Decomposing wooden buildings, sticks, sheet metal, and plastic composed the homes of the inhabitants/owners of la Florida. I arrived on a Monday night, at the same time as another volunteer named Julie. By the time we actually got to the farm from the town of Columba, it was dark. The community has hydroelectric energy, fed by a water wheel that has been there since before the farm was abandoned in the 90s. However, the electricity produces faint light, and doesn`t go to all the buildings in the community, just to the school/guest house (which used to be the owners house), and some houses on the main strech of path, most of which seem to have been there since before community members occupied the land. I dropped off my things, and then was guided by some one who I could barely see down a dirt road to the house of the family I was going to eat with. It was a good 10 minute walk I think. I had my flashlight, and my guide laughed and said they usually just walk in the dark. Arriving at the families house...well, I don`t really remember how things happened, because I met about 10 people, none of whom I could see very well by the light of the one candle that was lit. They sat me down at a table that was sort of outside, but under the tin roof, and ate some green beens, eggs, and tortillas, thus beginning the eating ritual that sort of dominated all other activities that week. Every morning, I ate breakfast at about 7 (yes, I got up before 7, sometimes even before 6!). Then it was lunch at 2, and dinner at 6. I really loved the family that I was eating with. It took a while to connect with them. Most of them, except for the little kids, are really quite and reserved, at least with strangers. And beyond that, it was hard to figure out what to talk to them about. This was a really good ego check for me, as I usually feel like I can connect with people "cross-culturally" as they say. But this streched me to my limits, and made me really contemplate to what extent it is possible to understand people with experiences and backgrounds that are utterly different than mine.
So...the woman who was in charge of feeding me was Rosalia, 21 yrs old, with 3 kids, who were 1, 2, and almost 3 (imagine...two 2-year olds???). Her husband, Joel, is 24, and lived almost 2 years in the U.S., in Miami, and in New York City. I can`t imagine what that was like for him...there aren`t many places that could be so profoundly different from where his family lives. After having been there, he said he enjoyed living a simpler, calmer life. He didn`t seem to have any problems readapting to living in rural Guatemala.
Also in the house lived Joel`s mother, father, and 3 teenage brothers. Everyone was really sweet to me. Sometimes when there was a silence, someone would say "desayune, hay tortillas" (eat, there`s tortillas). Which was interesting, because if there was one thing they were never lacking was tortillas, so I`m not really sure why they felt the need to remind me. But, I`ve experienced that in some other Guatemalan families that I`ve eaten with, and I think it`s just a cortesy. The tortillas are a topic in and of themselves. The family grows and harvests its own corn, and then degrains the dried corn by hand (I helped...it`s a pain!). Then, every night, they boil the kernals in water and "cal" (lye?). In the morning, at like 4, the women get up and go to the "molina" (mill) to grind the corn into masa. With this masa, they handmake like 50 tortillas a day or something crazy like that. The tortillas are really thick and delicious, cooked (like everything else) over a fire in the dirt-floor kitchen.
The tortilla making is just one example of how increadibly hard people work in this community, and in the campo in general in Guatemala. Before going, I think I had some romantic notions about what it would be like. And there were things that are really beautiful about the way people live. The work they do is increadible. But in general, after seeing 5 year old boys and 60 year old women carrying huge bundles of wood on their backs, women spending all day (from 4 am to like 9 pm) cooking and washing, men weeding and cutting down trees with machetes, and without much choice in the matter, I can say that my romantic illusions were definitely broken down. While part of me feels really weak because I know I could never work like they do, I am imensely glad I don`t have to. I think that the people there are, in general, happy with their manner of living. But I know they don`t like the fact that they are stuggling to survive, that their kids are cronically ill with parasites, coughs, etc.
I originally thought that I would be going to the community to help them out with the work they are doing on their coffee crop. But it turns out that they are still working on rehabilitating the farm after it`s 8 year abandonment. A lot of the land is very wild right now, full of thick vegitation and poisonous snakes! And it seemed like they didn`t really want us to work, unless we were going to teach English classes to the kids. They were really concerned with making sure that we were having a good time. I think the volunteer program mostly helps the community financially, and they sure do need that help. They are majorly in debt, and without much of a coffee crop to speak of to help them pay it off in the short amount of time they`ve been given to do so.
So, I have a lot more to write about my week there, but I think I will wait `til later. Oh, and for those of you who don`t know, I am no longer in Guatemala. I left last Wednesday and made my way back to Oaxaca City, Mexico, where I plan to stay for a month doing some volunteer work. Ah, how plans change...
