In November, I came up with the idea to start a “square-foot garden” in one of my schools with the help of the mothers group. I thought it would be a good idea because the school gathers donations of vegetables every week to give them and the garden would be a simple and self-sustained way to augment that program.

Then I turned it over and over in my head, finding deficiencies and insecurities to hang on to such as: these women probably know how to plant a garden already, they probably won’t want to make one in their homes, what do I know, this isn’t going to work, I’m 17 fresh out of high school, there’s no way I can lead them…

The garden started seeming like a failure before it was even in existence. Every part of it seemed like such a chore– buying the wood in the market, putting it together, finding soil, filling it, planting it, explaining it. The hardest part of all was believing in it. I have found that I’m very good at discouraging myself.

But in February I finally bit the bullet and bought the wood in the Antigua market by myself– in the section behind the vegetable vendors and the dusty parking lot , where off-duty bus drivers and their ayudantes (helpers) wash the ever-present dust from their flamboyantly painted buses. Usually (and unfortunately) they are shirtless. I don’t enjoy haggling and I still didn’t know how I was going to carry the heavy and bulky boards with me onto the bus and to my school. My anxiety level, needless to say, was high.

I finally found a vendor, and explained to him my idea. He pulled out board after board, looking for one that was nice and straight. He quoted me a very reasonable price (based off of my prior research) and then asked if I wouldn’t mind waiting while he went to go find a saw to cut the boards with. It turned out that he spoke a little English and he gave me his Spanish/English reader to entertain me while I waited for about 30 minutes. We talked on and off, a few of his friends came by and helped him saw the boards (it took about another 45 minutes) and then the latest friend to come by offered to drive the boards to my school for me! That was the first triumph.

When it came time to put the garden together, the mothers absolutely blew me away. They brought nails and hammers from their homes, and about 10 went with me to the construction site next door to steal their dirt. We planted the seeds and a week later they were sprouting in neat little lines. I hadn’t even realized how much I had been stressing about it until the moment that I saw those tiny hyper green leaves. Some mothers started asking me where they could buy seeds to start the garden in their own home. I was thrilled!

Two weeks later the promising little plant-lets were either terribly stunted in their growth, or dead. As it turned out, the soil we stole was not of good quality. It basically turned to brick when water touched it. And so I felt that I had to animate myself again, buy potting soil in the market and pray that some friend of the vendor would drive it to the school for me so I didn’t have to carry it on my head (of all the Guatemalan habits and skills I have picked up, I simply don’t have the posture for that one). I discussed the issue offhandedly with a few mothers one day and they offered the idea that each mother could bring a little bit of good soil from the mountain and then we would just replant. I put it on the back burner to bring up the next time I would meet with the mothers (which, considering that Semana Santa was coming up, could be a long time.)

But when I walked in to the school today, the garden was filled with rich soil. Of all the ups and downs, this was maybe the best. It means that the garden isn’t mine anymore. It’s theirs.

Have you ever thought about where your water comes from and how many people are involved in bringing it to your faucet?

Recently, out of curiosity, I headed off with Don Omar in his water truck. Don Omar is a pretty successful businessman in Santo Tomas; he owns a small farm and also owns a water delivery service called Transportes Rodriguez. Starting work at 6:20 a.m., we headed to a farm nearby to use its deep well to fill up the 55 barrel truck for the first run of the morning. We then headed to a small colonia (the romanticized word for a small neighborhood on the outskirts of a small town) where “not much water falls”. We drove through the Municipalidad de Magdelana Milpas Altas, heading out one of the only roads leading toward the mountain, across a small bridge and through fields and fields of corn before we finally reached the colonia. Somehow, Don Omar’s Tigo clad water truck made it up the steep hill at the entrance and through a narrow gap between the trees before we began delivering water house by house

As we went along, I learned about the fascinating history of this small colonia of about 700 people. The neighborhood, creatively named “El Once de Augusto” was founded on the eleventh of August. Positioned on the side of a mountain, it is a very impoverished place, with dirt floors and muddy, rut covered streets. This undesirable land was formerly owned by the municipality until, on the eleventh of August following Hurricane Mitch, the government of Santa Lucia Milpas Altas purchased land from neighboring Magdelena for its constituents whose homes were destroyed in a landslide caused by deforestation. Now, the area faces problems because its position is such that no water falls into the local cisterns and the residents must purchase water from Don Omar in order to eat and bathe. Although the mayor of Santa Lucia built a public pila for washing clothes, it is void of water and the residents of the Eleventh of August wash their clothes in a nearby river.

Following our adventure in The Eleventh of August, Don Omar and I headed to San Lucas where we delivered water to a local machine shop business that uses three trucks of water a week to cool its machinery. We then refilled the truck again and headed off to the Escuela Official Rural Mixta de Santa Lucia, where the mayor is constructing a new wing of the school. Because little water falls there, too, the foreman of the project called Transportes Rodriguez to bring the water for the site. This was Don Omar’s third trip to the site in two days. It’s pretty hard to construct concrete buildings when there’s a short water supply. It turns out this was the trip where the truck was needed to wet the base layer of concrete before they laid the flooring layer so it would form a tighter bond. Little did I know that Don Omar kept a fire hose behind the driver’s seat for occasions like that. What I had thought was a residential water truck quickly transformed into construction equipment.

Don Omar makes a pretty good profit on his water truck business and is very close to paying off his “low interest rate” loan of 20%, in just 8 years. Don Omar’s water transportation service turns out to be one of the best cases of entrepreneurship I’ve seen in Guatemala so far. He took out a loan for his first truck and started a water service some fifteen years ago. Following an accident five years ago, he is very close to paying off his second bank loan. He eventually hopes to purchase a second truck so that he can hire a driver to run a similar service in nearby San Lucas.

Don Omar seems to be the perfect example of small scale entrepreneurship. He saw that communities desperately needed water and were willing to pay substantial amounts for it. He found a reliable water source and took out a loan to pay for the truck. He created a business based on his network in Santo Tomas, Santa Lucia, and Magdalena delivering an essential service for a reasonable price. He even diversified his customer base to include construction sites and commercial facilities to provide a more constant and consistent customer base.  He has even been developing plans for expanding his business in order to reach more customers and provide more income for his family, while employing more members of his community. Never did I think I would learn so much from riding a water truck all day!

Of all the possible skills I thought I might be able to learn while living in Guatemala, using an espresso machine never ranked very high. But that is where expectations could be deceiving.

Helen, another volunteer with Soluciones Comunitarias in Nebaj, brought a small espresso machine back from the States so that El Descanso, a small restaurant and favorite hangout place of gringos passing through town, could improve its coffee options (currently, they fill a big container of instant coffee).

What better way to get tourists to stay in Nebaj a little longer and put more money into the local economy than by offering quality coffee – there’s no shortage of it growing here.

That said, the majority of the highest quality coffee is sent directly for export. So, needless to say, the first three blends we’ve experimented with have come out less than ideal. But, we’re still hopeful to find something incredible and then teach the meseros in the restaurant how to make our favorite lattes, cappuccinos, and espressos.

So, even if the coffee we’ve made has been less than superb, Shreya (another volunteer, pictured) and I are already stellar espresso machine users. Ultra important life skills for the win.

When I arrived at the bus stop today coming home from Antigua, I discovered that it was raining. It had been cloudy all day, but I didn’t expect actual water to fall. What made this occurrence of precipitation right in the middle of the dry season even more strange, was that it was the second time it has rained during the dry season this year. The last time it rained during the dry season was, I’m told by my Spanish teacher, Guadalupe, about 5 years ago and it was due to some really large hurricane or storm.

You and I would almost undoubtedly attribute this odd weather to the ever more increasingly pressing issue of global climate change. In fact, I read in the national newspaper Prensa Libre that the climate summit in Copenhagen listed Guatemala as one of the 10 countries to be most affected by global climate change– meaning increases in floods, droughts, disease, hurricanes, and much more.

Now when I said before that “you and I” would attribute it to global climate change, I was insinuating that not every Guatemalan would. And I was basing this assumption off of a number of generalized observations: the fact that it appears to me that more Guatemalans read the smutty Nuestro Diario, with its scantily clad bikini models and gory photos of gang violence victims gracing the front page than they do the Prensa, which gave front page deference to the aforementioned article; the immense amount of trash that litters the streets; the way that every single chicken bus exudes scandalous amounts of acrid black smoke as it pulls away from the bus stop; just the typical things that would alarm any environmentalist in the U.S. But back to my point: for these and many other reasons, I assumed that this hot button phrase “global climate change” was not at the tip of the typical Guatemalan tongue– including my family and others in my town.

Now here’s where Fina comes in and totally surprises me. We were visiting her older sister shortly after Christmas to see her massive nativity scene. (It filled a whole sofa. Yes, I mean that exactly.) We were ushered into their front room where stood their Christmas tree. It was a real pine tree, not huge, but definitely not a sapling either. Nor was it a true Christmas tree, but just a regular pine tree. Although it is illegal to cut down pine trees here due to deforestation issues, I don’t believe the rule is very carefully followed due to the fact that my own host brother waited until night-fall to cut some pine branches for our home. But apparently the key is that he cut a few branches. Fina’s nephew had cut down the whole pine. And when he proudly announced this, Fina laid into him: “You cut down the whole pine tree?? That is ILLEGAL. Do you realize that you’re harming the environment by cutting down trees? That’s why it’s raining in the middle of December, idiot.” (No, she didn’t call him an idiot, but since you weren’t there I had to give you some insight into what her tone seemed, quite strongly, to imply.)

Well, I was totally shocked. And so pleased. But it left me with a ton of questions! I had never heard her talk about climate change before, nor any other environment-related topic, and I didn’t know where she had learned about it. I’ve never seen her read the newspaper, and the only radio I’ve heard her listen to is Catholic radio. Maybe they have discussed it in church? I honestly can’t say, and I’m going to have to find out, but I will say that if Fina had been in Copenhagen she probably could have shamed the leaders of just about any country into making a deal.

Several days ago I had one of those sudden moments of insight into the workings of my mind that shocked me and excited me at the same time. I was with Fina and her sister Irma, recounting the tale of the neck-walking “grio” (that would be a HUGE brown grasshopper, bigger than my thumb, and yes the neck upon which it did the walking would be mine, horror) and I suddenly realized that I felt a little bit uncertain about the words I was using. They were nodding along and laughing, and I knew that the words were right but it took me a minute to realize that they felt strange because I wasn’t speaking English in my head and finding the Spanish equivalent, I was picturing specific actions in my head associated with a Spanish word. I felt uncertain because I didn’t even KNOW what English word I would have been trying to say.Lear

I really thought “Wow, this is what immersion does to you. This is what learning a second-language should be.” It has been occurring to me more and more often that learning a second language is not simply learning the vocabulary and translating in your head–it’s ugly, and it doesn’t flow naturally, doesn’t really flow at all. It is associating feelings and actions in your head with words and constructs. The tricky thing for me to overcome has been that if I wanted to learn this language the natural way– like a little kid, repeating everything he heard– I would no doubt embarrass myself soundly on a regular basis. Thus I always wanted to know EXACTLY what I was saying, and for me this meant knowing the English equivalent. As I’ve found, it’s easy to hear a phrase or word used many times, simply ask about it, and then use it. There’s not too much opportunity for embarrassment if you simply pay attention.

Tamales are the traditional Christmas food in Guatemala. You make a huge batch and send some home with all your family members and friends that come visiting. It’s a great gift; They’re even wrapped like little presents! And yesterday I had the privilege of learning how to make these corn-based parcels of joy.

I got home a little too late to learn the ingredients in the “masa” or corn mash, and the red sauce, although I know it contains several different types of chilies (which is not to say that this is a spicy dish– Guatemalans don’t like spicy food.) But I did get to learn how to assemble them, which to me had always seemed the most daunting part.

Take a large plantain leaf, place it upside-down on a small dish and put a section of softer plantain leaf that has been soaked in water in the center. Here throw on a generous scoop of “masa” and add a ladle-full of red sauce. Mix this with a spoon and then put a chunk of raw pork in the center. Cover it up with the “masa” as if you were burying a small piece of treasure (you can think of the cooked tamale as the treasure chest, if you want– however as far as barriers to treasures go this is a really good one to have, for it is easily dispatched and decidedly delicious). Grab both edges of the plantain leaf and roll them down like the top of a cereal bag, then bend one end of the leaf back so that you make a pocket, tap it on the dish to make sure all the “masa” settles into the pocket before folding down the top end and then tying it with a piece of dried vine, as I said before, like a little present. Now you simply put it in a pot of water so that it will boil and cook the meat

Fina and I made 70 tamales. With glee, I later overheard her telling her sister that she was surprised that I got the hang of it on the very first try– she had been expecting to show me how to do it, and then just have to re-do my tamale for me. Thank goodness I’m a better tamale maker than I am a tortilla-maker, otherwise my cooking reputation here would be utterly dismal.

One of our major projects in Guatemala is to support Soluciones Comunitarias, an NGO which trains Guatemalans to sell health related products such as reading glasses, water purifiers, and vegetable seeds. This week, we spent two (long) days traveling around northern Quiche and I produced the following video to document our journey:

“We don’t want Guatemala to be dirty because otherwise it would not be beautiful and people would get sick,” said one of the kids in our last day during drama class when acting out how Guatemala would look if everyone kept throwing trash in the streets. It was such a powerful moment to witness such consciousness, especially since it was coming from kids about 9 to 12 years old. It was also a moment when I felt that things could change.

I‘ve been in Nebaj for about a month and a couple of days and I have only seen a man picking up trash once. Honestly, sometimes I feel like, why pick up trash when a few minutes later I get on a micro-bus and about 2 to 3 people throw their empty plastic water bottle or the empty bag of Doritos through the window? People in general seem not to realize the harm to the environment they are creating.

Last week as I came from running around the beautiful mountains that surround Nebaj, I saw a plastic car for little kids with clothes and a bunch of other trash being burn in front of a house while little kids and other adults were watching the event as if it was such a common and normal thing to do. Last week in a meeting with all the GCY fellows and Erin we were discussing how through the Guatemalan’s eyes there is not much motivation to try to make a conscious effort to take care of the environment when there is not a system that supports them. In the states is so easy to throw away trash! and recycling is not that hard either.

On Monday we went on a campaign to an aldea about 6 hours from Nebaj call “La Parroquia.”As I was wondering where the trash went I walked outside of the Hospedale (very similar to a Hotel) where we were staying and there was a hole on the ground with a lot of trash inside. This makes me wonder how much the Government is providing Guatemalans with an alternative to throw away their trash. Situations can always go both ways. The more developed a country is, the more it affects the environment in a negative way with pollution from industries. But also the less developed a country is, the greater lack of resources and consciousness for the environment there is. Guatemala is beautiful !!! but the closer one gets to the road sides the clearer it becomes that they face big challenges to keep it that way.

“We don’t want Guatemala to be dirty because otherwise it would not be beautiful and people would get sick,” said one of the kids in our last day during drama class when acting out how Guatemala would look if everyone kept throwing trash in the streets. It was such a powerful moment to witness such consciousness, especially since it was coming from kids about 9 to 12 years old. It was also a moment when I felt that things could change.

I‘ve been in Nebaj for about a month and a couple of days and I have only seen a man picking up trash once. Honestly, sometimes I feel like, why pick up trash when a few minutes later I get on a micro-bus and about 2 to 3 people throw their empty plastic water bottle or the empty bag of Doritos through the window? People in general seem not to realize the harm to the environment they are creating.

Last week as I came from running around the beautiful mountains that surround Nebaj, I saw a plastic car for little kids with clothes and a bunch of other trash being burn in front of a house while little kids and other adults were watching the event as if it was such a common and normal thing to do. Last week in a meeting with all the GCY fellows and Erin we were discussing how through the Guatemalan’s eyes there is not much motivation to try to make a conscious effort to take care of the environment when there is not a system that supports them. In the states is so easy to throw away trash! and recycling is not that hard either.

On Monday we went on a campaign to an aldea about 6 hours from Nebaj call “La Parroquia.”As I was wondering where the trash went I walked outside of the Hospedale (very similar to a Hotel) where we were staying and there was a hole on the ground with a lot of trash inside. This makes me wonder how much the Government is providing Guatemalans with an alternative to throw away their trash. Situations can always go both ways. The more developed a country is, the more it affects the environment in a negative way with pollution from industries. But also the less developed a country is, the greater lack of resources and consciousness for the environment there is. Guatemala is beautiful !!! but the closer one gets to the road sides the clearer it becomes that they face big challenges to keep it that way.

On December 7, 2009 at 6 pm Guatemalans and gringos alike began the official Christmas season with a daring display of pyrotechnics in the traditional “quema del diablo” or “burning of the devil.” Looming large and leering demonically near the entrance of Antigua proper, a statue of a devil was perched on a base of household trash and set on fire at the onset of darkness. In towns all across Guatemala, families brought out small piles of household trash and burned it in front of their homes, getting rid of bad spirits in preparation for the happy holiday season.

Though initially uninspired to attend the event because of laziness, I made myself follow the guideline I set back in October, which is never to opt out of an experience just because I don´t feel like picking myself up and going (you wouldn´t believe how many times I have discovered something beautiful, cool, or moving because this simple rule.)

And, as you might have guessed, this turned out to be a very cool experience indeed. Despite the fact that the crowd numbered possibly more than 1,500 people, Luis, Michael and I had an amazing view-maybe even the best view- owing to our having clambered on top of a fire truck which was ready to respond should any of the fireworks land precariously close to one of the two gas stations within 500 yards of the burning devil (as Michael is fond of saying, and is almost always true, “That would definitely be illegal in the U.S.”)

As I stood on the truck taking in the scene, its flashing red lights lighting up one side of my face and ash drifting through the air like snow flakes, I suddenly realized that my typical role in photographing other people doing strange or cool things had been reversed- so we´ll see if a picture of Michael, Luis & I shows up in any of the tourist magazines here. Ha!

Just as suddenly as that small realization came the sound of fresh fireworks cracking, and as I whipped my head towards the source of the noise I saw the most “illegal in the U.S.” thing yet—a man with a caging of lit fireworks hoisted on his back was charging around the square, purposefully approaching groups of onlookers to provoke screams and speedy flight as the fireworks shot straight at them. Luis informs me that this brave man is called “el torrito” or “the little bull.” Apparently he just heightens the excitement of the celebration… but once again I was thankful for my perch on top of something so singularly fire retardant.