went through my old barrio east of San Francisco, because I got to see my old neighbors and hang out at Amparo’s house with Otto and Claudia and Lulu and Ingrid’s kids, Jennifer and Oscar, watching everyone make the alfombras, and then waiting and watching as the procession came through. Our neighborhood had the thickest array of alfombras I saw all week, some humble, some elaborate, but all of them right on top of each other, their denseness magnified by the fact that the tiny, self-contained neighborhood of Colonia el Pensativo has small, narrow streets.
On Good Friday, I was out in the streets fairly early watching a procession west and uptown, and then went to the Cathedral in central park where the faithful were filing into church, standing in line to touch the crypt of Jesus, who lay there dead under glass. I stood in line with my fellow Guatemaltecos and found myself suddenly in tears, unable to control the weeping. I, too, touched the coffin with the little piece of cotton given us by the acolytes as we approached the coffin, and then I had to sit in a pew for a while to collect myself, again not being able to stop weeping. It seemed that the tears were for the unresolved losses of my life, because although my father died at this time of year and recently, I never weep for my father. His long life allowed me to go through my disillusionment with this imperfect man whom I had idolized as a child, came to know his faults as an adult, and had the time to realize that while he was imperfect in many ways, in the end, I still loved him immensely. Thus, when I think of my father, it is never with sadness, but only with warm understanding and a feeling of completeness.
Still fighting back tears, I lit a candle for the first time in many, many years, praying that for the unresolved losses, and that somehow the sadness would find its way out and that I could take positive steps to replace those feelings of loss with new opportunities for love and understanding.
In the first several days after returning, I thought I wanted to leave immediately, that I was done with being in central America. But as the time wore on, I realized that it was really a new beginning. I determined to go to Xela, a city I have been wondering about for quite some time. I had spent only “tourist” time up in the highlands in the past (Chichicastenango, Lake Atitlán), but tourist time, while it can be fun and interesting to a point, is not what I seek. I always want to go to the heart of things.
I got a very bad infection in one of my toes and it became very difficult to walk. This became painfully apparent a day before I had planned to go, and couldn’t decide whether to go or stay in Antigua and go to the doctor. My friend Renee encouraged me to go anyhow, and so I did, with much pain over the 6-hour ride in a crowded collectivo to Xela. But I was glad I did. I stayed in a perfect place and everything I experienced there was positive.
I found two pianos in the old, huge, city theater, and, what is more, a marimba teacher who, when he found out I like to work on indigenous issues, said he wished he was indigenous (flirting is even more fun in Spanish!). I also came upon an energy machine of a young German woman who overheard our conversation and took me to one of the pianos behind the stage to play a bit and then insisted that I could not return to Antigua the next morning as planned, but had to stay to be in a music festival that she put together for musicians all over Guatemala that was happening the very next day. She is a very special person who I hope to have the pleasure of seeing again one of these days in Xela (I couldn´t stay for the festival, unfortunately).
Then I met some lovely people at Entremundos, a group that helps volunteers find appropriate organizations to work with in Xela, sponsors educational programs weekly at its offices for the community on burning political, environmental and human rights issues (which are really all the same on some level), and publishes a great little newsletter; finally met Tom of Xela Pages, who has been kind to me on several occasions over email not knowing me from Adam, as we say; and I had a great chat with the folks at AIDG, who are right down the street from Xela Teco, which they helped get off the ground (a small company that makes solar water heaters, biodigesters, micro-hydroprojects and other renewable energy applications). I have thought about Xelo Teco a lot, hoping to visit someday, since Brad Burkhartzmeyer, who had volunteered with XT, gave a presentation about renewable energy projects in Nicaragua and Guatemala early last year at a Shoreline Solar Project meeting. So it was a moving moment for me when I walked the quiet streets of Xela (quiet, that is, after rush hour!) and turned a corner and looked down to the end of the block to see the real Xela Teco, looking wonderfully shabby and not at all glamorous like it looks on its website, but there, really there, in front of me.
My unconscious expectations in Guatemala and Nicaragua about how things will be, how they will look, and the like, remind me a lot of how I experience spring in Seattle. One always has a picture in one’s mind about how something will be, whether we are conscious of it or not, and for spring here, it never turns out that way. As much as I have experienced spring here, over and over, as cold and rainy, there is still this unconscious part of me that expects it to be sunny and increasingly warmer, as it was in the Midwest and on the east coast. But it is never like that. It is always like it is, not like some place else is. “June-uary” is what we get, not June.
So it is with one’s image of how something will be in central America. There is this initial disconnect with the image in front of you, based on the way things look in the states, and then you settle into reality. And so it is with people. The only exceptions for me have been Lago Apoyo and Volcan Masaya in Nicaragua, which are, just naturally, beautiful. And every now and again we are lucky to meet some people like that, too!
In Xela, I also visited with a guy who has a small, four-person organization that works on organizing community development councils in the 5 departments including and surrounding Xela. And I had a great experience at a community health clinic, where they not only were kind, but charged me the same as they would have anyone off the street – 25Q ($3.33), for a doctor to look at my infected toe, clean it, dress it, and give me a prescription and instructions how to care for it (which prompted a donation from me the next day after learning that the clinic serves the poor communities surrounding Xela, and anyone off the street). Xela had a lot of positive energy, I thought, and it seems more politically engaged than Antigua, but what do I know. These are just uninformed impressions.
The trip back from Xela to Antigua was a wicked, 8-hour ride through the highlands, with torn up highway impeding our travel. But I still immensely enjoyed a concert of Trovas that night in Antigua (my newest music interest is learning Trovas on the guitar), and treasuring my last time with friends, finally falling in love with Antigua, something I had resisted for so long. But after the heat of Managua (which actually caused me to break out in a heat rash in my midsection, something that happens to delicate types in the tropics on occasion, the internet informed me), and the relative nippiness of Xela, neither being a match for Antigua’s beauty, it was impossible not to admit that Antigua is special, even if affected and infected by way too many foreigners.
The most important part of central America for me, however, is its people. They value each other and spend time just sitting together, like I imagine people here used to do before everything speeded up and became “auto” mated. (I remember thinking many years ago that soon Americans would never have to talk to anyone else to get by. How sad). Because the relative slowness of life, the fact that I walked everywhere for 6 months and thus encountered people constantly (they are all out walking, too!), is something that I already miss, having been back here only three days. That I could go anywhere in Antigua or Xela on foot and get what I needed, and enjoy the process of doing it, was wonderful. It seems to bring out the best in me. And there, it seems, my emotions are raw and open, and I am vulnerable. And I treasure that.
Sure, there are enormous problems, with education, with crime, with poverty. Simply enormous. But there are also rich traditions and a very high value placed on interpersonal relationships. What is a truly rich society? What makes the “happiness index” (as in Bhutan) move higher? For me, it is having Josephina recognize me in the street and grab my arms and hug me. Or Letty comfort me with hugs when she knows I am blue. Or the fact that I can sit on top of Cerro de la Cruz, looking down at Antigua and across at Volcan Agua, while chatting for a half an hour with a police officer in Spanish about crime in the country and how we both perceive it and what can be done. These seemingly small interactions mean a lot to me. So much so that I don´t know how long I want to stay away from them.
Love to you all. Hope to see many of you very soon. And the rest of you, even sooner!
It seems fitting to complete the series of letters home with some thoughts about my return to Guatemala from Nicaragua and on the impressions and emotions that crowded in when returning to Antigua during Semana Santa and the week following.
I arrived on Tuesday of Holy Week and was fortunate to find a place to stay in a residence where I had spent a fair amount of time in the past because I knew some people who had or who still lived there. It was familiar territory and near my old neighborhood, and thus easy to visit old friends and haunts – although nothing in Antigua is very far from anything else in Antigua, one of the charms of this beautiful little town known as the “Disneyland” of Guatemala.
Re-entering Antigua during Holy Week was very emotional. Although I am by now used to processions, Semana Santa’s processions are a step up, with alfombras (pictured on the blog) being richer and more beautiful than any I had seen before. My two favorite processions (there are many every day, especially on Good Friday) were naturally those in which I had some small personal interest – one with Oscar, the son of my friend Ingrid – the ninos procession, and the other that went through my old barrio east of San Francisco, because I got to see my old neighbors and hang out at Amparo’s house with Otto and Claudia and Lulu and Ingrid’s kids, Jennifer and Oscar, watching everyone make the alfombras, and then waiting and watching as the procession came through. Our neighborhood had the thickest array of alfombras I saw all week, some humble, some elaborate, but all of them right on top of each other, their denseness magnified by the fact that the tiny, self-contained neighborhood of Colonia el Pensativo has small, narrow streets.
On Good Friday, I was out in the streets fairly early watching a procession west and uptown, and then went to the Cathedral in central park where the faithful were filing into church, standing in line to touch the crypt of Jesus, who lay there dead under glass. I stood in line with my fellow Guatemaltecos and found myself suddenly in tears, unable to control the weeping. I, too, touched the coffin with the little piece of cotton given us by the acolytes as we approached the coffin, and then I had to sit in a pew for a while to collect myself, again not being able to stop weeping. It seemed that the tears were for the unresolved losses of my life, because although my father died at this time of year and recently, I never weep for my father. His long life allowed me to go through my disillusionment with this imperfect man whom I had idolized as a child, came to know his faults as an adult, and had the time to realize that while he was imperfect in many ways, in the end, I still loved him immensely. Thus, when I think of my father, it is never with sadness, but only with warm understanding and a feeling of completeness.
Still fighting back tears, I lit a candle for the first time in many, many years, praying that for the unresolved losses, and that somehow the sadness would find its way out and that I could take positive steps to replace those feelings of loss with new opportunities for love and understanding.
In the first several days after returning, I thought I wanted to leave immediately, that I was done with being in central America. But as the time wore on, I realized that it was really a new beginning. I determined to go to Xela, a city I have been wondering about for quite some time. I had spent only “tourist” time up in the highlands in the past (Chichicastenango, Lake Atitlán), but tourist time, while it can be fun and interesting to a point, is not what I seek. I always want to go to the heart of things.
I got a very bad infection in one of my toes and it became very difficult to walk. This became painfully apparent a day before I had planned to go, and couldn’t decide whether to go or stay in Antigua and go to the doctor. My friend Renee encouraged me to go anyhow, and so I did, with much pain over the 6-hour ride in a crowded collectivo to Xela. But I was glad I did. I stayed in a perfect place and everything I experienced there was positive.
I found two pianos in the old, huge, city theater, and, what is more, a marimba teacher who, when he found out I like to work on indigenous issues, said he wished he was indigenous (flirting is even more fun in Spanish!). I also came upon an energy machine of a young German woman who overheard our conversation and took me to one of the pianos behind the stage to play a bit and then insisted that I could not return to Antigua the next morning as planned, but had to stay to be in a music festival that she put together for musicians all over Guatemala that was happening the very next day. She is a very special person who I hope to have the pleasure of seeing again one of these days in Xela (I couldn´t stay for the festival, unfortunately).
Then I met some lovely people at Entremundos, a group that helps volunteers find appropriate organizations to work with in Xela, sponsors educational programs weekly at its offices for the community on burning political, environmental and human rights issues (which are really all the same on some level), and publishes a great little newsletter; finally met Tom of Xela Pages, who has been kind to me on several occasions over email not knowing me from Adam, as we say; and I had a great chat with the folks at AIDG, who are right down the street from Xela Teco, which they helped get off the ground (a small company that makes solar water heaters, biodigesters, micro-hydroprojects and other renewable energy applications). I have thought about Xelo Teco a lot, hoping to visit someday, since Brad Burkhartzmeyer, who had volunteered with XT, gave a presentation about renewable energy projects in Nicaragua and Guatemala early last year at a Shoreline Solar Project meeting. So it was a moving moment for me when I walked the quiet streets of Xela (quiet, that is, after rush hour!) and turned a corner and looked down to the end of the block to see the real Xela Teco, looking wonderfully shabby and not at all glamorous like it looks on its website, but there, really there, in front of me.
My unconscious expectations in Guatemala and Nicaragua about how things will be, how they will look, and the like, remind me a lot of how I experience spring in Seattle. One always has a picture in one’s mind about how something will be, whether we are conscious of it or not, and for spring here, it never turns out that way. As much as I have experienced spring here, over and over, as cold and rainy, there is still this unconscious part of me that expects it to be sunny and increasingly warmer, as it was in the Midwest and on the east coast. But it is never like that. It is always like it is, not like some place else is. “June-uary” is what we get, not June.
So it is with one’s image of how something will be in central America. There is this initial disconnect with the image in front of you, based on the way things look in the states, and then you settle into reality. And so it is with people. The only exceptions for me have been Lago Apoyo and Volcan Masaya in Nicaragua, which are, just naturally, beautiful. And every now and again we are lucky to meet some people like that, too!
In Xela, I also visited with a guy who has a small, four-person organization that works on organizing community development councils in the 5 departments including and surrounding Xela. And I had a great experience at a community health clinic, where they not only were kind, but charged me the same as they would have anyone off the street – 25Q ($3.33), for a doctor to look at my infected toe, clean it, dress it, and give me a prescription and instructions how to care for it (which prompted a donation from me the next day after learning that the clinic serves the poor communities surrounding Xela, and anyone off the street). Xela had a lot of positive energy, I thought, and it seems more politically engaged than Antigua, but what do I know. These are just uninformed impressions.
The trip back from Xela to Antigua was a wicked, 8-hour ride through the highlands, with torn up highway impeding our travel. But I still immensely enjoyed a concert of Trovas that night in Antigua (my newest music interest is learning Trovas on the guitar), and treasuring my last time with friends, finally falling in love with Antigua, something I had resisted for so long. But after the heat of Managua (which actually caused me to break out in a heat rash in my midsection, something that happens to delicate types in the tropics on occasion, the internet informed me), and the relative nippiness of Xela, neither being a match for Antigua’s beauty, it was impossible not to admit that Antigua is special, even if affected and infected by way too many foreigners.
The most important part of central America for me, however, is its people. They value each other and spend time just sitting together, like I imagine people here used to do before everything speeded up and became “auto” mated. (I remember thinking many years ago that soon Americans would never have to talk to anyone else to get by. How sad). Because the relative slowness of life, the fact that I walked everywhere for 6 months and thus encountered people constantly (they are all out walking, too!), is something that I already miss, having been back here only three days. That I could go anywhere in Antigua or Xela on foot and get what I needed, and enjoy the process of doing it, was wonderful. It seems to bring out the best in me. And there, it seems, my emotions are raw and open, and I am vulnerable. And I treasure that.
Sure, there are enormous problems, with education, with crime, with poverty. Simply enormous. But there are also rich traditions and a very high value placed on interpersonal relationships. What is a truly rich society? What makes the “happiness index” (as in Bhutan) move higher? For me, it is having Josephina recognize me in the street and grab my arms and hug me. Or Letty comfort me with hugs when she knows I am blue. Or the fact that I can sit on top of Cerro de la Cruz, looking down at Antigua and across at Volcan Agua, while chatting for a half an hour with a police officer in Spanish about crime in the country and how we both perceive it and what can be done. These seemingly small interactions mean a lot to me. So much so that I don´t know how long I want to stay away from them.
Love to you all. Hope to see many of you very soon. And the rest of you, even sooner!
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Ninth (9th) Letter home
Hello everyone!
(this was written before leaving Nica and before returning to Guatemala for Semana Santa, pictured in the fotos below this post. Sorry)
March 16
It is a real gift to be able to end my time in Nicaragua at Laguna Apoyo, for my third three-day visit. Laguna Apoyo, as I have said, is a relatively pristine crater lake surrounded by the heavenly sounds of the jungle, most appreciated from about 5 until 6:30 in the morning, times I never would have dreamed of getting up voluntarily. But here I set my clock to treasure this quiet, cool, magical time of night/day, when the night sky softly sheds its stars and gives way to the deep throated growls of the Howlers and the chorus of birds and insects that reliably greet the sun’s bold appearance at the far edge of the crater before it shatters and pours its liquid gold over the surface of the laguna in a path to my feet. This is a time of day here I would not dream of missing and today I must acknowledge that it will be quite some time, if ever, that I will be fortunate enough to experience it again. It is as if the rest of the world does not exist outside this hallowed crater of life.
My dream is to continue the excellent habit of going to sleep by 10 and getting up at 5:30 every day. We shall see. Coming home to the northwest at this time of the year is perfect to experiment with changing from a night person to a morning person because it is flooded with light very early in the morning now.
It is beastly hot in Managua, and the populace has begun the annual pilgrimage to the beaches to party, the way most of the people choose to celebrate Semana Santa in Nicaragua. I understand there are processions of a religious nature here, too, and alfombra, so it is not entirely godless, but my impression is that Managua, at least, empties out all week with people reappearing at the Pacific beaches in great festive numbers. Last year, some 10 people drown in the Laguna alone, many no doubt victims of too much alcohol.
This has been a great place to nurse the grip, which moved into my lungs a week ago and in its usual manner seems almost impossible to dislodge. It is hard for me to do nothing, but I really haven’t been able to work much since I got here Friday. Today, St. Patrick’s day, I return to Managua to pack and fly out Tuesday for Guatemala for two weeks. I would rather be going home, I think, but it is hard to tell when one isn’t feeling well. It will be trouble to go to Antigua during Semana Santa, I have too much luggage, and the place will be nuts. A better alternative would have been to come home, but I cannot change my ticket. Period. Not even with paying a fee. I have learned that 5 months here would be enough for me, at least in the capacities in which I have been here, and maybe even 4 months would be enough. If I had more friends or someone I wish “with,” as we say, it might well be different. But this after all was an experiment, and given it was a big one, I feel like it has gone quite well.
I think the link I sent you to the combined films of me and about Nahual’s Stan work is not functioning. Although it worked for me right after Carlos sent it to me, it doesn’t seem to work anymore. I apologize. I will try to get a copy of the Stan film and make copies for those of you who donated to Nahual if you want a copy.
The crack team of Katherine and Laure Dunne has produced another brochure. This time for the Solar Women of Totogalpa. They certainly are inspirational and we both are very happy with the outcome, because it has less text (more info for the Women will be on a portal on Grupo Fenix’s website until they have their own website, so I could put less in the brochure than I did for Nahual, which never has had a website up and running). I will attach it to this email so you can see how pretty it is!
My stay in Nicaragua has been harder in a different way than my stay in Guatemala. In Guatemala, I was so eager to work productively and contribute, and it was not possible, but as far as living conditions were concerned, they couldn’t have been more amenable. I was right on top of a very friendly gym, I had a lovely apartment and lovely neighbors and neighborhood and a beautiful climate. Here, I found the work I so wanted, a great person to work with, and an inspiring organization with a wonderful vision, but living conditions and climate that have been a challenge.
The heat has probably been the biggest challenge for me. I simply don’t function as well in the heat, and it gets hotter and hotter at this time of the year. As I have said, Managua leaves a LOT to be desired, but I am sure that if I didn’t live with nuns, and had some friends, it would have been more fun. It has been like being locked in a tower. The country was a bit of a challenge, too, sleeping cheek to jowl with 5 other people I didn’t know and couldn’t talk to very well, in dirty conditions, eating starchy food with flies and critters everywhere, no indoor plumbing, and other unappetizing conditions. Yet it was better in the countryside, and felt freer than Managua, and if I come back, I would probably want to spend most all of my time upcountry, perhaps living in the town of Ocotal and commuting by 20 minute bus ride to the community to teach English or teach environmental practices or do any number of other things at the project. We shall see. Life takes interesting turns and I hate to plan ahead too much in order to be open to what comes.
I have learned a lot during this time. I learned how to wash clothes by hand – I have done all of my wash by hand for 3 months – on stones and washboards. I finally got pretty good at it. I learned how to take a pretty decent pan bath outside at 6:30 in the morning while fighting major goosebump attacks. I learned what Trovas are from a lovely young woman, a CELL student (center for ecological living and learning), who was among 6 students taking our Solar Culture Course the last time I was upcountry ( nuevo trova was a movement in Cuban music that emerged in the mid-1960s combining traditional folk music idioms with progressive and often politicized lyrics. Though originally and still largely Cuban, nueva trova is popular across Latin America, especially in Puerto Rico and Venezuela. The Cuban Silvio Rodriguez is one of its most popular proponents). And most important, I learned not to put my trust in someone or in an organization until spending some time watching how it operates, learning the character of the people who run it, whether it operates in a way that is sustainable, and the like.
Something I failed to mention about Grupo Fenix, and the Solar Women, is that the project also brings together former Contras and Sandinistas, who now work side-by-side cooperatively. And it is interesting for me that my favorite person upcountry from the community is a former Contra. She seemed pretty tough at first to get to know, but she turned out for me to be the warmest of all. I never thought I would like a Contra, but who knows what the circumstances were . . . her husband is a land mine victim as well, having lost a leg like my singing and guitar companion, Marco Antonio. These people have endured much and the Solar Center is evidence of their faith in the future.
I am pleased that I found a guitar to buy in Managua – not great, but better than nothing – to take back to Guatemala for a family I know there whose daughter is beginning to learn classical guitar. That enables me to leave the guitar that I bought in Guatemala in Nicaragua for Susan to take upcountry to the project (one is a steel string, the other a classical). There is now a person in charge of all equipment, tools, etc. at the Solar Center, so the guitar will be there for people to check out so everyone who wants to play or practice should have a chance at it at one time or other. Marco Antonio will be happy.
As I sit here, mangoes keep falling from the trees around the porch. It is a constant sound in Nicaragua at this time of the year, the riches of the tropics literally hitting you over the head with their abundance. As I treasure these last hours at the Laguna, my mind of necessity turns toward the future, what it will be like to return to Guatemala, what it will be like to come back to the states. I have been reminded several times of Bobby Kennedy in the past few weeks. A couple of weeks back, I was chatting with my favorite CELL student, Dana, one morning at the Solar Center upcountry, and somehow we got talking about the U.S. GNP and I said how Bhutan had a Happiness Index instead of a GNP and how you have to love a country like that, and then I said, “that reminds me of a speech Bobby Kennedy gave about the GNP and how it was not a measure of wealth at all because it included making napalm, making toxins that people put in the environment,” and Dana, this kid, pulls out this book from something like the NW Earth Island Institute or something like that, that had reprinted a large excerpt from that very speech Bobby Kennedy made so many years ago, and I read it, --- and I cried.
I have so much emotion here because I am constantly confronted by the rawness of life, poverty, people with disabilities from land mines, and god knows what else – and, in the face of it all, kindness, and the contrast between people working hard and honestly for change in the face of the ridiculous policies and the greed of our leaders and the agencies that are supposed to help. And because we have lost so much of our national conscience and our souls in the US (to shopping malls, apparently), and I remembered how I was drawn to Bobby Kennedy because of his ability to put his finger on this type of thing and express it so well and so passionately. He was a good man, I think, despite whatever he may have done for his brother, whose death seemed to free him to be who he really was. It is a shame we have had no one like him since.
I am also attaching a link to an article I just came across in the Atlantic from a couple of months back by Sarah Chayes, formerly of NPR, who is trying to make a difference in Afghanistan. http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200712/afghans It so echoes for me Susan’s struggle to make a difference and the frustration that we feel from those organizations that are supposed to help but instead are siphoning off money for their executives or those of the private companies that get fat from them. It reminds me very much of the task I have taken on at the Laguna whenever I am here, of clearing the rocks from a path in the water so that people can walk in and out of the lake with at least fewer of the sharp volcanic rocks to navigate before they slip into the perfect liquid cool/warm soft welcoming water.
Those rocks return despite my twice daily efforts, but the task is always worth doing, because, if only for a while, it smoothes the sharpness and softens the way. Maybe that is all we can ever hope to do. To be there, faithfully, lifting the stones, moving them out of the way, facing head on the ragged edges of life and doing what we can never to forget those who have such little protection from them.
Love to you all,
Katherine
(this was written before leaving Nica and before returning to Guatemala for Semana Santa, pictured in the fotos below this post. Sorry)
March 16
It is a real gift to be able to end my time in Nicaragua at Laguna Apoyo, for my third three-day visit. Laguna Apoyo, as I have said, is a relatively pristine crater lake surrounded by the heavenly sounds of the jungle, most appreciated from about 5 until 6:30 in the morning, times I never would have dreamed of getting up voluntarily. But here I set my clock to treasure this quiet, cool, magical time of night/day, when the night sky softly sheds its stars and gives way to the deep throated growls of the Howlers and the chorus of birds and insects that reliably greet the sun’s bold appearance at the far edge of the crater before it shatters and pours its liquid gold over the surface of the laguna in a path to my feet. This is a time of day here I would not dream of missing and today I must acknowledge that it will be quite some time, if ever, that I will be fortunate enough to experience it again. It is as if the rest of the world does not exist outside this hallowed crater of life.
My dream is to continue the excellent habit of going to sleep by 10 and getting up at 5:30 every day. We shall see. Coming home to the northwest at this time of the year is perfect to experiment with changing from a night person to a morning person because it is flooded with light very early in the morning now.
It is beastly hot in Managua, and the populace has begun the annual pilgrimage to the beaches to party, the way most of the people choose to celebrate Semana Santa in Nicaragua. I understand there are processions of a religious nature here, too, and alfombra, so it is not entirely godless, but my impression is that Managua, at least, empties out all week with people reappearing at the Pacific beaches in great festive numbers. Last year, some 10 people drown in the Laguna alone, many no doubt victims of too much alcohol.
This has been a great place to nurse the grip, which moved into my lungs a week ago and in its usual manner seems almost impossible to dislodge. It is hard for me to do nothing, but I really haven’t been able to work much since I got here Friday. Today, St. Patrick’s day, I return to Managua to pack and fly out Tuesday for Guatemala for two weeks. I would rather be going home, I think, but it is hard to tell when one isn’t feeling well. It will be trouble to go to Antigua during Semana Santa, I have too much luggage, and the place will be nuts. A better alternative would have been to come home, but I cannot change my ticket. Period. Not even with paying a fee. I have learned that 5 months here would be enough for me, at least in the capacities in which I have been here, and maybe even 4 months would be enough. If I had more friends or someone I wish “with,” as we say, it might well be different. But this after all was an experiment, and given it was a big one, I feel like it has gone quite well.
I think the link I sent you to the combined films of me and about Nahual’s Stan work is not functioning. Although it worked for me right after Carlos sent it to me, it doesn’t seem to work anymore. I apologize. I will try to get a copy of the Stan film and make copies for those of you who donated to Nahual if you want a copy.
The crack team of Katherine and Laure Dunne has produced another brochure. This time for the Solar Women of Totogalpa. They certainly are inspirational and we both are very happy with the outcome, because it has less text (more info for the Women will be on a portal on Grupo Fenix’s website until they have their own website, so I could put less in the brochure than I did for Nahual, which never has had a website up and running). I will attach it to this email so you can see how pretty it is!
My stay in Nicaragua has been harder in a different way than my stay in Guatemala. In Guatemala, I was so eager to work productively and contribute, and it was not possible, but as far as living conditions were concerned, they couldn’t have been more amenable. I was right on top of a very friendly gym, I had a lovely apartment and lovely neighbors and neighborhood and a beautiful climate. Here, I found the work I so wanted, a great person to work with, and an inspiring organization with a wonderful vision, but living conditions and climate that have been a challenge.
The heat has probably been the biggest challenge for me. I simply don’t function as well in the heat, and it gets hotter and hotter at this time of the year. As I have said, Managua leaves a LOT to be desired, but I am sure that if I didn’t live with nuns, and had some friends, it would have been more fun. It has been like being locked in a tower. The country was a bit of a challenge, too, sleeping cheek to jowl with 5 other people I didn’t know and couldn’t talk to very well, in dirty conditions, eating starchy food with flies and critters everywhere, no indoor plumbing, and other unappetizing conditions. Yet it was better in the countryside, and felt freer than Managua, and if I come back, I would probably want to spend most all of my time upcountry, perhaps living in the town of Ocotal and commuting by 20 minute bus ride to the community to teach English or teach environmental practices or do any number of other things at the project. We shall see. Life takes interesting turns and I hate to plan ahead too much in order to be open to what comes.
I have learned a lot during this time. I learned how to wash clothes by hand – I have done all of my wash by hand for 3 months – on stones and washboards. I finally got pretty good at it. I learned how to take a pretty decent pan bath outside at 6:30 in the morning while fighting major goosebump attacks. I learned what Trovas are from a lovely young woman, a CELL student (center for ecological living and learning), who was among 6 students taking our Solar Culture Course the last time I was upcountry ( nuevo trova was a movement in Cuban music that emerged in the mid-1960s combining traditional folk music idioms with progressive and often politicized lyrics. Though originally and still largely Cuban, nueva trova is popular across Latin America, especially in Puerto Rico and Venezuela. The Cuban Silvio Rodriguez is one of its most popular proponents). And most important, I learned not to put my trust in someone or in an organization until spending some time watching how it operates, learning the character of the people who run it, whether it operates in a way that is sustainable, and the like.
Something I failed to mention about Grupo Fenix, and the Solar Women, is that the project also brings together former Contras and Sandinistas, who now work side-by-side cooperatively. And it is interesting for me that my favorite person upcountry from the community is a former Contra. She seemed pretty tough at first to get to know, but she turned out for me to be the warmest of all. I never thought I would like a Contra, but who knows what the circumstances were . . . her husband is a land mine victim as well, having lost a leg like my singing and guitar companion, Marco Antonio. These people have endured much and the Solar Center is evidence of their faith in the future.
I am pleased that I found a guitar to buy in Managua – not great, but better than nothing – to take back to Guatemala for a family I know there whose daughter is beginning to learn classical guitar. That enables me to leave the guitar that I bought in Guatemala in Nicaragua for Susan to take upcountry to the project (one is a steel string, the other a classical). There is now a person in charge of all equipment, tools, etc. at the Solar Center, so the guitar will be there for people to check out so everyone who wants to play or practice should have a chance at it at one time or other. Marco Antonio will be happy.
As I sit here, mangoes keep falling from the trees around the porch. It is a constant sound in Nicaragua at this time of the year, the riches of the tropics literally hitting you over the head with their abundance. As I treasure these last hours at the Laguna, my mind of necessity turns toward the future, what it will be like to return to Guatemala, what it will be like to come back to the states. I have been reminded several times of Bobby Kennedy in the past few weeks. A couple of weeks back, I was chatting with my favorite CELL student, Dana, one morning at the Solar Center upcountry, and somehow we got talking about the U.S. GNP and I said how Bhutan had a Happiness Index instead of a GNP and how you have to love a country like that, and then I said, “that reminds me of a speech Bobby Kennedy gave about the GNP and how it was not a measure of wealth at all because it included making napalm, making toxins that people put in the environment,” and Dana, this kid, pulls out this book from something like the NW Earth Island Institute or something like that, that had reprinted a large excerpt from that very speech Bobby Kennedy made so many years ago, and I read it, --- and I cried.
I have so much emotion here because I am constantly confronted by the rawness of life, poverty, people with disabilities from land mines, and god knows what else – and, in the face of it all, kindness, and the contrast between people working hard and honestly for change in the face of the ridiculous policies and the greed of our leaders and the agencies that are supposed to help. And because we have lost so much of our national conscience and our souls in the US (to shopping malls, apparently), and I remembered how I was drawn to Bobby Kennedy because of his ability to put his finger on this type of thing and express it so well and so passionately. He was a good man, I think, despite whatever he may have done for his brother, whose death seemed to free him to be who he really was. It is a shame we have had no one like him since.
I am also attaching a link to an article I just came across in the Atlantic from a couple of months back by Sarah Chayes, formerly of NPR, who is trying to make a difference in Afghanistan. http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200712/afghans It so echoes for me Susan’s struggle to make a difference and the frustration that we feel from those organizations that are supposed to help but instead are siphoning off money for their executives or those of the private companies that get fat from them. It reminds me very much of the task I have taken on at the Laguna whenever I am here, of clearing the rocks from a path in the water so that people can walk in and out of the lake with at least fewer of the sharp volcanic rocks to navigate before they slip into the perfect liquid cool/warm soft welcoming water.
Those rocks return despite my twice daily efforts, but the task is always worth doing, because, if only for a while, it smoothes the sharpness and softens the way. Maybe that is all we can ever hope to do. To be there, faithfully, lifting the stones, moving them out of the way, facing head on the ragged edges of life and doing what we can never to forget those who have such little protection from them.
Love to you all,
Katherine
Saturday, March 22, 2008
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