Three weeks in Guatemala was enough time to make that which I had read about this beleaguered country very real…..tangible….and at times heart-wrenching. We’ve experienced poverty and desperation, Latin American style, in the past. Our time in Ecuador and Bolivia was a valid and certainly frightening example of the malicious methods of wealth distribution. Yet, I’m quite sure that I’ll never grow comfortable with or, apathetic to, the visceral impact I receive when faced with the undeniable reality that is lived everyday by our brothers and sisters who just happened to be born on a different latitudinal line. It’s staggering to think what a few degrees of latitude can do for ones quality of life. Not to say there aren’t a few, and I must say very few, that reap the benefits of being at the top of the food chain. With regard to the less fortunate, it couldn’t be better exemplified than by the “tour” (or at least part of it) that took us to a community that was engaged in rebuilding their homes only eight months after a massive mudslide (rains from Hurricane Stan) buried almost the entire community, killing several thousand of its residents. I couldn’t help but ask our guide, “why are they building HERE, in the line of fire of another similar mudslide?? The short and only answer: they don’t have anywhere else to go nor the money to move. The government won’t assist them in relocating to a safer place---no, no, no---the land adjacent to the “danger zone” is prime coffee growing property. Actually another flood had come only days before, bringing tons, literally tons, of mud into the living spaces of the people trying to rebuild their lives and homes. Fortunately no one was killed, but more suffering managed to creep back in. And there we were, traipsing around their small plots of land while they labored intensely to remove the mud and stones that had all too recently inundated their homes. There we were on “tour” with our guide. I felt so very small and disgusting—like some parasite feeding on another creature’s ill fortune. But I didn’t leave without some much needed perspective….maybe enough to share with some folks that could use a little. Will I ever be able to complain about my life again?? Guatemala has changed me…..nothing new for me, I’m in constant flux, but three weeks has had a profound effect…..ever more confusion for my little mind and over burdened conscience.
Yet, shockingly, by and large the folks we encountered and spoke with (all too briefly) were so genuine, generous, and kind. The ironies and paradoxes are endless. How, after more than 30 years of civil war (it ended only ten years ago) that the U.S.A. largely fomented and funded, can these folks so consistently deliver smiles and gentle words to me—a person from the country that has been their oppressor. I—WE have so much to learn from their humility and patience. Their resilience and fortitude astound me.
--ryan….desperately attempting to live within the Tao……….
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
imagine.................Guatemala
As we headed for the Guatelmalan border, through the lush countryside of southern Mexico, our combi driver ejected the tape playing the ever present ranchera music. I then heard the familiar sound(to those of us over 30) of a new tape clicking into place.............then soft whispers of John Lennon's fingers on the piano. We were listening to Imagine, pushing toward la frontera.................and i took it as a good sign.
Guatemala.......where do i begin. first i will say that Guatemala is NOT Mexico. for those of you all that hold the idea that all countries south of the US border are the same. NO. no es verdad. the land. la tierra. is different. es diferente. la gente. the people. es diferente. are different. and there is nothing quite like being in the junge during the rainy season. like buckets of water being tossed on your head from the heavens. it's warm and wet. to the socks. to the underwear. to the pore. to the core.
we were in Xela(Shay-la) for a couple days. not so exciting. typical city. big. dirty. traffic. market. poverty. department stores. people walking. people begging. students. tourists. noise. men in suits. crafts. fast. pizza. beer. sports bars. the indigenous.
leaving Xela..........after 51/2 hours on the chicken bus(use your imagination) we landed in Santiago de Atitlan and i was horrified. wet wet rain. grey day dripping soggy ugly steets. muy feo. muddy dirty backpack self. looking around. where are we and what the hell are we doing here??? our traveling companion, Petra, content to find some rainless spot to smoke a cigarette. relax. we stayed. room number 9. and, again, i took it as a good sign.
2 days later my immpressions were changed. the people are kind and humble. so much poverty. so much peacefulness. and some depression and aggression. indigenous city. interesting place. not too touristy. streets full of the stench of piled decaying garbage, plastic, peels, paper, rubble, rancid. yet alive with colorful women chatting, walking, laughing. boys playing futbol(soccer) barefoot in the rain. very old shrivled shoeless women limping the wet streets peddling whatever little trinket they can. stripped of all dignity. i just want to hug them and cry. or to scream.
but Guatemala is so lovely and ironic. green, greeeeeen......almost unbareably eternally green. jungles, slopes, waterfalls, volcanos, coffee plantations, maiz, windy roads, valleys, crazy bus drivers. rich in resources. poor people. work and suffering. family. i have much to learn. to grow. to know. to forget. to be. to become.
...............Mary
Guatemala.......where do i begin. first i will say that Guatemala is NOT Mexico. for those of you all that hold the idea that all countries south of the US border are the same. NO. no es verdad. the land. la tierra. is different. es diferente. la gente. the people. es diferente. are different. and there is nothing quite like being in the junge during the rainy season. like buckets of water being tossed on your head from the heavens. it's warm and wet. to the socks. to the underwear. to the pore. to the core.
we were in Xela(Shay-la) for a couple days. not so exciting. typical city. big. dirty. traffic. market. poverty. department stores. people walking. people begging. students. tourists. noise. men in suits. crafts. fast. pizza. beer. sports bars. the indigenous.
leaving Xela..........after 51/2 hours on the chicken bus(use your imagination) we landed in Santiago de Atitlan and i was horrified. wet wet rain. grey day dripping soggy ugly steets. muy feo. muddy dirty backpack self. looking around. where are we and what the hell are we doing here??? our traveling companion, Petra, content to find some rainless spot to smoke a cigarette. relax. we stayed. room number 9. and, again, i took it as a good sign.
2 days later my immpressions were changed. the people are kind and humble. so much poverty. so much peacefulness. and some depression and aggression. indigenous city. interesting place. not too touristy. streets full of the stench of piled decaying garbage, plastic, peels, paper, rubble, rancid. yet alive with colorful women chatting, walking, laughing. boys playing futbol(soccer) barefoot in the rain. very old shrivled shoeless women limping the wet streets peddling whatever little trinket they can. stripped of all dignity. i just want to hug them and cry. or to scream.
but Guatemala is so lovely and ironic. green, greeeeeen......almost unbareably eternally green. jungles, slopes, waterfalls, volcanos, coffee plantations, maiz, windy roads, valleys, crazy bus drivers. rich in resources. poor people. work and suffering. family. i have much to learn. to grow. to know. to forget. to be. to become.
...............Mary
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
