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.)