Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Last Day
Hard to believe, the three weeks will be over tomorrow, on Thursday, June 3. Keeci and I fly out of Guatemala City at 6:35 a.m., if all goes as planned. It's an hour-plus drive, need to be there when the airport opens at 5, have to leave the mission house at 3 or so. Oh, man, why even try to sleep? We're the only ones leaving at that hour, so we'll drive the trusty rental pickup and drop it off. I hope the traffic is light at that hour. What am I thinking, the traffic is never light around here.
A couple of things that Ryan told us yesterday: the volcano that "blew" last week was the one we climbed two Sundays ago, and it blew in the very spot where we walked and observed the lava up close. Wow, that's scary, but cool (in a hot sort of way). There's something exciting about danger, isn't there?
The other sad note is the one about the mud slides after the hurricane last week. The estimated loss of life grows every day, now over 1,000. Several of those were in a village that we visited that very evening, last Saturday. Our group had worked on houses in the village of El Rajon that morning, in a driving rain storm. It was about as miserable as I have ever been, trying to dig post holes and drive nails while soaked to the bone and shivering in the midst of a 16-inch rain. Just walking around was treacherous and dangerous, the paths up and down the hills out there are mostly just dirt and mud. At the time, we had no idea how serious the storm was. Did you see pictures of that sink hole in Guatemala City that swallowed an apartment building?
After we left El Rajon, we had one other activity that day, and that was a food/clothing distribution at a small, poorer village about an hour away from Chimaltenango, where we stay. As soon as we got on the road to that little village (can't remember the name), we started seeing the mud slides onto the highway. We worked our way around several of them, through stop-and-go traffic, and a continued downpour. We just kept going, what were we thinking? The little village was way back through some smaller roads, down some steep inclines. Still the rain and the mud washing across the road. When we got to the distribution site (a church) a hundred families were huddled up to get out of the rain on porches and nearby overhangs. No electricity, and darkness/gloom were setting in. I was still shivering.
We passed out the food and shoes, hugged some babies and grandmothers, and sent the Guatemalans on their way in the rain, some with mile-long walks and little rain protection. We left in our vans, drove through some deep, raging water, and by the grace of God (always) made it back to our abode, again snaking our way through mud on the road.
Apparently, that little village where we passed out the food was devasted. Over 20 people there died that night, don't know if any of them were those we had met and fed. Two little boys were found buried in mud. We're told that the food we delivered that night is helping sustain the village in the aftermath, I want to believe that is true. We did another food distribution last night (Tuesday) in another village where there was less damage, we diverted some of that food to the first village, the one with all the damage and loss of life. We're not sure how it will get there, you still can't drive back there because of the road closings, but hopefully, our food will find it's way to people who desperately need it.
Keeci and I have a couple of things we must do before we leave here. One, we must go again and see the woman whose father is American, and she's never met him. She became our friend, we took her out for a meal at the local mall one evening, it was the first time she'd eaten such a meal in months (we "accidentally" ordered a spare meal, and sent it home with her for lunch the next day, and we did a quick run through the grocery store, too). We promised her we would come back again, just to say goodbye, and also to fix a small latch on the new house we built for her. It takes a screwdriver to fix the latch, and she doesn't own one (I'm sure I have over a hundred of them in my garage).
We also will have one last "fix" of Guatemalan ice cream before we leave. Believe it or not, they have really good ice cream here, cheap, and while we were on our own last week, we started ranking the little ice cream shops, sort of like my "tenderloin tour" group at work, this was the "Guatemalan ice cream tour." Strange, but true. Sarita is the most common of those stands, in a slightly more middle class town like Chimaltenango (200,000 people, Des Moines-size), it seems like there is a Sarita stand on every other corner. They make a great waffle cone dipped in chocolate, w/nuts. But, Keeci likes Pops even better, we argue about it. Maybe strange that in a place that knows such poverty, ice cream is common and good.
I'm sorry I'm not going to get the goat thing done on this trip. This week has been too hectic with the storms and all, I just don't have time to break away from the work teams to go on a hunt for milk goats. And there are at least 3 places I wanted to go have a look. I'm a little upset with myself, 3 whole weeks here, and I didn't get that part done. I have the money that people gave to me to buy goats, I guess I'll start another Guatemala fund, the goat fund, for next year and schedule some specific time for it. If any of you reading this gave me money for a milk goat, I hope that plan is satisfactory.
Not all of you reading this know this, but some of my incredible friends back home got together at my place sometime last weekend and worked over the yard and the flower beds, and I think my bonfire pit in the back yard, and who knows what else. I've seen the pix on FB, and it brought me to tears. (I am a little fragile right now, there will be more tears today, I expect.) After they worked, these friends apparently had a cookout/party in the house. It looked so cool to see all of that in pictures (thanks Keeci's mom!). But so strange to see it and I'm not in the pictures. Best party ever at my house, and I wasn't even there. Not fair! We'll have a repeat soon, and this time I'm inviting myself.
Linda and Marc, my good friends and relatively new neighbors, have been looking after Sadie and the cats in my absence. I'm indebted. Will they ever leave for 3 weeks so I can pay them back? (Not that I wish for it.) Thanks, Linda!
I'll be at home soon, and it's time to be there, can't wait to talk to you from 11335 Nevada Street. Two big projects to think about as soon as I get home: finish the cook book, help Wes and Monica get headed for CA. It'll be really good to work on both.
Maybe I'll post a couple pictures this morning, but otherwise, this'll be my last post from this trip. Adios, amigo!
A couple of things that Ryan told us yesterday: the volcano that "blew" last week was the one we climbed two Sundays ago, and it blew in the very spot where we walked and observed the lava up close. Wow, that's scary, but cool (in a hot sort of way). There's something exciting about danger, isn't there?
The other sad note is the one about the mud slides after the hurricane last week. The estimated loss of life grows every day, now over 1,000. Several of those were in a village that we visited that very evening, last Saturday. Our group had worked on houses in the village of El Rajon that morning, in a driving rain storm. It was about as miserable as I have ever been, trying to dig post holes and drive nails while soaked to the bone and shivering in the midst of a 16-inch rain. Just walking around was treacherous and dangerous, the paths up and down the hills out there are mostly just dirt and mud. At the time, we had no idea how serious the storm was. Did you see pictures of that sink hole in Guatemala City that swallowed an apartment building?
After we left El Rajon, we had one other activity that day, and that was a food/clothing distribution at a small, poorer village about an hour away from Chimaltenango, where we stay. As soon as we got on the road to that little village (can't remember the name), we started seeing the mud slides onto the highway. We worked our way around several of them, through stop-and-go traffic, and a continued downpour. We just kept going, what were we thinking? The little village was way back through some smaller roads, down some steep inclines. Still the rain and the mud washing across the road. When we got to the distribution site (a church) a hundred families were huddled up to get out of the rain on porches and nearby overhangs. No electricity, and darkness/gloom were setting in. I was still shivering.
We passed out the food and shoes, hugged some babies and grandmothers, and sent the Guatemalans on their way in the rain, some with mile-long walks and little rain protection. We left in our vans, drove through some deep, raging water, and by the grace of God (always) made it back to our abode, again snaking our way through mud on the road.
Apparently, that little village where we passed out the food was devasted. Over 20 people there died that night, don't know if any of them were those we had met and fed. Two little boys were found buried in mud. We're told that the food we delivered that night is helping sustain the village in the aftermath, I want to believe that is true. We did another food distribution last night (Tuesday) in another village where there was less damage, we diverted some of that food to the first village, the one with all the damage and loss of life. We're not sure how it will get there, you still can't drive back there because of the road closings, but hopefully, our food will find it's way to people who desperately need it.
Keeci and I have a couple of things we must do before we leave here. One, we must go again and see the woman whose father is American, and she's never met him. She became our friend, we took her out for a meal at the local mall one evening, it was the first time she'd eaten such a meal in months (we "accidentally" ordered a spare meal, and sent it home with her for lunch the next day, and we did a quick run through the grocery store, too). We promised her we would come back again, just to say goodbye, and also to fix a small latch on the new house we built for her. It takes a screwdriver to fix the latch, and she doesn't own one (I'm sure I have over a hundred of them in my garage).
We also will have one last "fix" of Guatemalan ice cream before we leave. Believe it or not, they have really good ice cream here, cheap, and while we were on our own last week, we started ranking the little ice cream shops, sort of like my "tenderloin tour" group at work, this was the "Guatemalan ice cream tour." Strange, but true. Sarita is the most common of those stands, in a slightly more middle class town like Chimaltenango (200,000 people, Des Moines-size), it seems like there is a Sarita stand on every other corner. They make a great waffle cone dipped in chocolate, w/nuts. But, Keeci likes Pops even better, we argue about it. Maybe strange that in a place that knows such poverty, ice cream is common and good.
I'm sorry I'm not going to get the goat thing done on this trip. This week has been too hectic with the storms and all, I just don't have time to break away from the work teams to go on a hunt for milk goats. And there are at least 3 places I wanted to go have a look. I'm a little upset with myself, 3 whole weeks here, and I didn't get that part done. I have the money that people gave to me to buy goats, I guess I'll start another Guatemala fund, the goat fund, for next year and schedule some specific time for it. If any of you reading this gave me money for a milk goat, I hope that plan is satisfactory.
Not all of you reading this know this, but some of my incredible friends back home got together at my place sometime last weekend and worked over the yard and the flower beds, and I think my bonfire pit in the back yard, and who knows what else. I've seen the pix on FB, and it brought me to tears. (I am a little fragile right now, there will be more tears today, I expect.) After they worked, these friends apparently had a cookout/party in the house. It looked so cool to see all of that in pictures (thanks Keeci's mom!). But so strange to see it and I'm not in the pictures. Best party ever at my house, and I wasn't even there. Not fair! We'll have a repeat soon, and this time I'm inviting myself.
Linda and Marc, my good friends and relatively new neighbors, have been looking after Sadie and the cats in my absence. I'm indebted. Will they ever leave for 3 weeks so I can pay them back? (Not that I wish for it.) Thanks, Linda!
I'll be at home soon, and it's time to be there, can't wait to talk to you from 11335 Nevada Street. Two big projects to think about as soon as I get home: finish the cook book, help Wes and Monica get headed for CA. It'll be really good to work on both.
Maybe I'll post a couple pictures this morning, but otherwise, this'll be my last post from this trip. Adios, amigo!
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Technology Bugs
Sorry I haven't posted for a couple of days. My goal was every day, something new. But, our Internet connectivity has been out most of the time since Sunday. Not sure why.
We're fine here, no lingering damage from all the natural disasters. Today was a beautiful day. We're trying to catch up on our building, 18 houses in El Teron, and it's touch-and-go if we will make it on Wednesday, but we're going to give it a try. I've been mostly putting the fronts on houses, the final step. Did 5 more today, but 11 to go tomorrow. Keeci and I got to be on the same work team today for the first time this week, and we had fun with our work mates. Hope we get the same crew tomorrow.
There are "rumors" our flight will not leave here on Thursday, we'll be delayed a day or two. Anyone able to get news about that? News is hard to come by around here.
I have some great pictures of Keeci's graduation ceremony, from Sunday morning. If connectivity keeps up tonight, I'll try to post. Otherwise, it will wait until we get home. Also, the news about my new machete will wait. And my black cowboy hat, it is much nicer than Coulter's.
What a trip this has been! I've got stories to tell, hope you're all ready to listen when I get home!
We're fine here, no lingering damage from all the natural disasters. Today was a beautiful day. We're trying to catch up on our building, 18 houses in El Teron, and it's touch-and-go if we will make it on Wednesday, but we're going to give it a try. I've been mostly putting the fronts on houses, the final step. Did 5 more today, but 11 to go tomorrow. Keeci and I got to be on the same work team today for the first time this week, and we had fun with our work mates. Hope we get the same crew tomorrow.
There are "rumors" our flight will not leave here on Thursday, we'll be delayed a day or two. Anyone able to get news about that? News is hard to come by around here.
I have some great pictures of Keeci's graduation ceremony, from Sunday morning. If connectivity keeps up tonight, I'll try to post. Otherwise, it will wait until we get home. Also, the news about my new machete will wait. And my black cowboy hat, it is much nicer than Coulter's.
What a trip this has been! I've got stories to tell, hope you're all ready to listen when I get home!
Sunday, May 30, 2010
A Saturday to Remember
Our group is all fine here in Guatemala, the mission team from Memphis, and the two Iowans who have joined them. Maybe you've heard, we've experienced several of nature's worst natural disasters over just the last couple of days - volcano, earthquake, now a tropical storm. The worst is the tropical storm. It's not the winds here where we are, 60 miles or so inland and up in the mountains. It's just the torrential rain. It rained all day Thursday, that night, off and on Friday, all that night, and non-stop on Saturday. A hard rain most of the time. I just read a report that said 10-20 inches, with isolated spots of 30 inches. Huh, that's exactly where we are, an isolated spot. I left my rain guage in Iowa, so I don't know exactly, but if I had to guess, it "feels" like 15 inches of rain here in the last 2-3 days, more than I've ever experienced in one event.
We're up on a hillside here, nestled among coffee trees on a farm, maybe 400 feet above the valley, so we are not going to flood at the mission house. Our food pantry is stocked. We even have 4 ministers/pastors who are now stranded with us, can't fly home because the airport in Guatemala City is still closed, so we have preachers in excess for Sunday morning church. I like them all, but I hope Ryan is called to speak. He inspires me with his practicality on life, and, well, he's my nephew.
Saturday was another incredible day. We debated not going to the village to build houses, due to the rain. The problem is, we commited to building 18 houses this week. When we make a committment to build a house, the Guatemalan family tears down the old house of corn stalks and cardboard to make way for the metal house and cement floor that we will build. Then the family moves into something even more makeshift/temporary as they wait on us. We've got 18 families in that situation, and it's a monsoon. We can't really tell them, "Oh, the weather turned bad, sorry." Or, "We changed our mind, we're only going to build 12 houses, sorry." We promised, now we have to deliver. Saturday, we went out in the rain to build.
Ryan made my team on Saturday the "J" team, just for the fun of it: Jane, JJ, Jason, 2 Jennifers, Jimmy, and Gene (I know, I'm the misfit). Vehicles couldn't get us to the build sites, we had to walk, first down a long hill, then up an even longer hill. Then up a mud path where 3 Guatemalan families looked at us in near disbelief: "You're going to work in this?" Yep, and we did. Our Team J, along with Renae, the Guatemalan husband, proved to be a formidable group of hard workers. We sloshed through mud to get one house "tinned" with sides and roof. But the road to get to our work location was experiencing mud slides, and if we were going to get off the mountain on Saturday, we had to leave by noon. I was wearing a borrowed rain jacket, but it didn't help much and I was soaked and chilled to the bone, couldn't stop shivering. Keeci, who was on another team in a different location, told me later she was equally as cold. Funny, isn't it, that the 2 Iowans were the ones who felt the coldest.
I was going to tell you about mud slides here, how cheap road construction leads to such vulnerability. Think I'll make it brief. When you are poor, you do everything the cheap way: feed your livestock, build your houses, construct your roads. You have no choice. So everywhere you go here, when it rains this much, mud slides happen because the roadside cliffs are cut too steep, and not barricaded in any way.
After working in the village Saturday morning, we came back to the mission house to no electricity. No water, and I was cold and muddy. On Saturday afternoon, we did a food distribution at a remote church, enough food staples to last a family a month, $6, and clothing for kids. Still in a rainstorm. What a trip that was, but I'll save the details.
That's because I want to tell you something about Keeci Goodman this morning. Keeci is my travel mate from Iowa, the daughter of my good friends Dwight and Connie. Dwight and I have been elders together at our church, the Evergreen Church of Christ on the southeast side of Des Moines. And Connie is some kind of a special friend, she has been there to share so much of my last year. All 5 of their kids are great young people, but I have to say that Keeci had a special place with Jan. When they moved to Iowa a few years ago, Jan first figured out her name was Keeci, not Casey or Cassie or something else that would be more normal, but Keeci. And the name was so special, from her grandmother, that she didn't need another middle name, Keeci was enough.
Keeci turned 18 a couple months ago, and today, Sunday, May 30, 2010, Keeci is graduating from Valley High School in West Des Moines, Iowa, USA. She won't be there to walk across the stage in West Des Moines, because she's here with me, with us, in Chimaltenango, Guatemala. She chose it that way, she wanted to come here, to skip her last 3 weeks of high school, to skip the graduation ceremony, because she wanted to do this thing. She's going to be a Spanish major in the fall, and this is going to help here in that. She had heard me talk about Guatemala, and she wanted to see it and experience it herself. So she went to her high school teachers and administrators and talked them into letting her out of school early, if she did the classwork ahead of time, so she could come here. I just about can't believe she did that! And, that her folks trusted me enough to let her!
Well, we've experienced the place, together, and it's been special. I couldn't have done this trip without her, with my nonexistent Spanish skills. She tells people her Spanish is "un poquito" but it's much more than that. She got us out of a couple dozen places when we were lost, mostly by talking to gas station attendants. She got me through several interviews last week when I was helpless. She helped me talk to farmers in Zaragoza, even though farming is not in her background; she learned the difference between a 10-glass goat and a 25-glass goat as I learned it. She "interpreted" me through lunches at the seminary cafeteria with many, many students. They give everyone nicknames there. Me, they called pumpkin, don't know why. Keeci, they called "basitos". You'll have to look it up, I'm not sure I want her mom to know.
But don't worry, Connie, she is well looked after here. As those Guatemalan kids that first week loved her, the people in this group are loving Keeci, too, it's like she has 20 substitute moms. They have a little graduation ceremony planned for her today, it's going to be fun, Ryan will call her name and award the diploma. I'll get pictures.
It's Memorial Day, too. I know that's really on Monday, but it feels like it's today, for some reason. I'm glad Keeci is with me on Memorial Day, she'll be thinking about what I'm thinking about.
Sorry to get all emotional on you, but it's Sunday morning, and that's what I do. Adios again.
We're up on a hillside here, nestled among coffee trees on a farm, maybe 400 feet above the valley, so we are not going to flood at the mission house. Our food pantry is stocked. We even have 4 ministers/pastors who are now stranded with us, can't fly home because the airport in Guatemala City is still closed, so we have preachers in excess for Sunday morning church. I like them all, but I hope Ryan is called to speak. He inspires me with his practicality on life, and, well, he's my nephew.
Saturday was another incredible day. We debated not going to the village to build houses, due to the rain. The problem is, we commited to building 18 houses this week. When we make a committment to build a house, the Guatemalan family tears down the old house of corn stalks and cardboard to make way for the metal house and cement floor that we will build. Then the family moves into something even more makeshift/temporary as they wait on us. We've got 18 families in that situation, and it's a monsoon. We can't really tell them, "Oh, the weather turned bad, sorry." Or, "We changed our mind, we're only going to build 12 houses, sorry." We promised, now we have to deliver. Saturday, we went out in the rain to build.
Ryan made my team on Saturday the "J" team, just for the fun of it: Jane, JJ, Jason, 2 Jennifers, Jimmy, and Gene (I know, I'm the misfit). Vehicles couldn't get us to the build sites, we had to walk, first down a long hill, then up an even longer hill. Then up a mud path where 3 Guatemalan families looked at us in near disbelief: "You're going to work in this?" Yep, and we did. Our Team J, along with Renae, the Guatemalan husband, proved to be a formidable group of hard workers. We sloshed through mud to get one house "tinned" with sides and roof. But the road to get to our work location was experiencing mud slides, and if we were going to get off the mountain on Saturday, we had to leave by noon. I was wearing a borrowed rain jacket, but it didn't help much and I was soaked and chilled to the bone, couldn't stop shivering. Keeci, who was on another team in a different location, told me later she was equally as cold. Funny, isn't it, that the 2 Iowans were the ones who felt the coldest.
I was going to tell you about mud slides here, how cheap road construction leads to such vulnerability. Think I'll make it brief. When you are poor, you do everything the cheap way: feed your livestock, build your houses, construct your roads. You have no choice. So everywhere you go here, when it rains this much, mud slides happen because the roadside cliffs are cut too steep, and not barricaded in any way.
After working in the village Saturday morning, we came back to the mission house to no electricity. No water, and I was cold and muddy. On Saturday afternoon, we did a food distribution at a remote church, enough food staples to last a family a month, $6, and clothing for kids. Still in a rainstorm. What a trip that was, but I'll save the details.
That's because I want to tell you something about Keeci Goodman this morning. Keeci is my travel mate from Iowa, the daughter of my good friends Dwight and Connie. Dwight and I have been elders together at our church, the Evergreen Church of Christ on the southeast side of Des Moines. And Connie is some kind of a special friend, she has been there to share so much of my last year. All 5 of their kids are great young people, but I have to say that Keeci had a special place with Jan. When they moved to Iowa a few years ago, Jan first figured out her name was Keeci, not Casey or Cassie or something else that would be more normal, but Keeci. And the name was so special, from her grandmother, that she didn't need another middle name, Keeci was enough.
Keeci turned 18 a couple months ago, and today, Sunday, May 30, 2010, Keeci is graduating from Valley High School in West Des Moines, Iowa, USA. She won't be there to walk across the stage in West Des Moines, because she's here with me, with us, in Chimaltenango, Guatemala. She chose it that way, she wanted to come here, to skip her last 3 weeks of high school, to skip the graduation ceremony, because she wanted to do this thing. She's going to be a Spanish major in the fall, and this is going to help here in that. She had heard me talk about Guatemala, and she wanted to see it and experience it herself. So she went to her high school teachers and administrators and talked them into letting her out of school early, if she did the classwork ahead of time, so she could come here. I just about can't believe she did that! And, that her folks trusted me enough to let her!
Well, we've experienced the place, together, and it's been special. I couldn't have done this trip without her, with my nonexistent Spanish skills. She tells people her Spanish is "un poquito" but it's much more than that. She got us out of a couple dozen places when we were lost, mostly by talking to gas station attendants. She got me through several interviews last week when I was helpless. She helped me talk to farmers in Zaragoza, even though farming is not in her background; she learned the difference between a 10-glass goat and a 25-glass goat as I learned it. She "interpreted" me through lunches at the seminary cafeteria with many, many students. They give everyone nicknames there. Me, they called pumpkin, don't know why. Keeci, they called "basitos". You'll have to look it up, I'm not sure I want her mom to know.
But don't worry, Connie, she is well looked after here. As those Guatemalan kids that first week loved her, the people in this group are loving Keeci, too, it's like she has 20 substitute moms. They have a little graduation ceremony planned for her today, it's going to be fun, Ryan will call her name and award the diploma. I'll get pictures.
It's Memorial Day, too. I know that's really on Monday, but it feels like it's today, for some reason. I'm glad Keeci is with me on Memorial Day, she'll be thinking about what I'm thinking about.
Sorry to get all emotional on you, but it's Sunday morning, and that's what I do. Adios again.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Rambles
We worked in a remote mountainside village on Friday, building the tin-sided houses. Didn't really do anything new, so no stories to report about farms or schools or goats. There is volcano news, so I'll just ramble on a little (hah, that's all I ever do!) about it and other stuff that is happening with this team.
We're all wondering about the volcano. Mt. Pecaya, the same one we climbed 2 Sundays ago, had a bigger eruption on Thursday, and put 3 inches of ash on parts of Guatemala City. We're 50 miles or so west of there, and see no evidence of the ash. It's been rainy/overcast here for the last few days, so we can't see much of any mountains. The ash has closed the airport. There are 2 church ministers here with Ryan's team who were supposed to fly home to the states today, Saturday, but their flights are canceled. They hope to catch a flight on Sunday now. I'm supposed to fly home next Thursday, surely the airport will be open by then. Stranded by a volcano, has that ever happened to anybody you know?
Every time I see something around here where I say, "That's the poorest . . . the steepest . . . the roughest . . . the least accessible . . . the dirtiest . . . " well, then I see a place that feels poorer, on a hillside that is steeper, up a road that has more rocks and potholes, to a village that is more remote, in a ravine that looks more like a landfill, than anything before. Such is the case in the village we are building homes this week. I have no idea how to get there, and I've tried hard to memorize the route. The hills are the steepest that I have driven or walked. The poverty is just intense. And to top all of that, it rained off and on Friday, making the people and the place feel even more forlorn and forgotten.
The new team from Memphis is amazing. All 45 of us sloshed through the mud and rain and gloom and kept working, digging holes, pounding nails, leveling dirt and mud, without a single complaint that I heard. Ryan had me in charge (sort of) of a group of 11, and we got 2 houses finished to the point of ready to pour the cement floors, and a third house to the point of putting on the tin sides. Amazing workers with me, young and old, male and female, all with interesting backgrounds and personalities.
The first day of a new team is always the hardest. There are no orphanage visits or Bible programs for kids, we all just build on that first day, to get to know the village, and to experience the construction. 11 people on a construction team is too many for these houses. People are tripping over each other trying to find a job, but it's a good way to get to know your new teammates, and everybody gets to do a little hammering. Now on the second day (Saturday) we'll break down into smaller teams of 5 or 6, work a little harder, but probably get more done because we now have our bearings, and each of us will have a specific job. Fewer people standing around looking for a job. It just works better.
On Friday, my team was working on a home, and the Guatemalan family was there working with us most of the day. The wife was 45 years old (can't remember her name) and had 15 grandkids, most of whom were under her feet (and ours) all day. We didn't mind, they were cute and fun kids. She also had a little basket of ear corn sitting there on her porch, some yellow, some blue, some white, some mixed. I told her I was a corn farmer back in Iowa (not exactly a lie, I have grown sweet corn in the past) and asked if I could buy a couple of those ears to take home. It was actually for my brother, he wants to try to grow some of the 15-foot-tall corn. The woman told me she wouldn't sell it too me, but she would GIVE me 2 better ears that she had inside a storeroom. She went and got it. We argued about pay or no-pay, and finally I gave in and accepted her gift. That made her very happy. Denny will be happy when I get it home, if I get it home.
One more unrelated story that I don't think I've told you about. We built a house for a woman last week, a 40-year-old single woman who lost all of her money and possessions to a very bad and abusive husband (apparently, there are plenty of them here in Guatemala). As Keeci and I learned more about this woman last week, we discovered that her father is an American who was here in the Peace Corps in 1970. She was born after he went back to the States, and she has never met him. Long story short, she would like to know him now, and she has good reason to believe that he would like to know her, and in fact he has come here to try to find her without success (that's another story about people who have abused this woman). We've sent everything we know about her and her father to Keeci's family back in Iowa, and they are doing everything they can to try to make contact this week, while we are still here and can go see her again with any news. Would that be incredible, or what?
The coffee is on, wish you were all here to have a cup with me right now! If you're reading this, you're somebody I love! And if you're not reading this, that's fine, too (that's a joke, if you're not reading this, well . . . get it?) Adios!
We're all wondering about the volcano. Mt. Pecaya, the same one we climbed 2 Sundays ago, had a bigger eruption on Thursday, and put 3 inches of ash on parts of Guatemala City. We're 50 miles or so west of there, and see no evidence of the ash. It's been rainy/overcast here for the last few days, so we can't see much of any mountains. The ash has closed the airport. There are 2 church ministers here with Ryan's team who were supposed to fly home to the states today, Saturday, but their flights are canceled. They hope to catch a flight on Sunday now. I'm supposed to fly home next Thursday, surely the airport will be open by then. Stranded by a volcano, has that ever happened to anybody you know?
Every time I see something around here where I say, "That's the poorest . . . the steepest . . . the roughest . . . the least accessible . . . the dirtiest . . . " well, then I see a place that feels poorer, on a hillside that is steeper, up a road that has more rocks and potholes, to a village that is more remote, in a ravine that looks more like a landfill, than anything before. Such is the case in the village we are building homes this week. I have no idea how to get there, and I've tried hard to memorize the route. The hills are the steepest that I have driven or walked. The poverty is just intense. And to top all of that, it rained off and on Friday, making the people and the place feel even more forlorn and forgotten.
The new team from Memphis is amazing. All 45 of us sloshed through the mud and rain and gloom and kept working, digging holes, pounding nails, leveling dirt and mud, without a single complaint that I heard. Ryan had me in charge (sort of) of a group of 11, and we got 2 houses finished to the point of ready to pour the cement floors, and a third house to the point of putting on the tin sides. Amazing workers with me, young and old, male and female, all with interesting backgrounds and personalities.
The first day of a new team is always the hardest. There are no orphanage visits or Bible programs for kids, we all just build on that first day, to get to know the village, and to experience the construction. 11 people on a construction team is too many for these houses. People are tripping over each other trying to find a job, but it's a good way to get to know your new teammates, and everybody gets to do a little hammering. Now on the second day (Saturday) we'll break down into smaller teams of 5 or 6, work a little harder, but probably get more done because we now have our bearings, and each of us will have a specific job. Fewer people standing around looking for a job. It just works better.
On Friday, my team was working on a home, and the Guatemalan family was there working with us most of the day. The wife was 45 years old (can't remember her name) and had 15 grandkids, most of whom were under her feet (and ours) all day. We didn't mind, they were cute and fun kids. She also had a little basket of ear corn sitting there on her porch, some yellow, some blue, some white, some mixed. I told her I was a corn farmer back in Iowa (not exactly a lie, I have grown sweet corn in the past) and asked if I could buy a couple of those ears to take home. It was actually for my brother, he wants to try to grow some of the 15-foot-tall corn. The woman told me she wouldn't sell it too me, but she would GIVE me 2 better ears that she had inside a storeroom. She went and got it. We argued about pay or no-pay, and finally I gave in and accepted her gift. That made her very happy. Denny will be happy when I get it home, if I get it home.
One more unrelated story that I don't think I've told you about. We built a house for a woman last week, a 40-year-old single woman who lost all of her money and possessions to a very bad and abusive husband (apparently, there are plenty of them here in Guatemala). As Keeci and I learned more about this woman last week, we discovered that her father is an American who was here in the Peace Corps in 1970. She was born after he went back to the States, and she has never met him. Long story short, she would like to know him now, and she has good reason to believe that he would like to know her, and in fact he has come here to try to find her without success (that's another story about people who have abused this woman). We've sent everything we know about her and her father to Keeci's family back in Iowa, and they are doing everything they can to try to make contact this week, while we are still here and can go see her again with any news. Would that be incredible, or what?
The coffee is on, wish you were all here to have a cup with me right now! If you're reading this, you're somebody I love! And if you're not reading this, that's fine, too (that's a joke, if you're not reading this, well . . . get it?) Adios!
Friday, May 28, 2010
Guatemalan Goat Standoff
Yesterday, Thursday, was moving day again. The new work team from Tennessee arrived, all 42 of them, and Keeci and I moved back to the Mission House with them to begin our last week of work here. We'll build 18 houses in a village. I'm told the village is a little more remote and the work sites are difficult to get at, and it rained all day Thursday. The bad news: Muddy uphill paths to our work sites. The good news: the post holes may be easier to dig.
Since we didn't do much on Thursday other than drive to Guatemala City to pick up the new Tennesseeans (I still don't like driving in G.C.!), I'll share a couple of unrelated stories of recent days.
There was a medical team staying here at the Mission House for the last week, a doctor, a pharmacist, 3 nurses, and a few other helpers. That's why Keeci and I had to move to the other place. On Wednesday, we had some time, so we drove out to the village where they were working and watched them in action. The nurses performed something like medical triage, as patients came through, they decided if the good doctor needed to see them, or the nurses could handle it themselves. That day, they saw 227 patients! And nearly a thousand for the week, in 6 villages.
The doctor's name is Steve Fineburg, he's a gp in Pascagoula, Mississippi. "It's Steve here," he chastised me. "It's Dr. Fineburg in my office, and this isn't it." He said a lot of the women he saw this week complained of headaches and neck aches. "An easy diagnosis," he said, "of carrying too much weight on their heads." It's not uncommon to see women in the village carrying 40 pounds of firewood, corn, fabrics, or something else on their heads. The solution, he tells them, is equally easy: Stop it.
As for kids, the common things are headlice, worms, and assorted skin rashes. Also relatively easy solutions, if they will stick with the medicines dispensed.
The worst case of the day? One man came in with a serious leg infection that had been festering for months. He needed to be hospitalized, and since that wasn't going to happen, they loaded him up with several thousand dollars worth of potent antibiotics, and told him he must follow up with a local doctor.
The other story involves an encounter while shopping for goats on Tuesday. We'd gone up a trail so rugged and steep you just about couldn't make it by 4WD pickup. We were told of a farm where they had milk goats for sale and got there to encounter the wife on the front porch. She dispensed one kid (human) to fetch her husband who was hoeing over the hilltop, and another kid to get the goats that were grazing up another steep slope.
We stood there, waiting and taking in the scene, me and Tico (interpreter for the day) and Keeci and Rosendo (the goat expert). The Guatemalan wife kept glaring at me oddly, and I knew she wanted to say something and it wasn't going to be pleasant. Finally, she could hold it no longer, and she said through Tico, "You Americans, you can come here or go anywhere in the world and do anything you want, and no one cares. We come to your country, and you throw us in jail."
Ouch! What could I say? I wanted to say, "I'm not breaking any laws here," but at her side she had one of those long machete knives for cutting weeds, and I had a pencil, so I held it in. I sort of laughed, stammered, and finally said, "You come to my state, and you can stay at my house." She wasn't laughing, still just glaring, as if to say, "Yeah, that's gonna happen soon." About then, her husband showed up, along with the goats, and the talk turned to nannies and kids (the goat kind). The moment passed, the woman disappeared into the house along with the knife, and I didn't see her again. Whew!
Since we didn't do much on Thursday other than drive to Guatemala City to pick up the new Tennesseeans (I still don't like driving in G.C.!), I'll share a couple of unrelated stories of recent days.
There was a medical team staying here at the Mission House for the last week, a doctor, a pharmacist, 3 nurses, and a few other helpers. That's why Keeci and I had to move to the other place. On Wednesday, we had some time, so we drove out to the village where they were working and watched them in action. The nurses performed something like medical triage, as patients came through, they decided if the good doctor needed to see them, or the nurses could handle it themselves. That day, they saw 227 patients! And nearly a thousand for the week, in 6 villages.
The doctor's name is Steve Fineburg, he's a gp in Pascagoula, Mississippi. "It's Steve here," he chastised me. "It's Dr. Fineburg in my office, and this isn't it." He said a lot of the women he saw this week complained of headaches and neck aches. "An easy diagnosis," he said, "of carrying too much weight on their heads." It's not uncommon to see women in the village carrying 40 pounds of firewood, corn, fabrics, or something else on their heads. The solution, he tells them, is equally easy: Stop it.
As for kids, the common things are headlice, worms, and assorted skin rashes. Also relatively easy solutions, if they will stick with the medicines dispensed.
The worst case of the day? One man came in with a serious leg infection that had been festering for months. He needed to be hospitalized, and since that wasn't going to happen, they loaded him up with several thousand dollars worth of potent antibiotics, and told him he must follow up with a local doctor.
The other story involves an encounter while shopping for goats on Tuesday. We'd gone up a trail so rugged and steep you just about couldn't make it by 4WD pickup. We were told of a farm where they had milk goats for sale and got there to encounter the wife on the front porch. She dispensed one kid (human) to fetch her husband who was hoeing over the hilltop, and another kid to get the goats that were grazing up another steep slope.
We stood there, waiting and taking in the scene, me and Tico (interpreter for the day) and Keeci and Rosendo (the goat expert). The Guatemalan wife kept glaring at me oddly, and I knew she wanted to say something and it wasn't going to be pleasant. Finally, she could hold it no longer, and she said through Tico, "You Americans, you can come here or go anywhere in the world and do anything you want, and no one cares. We come to your country, and you throw us in jail."
Ouch! What could I say? I wanted to say, "I'm not breaking any laws here," but at her side she had one of those long machete knives for cutting weeds, and I had a pencil, so I held it in. I sort of laughed, stammered, and finally said, "You come to my state, and you can stay at my house." She wasn't laughing, still just glaring, as if to say, "Yeah, that's gonna happen soon." About then, her husband showed up, along with the goats, and the talk turned to nannies and kids (the goat kind). The moment passed, the woman disappeared into the house along with the knife, and I didn't see her again. Whew!
Thursday, May 27, 2010
School Zone
Ever day here in Guatemala brings a new surprise. On Wednesday, I went to school and saw again the miracle of education. It may save this place.
I've made friends here at the seminary with Kirk Lightfield. He's on the administrative staff, and sort of serves as our host, checking on our needs every day. He even loaned us towels because we weren't smart enough to bring our own.
Kirk had been telling us for several days that he wanted to take us (Keeci and me) to see a local elementary school. OK, it wasn't on my list of "musts" here, but Kirk's a great guy and I decided I would go see this school just for him. Wednesday was the day.
Turns out the school was started (well, partially started) by a couple from west Texas, Charlie and Patricia Reynolds. The Reynolds' story is a lengthy and incredible one, but I'll cut to the chase. They came here 10 years ago, drove by car, without a place to live, no jobs, didn't even really know anybody here. After 18 years as a minister, then 15 years in law enforcement, Charlie just quit his job, they sold or gave away their stuff, kissed their kids and grandkids goodbye, and set off for Guatemala. Other Americans have told me similar stories, about just coming here because they love the place and they heard God say, "Go." They also say the same thing about finding work: you only have to be here about 2 days and look around, you'll find something to do and somebody who needs you.
The Reynolds found things to do. First a teaching job, then a job up Charlie's alley in law enforcement. And 7 years ago, God told them to start a school, this school, the Colegio Christiano Gerizm, or Place of Refuge.
There was actually a young Guatemalan woman in their church, Karina Depaiz, whom they credit with founding the school. At the time, 7 years ago, Karina was just in her early 20s, but she had been fortunate enough to grow up in a family that values education. Her father is from a family of 12 kids, he being the only one who pursued an education, eventually aquiring a masters degree in financing. And she wanted to start a school in her father's home area.
When Karina met the Reynolds, everything clicked. The Reynolds raised the money through friends and churches (all kinds of denominations) back in Texas, and the private school came together. They started with just kindergarten, then added the next succeeding class every year up through 5th grade, the final elementary grade here. So now they have K-5, with 186 students, about 20 more than they are really designed for. But they have a hard time turning students down.
In Guatemala, the law is that students have to go to school through the 5th grade. In practicality, there is no enforcement. Some have estimated that only 1 in 5 kids actually go that far. The others simply drop out and go to work in the fields or as housecleaners. Or they set their mind on heading north, to a more prosperous place.
Karina's mom, Ruth Montufar, serves as the principal of Colegio Gerizm. She grew up in this area, and she tells me through an interpretor that many parents just don't value education. "We need to raise a new generation of parents who do," she says. Maybe half of the kids here are being raised by a single parent, always the mom, or by grandparents.
Her daughter, Karina, the school founder who speaks good English, says, "Some of the families here have the attitude their kids don't need an education, just go to the U.S. and get a job. In fact, I think about 90% of families feel that way." Karina herself is working on her college degree in business, and will have it in October.
Nobody here speaks highly of the public school system. The resources are few, and absenteeism makes it very hard to keep students on schedule. Students who come to Colegio Gerizm from public school are usually 2 grades behind age level, so they spend a lot of time trying to catch them up.
The kids here seem to really like school, and the 12 teachers are dedicated to inspring them to stick with it. I ask to speak to one of the students, and they bring me Emily Yoc Martinez, a 10-year-old girls with a great smile. Like all the kids, she gets English class twice a week, and she can speak it, but I talk too fast and it makes it hard for her to follow me. Still, she tries hard and Keeci Goodman, my friend from home and Spanish interpreter, helps her. Emily tells us that she has been in this school just 3 years. Before that, she was in a different school, but everything about this place is better and her mom wanted her here. Her favorite class is math, it's a little hard, and she likes the challenge. "A dentist," she says when I ask her what she wants to be when she grows up. I ask her if she knows how long she will have to stay in school to become a dentist, and she says, "Yes, 6 years more than everyone else." I laugh and tell her that when she is done, I want her to be my dentist. She gives me the big smile as if to say, "I'm only in the 5th grade, and already I have my first patient."
Unfortunately, education for the girls in this school and this country is a difficult pursuit. After 5th grade, there is a lot of pressure for the girls, especially, to quit school and help out at home, or get a cleaning job. Maybe 60% of the kids at this school will move on to the 6th grade, more of the boys, fewer of the girls. Many of the girls will have to help with younger siblings at home, get a cleaning job, and too soon, start their own families (15 is not uncommon). But, says Karina, the little 10-year-old Emily, my dentist-to-be, is a little light beam of change.
This school is fortunate to have teachers who specialize in computers, and music. Even at their young age, kids who show appitude in those 2 areas can get special help.
And, says Karina, one of the best things about this school is that the kids get a Bible class every day. "It's one of the most important things we do, to give them an education with values, so they can continue to grow in their life with God."
Charlie Reynolds, the Texan who helped found this school and raise the money, now serves as a sort of overseer of problems; fixing leaks, adding playgrounds, pouring cement and such. He didn't start as an educator, but he's become one. He's now involved in several ministry projects in Guatemala, but this is the one he loves the most, because it may provide the best hope for lifting up a country from its poverty. "I have a heart for poor people," he says. "If I could do only one thing with my life, it would be right here in this school."
Of course, in education, there are always financial needs. Patricia Reynolds handles most of the treasury needs of the school from their home at the top of the hill above the school. She could use 45 sponsors for individual Guatemalan students right now. A full sponsorship is $25 a month, or $300 a year. You can learn more about that on their Web site, www.hisappointedtime.com.
I've got some decent pictures of the school and the people, I'll share a few of those after a while.
I've made friends here at the seminary with Kirk Lightfield. He's on the administrative staff, and sort of serves as our host, checking on our needs every day. He even loaned us towels because we weren't smart enough to bring our own.
Kirk had been telling us for several days that he wanted to take us (Keeci and me) to see a local elementary school. OK, it wasn't on my list of "musts" here, but Kirk's a great guy and I decided I would go see this school just for him. Wednesday was the day.
Turns out the school was started (well, partially started) by a couple from west Texas, Charlie and Patricia Reynolds. The Reynolds' story is a lengthy and incredible one, but I'll cut to the chase. They came here 10 years ago, drove by car, without a place to live, no jobs, didn't even really know anybody here. After 18 years as a minister, then 15 years in law enforcement, Charlie just quit his job, they sold or gave away their stuff, kissed their kids and grandkids goodbye, and set off for Guatemala. Other Americans have told me similar stories, about just coming here because they love the place and they heard God say, "Go." They also say the same thing about finding work: you only have to be here about 2 days and look around, you'll find something to do and somebody who needs you.
The Reynolds found things to do. First a teaching job, then a job up Charlie's alley in law enforcement. And 7 years ago, God told them to start a school, this school, the Colegio Christiano Gerizm, or Place of Refuge.
There was actually a young Guatemalan woman in their church, Karina Depaiz, whom they credit with founding the school. At the time, 7 years ago, Karina was just in her early 20s, but she had been fortunate enough to grow up in a family that values education. Her father is from a family of 12 kids, he being the only one who pursued an education, eventually aquiring a masters degree in financing. And she wanted to start a school in her father's home area.
When Karina met the Reynolds, everything clicked. The Reynolds raised the money through friends and churches (all kinds of denominations) back in Texas, and the private school came together. They started with just kindergarten, then added the next succeeding class every year up through 5th grade, the final elementary grade here. So now they have K-5, with 186 students, about 20 more than they are really designed for. But they have a hard time turning students down.
In Guatemala, the law is that students have to go to school through the 5th grade. In practicality, there is no enforcement. Some have estimated that only 1 in 5 kids actually go that far. The others simply drop out and go to work in the fields or as housecleaners. Or they set their mind on heading north, to a more prosperous place.
Karina's mom, Ruth Montufar, serves as the principal of Colegio Gerizm. She grew up in this area, and she tells me through an interpretor that many parents just don't value education. "We need to raise a new generation of parents who do," she says. Maybe half of the kids here are being raised by a single parent, always the mom, or by grandparents.
Her daughter, Karina, the school founder who speaks good English, says, "Some of the families here have the attitude their kids don't need an education, just go to the U.S. and get a job. In fact, I think about 90% of families feel that way." Karina herself is working on her college degree in business, and will have it in October.
Nobody here speaks highly of the public school system. The resources are few, and absenteeism makes it very hard to keep students on schedule. Students who come to Colegio Gerizm from public school are usually 2 grades behind age level, so they spend a lot of time trying to catch them up.
The kids here seem to really like school, and the 12 teachers are dedicated to inspring them to stick with it. I ask to speak to one of the students, and they bring me Emily Yoc Martinez, a 10-year-old girls with a great smile. Like all the kids, she gets English class twice a week, and she can speak it, but I talk too fast and it makes it hard for her to follow me. Still, she tries hard and Keeci Goodman, my friend from home and Spanish interpreter, helps her. Emily tells us that she has been in this school just 3 years. Before that, she was in a different school, but everything about this place is better and her mom wanted her here. Her favorite class is math, it's a little hard, and she likes the challenge. "A dentist," she says when I ask her what she wants to be when she grows up. I ask her if she knows how long she will have to stay in school to become a dentist, and she says, "Yes, 6 years more than everyone else." I laugh and tell her that when she is done, I want her to be my dentist. She gives me the big smile as if to say, "I'm only in the 5th grade, and already I have my first patient."
Unfortunately, education for the girls in this school and this country is a difficult pursuit. After 5th grade, there is a lot of pressure for the girls, especially, to quit school and help out at home, or get a cleaning job. Maybe 60% of the kids at this school will move on to the 6th grade, more of the boys, fewer of the girls. Many of the girls will have to help with younger siblings at home, get a cleaning job, and too soon, start their own families (15 is not uncommon). But, says Karina, the little 10-year-old Emily, my dentist-to-be, is a little light beam of change.
This school is fortunate to have teachers who specialize in computers, and music. Even at their young age, kids who show appitude in those 2 areas can get special help.
And, says Karina, one of the best things about this school is that the kids get a Bible class every day. "It's one of the most important things we do, to give them an education with values, so they can continue to grow in their life with God."
Charlie Reynolds, the Texan who helped found this school and raise the money, now serves as a sort of overseer of problems; fixing leaks, adding playgrounds, pouring cement and such. He didn't start as an educator, but he's become one. He's now involved in several ministry projects in Guatemala, but this is the one he loves the most, because it may provide the best hope for lifting up a country from its poverty. "I have a heart for poor people," he says. "If I could do only one thing with my life, it would be right here in this school."
Of course, in education, there are always financial needs. Patricia Reynolds handles most of the treasury needs of the school from their home at the top of the hill above the school. She could use 45 sponsors for individual Guatemalan students right now. A full sponsorship is $25 a month, or $300 a year. You can learn more about that on their Web site, www.hisappointedtime.com.
I've got some decent pictures of the school and the people, I'll share a few of those after a while.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Don't Forget to Drink Your Milk Today
Buenos Dias! Good morning, early risers!
I forget, it's probably not so early when you are reading this. Oh well, it's early here, right now, and I'm unusally alert. I have a theory about why I'm feeling really good this morning, tell you later.
I've not had many disappointing days in Guatemala, but yesterday was one of them, slightly, for reasons I'll explain. I've been taking a lot of pictures of various stuff and I think I'll mostly post a few pictures this morning, with some explanation in the comments. So, this narrative will be more brief - hooray!
Tuesday wasn't a complete washout. In the morning, Keeci and I went down to the Chimaltenango Central Market, where farmers bring in their fruits, meats, vegetables, and grains and sell them in a big roofed plaza. It's crowded, exciting, and fun. If you like farmer's markets, you'd love this one. We bought two mangos and a pineapple. Oh yes, while we were there, we found a Sarita stand and had our recommended daily allowance of ice cream. That Keeci, she has a big allowance!
The other really good thing that happened Tuesday concerned an interpreter. We thought we might be negotiating to buy a goat(s) in the afternoon. Keeci's Spanish is coming along, but she's not so comfortable with the farm terms, and negotiating a deal in Spanish would be really hard for her. So, we needed an interpreter to go along, and we end up talking Tico Vargas into doing it. Tico is the director of this Bible seminary where we are staying. He runs this place! And, this is one of his busiest weeks of the year, they're having a big seminar (huh, a seminar at the seminary!) this weekend. But Tico, just for us, says, "Yes, let's go look at some goats." To spend an afternoon with Tico, well everyone should get the chance. He is an inspiration of encouragement, laughs, and everything Guatemalan, a native of this town. We could have done nothing but just drive around with Tico for 3 hours, and it would have been a good day.
So in the afternoon, we went goat looking with Tico. We picked up Rosendo Roquel, a young guy from a little village around here who is sort of an expert on all things farming. He's raised goats, rabbits, chickens, and more. His current project is raising mushrooms, big flat white ones. (He gave us some.) Rosendo comes from very humble beginnings, but this fall he is starting law school. Remember his name, he could be running Guatemala some day.
Rosendo is picky about his goats. He measures a milking goat by the number of glasses of milk she will give a day. A real good one: 20-25 glasses. And since we are interested in giving goats to families to feed their babies, we want the real good ones.
But Rosendo's first appointment for us is a bust. His contact doesn't show up, and he was the guy who was going to take us to see the "real good goats." So, as we contemplate our next step, Tico says he knows an area that has a lot of goats, an area where he goes mountain biking. That's where we go. To get to it was one of those incredible trips up and down rugged mountain hills and trails where you would think, well, a goat couldn't go.
But, we get there and we find some goats, nice-looking ones, but not so productive. One guy wants over $100 each for a pair of 10-glass goats. Another guy wants that much for a 4-glass goat! Of course, everything is negotiable, we could have bought for less, but I don't really want a 4-glass goat for any price, you know? Rosendo is not impressed with any of the goats, either. He still wants to take me, maybe next Monday if I can beg out of building houses, to see his friend with the 20- to 25-glass goats. So, for now, that is the plan.
I have one other place, near the Mission House, where I have seen many milk goats. We may inquire there tomorrow, when Keeci and I move back over there with the incoming team of house-builders from Memphis.
Keeci, Tico, and I did sample the milk from the 4-glass goat. They brought out a glass, the farmer washed his hands and the goat's teats, he milked half a glass, and we took turns drinking it hot. They say it's good for you. And now you know why I am feeling unusally alert this morning.
I forget, it's probably not so early when you are reading this. Oh well, it's early here, right now, and I'm unusally alert. I have a theory about why I'm feeling really good this morning, tell you later.
I've not had many disappointing days in Guatemala, but yesterday was one of them, slightly, for reasons I'll explain. I've been taking a lot of pictures of various stuff and I think I'll mostly post a few pictures this morning, with some explanation in the comments. So, this narrative will be more brief - hooray!
Tuesday wasn't a complete washout. In the morning, Keeci and I went down to the Chimaltenango Central Market, where farmers bring in their fruits, meats, vegetables, and grains and sell them in a big roofed plaza. It's crowded, exciting, and fun. If you like farmer's markets, you'd love this one. We bought two mangos and a pineapple. Oh yes, while we were there, we found a Sarita stand and had our recommended daily allowance of ice cream. That Keeci, she has a big allowance!
The other really good thing that happened Tuesday concerned an interpreter. We thought we might be negotiating to buy a goat(s) in the afternoon. Keeci's Spanish is coming along, but she's not so comfortable with the farm terms, and negotiating a deal in Spanish would be really hard for her. So, we needed an interpreter to go along, and we end up talking Tico Vargas into doing it. Tico is the director of this Bible seminary where we are staying. He runs this place! And, this is one of his busiest weeks of the year, they're having a big seminar (huh, a seminar at the seminary!) this weekend. But Tico, just for us, says, "Yes, let's go look at some goats." To spend an afternoon with Tico, well everyone should get the chance. He is an inspiration of encouragement, laughs, and everything Guatemalan, a native of this town. We could have done nothing but just drive around with Tico for 3 hours, and it would have been a good day.
So in the afternoon, we went goat looking with Tico. We picked up Rosendo Roquel, a young guy from a little village around here who is sort of an expert on all things farming. He's raised goats, rabbits, chickens, and more. His current project is raising mushrooms, big flat white ones. (He gave us some.) Rosendo comes from very humble beginnings, but this fall he is starting law school. Remember his name, he could be running Guatemala some day.
Rosendo is picky about his goats. He measures a milking goat by the number of glasses of milk she will give a day. A real good one: 20-25 glasses. And since we are interested in giving goats to families to feed their babies, we want the real good ones.
But Rosendo's first appointment for us is a bust. His contact doesn't show up, and he was the guy who was going to take us to see the "real good goats." So, as we contemplate our next step, Tico says he knows an area that has a lot of goats, an area where he goes mountain biking. That's where we go. To get to it was one of those incredible trips up and down rugged mountain hills and trails where you would think, well, a goat couldn't go.
But, we get there and we find some goats, nice-looking ones, but not so productive. One guy wants over $100 each for a pair of 10-glass goats. Another guy wants that much for a 4-glass goat! Of course, everything is negotiable, we could have bought for less, but I don't really want a 4-glass goat for any price, you know? Rosendo is not impressed with any of the goats, either. He still wants to take me, maybe next Monday if I can beg out of building houses, to see his friend with the 20- to 25-glass goats. So, for now, that is the plan.
I have one other place, near the Mission House, where I have seen many milk goats. We may inquire there tomorrow, when Keeci and I move back over there with the incoming team of house-builders from Memphis.
Keeci, Tico, and I did sample the milk from the 4-glass goat. They brought out a glass, the farmer washed his hands and the goat's teats, he milked half a glass, and we took turns drinking it hot. They say it's good for you. And now you know why I am feeling unusally alert this morning.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
No Place Like Home
I've never felt more at home in Guatemala than I did on Monday. Something clicked, and the group of people I was with, they felt like my own.
It could be because those people are farmers. Livestock farmers. Throughout my career, whenever I've needed a pick-me-up, I go to the country and talk to farmers. That's what I did on Monday, with the same result: renewed enthusiasm for what I do and for agriculture, even in this poverty-stricken land.
The folks at the Borlaug Insitute here in Chimaltenango had arranged for this country visit. They knew of my interest in livestock, and one of the technicians there, Rudy, had worked with a group of dairy farmers in the village of Zaragosa a couple of years ago on a composting project. Rudy, who speaks pretty good English, agreed to take me there. He called his farmer contact and arranged the visit, and asked if a little group of farmers could come together to meet me and tell me about their issues.
Rudy, Keeci Goodman (the daughter of my close friends, and my interpreter most days), and I drove out to Zaragosa Monday afternoon. It's just a few miles west of Chimaltenango, 20 minutes. We first met with Jesus Guzman in a small courtyard, and I learned that Jesus is the president of the local dairy farmers association.
And then, the farmers started showing up. One by one, they came in, grabbed a chair, expanded the circle, and joined in. I learned that there are 25 farmers in the association, with 3 or 4 cows apiece that they milk by hand. Eventually, there were about 20 people sitting in our circle; 25 members, and 20 of them show up to meet the farm reporter from the U.S. That's a good turnout.
Three years ago, these dairy farmers organized and decided they were going to swim together. Individually, with so few cows, they were mostly sinking. Several multinational dairy corporations had moved into Guatemala and were taking over the market. One group from Spain has 900 cows, they've heard.
The goal of these dairy farmers is to get government certification to process their own milk, brand it, and sell milk, cheese, and ice cream as farm-fresh from family farmers. Individually, they couldn't do that, but with 100 cows together, they had critical mass. They're a month from getting the certification, they think. This little group of 25 farmers and 100 cows is just the beginning, they envision adding other nearby farmers and communities, expanding their own farms and herds, and eventually becoming a national brand. They want to become something like a milk marketing co-op, although they don't call it a co-op here.
Ambitious, yes? Especially in this country, where ambition is easily snuffed out by tradition and lack of capital. These farmers have already bought some of the equipment they will need for their fledgling business. A 2,200-liter bulk tank, a cream separator, a cheese vat. They have enough production now to fill the bulk tank half full every day, but it wouldn't take much to double that production, a few more members, a little higher production per cow. They average 10-15 liters per cow per day, more for the Holsteins, less for the Jerseys.
Money is always an issue here, THE issue, and they've used up available resources. Loans are hard to come by, and milk prices are low.
Right now, they get about 3 quetzales (8Q to the dollar) per liter of milk. When I ask them, through Rudy, if there's any profit in that, they all say no, it's barely breakeven. When they get certification and start processing and selling dairy products through a local store (it will be in the courtyard where we are meeting), they expect to be able to pay members 4.5Q per liter, a 50% increase that will add to their individual bottom lines.
As we talk, I discover there is a lot more to these people than simply better milk prices and their own bottom lines. It's one little story about raising an entire country out of its poverty, one job at a time. And it's about keeping it's young people at home. Sound familiar?
One of the farmers that has joined in the discussion is a young woman, Corina Guerra. She and her husband, Francisco, have 3 milk cows. In Zaragosa, she tells me, a town of 17,000 people, the unemployment rate is probably over 50%, maybe 60%, although official statistics are hard to come by. "People here in Zaragosa like to work," she says. "They want to work. But we really worry about all of our young people seeing no opportunity, so all they want to do is go to the U.S. We all know lots of people who are gone from here, left their families, for the U.S.
"Well, we don't like that any better than some people in the U.S. There's no place like home, right? Those people could be here raising cows for meat, or doing something else here, we just need someone to come here and teach us about those things, how to do it, maybe make us a small loan. Then those young people would stay here. We need to creat jobs here."
And, that's what the dairy association intends to do, create jobs. When their plans are fully implemented and the number of dairy farmers expands, they think they can create 150-200 jobs in the milk processing factory. Definitely ambitious!
Juan Carlos Zuleta is a young guy in this group, early 30s. He says he speaks only a little English, but as I talk to him for 15 minutes, I find it flawless. He and his wife have two kids, 5 and 6 years old, and he wants to help create a Guatemala where they will have a future on the farm, or wherever else they want to go in life. He says, "We think we are trying to do something that will be good for our town, for the whole country, by creating jobs and helping family farmers. But we don't get much help, and when I say help, I mean money. That's what we need to get this thing bigger so we can compete."
There are places that will loan money here, both banks and private lenders. Incredibly, the interest rates start at 18% and go up from there into the 20s. Will someone in the U.S. loan them money for 5-7%? they ask me. Will someone come and teach them how to improve their farms, upgrade the cows, feed and breed them better? Will somone bring one or more of them to the U.S., to Texas, maybe, to learn those things? I tell them I don't know the answers to their questions, but I'm going to try to find out. Rudy agrees to be my conduit, to get information back to them.
As I leave, Juan Carlos takes me aside and says, "Thanks for coming to talk to us about what we are doing and our problems. We all want you to know, whether you can do anything to help us or not, you are always welcome back here."
That's why I say, these are MY people.
(I have some pictures I will post soon from Zaragosa.)
It could be because those people are farmers. Livestock farmers. Throughout my career, whenever I've needed a pick-me-up, I go to the country and talk to farmers. That's what I did on Monday, with the same result: renewed enthusiasm for what I do and for agriculture, even in this poverty-stricken land.
The folks at the Borlaug Insitute here in Chimaltenango had arranged for this country visit. They knew of my interest in livestock, and one of the technicians there, Rudy, had worked with a group of dairy farmers in the village of Zaragosa a couple of years ago on a composting project. Rudy, who speaks pretty good English, agreed to take me there. He called his farmer contact and arranged the visit, and asked if a little group of farmers could come together to meet me and tell me about their issues.
Rudy, Keeci Goodman (the daughter of my close friends, and my interpreter most days), and I drove out to Zaragosa Monday afternoon. It's just a few miles west of Chimaltenango, 20 minutes. We first met with Jesus Guzman in a small courtyard, and I learned that Jesus is the president of the local dairy farmers association.
And then, the farmers started showing up. One by one, they came in, grabbed a chair, expanded the circle, and joined in. I learned that there are 25 farmers in the association, with 3 or 4 cows apiece that they milk by hand. Eventually, there were about 20 people sitting in our circle; 25 members, and 20 of them show up to meet the farm reporter from the U.S. That's a good turnout.
Three years ago, these dairy farmers organized and decided they were going to swim together. Individually, with so few cows, they were mostly sinking. Several multinational dairy corporations had moved into Guatemala and were taking over the market. One group from Spain has 900 cows, they've heard.
The goal of these dairy farmers is to get government certification to process their own milk, brand it, and sell milk, cheese, and ice cream as farm-fresh from family farmers. Individually, they couldn't do that, but with 100 cows together, they had critical mass. They're a month from getting the certification, they think. This little group of 25 farmers and 100 cows is just the beginning, they envision adding other nearby farmers and communities, expanding their own farms and herds, and eventually becoming a national brand. They want to become something like a milk marketing co-op, although they don't call it a co-op here.
Ambitious, yes? Especially in this country, where ambition is easily snuffed out by tradition and lack of capital. These farmers have already bought some of the equipment they will need for their fledgling business. A 2,200-liter bulk tank, a cream separator, a cheese vat. They have enough production now to fill the bulk tank half full every day, but it wouldn't take much to double that production, a few more members, a little higher production per cow. They average 10-15 liters per cow per day, more for the Holsteins, less for the Jerseys.
Money is always an issue here, THE issue, and they've used up available resources. Loans are hard to come by, and milk prices are low.
Right now, they get about 3 quetzales (8Q to the dollar) per liter of milk. When I ask them, through Rudy, if there's any profit in that, they all say no, it's barely breakeven. When they get certification and start processing and selling dairy products through a local store (it will be in the courtyard where we are meeting), they expect to be able to pay members 4.5Q per liter, a 50% increase that will add to their individual bottom lines.
As we talk, I discover there is a lot more to these people than simply better milk prices and their own bottom lines. It's one little story about raising an entire country out of its poverty, one job at a time. And it's about keeping it's young people at home. Sound familiar?
One of the farmers that has joined in the discussion is a young woman, Corina Guerra. She and her husband, Francisco, have 3 milk cows. In Zaragosa, she tells me, a town of 17,000 people, the unemployment rate is probably over 50%, maybe 60%, although official statistics are hard to come by. "People here in Zaragosa like to work," she says. "They want to work. But we really worry about all of our young people seeing no opportunity, so all they want to do is go to the U.S. We all know lots of people who are gone from here, left their families, for the U.S.
"Well, we don't like that any better than some people in the U.S. There's no place like home, right? Those people could be here raising cows for meat, or doing something else here, we just need someone to come here and teach us about those things, how to do it, maybe make us a small loan. Then those young people would stay here. We need to creat jobs here."
And, that's what the dairy association intends to do, create jobs. When their plans are fully implemented and the number of dairy farmers expands, they think they can create 150-200 jobs in the milk processing factory. Definitely ambitious!
Juan Carlos Zuleta is a young guy in this group, early 30s. He says he speaks only a little English, but as I talk to him for 15 minutes, I find it flawless. He and his wife have two kids, 5 and 6 years old, and he wants to help create a Guatemala where they will have a future on the farm, or wherever else they want to go in life. He says, "We think we are trying to do something that will be good for our town, for the whole country, by creating jobs and helping family farmers. But we don't get much help, and when I say help, I mean money. That's what we need to get this thing bigger so we can compete."
There are places that will loan money here, both banks and private lenders. Incredibly, the interest rates start at 18% and go up from there into the 20s. Will someone in the U.S. loan them money for 5-7%? they ask me. Will someone come and teach them how to improve their farms, upgrade the cows, feed and breed them better? Will somone bring one or more of them to the U.S., to Texas, maybe, to learn those things? I tell them I don't know the answers to their questions, but I'm going to try to find out. Rudy agrees to be my conduit, to get information back to them.
As I leave, Juan Carlos takes me aside and says, "Thanks for coming to talk to us about what we are doing and our problems. We all want you to know, whether you can do anything to help us or not, you are always welcome back here."
That's why I say, these are MY people.
(I have some pictures I will post soon from Zaragosa.)
Monday, May 24, 2010
Legends of Mayans
There's a small church that meets here on the seminary campus, and we went there on Sunday morning. No, it's not like our church at home, but it felt good to be there with people to worship and honor our God and Savior. They were kind enough to provide English interpretors for most of the service. The lesson hit home, John 13, Jesus the servant who washed feet.
The medical team from Mississippi/Alabama that is staying out at the Mission House this week was at church, and we got to meet a few of the doctors and nurses. They want Keeci and me to come and hang out with them sometime this week, to get to know us better. OK. They brought their own chef with them, and I don't think he does tortillas and beans. The only problem with hanging out with them is the language barrier, I don't speak Mississippian. Keeci, from her days in Houston, knows it a little.
In the afternoon, we took a 45 minute drive out to a place called Iximche. It was a thriving Mayan community about 500 years ago, until the Spaniards came along. The ruins of Iximche are really fascinating, with several pyramid structures, big courtyards, and remnants of buildings and homes. There's one area that is still used as a place for traditional Mayan worship, with a sacrificial burn pit. The embers were still smoldering when we got there, we're not sure what was sacrificed on Sunday, but it smelled like chicken. Or corn.
The signs that explain things at Iximche are written in Spanish and Mayan. Keeci could make out some of the Spanish, but we found it more fun to make up our own stories about what happened where. Keeci concocted a story about a blood mote around the place, kept full by the drainage of human blood from the sacrificial altars. A small group of American college kids happened to be visiting Iximche while we were there, and I struck up a conversation with 3 of them. In my dead serious expression, I told them about the blood mote. Their eyes got big and their jaws dropped open as I explained how one big pit right in front of us was kept full of human blood as a reservoir for the mote. It's amazing how, if you act like you know what you are talking about, people will believe you. Of course, I fessed up, that I had no idea what the pit was for, probably a foundation for somebody's house.
For the rest of the day, Keeci was making up stories about Mayan blood zombies. I didn't sleep well last night.
The medical team from Mississippi/Alabama that is staying out at the Mission House this week was at church, and we got to meet a few of the doctors and nurses. They want Keeci and me to come and hang out with them sometime this week, to get to know us better. OK. They brought their own chef with them, and I don't think he does tortillas and beans. The only problem with hanging out with them is the language barrier, I don't speak Mississippian. Keeci, from her days in Houston, knows it a little.
In the afternoon, we took a 45 minute drive out to a place called Iximche. It was a thriving Mayan community about 500 years ago, until the Spaniards came along. The ruins of Iximche are really fascinating, with several pyramid structures, big courtyards, and remnants of buildings and homes. There's one area that is still used as a place for traditional Mayan worship, with a sacrificial burn pit. The embers were still smoldering when we got there, we're not sure what was sacrificed on Sunday, but it smelled like chicken. Or corn.
The signs that explain things at Iximche are written in Spanish and Mayan. Keeci could make out some of the Spanish, but we found it more fun to make up our own stories about what happened where. Keeci concocted a story about a blood mote around the place, kept full by the drainage of human blood from the sacrificial altars. A small group of American college kids happened to be visiting Iximche while we were there, and I struck up a conversation with 3 of them. In my dead serious expression, I told them about the blood mote. Their eyes got big and their jaws dropped open as I explained how one big pit right in front of us was kept full of human blood as a reservoir for the mote. It's amazing how, if you act like you know what you are talking about, people will believe you. Of course, I fessed up, that I had no idea what the pit was for, probably a foundation for somebody's house.
For the rest of the day, Keeci was making up stories about Mayan blood zombies. I didn't sleep well last night.
The Norman Borlaug Spirit
Interesting, isn't it, that just about anywhere you go in the world, farmers face the same problems. Developed world or undeveloped, rich or poor, big or small, the major issues have striking similarities.
Would you believe that here in Guatemala, one of the biggest problems in agriculture involves corn and beans. Specifically, too much reliance on both. And the biggest obstacle to that is the stubborn nature of the farmers themselves.
Sound familiar?
For centuries, Guatemalan farmers and their ancestors, the Mayans, have been growing and surviving off of corn and beans (it's generally black beans in this case, not soybeans). This has to be one of the oldest agrarian civilizations in history, probably going back more than 10,000 years to when the early Mayans discovered that maize could be easily cultivated, it was prolific, and it could sustain life by itself, if necessary.
Some say that corn actually originated here, a descendant of an earlier plant that grew kernels on it's tassel or head. There's good evidence that other New World plants so important to human survival also originated right here in or near Guatemala: potatoes, tomatoes, squash, and pumpkins.
They've been growing corn here a long time. And it was also a long time ago that they discovered that the vining black bean was a perfect companion. They could even grow them in the same field, at the same time. The black bean is a legume, and it "fixes" nitrogen from the air that can be used as a nutrient for the plant. Corn, a grass, can't do that, but it can steal some nitrogen from the beans if they are grown side-by-side. Because almost all of the field work is done by hand labor, you can easily grow two crops with different planting times and different harvest times in the very same field.
And the bean plant gets something from the corn: a place to vine. The resulting crops, corn and beans, make up more than 50% of the typical Guatemalan (and all Central American) diet. The beans are turned into a paste, and spread on tortillas made from the corn. It's high in protien and calories, and very sustaining. They serve it, with some limited variety, 3 times a day.
The problem is, there's no cash in this system, nothing for sale, and it tends to perpetuate a low standard of living among the 80% of Guatemalans who live in poverty. It's subsistence agriculture, and barely subsistence living. Guatemalan families grow the corn and beans exclusively, they eat and survive, but there's no economic growth. All societal infrastructure, perhaps most especially education, suffers in this labor-intensive, cashless system. And in a culture that values large families, poverty persists, perpetuates, and grows.
There are efforts underway to change this. A project of the Borlaug Instutute, centered at Texas A&M University and funded by a USDA grant, is trying to bring some options to farmers. They are arranging seminars and trial projects to point out alternative crops, and try to help small farmers pool resources and find markets.
"Corn is the staple crop here, like rice in Asia, and we won't stop that," says Yanet Rodriquez, who arranges seminars for farmers at the Borlaug office and project center here in Chimaltenango, Guatemala. "They can and will grow the corn and beans, but we want them to see that they need to diversify to help the family."
The director of this project, which will run for two more years, is Carolina Oleas, a native of Ecuador who found her way to Texas A&M for graduate school. There, she met Norman Borlaug and was inspired by his story of breeding better crops to eliminate starvation. She and others at the Institute like to use his famous Borlaug quote: "The essential component for human justice is that every human being have access to quality food." Both Oleas and Rodrquez have a passion for international development, and helping poor families better themselves.
Oleas says the basis of the project in Guatemala is to teach small farmers the value of rotation and crop diversificiation. "They've been growing corn and black beans forever, and they always will. But we can show them the value of a little diversity for the good of the soil, and to provide a 'money' crop that will help their family to advance.
"We believe that if you teach them how to grow a diffent crop and help them find a market, they will do it," Oleas says. "In some cases, we need to get a group of 20 farmers together to grow a crop in the right quantity and quality, then hook them up with an exporter."
Two examples of the kind of crops that have potential are snow peas, and French beans. Both grow well in this tropical, highland climate, with a year-around growing season. There are regional markets for the peas and beans in Central America, plus in the United States. "Water is the issue in some cases, because they have a dry season in the winter," says Oleas. "But that's where it can pay them to pool their resources and fields to irrigate."
They are also helping these farmers learn techniques for harvesting and storing the crops on their own, to avoid the middleman, or "coyotes" as they call them here.
Still, the problems of tradition persist. Guatemalan farmers have been growing corn for so long, with such cultural ties, they have actually become a sort of cult. "Men of corn" is what they call themselves, and some of them don't take advice well. "Generations have survived on corn," says Oleas, "and even though there is much soil erosion and soil quality is low, they put a little fresh manure out and the corn grows. They are completely confident that they can grow a corn crop every year, and often point out the problems they have when they try to grow something else. It's a Central American perspective, they'd rather stay with the thing they've done forever."
This project is reaching out to several thousand small Guatemalan farmers with a message of change. Will they? Maybe, if the Normal Borlaug spirit still lives.
(I have some pictures I will post soon to show aspects of this post, and the Borlaug project in Gutemala.)
Would you believe that here in Guatemala, one of the biggest problems in agriculture involves corn and beans. Specifically, too much reliance on both. And the biggest obstacle to that is the stubborn nature of the farmers themselves.
Sound familiar?
For centuries, Guatemalan farmers and their ancestors, the Mayans, have been growing and surviving off of corn and beans (it's generally black beans in this case, not soybeans). This has to be one of the oldest agrarian civilizations in history, probably going back more than 10,000 years to when the early Mayans discovered that maize could be easily cultivated, it was prolific, and it could sustain life by itself, if necessary.
Some say that corn actually originated here, a descendant of an earlier plant that grew kernels on it's tassel or head. There's good evidence that other New World plants so important to human survival also originated right here in or near Guatemala: potatoes, tomatoes, squash, and pumpkins.
They've been growing corn here a long time. And it was also a long time ago that they discovered that the vining black bean was a perfect companion. They could even grow them in the same field, at the same time. The black bean is a legume, and it "fixes" nitrogen from the air that can be used as a nutrient for the plant. Corn, a grass, can't do that, but it can steal some nitrogen from the beans if they are grown side-by-side. Because almost all of the field work is done by hand labor, you can easily grow two crops with different planting times and different harvest times in the very same field.
And the bean plant gets something from the corn: a place to vine. The resulting crops, corn and beans, make up more than 50% of the typical Guatemalan (and all Central American) diet. The beans are turned into a paste, and spread on tortillas made from the corn. It's high in protien and calories, and very sustaining. They serve it, with some limited variety, 3 times a day.
The problem is, there's no cash in this system, nothing for sale, and it tends to perpetuate a low standard of living among the 80% of Guatemalans who live in poverty. It's subsistence agriculture, and barely subsistence living. Guatemalan families grow the corn and beans exclusively, they eat and survive, but there's no economic growth. All societal infrastructure, perhaps most especially education, suffers in this labor-intensive, cashless system. And in a culture that values large families, poverty persists, perpetuates, and grows.
There are efforts underway to change this. A project of the Borlaug Instutute, centered at Texas A&M University and funded by a USDA grant, is trying to bring some options to farmers. They are arranging seminars and trial projects to point out alternative crops, and try to help small farmers pool resources and find markets.
"Corn is the staple crop here, like rice in Asia, and we won't stop that," says Yanet Rodriquez, who arranges seminars for farmers at the Borlaug office and project center here in Chimaltenango, Guatemala. "They can and will grow the corn and beans, but we want them to see that they need to diversify to help the family."
The director of this project, which will run for two more years, is Carolina Oleas, a native of Ecuador who found her way to Texas A&M for graduate school. There, she met Norman Borlaug and was inspired by his story of breeding better crops to eliminate starvation. She and others at the Institute like to use his famous Borlaug quote: "The essential component for human justice is that every human being have access to quality food." Both Oleas and Rodrquez have a passion for international development, and helping poor families better themselves.
Oleas says the basis of the project in Guatemala is to teach small farmers the value of rotation and crop diversificiation. "They've been growing corn and black beans forever, and they always will. But we can show them the value of a little diversity for the good of the soil, and to provide a 'money' crop that will help their family to advance.
"We believe that if you teach them how to grow a diffent crop and help them find a market, they will do it," Oleas says. "In some cases, we need to get a group of 20 farmers together to grow a crop in the right quantity and quality, then hook them up with an exporter."
Two examples of the kind of crops that have potential are snow peas, and French beans. Both grow well in this tropical, highland climate, with a year-around growing season. There are regional markets for the peas and beans in Central America, plus in the United States. "Water is the issue in some cases, because they have a dry season in the winter," says Oleas. "But that's where it can pay them to pool their resources and fields to irrigate."
They are also helping these farmers learn techniques for harvesting and storing the crops on their own, to avoid the middleman, or "coyotes" as they call them here.
Still, the problems of tradition persist. Guatemalan farmers have been growing corn for so long, with such cultural ties, they have actually become a sort of cult. "Men of corn" is what they call themselves, and some of them don't take advice well. "Generations have survived on corn," says Oleas, "and even though there is much soil erosion and soil quality is low, they put a little fresh manure out and the corn grows. They are completely confident that they can grow a corn crop every year, and often point out the problems they have when they try to grow something else. It's a Central American perspective, they'd rather stay with the thing they've done forever."
This project is reaching out to several thousand small Guatemalan farmers with a message of change. Will they? Maybe, if the Normal Borlaug spirit still lives.
(I have some pictures I will post soon to show aspects of this post, and the Borlaug project in Gutemala.)
Sunday, May 23, 2010
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