Sunday, September 26, 2010

Only to me

Ever feel like some thing would ONLY ever happen to you? That how I feel being the new gringo in my village. To start things off, my fist time participating in the communal chop of the village just a week after arriving and my first chance to meet all the men ill be living around for the next two years, my machette slips out of my hand (because of the excessive amounts of sweat pouring from every inch of my body) and goes singing about twenty feet through the air. Thank god it did not hit anyone, but everyone in the village had a laugh at the white mans first chop. However, when we all set down to rest two guys sat down next to me and gave me a few lessons on chopping, so I made new friends.
Then while playing my first football game (I mean both in my life as well as in my village) my host brother lets loose with a cannon kick to launch the ball in to the goal, but I stop it...by it hitting my right in the family jewels. Once again the entire community was on had to witness.
Next, While hiking through the bush, chopping the boundary line between our village and the next village over we came to a mud wall about eight feet high. I throw my machete to the top of the hill to use both hands and climb up easier. When I get to the top the other men in the group are standing around a hole laughing. As it turns out when I tossed my machete it sailed right down to the bottom of a muddy twelve foot deep hole, and I had to hobble my way down in to get it and back out.
Finally, after enjoying a hefty bowl of kaldo for a young girls birthday party, some of the guys invited my to go to the bridge to play around. I had never hung out with this group before so I excitedly agreed, but as we were walking out of the village I felt a nasty grumble in my belly. Way to much Roman Noodles and beans the previous day I'm sure. The guys sensed I did not feel good but I said I was fine and kept going. We stopped at a family's house I had never really meet before when zero hour hit. Noone like to blow up on someone elses thrown, but some times in life you just have to look the old women you just met two seconds ago in the face and say hey “Wa tak in ta, Tuba a toilet paper etel latrine?” --- “I gotta poop, where is the toilet paper and latrine?” Laughter broke out in the crowded room, I think mostly it may have been them all knowing the condition of the “latrine” in which I was about to have this unfortunate BM. It was a concrete hole with literally a sheet hung on one side. The laughter carried over the thin sheet.
Im glad I did not just go home, because once you cross that line of embarrassment nothing can really bother you anymore. I also had a blast fooling around at the bridge. Swing from the supports of the new tall bridge, and having feats of strength on the old sunken bridge. No better way to get to know your village chairmen than to body slam him off a bridge. Everything just keeps on going, good or bad, and all you can do is smile and sit back for the trip. Try not to make the same mistake twice, and remember that jumping in head first is the best way to confront the unknown.

On hunting, farming, and fishing

The wet season is here in full force. My rain jacket is constantly stuffed in the outer net of my back pack, mostly because remembering to pack it ensures a sunny day. The dirt road that runs through my village, from the border of Guatemala to Punta Gorda, is a river of mud and rock. The buses are running slower, taking about 45 minutes longer now to reach town. Once, after a steady night of rain, when returning to my village on the 6 a.m. bus that was to go to the border, all 10 of us aboard got dropped off in San Antonio (about 7 miles from my village and 16 from its original destination) and had to hitch a ride about an hour later the rest of the way. As tends to happen though, an annoyance turned into a blessing, as the man I flagged down was actually in charge of water systems for my part of the district, and someone I had been going to contact.
I spent the rest of the day tired and covered in mud as I shadowed him on his stop in my neighboring village to arrange for the installation of the new motor and pump for their water system, pushing the truck out of the mud after each time we stopped. He was very friendly, and taught me a lot about how to run an effective water board and how the water systems themselves work. Before we parted ways he stopped by my village and speak with the Alcalde about coming out this dry season to dill in the hopes of finding a water table large enough to sustain a pipe water system, so the inconvenience of the morning was truly worth while.
For the first three months after swearing in as a PCV, you are meant to take time to meet your neighbors and do the things that they do with them. For me, this means hunting, fishing, and farming. I come from rural Indiana. If you asked me on any given day three things that I did NOT want to do I would say: hunting, fishing, and farming... well maybe fishing. But here, things are different. There seems to be a pureness to these acts. A simplicity. A logical shared understanding, rooted in necessity. Something I guess I never noticed back home.
I wake before the sun on the days I will go hunting. I always think about saying I feel sick just to go back to my comfortable sting bed, but as I make tea and brush my teeth on the back steps of my cabin the first rays of the morning sun, rising over the lush green mountains fills me with life. I lace up my boots, and sharpen my machete. If I am hunting with my neighbor he will usually send his youngest daughter over with a large plate of food for breakfast. Then we set off. Each man walking, carrying a machete, followed by a pack of mangy dogs. Different animals will be found in different places, but usually we head on a main trail towards the family farm. Many animals are attracted this time of year by the newly budding corn. We reach the farm as the sun is beginning to dominate the sky, dissipating the low clouds hiding as fog in the valleys. The scene is surreal. With the fog hanging over the vast farm stretching out into the jungle beyond with mountains on the horizon. So many different shades of green. The smell of life all around you. And a heat so mixed with moisture you can taste it as you suck a deep breath to fill your lungs, remembering that you could be in an office right now.
The dogs dominate the hunt. For the entire walk through the jungle they will go out into the bush and smell out an animal. You never know when they will start their barking, but when they send up the call we rush through the dense virgin forest as fast as we can. It all happens so fast I am just trying not to lose sight of the man in front of me. We run to where the dogs have either cornered on animal in a cave, chased it into water, or gotten a hold of it. Anyway it happens this is where they grab it and kill it. If possible it is best to kill it by blunt force to the head it seems. This is done with the dull side of the machete. I imagine it is done in this way so whoever has to throw the kill over their shoulder and back it home, is not covered in blood. Although I have never personally had my act together enough to be the one that kills the creature, while digging for a armadillo with a respectable yet aggravating will to survive, my machete was used by the man digging after him to end its life.
The kill is always carried by the youngest able son relative to the weight of the animal. I will sometimes volunteer to carry the kill for a number of reasons: The youngest son is usually my friend who helps me in many ways around the village, learn simple things that all men in the community know how to do, show I am not grossed out, and (most importantly) secure that I will receive a meal containing part of the tasty animal. So far while hunting we have found, armadillo, gibnut, and peccary. I hope to learn the way to trap a ground-mole as soon as the rain lets up. All are quite delicious when made into a Kaldo soup and served with freshly baked flour tortillas, but I would say gibnut is the best.
Sometimes we will be hiking through the forest for 6 or 7 hours, but I don't ever really feel the time go by. It is all just blur of chopping bush, running after dogs, waiting on dogs to come back after they lost an animal, and talking with the other men. Once, as we were going along in the jungle, all of a sudden we came to a clearing. We were on a hilltop south of the village. All I could see for miles around was endless waves of green mountains stretching out all the way to Guatemala. In the middle of this sea of green was a few building of the village: the library, an old church, my neighbors thatch roof, and my house. The old cabin was just sitting there, wooden windows blowing back and forth in the breeze. That is where I live. Theres my home, in the middle of this rain-forest. I took a picture, but it didn't come out the same. You cant capture the way it felt. All I could do was feel amazed and walk on after a moment. Just another memory. Another great reason to be alive. If in my old age I am lucky enough to slip, with dementia, into only the memories of my life, I shall die peacefully with a smile from ear to ear.

Farming too requires me to wake early. I lace up my boots and walk with the family to the farm. The farming plot to slashed and burned forest. Each family in the village has their own plot they are responsible for, and after a spot is used for two seasons it will sit for 15-20 years. Assuring that all the plants grow back, giving the soil the nutrients needed to plant again. The trees on the plot will serve as firewood. To be cut and hauled to the home by horseback Each family must also cut a farm road through the bush from the main road to haul the harvest out. Over all the hills and valleys this is no easy task.
Without the hassle winter, people are able to have two planting seasons. This enables them to have crops growing year round, which is important when some families will eat nearly 100% of their income. May and November are the planting months. Harvest time differs depending on the crop. Planting is done with large sticks cut from the surrounding bush which are used to make a hole about six inches deep. Deep enough that the birds can't eat the seeds, but not to deep that the sun cant reach the seeds. The farms are very large and you often have to plant on a steep hillside. It is hot and thirsty work, but a days work in the farm is always repaid with a hot bowl of chicken Kaldo with fresh tortillas. A food you eat a lot here, but can never get sick of.

Fishing has been one of my favorite pass times, and I was happy to hear that people fish even more in the coming dry season. It is an activity that the men will do on days that they do not have any work to do at the farm. A fun way to spend the day and put some different food on the table. With all the rain lately we have not fished in the flooded river that runs behind my house. Instead we hike a ways into the mountains and find a fresh water stream that is always clear. From here we walk upstream with our lines in the water, little bits of masa (milled corn that tortillas are made from) on our hooks. We stop in spots to set a net that has worm-stung wire running across its middle to lure small fish in.
My favorite way to fish however is definitely with the rubber band projected spear. This is a iron rod about the length of my forearm that is sharpened to a point on one side, and is attached to a rubber band on the other. You loop the rubber band around you thumb and grasp the spear just below its tip. It is now armed to fire, and all that is needed to to open you grasp and it will shoot out, fast as a bullet. This is used with a diving mask to dive under the water, see a fish and spear it. The first time the I dove underwater, in this stream deep in the forest, with a old diving mask, and a home made harpoon in one hand, I knew that I would forever measure events in my life as before and after that moment. Although I failed to find any fish to spear it was still an invigorating experience.
My friend we call “Juny” and I have plans to hike a day up river into the mountains, build a raft out of forest materials, sleep the night, and then spend the next day rafting back down the river, fishing all the way. A true Huck Fin Adventure.

Bush Doctor

For the first several months I was in country, I got very lucky as far as health issues go, but some things are just a matter of time. I guess what started all of it was the onset of the wet season, which mean more bugs. My legs looked like they had been caught in machinery they were so tore up from bug bites. I would fight scratching them, but then awake in the night to myself trying to rip off my flesh to replace the itch with pain. Something more mentally tolerable. It wasn't until I went to the farm one day with my neighbors to gather pumpkin seeds that I noticed my boots rubbing a spot on my leg. Each time I took a step I would wince in pain. For miles we hiked to the farm. I tied to find a way of stepping that didn't hurt, twisting my ankle in many different angels as I put my weight down, but nothing worked. I just limped on.
The work that day got interrupted by a midday thunderstorm, so we took refuge in the camp. An open air thatch structure. Everyone had brought something to eat with them, except for me. As we all sat in a circle each person shared some of their food and drink with me. So, thanks to their giving, I laid back on a bag of corn with a full belly and fell asleep to the sounds of the thunder and rain mixed with conversation in Mayan. My leg felt better after resting a bit, and I rolled up my pant leg to find a big, red swollen lump on my calf. In the center was a black spot around the cut. I was planning on going to town the day after next, so I figured id take care of it then. As time went on though, the pain grew worse. By the time we reached home I collapsed in my hammock. I cleaned it the best I could and rested the next day. I caught the bus to PG on Friday. I showed my sore, which had now spread to another cut down my leg, to some of the other volunteers. They said it looked like staph, all the diagnosis I need, so I called the nurse. PC mailed me down some meds and I proceeded to enjoy spending time with friends that I don't usually get so see.
A lot of people were in for our friends thirtieth birthday party, so the walk all the way across town to the airport to pick up my medication when It came in that night seemed like a task that would be far better to do in the morning. In my stupidity I carried on with the spirit of the night. I kept feeling worse as the night went on even though I was trying to ignore it and have a good time. By the time I went to bed that night it was three in the morning, my leg ached with pain, my head swimming with fever, and my friends were robed. Twice. Which included my phone.
In the morning I thought I was on my deathbed. I walked to get my medication right away and took a double dose, per docs orders. My temperature was 101 and my leg was swollen from knee down, red as a tomato, with nasty black spots at the center of my cuts. My buddy Dan helped me hobble to a cab so I could get to the hotel. I was a mess, and in the cab was a nice boy and his grandmother going to church.
After a few days in the hotel getting chastised by the doctor for not starting my meds right away I though I was feeling better, and my wounds were all healed. However, not a week after returning to my village however, I noticed that I had a two new spots that looked like the others had before they got to bad. This time I was on the bus into town the next morning. Started taking my medication straight away and rested plenty. My legs were not really any better, still had two large red bumps, that may have been the infection turned into boils, but I decided to go home and just come back if it got worse.
Days later when my antibiotics ran out, and the hot compresses were doing nothing I told my neighbor I would return to PG to see the doctor. “No Matchew” he said “I will give you a medicine that works wery good.” He returned to my door about an hour later with a bowl full of cut up leaves mixed with water. At least that's all I think was in it. I figured it couldn't hurt, so I soaked a cloth in the mixture and applied it liberally to the infected areas a few times that day. By the time I went to sleep that night the swelling had gone down noticeably, and kept going down as time went on. I never did go back to town to see the doctor, and a week later there was not even a mark left where the infection was. I thanked him for helping me, but now I have a very hard time telling anyone that I am a “health” volunteer.