Jumping off the cliff (again)

The weekend before leaving Guatemala to come home for the holidays, I went with my friends Emily, Carrie, and Jason (and Carrie and Jason's baby, Luke) to the little village of San Marcos la Laguna, where we jumped off a 25-foot tall platform into Lake Atitlán. In addition to my acute arachnophobia (the fear most relevant to my daily life in Guatemala), I am also terribly afraid of heights, and so the decision to literally take the leap was months in the making. I decided, in the end, that I would regret it if I didn't do it— and, moreover, that it might teach me important lessons about the value of facing my fears, and how the adrenaline rush inherent to such an activity would be significantly elevated by feelings of relief and what-was-so-scary-about-this-after-all accomplished retrospection.

It wasn't like that, though. It was terrifying. After eventually forcing myself to walk off the platform (after numerous knock-kneed false starts), I felt the initial terror and whooshing in the ears-- and expected to be in the water. But after a few moments, I was still falling, and, looking around with increasing panic, still falling... After hitting the water, swimming up to the surface, and getting my bearings, I had the expected adrenaline-and-relief rush, but I was still shaky, and still, in some ways, scared. After a few minutes, I decided to force myself to jump again, figuring that it would be more fun the second time around. 

It wasn't. The second jump was just as unpleasant and just as scary, and though I'm glad I did it— twice— I really have no plans to do it again, because it just wasn't fun. The experience did indeed teach me a valuable lesson, though not the all-scary-things-are-worth-doing one I expected to learn; instead, I realized that some things that seem like they have the potential to be scary and unpleasant turn out to be... scary and unpleasant, and just aren't worth it.

That experience— coupled with the fact that I've been in the U.S. for the past two weeks (and am at the moment sitting in a Starbucks in Brookline, Massachusetts, instead of— as was planned but disrupted by crazy weather that dumped a foot of snow and dropped temperatures to eleven below last night— on a plane that would have been at this very moment somewhere over Mexico)— has taught me that in my experiences in Guatemala thus far, I have been very, very lucky.

Moving alone to a small town in a developing country which doesn't speak my native language— and which, let's face it, has a lot of very big problems that can't be simply attributed to cultural differences— could have been lonely, uncomfortable, scary, unsafe, and just plain not fun. Instead— aside from smaller problems like spiders, a not-ideal diet, and frustrations about my inability to get ahold of certain material goods I sometimes miss dearly, and bigger problems like corruption and big-league ineptitude in various institutions with which I interact daily— my life in this random country I'd never previously given more than a few minutes' thought is pretty darn great. I have friends and community in two different parts of the country, I feel safe and culturally moored, I have lots of adventures, I don't work myself to the bone, and I enjoy teaching (even with the fairly considerable limitations, such as a lack of resources and absolutely nothing in terms of curriculum or guidance) and adore my hilarious, lovable, never-endingly interesting students. 

(When family and friends ask what I'm planning for next year— which is one of the most common questions, along with "So, like, what do you eat there?" [to which my answer, "Usually cabbage," doesn't seem to impress much]— all of these things come to mind. Though I'd like to earn a livable salary and have a certain yen to explore other parts of the world, I don't want to take what I have in Guatemala— which is considerable!— for granted.)

I am looking forward to jumping off the cliff again, to going back to a situation which is appealing no longer because of its total novelty but because I know that I will be going back to a known and endeared existence. (Though I continue to have near-daily Oh-My-God-I'm-In-Guatemala!!! realizations, for good and for bad... Additionally, being in the U.S. has made me miss the daily triumphs and struggles of interacting in a language in which I feel I've overcome the hump of being overwhelmed to a sense of feeling like I'm fine-tuning my ability to understand and express increasingly nuanced phenomena— which is a terribly exciting place to be!)

Being back home— in the Bay Area and in Boston— has been bittersweet. It has been very difficult seeing people I cherish all-too-briefly, not knowing when I'll see them again. I will miss drinking tap water, flushing toilets, and eating a wide range of foods. And, perhaps somewhat strangely, I've found myself redeveloping fears about Guatemala (such as the very real danger inherent to traveling in seatbelt-less old shuttles on notoriously ill-maintained roads) that I mostly successfully repress while there. (Though I am realizing anew that everything is so relative: in early December, I went to Guatemala City— for a bridal shower at which Evangelical middle-aged Guatemalan women proffered explicit sex advice in their toasts to the bride— and saw how Guatemalans ice skate: on a man-made, artifically frozen rink [surrounded on all sides by bleachers full of spectators], shuffling along slowly while holding on to the railing for dear life, wearing helmets. In a country in which people regularly stand on top of buses [loaded at 300% capacity] going 80mph on curvy mountain roads and ride their motorcycles with zero protective gear through treacherous city streets, people wear helmets in order to shuffle, toddler-like, while "ice" skating... Additionally, upon hearing that an American teacher from my school got in a serious car accident while visiting family in the U.S., a local teacher, after praying fervently to the Virgin of Guadalupe, expressed the hope that the American teacher would come back quickly from "that very dangerous country.")

And so though the prospect of going back on Monday (at 7am... unfortunately, despite rising early every day to teach, I have learned while being here that left to my own devices I am still very much a night owl) is not without some sadness and some trepidation, I am excited to go back. Living there is— as everything is— a mixed bag, but it has been on the whole a very positive experience, and one that I have been trying to not take for granted. Being in the city I decided to leave, I realize with renewed certainty that going somewhere else was very much the right decision. And it turns out— though I couldn't have known this while making the decision— that Panajachel, Guatemala, was the right place to go. The first jump could have gone badly, but it didn't; now I'm excited for the second.

                  

La gata está mala, and other realities (or: Look, Mom! I'm finally updating!)

I am writing this from a lovely little café, complete with three-tier indoor rippling water foundation, in the second-biggest city in the country, Quetzaltenango (also called Xela, pronounced "SHAY-luh.") I needed to get away, and came before because a) I'd never been before, and why not; and 2) because they have a Walmart, and I needed to get supplies I couldn't get on the lake. So today I took a little urban expedition, and took a taxi (which are also non-existent in Pana) to the giant mall, where I bought, among other things, cat litter, cat food, a fleece, and a cheese grater (to use later this week.)

First, some good news: after some petitioning from disgruntled (read: tired and homesick) teachers, the administration buckled and we now have Thanksgiving off. So I will be celebrating Thanksgiving and the first night of Chanukah in a country in which no one has heard of either. My friend is coming in from Guatemala City, and will be joining the cadre of AMA teachers at a Thanksgiving dinner, hosted by a woman who's involved with our school. My friend and I will be making latkes (with potatoes, onions, and eggs bought, of course, from Mayan women at the local market) and using a menorah which the very confused janitor made for me out of a stick he found in the yard (using a drawing I made for him as a model) and candles— 60 for 78¢— I bought at the candle store (which are typically used for saints' vigils, but no harm no foul, right?) (Have I mentioned how the stores in Pana are hilariously specific? I bought the candles at the candle store, and, a few weeks earlier, a comforter at the comforter store...) I am very excited for the day off, as, at this point in the year, I desperately need it.

School is going well, for the most part— I feel that I've found a groove; I no longer have daily panics that my students won't make any progress by the end of the year (though I continue to worry that they won't learn as much as they could.) I remain very frustrated by the lack of resources, but I feel that I've struck a good balance between doing what I can with what I have at my disposal and not worrying too much over things that aren't entirely in my control. My students are making progress-- they now speak primarily in Spanglish ("Puedo ir al bathroom?") or funny English ("Me go bathroom?")-- and occasionally make very funny mistakes, which I do my best to respond to accordingly (that is, not by busting out laughing): A few weeks ago, one student, apropos of nothing, exclaimed, "GO BITCH!!" After some questioning (in Spanish), I determined that he was trying to tell me that he had a strong yen to go to the beach... It is sometimes hard to determine when, when students seem to hit snags, how much of that is related to the fact that they are predominantly learning in a language they have yet to master, which is difficult. (I have one student, for instance, who has extreme trouble with simple addition and subtraction, which is due to the fact that he can't consistently count to 20-- though he counts better in Spanish than in English. I try to strike a balance between teaching him strategies in Spanish while also bolstering English skills... this is very difficult.)

Here's an interesting story from school:
During the Halloween party (which many families did not attend, on account of them being "true Christians" who do not worship the devil), one of my students' fathers (who is very wealthy and intimidating, and who travels around town in an armored SUV with several bodyguard— he supposedly owns a series of farms, but many are curious as to what is actually grown on these farms) approached another one of my students, who comes from an extremely poor family (when his mother gave a presentation— on infant care and sandwich making— to my class during our "people in our community" unit, she prefaced it with a 20-minute lecture— to 5-year-olds, remember!— on how she was there to ensure that none of the students wound up like her, with only a 4th-grade education and no job prospects who doesn't like herself or her life.) The father was upset that the boy had been telling his daughter that she was his girlfriend, and so acted as any father of a kindergartener would: he threatened to strangle him if it happened again. The parents of the boy were terrified (especially as the wealthy family, with their coterie of bodyguards, passes their home every day on the way to school, and thus know where they live), as they believe that this man would follow up on his promise (and, given the political climate here, would not only have the police on his side, but would have the authorities' support in causing harm to whomever they wanted.)

The situation was "resolved," according to the school administration.


Another thing that has been happening is that Tabitha has been very, very sick. When I first brought her into the vet, because she'd been lethargic and just not her usual crazy self, they did a number of tests, they called me during school to say that she had kidney and liver failure, and had a 35% chance of survival. I sobbed all afternoon before going back to the vet, and having them clarify that this was only the case if she had leukemia— which it turns out it did not. (Cultural differences are everywhere-- would this ever happen at a vet in the U.S.? Not in my experience...) I have been stuck in Pana for the past 6 weeks, because I have had to give her medication (which involves holding her by the scruff of the neck and literally shaking her until her eyes pop out) every 8 hours. She seems to be getting better— she is no longer anemic or jaundiced, and her kidney is once again functioning properly— but her liver is still not in great shape (though it is better than it was a few weeks ago), and she now weighs 6.2 pounds (she weighed 11 when we lived in Boston.) Those who know how attached I am to my Bunny can imagine how difficult this has been for me, but both of us are managing, and I am hoping that continuing to smother her with love (combined with the prayers offered by my very supportive, very Catholic local colleagues) will help her to get better. As the school's assistant director, with whom I have become friends, said, "She has to get better— she has no choice. Que Dios le bendiga.")

And so, for the past six weeks, I have stayed in Pana, which has both been extraordinarily claustrophobic (I am realizing more and more that though I enjoy the charms of small-town living, I really am a city person) and a very good opportunity to better get to know the (few people) I know in Pana. I am extremely grateful for a handful of wonderful people here; moving to a small town in a foreign country, things could have really turned out quite differently. I am also finding that I am becoming more introverted than I have been in the past— perhaps it is the context, perhaps growing older, perhaps some combination of the two; regardless, though, I am becoming more and more independent, it seems, and finding increasing satisfaction in my own company.

On that note, off to a solo meal at the dim sum restaurant in Xela. Hasta pronto.

various

This past weekend, I went on a solo adventure to Jaibalito and Santa Cruz, two very small towns on Lake Atitlán. It was very nice to spend some time by myself (and with some very eccentric ex-pat transplants who frequent the hostel I stayed at), and I feel reinvigorated this week.

This is not the promised post on cultural differences— that is coming soon. In the meantime, here are a few photos from what we've been doing in my classroom:

Here is what our "We are friends!" wall looks like now— now with 16 students:

And here are a few pictures from when parents came in to give presentations about their jobs, as part of our "People in our Community" unit:

And here are two of my students using the iPads you all worked so hard to raise. Thank-you cards are on their way!

Fin de semana: Guate style

Friday we had no school— the town feria, a very loud, firecracker-filled fair in honor of Pana's patron saint, Francis of Assisi, started Wednesday and continued through Sunday night— and so I took the opportunity to skip town and four hours by shuttle to Guatemala City. Though living here has many charms, I do miss many aspects of living in a city. Friends I've made who live there very kindly arranged to satisfy two particular cravings I've had since moving here: going to a movie and having Indian food. And so Friday night, after dropping off my things at my friend's apartment in Zone 14, we endured the worst traffic I've ever encountered (and I've endured my share of steering wheel-pounding traffic on I-90 throughout New England...) to see a French movie in a cineplex in an honest-to-God sprawling commercial mall (which was the most technologically advanced I'd ever seen, complete with stoplights in the parking garage and assigned seats in the movie theater...!). I got orange soda and nachos with no-natural-ingredients nacho cheese just because I could. The movie was in French with Spanish subtitles, and had a few lines of heavily-accented Australian English, and so was a considerable linguistic workout (though I was very proud of myself for understanding everything, save an occasional reference to particular French cuisine); I felt I earned my dinner, which was at a lovely Italian restaurant on the ground floor, surrounded by a truly random smattering of (semi-)familiar chains (Tommy Hilfiger, United Colors of Benetton, Naturalizer...) 

The next day, I met up with a woman who I haven't seen since 2009, when we were both living in New Orleans. She has been a missionary in Guatemala City since 2010, and hearing about her experiences— both Guatemala-specific ones, and ones more related to being a missionary (whose living expenses and teaching salary are funded entirely by Christians in the U.S.)— were fascinating. We then took (cover your ears, Mom!!) her motorcycle to Zone 16, where I met up with two friends and went on a truly spectacular hike through a very lush, very un-urban spot right in the middle of the all the urban sprawl. That night, we had Indian food, which was... unlike any Indian food I've had ever, but it satisfied a craving two months in the making, and then returned to my host's house and played bilingual Bananagrams.

Sunday I had lunch with friends, spent more time in a mall (a different, but equally technologically advanced, mall), and then came back to Pana. And here I am, having survived yet another day in school. Today one of my students spilled his entire lunch in his backpack; while investigating this, I found several days' worth of missing homework, balled up at the bottom, now covered in mayonnaise.

Oy.

Watch out for the next post, on cultural differences, misunderstandings, and things about this place that are just plain weird.

Very long-delayed update!

First things first: I've updated my photos! Click here to see photos from travels to San Marcos, Santiago Atitlán, Antigua, and Earthlodge (a hippie-style lodge in El Hato, near Antigua).


I am so sorry that I have not updated this blog in far too long. Now that I have gotten over the not-writing-because-I-have-so-much-to-catch-up-on hump, I will be much better from here on out. Blogs are an interesting format; because this is semi-public (though I certainly don't flatter myself into thinking that many people read this; I just need to be aware of the fact that anyone could), I feel like I need to filter certain— mostly negative— aspects of my experience. This is— like teaching, like living in a foreign (sometimes very foreign) country, like life— a work in progress, and I am figuring it out as I go. But I promise that I will update more regularly once more.

Tomorrow will be the 24th day of school; I know this because every morning we fill out our "How Many Days Have We Been In School?" chart (with alternating colors and patterns— at this point the kids know that even days are written in orange and odd in yellow; this week we started a triangle-triangle-circle pattern around the numbers as well.) School is getting easier (for me, at least; I hope it's getting harder— academically, not in other ways— for the kids!), though there are aspects of school life that make me pine for aspects of the American school system I never thought I'd miss. I currently have 15 students, with one more joining after the Guatemalan school year ends this month, in a space that's not nearly big enough to accommodate them. Their English— non-existent at the beginning of the year— is improving (they now say things like "Tengo que ir al bathroom"), but I feel like the core of the first-grade curriculum— learning to read and write via recognition— remains inaccessible, at least for now.

I've learned how to work hard without overdoing it; I have late evenings and weekends to myself, free of work, which keeps me sane. I'm gone on lots of weekend trips, and am establishing a social network in Guatemala City, which makes life feel far less claustrophobic than it might in this very small, very interconnected town.

I will update soon; until then, peruse the photos!

Rosh Jashaná

School is in full swing, and it is overwhelming, some in good ways and some in some not-so-good ways. I am spending 10-11 hours a day at school, and still feel like I'm not nearly as prepared each day as I could be. But my students are absolutely wonderful, and teaching feels Right in a very energizing and profound way.

Last week I left school mid-day on Wednesday to travel four hours by public shuttle to Guatemala City, where I celebrated Rosh Hashanah  with a group of Guatemalans who converted to Reform Judaism. Converting to Judaism in any locale is a feat of perseverence, but it is especially so in a country which is .0064% Jewish, and in which there are no role models of non-ultra Orthodox/Lubavitcher Jews. For the majority of congregants of this congregation, the path to Judaism was solitary, difficult, and paved with layers upon layers of rejection from (the few other) Guatemalan Jews and sketchy-at-best behavior by opportunistic American rabbis. But after years of study and dedication, these individuals found each other, formed a community, and continue to deepen their connection to Judaism and to each other.

The community was one of warmest— and most informed, Jewishly— I have ever met. (One man taught himself Hebrew entirely by studying the one siddur he could get ahold of.) This year, a rabbi came from Los Angeles to lead services; this is the second time since the congregation's founding in 2000 that they have had a rabbi for the High Holidays. And oh, how enthusiastic all of the praying, singing, and reflection was! And seeing the Torah cover, made of traditional Mayan huipil fabric, was such a poignant symbol of the amalgam of cultures, histories, and affiliations embodied by the congregation.

First Day of School!

It's wonderful so far. My students' English is extremely limited, so much of the day involved me talking at them and them just kind of nodding, but they are lovely and adorable and inquisitive and hilarious. I have one kindergartener who only knows one English word, and who uses it extremely liberally: "Are you ready to go to morning meeting?" "YAS!" "What book do you want to read?" "YAS!" "What center do you want to go to now?" "YAS!"

I will write more about school in a few days, when I have a few moments of spare time—


Stay tuned for the next post, which will be about my journey to Guatemala City to attend Rosh Hashanah services with a community of Mayan converts...