Tuesday, May 29, 2007
I'd been away from my sleepy Municipality for a week. But I got back on Friday evening the 25th to find the place jumping. That night there was a dance at the community hall, sponsored by the Instituto Paraiso. This IP is the local Indigenous Pride school with its curriculum heavily into Maya history and languages and cross-cultural studies.
The dance was surreal. It was a disco party with a live band and a DJ. So here was this dark hall with all these Mayan Q'iche' speaking kids bopping to the music, the girls wearing the traditional long skirts and the intricate huipil blouses. Typical of high school dances, there were still lots of kids sitting on the bleachers on the sidelines who couldn't or wouldn't get on the dance floor. This scene could not have happened without television and "western" movies. I kept feeling that this should be a National Geographic feature on a culture in transition. If there were any chaperones, they were not in evidence and certainly didn't stop the four guys who were drunk out of their minds from trying to grope any girls unfortunate enough not to see them coming.
Then on Saturday the 27th there was a big political rally in town for Alvero Colom, who is the runaway leader for the next presidential election, in September. Lots of banners, firecrackers, imported cheering supporters, and of course, Colom himself who arrived by helicopter. He is from an "old family" in Guatemala and so looked very European and out of place in this Mayan community. He is not popular here.
The dance was surreal. It was a disco party with a live band and a DJ. So here was this dark hall with all these Mayan Q'iche' speaking kids bopping to the music, the girls wearing the traditional long skirts and the intricate huipil blouses. Typical of high school dances, there were still lots of kids sitting on the bleachers on the sidelines who couldn't or wouldn't get on the dance floor. This scene could not have happened without television and "western" movies. I kept feeling that this should be a National Geographic feature on a culture in transition. If there were any chaperones, they were not in evidence and certainly didn't stop the four guys who were drunk out of their minds from trying to grope any girls unfortunate enough not to see them coming.
Then on Saturday the 27th there was a big political rally in town for Alvero Colom, who is the runaway leader for the next presidential election, in September. Lots of banners, firecrackers, imported cheering supporters, and of course, Colom himself who arrived by helicopter. He is from an "old family" in Guatemala and so looked very European and out of place in this Mayan community. He is not popular here.
The great misfortune of the day came rather late. Victoriano's father had fallen gravely ill just a few days ago, and his end came today. Manuel Guachiac, at 85 years, was delivered to his home by ambulance, on a respirator so that he could die at home surrounded by family as the respirator was removed. Many family members and friends were there, coffee was brewed and huge baskets of bread brought in. A fire was started in the tooj (the indigenous sauna) to wash the body before dressing it for burial. The family and many friends stayed throught the night, with mats and blankets spread on the floor of the large kitchen. The women typically talk and banter and hold a slumber party, the men gather on benches in the room with the casket, and drink alcohol through the night.
The weather changed to suit the now somber mood of the day. Fog rolled in, it got cold and rained throughout the late afternoon and evening.
The following day (Sunday) breakfast was served in the courtyard to family and many, many friends. The casket was in a separate room, now decorated with flowers, a few pictures from Manuel's life, and candles at the corners of the casket. A basket for donations toward the cost of the funeral rested on the casket, which contained a small window through which you could see the shroud-wrapped body. The custom is to include clothing, blankets, food and eating utensils in the casket along with the body.
That evening there was an Evangelical service around the casket. The pastor read verses from the Bible in Q'iche' and led the people in song. Following this there was a period of lamentation for perhaps 30 or 45 minutes. These were spontaneous personal prayers and memories, songs and verses, in Q'iche', all spoken simultaneously. It had the feel of speaking in tongues but without hysteria, and the effect felt somehow very human and comforting. When the lamentations subsided, the pastor gave a long prayer in both Q'iche' and Spanish, and that ended the service.
A meal was again served to everyone, recorded music was playing, and music, conversation and laughter continued until late in the evening. Again, the women gathered to spend the night, and the men gathered to talk and drink.
Today, Monday, breakfast was again served to everyone (bean paste, a hard boiled egg, tamales, coffee), and preparations were made to transport the casket for the burial. Still more soda and rolls for everyone. About 10:00 the casket was opened to inspect the body, then re-closed. Six pallbearers then paraded the casket from the courtyard through the town to the homes of Manuel's siblings and children, to his shop in the market, and then on to the church where there was another service.
In the courtyard and at each stop, the casket was rotated three times before continuing. This obviously was difficult work for the pallbearers.
The Evangelical Church was the last stop for the casket in Nueva Santa Catarina Ixtahuacan. The interior of the church is in marked contrast to the relative austerity of the large Catholic Church in the center of town. And the energy level here is always high, with live music and activities.
After all this the casket was loaded onto a pickup truck, with family members riding with it. This was followed by a caravan of some five pickups and a very large truck to carry townspeople to the old town. There the casket was carried to the site of Manuel's home before the town relocated, remaining there for an hour. More soda and bread.
Then the large procession walked silently behind the casket to the cemetary for yet another Christian service at the gravesite.
Finally the casket was placed in a tomb and the tomb sealed with concrete blocks and morter. The tomb is adjacent to that of Manuel's wife, who preceeded him in death by six years.
In recognition of the recent fighting between the new and old towns, both the National Police and the Army were on prominent display, with so many people from the new town suddenly appearing in the neighborhood.
It began to rain on the return trip to Nueva Santa Catarina Ixtahuacan. The chicken soup, tamales and coffee served on our return were very welcome.
Victoriano tells me that he and his brother will now light candles for their Father every day and every evening for nine days. After nine days there will be another, traditional Mayan ceremony, and that will finally end Manuel Guachiac's burial process.
May he rest in peace.
It is raining again.
The weather changed to suit the now somber mood of the day. Fog rolled in, it got cold and rained throughout the late afternoon and evening.
The following day (Sunday) breakfast was served in the courtyard to family and many, many friends. The casket was in a separate room, now decorated with flowers, a few pictures from Manuel's life, and candles at the corners of the casket. A basket for donations toward the cost of the funeral rested on the casket, which contained a small window through which you could see the shroud-wrapped body. The custom is to include clothing, blankets, food and eating utensils in the casket along with the body.
That evening there was an Evangelical service around the casket. The pastor read verses from the Bible in Q'iche' and led the people in song. Following this there was a period of lamentation for perhaps 30 or 45 minutes. These were spontaneous personal prayers and memories, songs and verses, in Q'iche', all spoken simultaneously. It had the feel of speaking in tongues but without hysteria, and the effect felt somehow very human and comforting. When the lamentations subsided, the pastor gave a long prayer in both Q'iche' and Spanish, and that ended the service.
A meal was again served to everyone, recorded music was playing, and music, conversation and laughter continued until late in the evening. Again, the women gathered to spend the night, and the men gathered to talk and drink.
Today, Monday, breakfast was again served to everyone (bean paste, a hard boiled egg, tamales, coffee), and preparations were made to transport the casket for the burial. Still more soda and rolls for everyone. About 10:00 the casket was opened to inspect the body, then re-closed. Six pallbearers then paraded the casket from the courtyard through the town to the homes of Manuel's siblings and children, to his shop in the market, and then on to the church where there was another service.
In the courtyard and at each stop, the casket was rotated three times before continuing. This obviously was difficult work for the pallbearers.
The Evangelical Church was the last stop for the casket in Nueva Santa Catarina Ixtahuacan. The interior of the church is in marked contrast to the relative austerity of the large Catholic Church in the center of town. And the energy level here is always high, with live music and activities.
After all this the casket was loaded onto a pickup truck, with family members riding with it. This was followed by a caravan of some five pickups and a very large truck to carry townspeople to the old town. There the casket was carried to the site of Manuel's home before the town relocated, remaining there for an hour. More soda and bread.
Then the large procession walked silently behind the casket to the cemetary for yet another Christian service at the gravesite.
Finally the casket was placed in a tomb and the tomb sealed with concrete blocks and morter. The tomb is adjacent to that of Manuel's wife, who preceeded him in death by six years.
In recognition of the recent fighting between the new and old towns, both the National Police and the Army were on prominent display, with so many people from the new town suddenly appearing in the neighborhood.
It began to rain on the return trip to Nueva Santa Catarina Ixtahuacan. The chicken soup, tamales and coffee served on our return were very welcome.
Victoriano tells me that he and his brother will now light candles for their Father every day and every evening for nine days. After nine days there will be another, traditional Mayan ceremony, and that will finally end Manuel Guachiac's burial process.
May he rest in peace.
It is raining again.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Ahh, the confrontation between Nueva and Antigua Santa Catarina Ixtahuacan makes more sense now, thanks to a discussion with my hostess, Martina. Nueva SCI was built on land purchased for the new planned community by the government. But the lands around it are still held by the neighboring Municipality.
Now, remember that personally raising corn to feed the family is a sacred obligation of the Maya head of household. For this reason, the transplanted families still retain their milpas in the old community, even though it is a 2 hour hike (or a shorter pickup ride, but that costs 5 Quetzales) each way. However, arable land is precious, and since the folk who stayed in the old community have strong negative feelings about those who left anyway, their continued us of the land around the old community rankles.
So, if they really do establish an Indigenous Municipality, they will be able to apply local custom (for which, read their own) to ownership of the milpas. So this also comes down to a land dispute, another one that will not be easily resolved.
####
I have been reading a fascinating book. The Ginger Tree is the story of a Scotch woman who marries a British military attache and heads to China right after the Boxer Rebellion, in 1902. It is the story of her experiences - and misfortunes - in China and later Japan between than and 1942. It is written as her Journal entries and letters to friends - very much like reading a blog, but more intimate and revealing.
Because she is taken out of her element, and slowly learns to survive, more or less, in two very different cultures, it all has some special resonance for me. At one point the book says I was like a world traveller trying to move around with a heavy trunk stuffed with my own past, and it was about time I learned that all any of us need is a very light suitcase. This, as I am trying to deal with what I am going to do with the boxes of photo albums, kitchen utensils, knick-knacks, CDs and art stuff that I made the mistake of carrying to Guatemala. But I don't want to lose these parts of my past, they record so much of who I am/was.
Hmmm.
I am in Xela again today (Sunday), as I really don't much enjoy down time in my little village. Xela is big enough to have the surprises that go with cities. Today there was a delightful exhibition of dancing by little girls, students of a Xela dancing school, in front of the Municipal Building. Not very polished, but fun, in its innocense and exuberance.
With Mothers selling food and snacks to support their ballerinas.
Now, remember that personally raising corn to feed the family is a sacred obligation of the Maya head of household. For this reason, the transplanted families still retain their milpas in the old community, even though it is a 2 hour hike (or a shorter pickup ride, but that costs 5 Quetzales) each way. However, arable land is precious, and since the folk who stayed in the old community have strong negative feelings about those who left anyway, their continued us of the land around the old community rankles.
So, if they really do establish an Indigenous Municipality, they will be able to apply local custom (for which, read their own) to ownership of the milpas. So this also comes down to a land dispute, another one that will not be easily resolved.
####
I have been reading a fascinating book. The Ginger Tree is the story of a Scotch woman who marries a British military attache and heads to China right after the Boxer Rebellion, in 1902. It is the story of her experiences - and misfortunes - in China and later Japan between than and 1942. It is written as her Journal entries and letters to friends - very much like reading a blog, but more intimate and revealing.
Because she is taken out of her element, and slowly learns to survive, more or less, in two very different cultures, it all has some special resonance for me. At one point the book says I was like a world traveller trying to move around with a heavy trunk stuffed with my own past, and it was about time I learned that all any of us need is a very light suitcase. This, as I am trying to deal with what I am going to do with the boxes of photo albums, kitchen utensils, knick-knacks, CDs and art stuff that I made the mistake of carrying to Guatemala. But I don't want to lose these parts of my past, they record so much of who I am/was.
Hmmm.
I am in Xela again today (Sunday), as I really don't much enjoy down time in my little village. Xela is big enough to have the surprises that go with cities. Today there was a delightful exhibition of dancing by little girls, students of a Xela dancing school, in front of the Municipal Building. Not very polished, but fun, in its innocense and exuberance.
With Mothers selling food and snacks to support their ballerinas.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Forgive me, I'm 'way behind in keeping up my blog. So what's been happening?
My Municipality, Nueva Santa Catarina Ixtahuacan, has been having its Hatfields vs McCoys drama with the neighboring Municipality over water and land rights. About a month ago, it reached the point of fighting, and eight men were hospitalized with machete wounds. (I stay far away from any of these troubles - the battles are in outlying communties.) The army was called in on that one, and we had soldiers patrolling the town for a couple of days. Since then, the National Police have been invited back - they were kicked out about a year ago when they beat up a teenager seemingly without cause - and we now have a Police Substation here.
The whole fracas goes back 150 years, to a fight between two community leaders over a woman (what else?), and half the Municipality seceded. People here say the difficulties could be ended if there were a clear boundary between the two Municipalities. But that cannot happen, because the communities are completely intermixed. Most communities along the "border" have two centers, each owing allegiance to its own Municipality.
But the Hatfield/McCoy thing is on the back burner for now. We now have our own internal problem to deal with.
In response to Hurricane Mitch, the Municipal Center moved from its beautiful but dangerous site to its current new site in 2000. It is now a planned community on a mountaintop, with little water or firewood and a very unpleasant (cold, cloudy) climate. It is called "Alaska" for a reason. But it is much safer, and the new houses built by International Aid groups are solid, if simple.
The few people who did not transfer, supported by their very active local priest who bitterly opposed the move (and still does, he hasn't gotten over it) still live there in their sinking houses with cracked walls. There is even some new building going on. Recently they decided to become an autonomous indigenous community, essentially seceding yet again from the Municipality.
The old community still has a very impressive church, but inside it is full of steel bracing, and the walls are canted out at about 5 degrees, with wide cracks in the walls.
This has all given rise to a series of empassioned meetings in front of the Alcaldia here, with much shouting and waving of arms. The secesion is bitterly opposed by most of the surrounding communities.
About two weeks ago a contingent of people went to the old community and destroyed their signs proclaiming the new Indigenous Municipality. This is the previous Alcaldia with the Municipalidad Indigena Santa Catarina painted out. They now have chains and guards at the entrance to their community.
Posters proclaiming the Rights of Indigenous Peoples featuring pictures of Eva Morales (the indigenous President of Bolivia) are prominent beside the door of the Alcaldia.
It is tough to get your hands around this bruhaha. The current Mayor (Alcalde) and all the Municipal staff are already indigenous, so what is the big deal? It seems to involve an autonomy issue, where the government has agreed to allow some indigenous communities freedom to control land and discipline malcreants by traditional (unspecified) Mayan customs. But nobody will come right out and say that even when asked, and it is not clear what it means in any case.
Well, this doesn't have much to do with why I am here but it does keep life interesting.
Since I have not been able to generate much support for creating a local organization that can prepare for and respond to natural disasters, I am mostly engaged in GPS mapping of the communities. I now have the coordinates of about 30 of the 106 communities in the Municipality. And I do what I can to disseminate the excellent government public service announcements to local radio stations, organize the official data on the communities for the Municipality, stuff like that.
And I am increasingly thinking about what I need to do when my Guatemala service ends, on June 30th. That looks like Seattle for our family reunion and some personal maintenance tasks, then Pennsylvania (the Poconos and Philadelphia) and the midwest for several weeks of visiting relatives and friends, then catching up with Matt and his family camping through the West. Finally, if all goes well, I expect to return to Mexico in October for another period of service with the Peace Corps there.
My Municipality, Nueva Santa Catarina Ixtahuacan, has been having its Hatfields vs McCoys drama with the neighboring Municipality over water and land rights. About a month ago, it reached the point of fighting, and eight men were hospitalized with machete wounds. (I stay far away from any of these troubles - the battles are in outlying communties.) The army was called in on that one, and we had soldiers patrolling the town for a couple of days. Since then, the National Police have been invited back - they were kicked out about a year ago when they beat up a teenager seemingly without cause - and we now have a Police Substation here.
The whole fracas goes back 150 years, to a fight between two community leaders over a woman (what else?), and half the Municipality seceded. People here say the difficulties could be ended if there were a clear boundary between the two Municipalities. But that cannot happen, because the communities are completely intermixed. Most communities along the "border" have two centers, each owing allegiance to its own Municipality.
But the Hatfield/McCoy thing is on the back burner for now. We now have our own internal problem to deal with.
In response to Hurricane Mitch, the Municipal Center moved from its beautiful but dangerous site to its current new site in 2000. It is now a planned community on a mountaintop, with little water or firewood and a very unpleasant (cold, cloudy) climate. It is called "Alaska" for a reason. But it is much safer, and the new houses built by International Aid groups are solid, if simple.
The few people who did not transfer, supported by their very active local priest who bitterly opposed the move (and still does, he hasn't gotten over it) still live there in their sinking houses with cracked walls. There is even some new building going on. Recently they decided to become an autonomous indigenous community, essentially seceding yet again from the Municipality.
The old community still has a very impressive church, but inside it is full of steel bracing, and the walls are canted out at about 5 degrees, with wide cracks in the walls.
This has all given rise to a series of empassioned meetings in front of the Alcaldia here, with much shouting and waving of arms. The secesion is bitterly opposed by most of the surrounding communities.
About two weeks ago a contingent of people went to the old community and destroyed their signs proclaiming the new Indigenous Municipality. This is the previous Alcaldia with the Municipalidad Indigena Santa Catarina painted out. They now have chains and guards at the entrance to their community.
Posters proclaiming the Rights of Indigenous Peoples featuring pictures of Eva Morales (the indigenous President of Bolivia) are prominent beside the door of the Alcaldia.
It is tough to get your hands around this bruhaha. The current Mayor (Alcalde) and all the Municipal staff are already indigenous, so what is the big deal? It seems to involve an autonomy issue, where the government has agreed to allow some indigenous communities freedom to control land and discipline malcreants by traditional (unspecified) Mayan customs. But nobody will come right out and say that even when asked, and it is not clear what it means in any case.
Well, this doesn't have much to do with why I am here but it does keep life interesting.
Since I have not been able to generate much support for creating a local organization that can prepare for and respond to natural disasters, I am mostly engaged in GPS mapping of the communities. I now have the coordinates of about 30 of the 106 communities in the Municipality. And I do what I can to disseminate the excellent government public service announcements to local radio stations, organize the official data on the communities for the Municipality, stuff like that.
And I am increasingly thinking about what I need to do when my Guatemala service ends, on June 30th. That looks like Seattle for our family reunion and some personal maintenance tasks, then Pennsylvania (the Poconos and Philadelphia) and the midwest for several weeks of visiting relatives and friends, then catching up with Matt and his family camping through the West. Finally, if all goes well, I expect to return to Mexico in October for another period of service with the Peace Corps there.
