The changes in Casa Jackson, implemented since my last visit, are numerous. It seems many of the rules have become more lax, and there are now more volunteers allowed per shift. In some ways, these are great changes. Increased laxity with the rules means that the few rules there are ought to be more easily enforced and more widely followed. More volunteers per shift should equate to more hands on deck caring for the babies, and more time actively engaged with volunteers.
There also seems to be some confusion regarding what type of setting Casa Jackson truly is. The type of setting determines the rules. Some people, volunteers and management, view Casa Jackson as a hospital for severely malnourished children- hospital being a place where strict hygiene and infection control policies must apply at all times to protect the babies from further illness. Others view it as a place where babies are going to receive nutrition, love, and interaction with caring staff and volunteers.
These two views need not be mutually exclusive, but finding a "happy medium" seems to be an ongoing challenge at Casa Jackson. On one hand, relaxing the infection control policies has led to increased peer interactions amongst the babies; the babies are clearly more motivated to move and explore by each other than by any other adult. This bodes well for their development. The official abandonment of the "mask at all times" policy provides far more opportunities to model speech sounds for the babies, almost all of whom are extremely delayed in their expressive communication. With the increased laxity in these policies, the babies are certainly recovering in a far more "natural" environment.
Still, coming from a medical background, it feels wrong to give the babies here any less consideration in protecting them from infections and illnesses than they would be given in a US hospital. I'm very interested to see if there are more colds and stomach viruses going around Casa Jackson due to these policies, or if the relaxation of the rules doesn't affect the rate of kids getting sick at all. I do very much hope they aren't adversely affected, because again, it does feel like a less institutional environment for these kids to be in for several months at a time. I'm still conflicted.
Yesterday, I arrived at Casa Jackson a little early for the afternoon shift. Despite there being four volunteers signed up, there were only three of us there other than the nurses. With a full house of 19 babies, the absence of one person is definitely felt! There are a lot of walkers, crawlers, and scooters right now and it seemed like every step I took there were little hands and feet that had snuck up beneath me. While it gets a little harrowing trying to rush around and change diapers without stepping on anyone, it is wonderful to see the kids moving around and exploring as much as they're able to now.
Due to the short staffing, I stayed with Rafa through the afternoon shift, the dinner shift (a two-hour shift newly created to help the nurses during one of the busiest times of the evening), and into the evening shift. We left around 7:15pm. A six hour day may not sound very long, but with 19 babies who need to be fed, changed, fed, changed, and changed again, as well as held and rocked and entertained, and only five people (including nurses) to do it, six hours feels like sixteen hours. Sixteen wonderful, trying, heartwarming, frustrating, inspiring, fun, ear-splitting hours.
It's amazing to me how some kids are so resilient. Many kids that come into and leave Casa Jackson really do thrive. They don't seem to experience any horribly glaring residual delays, beyond the typical cultural differences that are often viewed as delays by foreigners assessing the skills of kids growing up in this culture. For those kids, Casa Jackson truly is enough.
It's the ones who aren't thriving, the ones who are sick and admitted for months on end, who can't sit up or stand despite being over two years old that worry me. The ones who are too weak to make any progress developmentally, and can't seem to make progress nutritionally either. I'm concerned about the lack of long-term follow-up for the kids. What happens to the kids who may get better medically, but whose parents can't afford to send them to school or the doctor? The kids who aren't visibly handicapped, but absolutely need support? The many, many kids who- once again- just fall through the cracks?
It seems I've given myself a new "to-do" on my list here...
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Two Cute, Cuddly Little Puzzles
While every child seems to grow in leaps and bounds during their time at Casa Jackson, I can't help but be especially heartened by Alison's progress since I last saw her in April. That intense, serious stare she always sported still makes an occasional appearance, but she's so much more interactive and engaging now.
I brought Alison to the upstairs playroom with me to work with her and get a better sense of what her current skills actually are. Rafa filled me in on his biggest concerns for her: she rarely touches anything with her left hand and consistently pulls it away from any stimulus, and she doesn't seem to be making any sounds other than "puh puh puh."
My silent, pensive little Disney monkey has turned into a strong-willed fussbudget who very much has her own ideas about what she wants to do! Once I figure out what motivates her to really work hard, I think she'll make great progress. With an iron will like she's got, it's just a matter of convincing her that she wants to do the things I want her to do...
Regardless of where her skills fall right now, I am thrilled to see her smile and laugh so much. That one little half-smile that took a month to appear has blossomed into a toothy grin that she gives up easily. She was a little disconcerted being in the playroom upstairs, and pulled her hands away from all the toys I offered her. I decided to entice her with some good old-fashioned sensory play and we spent a good fifteen minutes taking turns slapping the giant therapy ball and making motorboat sounds (it's the simple things...). Alison imitated me readily, putting both hands on the ball, hesitating only a moment with her left before slapping it down next to her right hand and looking at me to make the silly sound.
After all the giggles, seeing that she was growing more comfortable, I decided to push her a little bit further. I sat her on top of the ball. She began to fuss and reach for my neck. I ignored the fussing, started to sing the ABC's, and began to roll her slowly back and forth, and side to side. It took a minute, but she began to enjoy this too, and wiggled her little body around whenever I stopped. I bounced her gently on it, making the same motorboat sound as before, and boy did she love that! Each time I stopped, she tried to imitate the noise and bounce herself until I continued to do it for her. As I rocked her side to side, she began to first put her left hand down, palm up, on the ball. After a few tips to the side, she began placing it palm side down. I'm feeling pretty confident that this left hand avoidance can be overcome!
Alison was none too pleased when I first laid her on her tummy over the ball, facing me, with her arms in front of her. All of the points I must have racked up in our fun just minutes before went out the window when I did that! It took a bit longer, but with more bouncing and rolling and silly noises, she enjoyed being on her belly, rolling forward and back, bouncing, and pushing up on her arms. She definitely hasn't been spending time on her stomach; her weakness and rapid fatigue are a clear testament to that. But, again, judging by her eventual acceptance and even enjoyment of it today, there's hope!
After a good lunch (during which she held her bottle by herself once I positioned her hands there and decreased my assistance from hands, to wrists, to elbows, to none), I brought her back downstairs and put her into her crib with a toy across her lap. She enjoyed exploring the toy with both hands, pushing levers and opening little doors. She continued to smile at me every time I went back into her room to change a diaper, chase a runaway toddler, or grab more diapers or wipes. She definitely has something going on, but I'm feeling good about the direction she's heading-- up.
I spoke with Rafa about another little girl, Joanntoni:
Joanntoni has issues with her legs and feet, though no one knows what they are. Joantonni walks with her feet turned slightly inward; standing above her and holding her hands while she walked, it appeared almost as if her hips and legs were rotated slightly to face to the left rather than straight ahead. Her legs are extremely slender, but muscular, unlike the stick-thin, fragile limbs common on some of the older toddlers. She can walk with hands held, but she puts a lot of her weight onto her arms. She prefers to ring-sit and scoot around that way. Joanntoni was willing to pick her feet up individually to take a step up, but threw her torso back onto my arms to avoid putting weight on either leg individually.
She's definitely an interesting little one. Apparently she had an X-ray recently to try and determine if there were any abnormalities, but nothing showed up. I'm hoping she may be able to get in with an orthopedic specialist soon.
I also had a chance to speak in a bit more depth with Heather, the new CJ volunteer coordinator today. She echoed many of the sentiments I've had for awhile regarding the missed opportunities that exist in terms of using the volunteers to their full potential, and ensuring that the kids are getting the most benefit possible while in Casa Jackson's care. She seems eager to get more training and orientation for the volunteers, so I will be trying to put together some basics and work together to determine the best way to identify and communicate with volunteers who want to be involved in a more complex fashion than just coming, caring, cuddling (all very important, but not the whole picture!) and changing diapers. I'm excited to finally get going on this aspect of the project I've had in my head for the past six months!
Corinne and I took a lovely walk up to Cierra de la Cruz this afternoon. It's a very do-able trail of steps leading up to the top of the mountain that our apartment is on the side of; we actually can see the backroad to it from our front window. We went up the safer "tourist path" and enjoyed a beautiful view of Antigua, complete with cloud shadows, clouds blanketing the tops of the volcanos, and the stunning view of the entirety of Antigua laid out beneath us. I find myself having at least five moments each day where I can't help but feel so very lucky to be living in such a beautiful place...
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Itty Bitty Amy in the Big Bad City
Around 10:00am this morning, I found myself in a cemetery, watching a potential gang member’s coffin being pulled from a hearse surrounded by a crowd of surprisingly quiet mourners. Vultures soared in circles above us, concentrated in certain parts of the visible sky. I wondered what they could be scavenging for; the grounds were covered in mausoleums and tombs of varying sizes. None appeared to be accessible without the aid of some serious power tools.
As the mourners walked from the wide street cutting between virtual neighborhoods of mausoleums down the narrow corridor housing one of many long, tall walls of box-like tombs stacked at least ten high, the policia pulled away in their eponymous green pick-up truck.
Over the cheerful sounding but lyrically somber music that began to play,
Jacobo explained that police often escort fallen gang members and their loved ones from funeral home to cemetery to dissuade any rival gangs from attacking the mourners, which may include fellow gang members. He suggested we keep walking. I didn’t protest.
In the largest cemetery in Guatemala City, no one is buried underground. Anyone able to afford a space can house their remains, for eternity, in a variety of accommodations spanning from the very humble to the most ornate and pretentious imaginable. Some were larger than the homes I’d seen in small villages.
The average Guatemalan may opt to be put into one of the humble boxes, structured and quite similar in appearance to the post office boxes lining the wall of every post office in the US. Family members decorate the doors, filling what can only be described as a window box at the front with flowers, plants, crosses, and the like.
Wealthy families and ex-politicos alike, however, purchase a plot and build their ‘dream tomb.’ Every style of architecture can be detected throughout the cemetery. Greco-Roman pillars abound, as do the elaborate stone sculptures (generally religious in nature) so popular and prolific in Guatemala. Some are merely influenced by the colonial style found in nearby cathedrals; some appear to be complete mimicry. Some boast a more modern, contemporary face, with glass doors and asymmetrical lines. The wealthiest family in the city, owners of the largest cement business, built an Egyptian-style tomb, complete with stone Sphinxes atop it.
Visible from one side of the cemetery is the massive landfill beneath, the largest in Guatemala City. We stood and took it all in from between two smaller ‘homes.’ Hundreds of vultures circled high above it, and hundreds more rested on the treetops below us. Yellow trucks formed lines both in and out, dropping off refuse from every corner of the city.
Just barely visible were the tiny ant-like bodies rushing to each load deposited. Hundreds of families make their living off of the landfill, desperate vultures of another kind, scavenging for anything that could be re-sold for some meager income. Some children are even sold by their parents to work in one of the many landfills in the country, prized for their small size. Some children never leave.
Not long after, I stood peering down into the cavernous opening of the Congress building as a soft-but-rapidly-speaking aide provided an overview of the day-to-day activity in the building as well as some of it’s history. I quickly abandoned trying to understand him, asking Jacobo during pauses for a succinct translation instead.
As a group of schoolchildren sporting matching red jackets filed in around us, he explained that members of the public are able to sit in on active sessions, but as silent observers only. While the logic behind that rule is obvious, I couldn’t help but be amused at the irony; citizens as silent observers in Congress, citizens as silent observers in hundreds of years of exclusion at best, oppression and genocide at worst.
As we walked and drove around the city, Jacobo patiently answered my constant barrage of questions regarding safety, society, the military, politics, and of course- the upcoming elections. Among the things I learned today:
-Zona 9 and 10 were once considered quite safe, and are where most Guatemalans work and study. In recent years, crime has skyrocketed. The zonas are no longer considered safe as thieves target middle-class Guatemalans on their way to and from work, looking for cell phones, laptops, and other electronics.
-Sandra Torres, who divorced current president Alvaro Colom in order to run for president in September’s elections, has not yet been authorized by Congress to run. She is considered the most powerful politician in the country (more than Colom himself) and obviously knows it- she has already plastered the country with her picture and campaign slogan.
-Bus drivers who do not pay extortion money to gangs each month must have a death wish. There are often one to two shootings per day on the public buses in Guatemala, either while stopped or in transit, with equal brutality against passengers and drivers.
-The two gangs most active in the city are the Salvatrucha (Mara Salvatrucha 13, or MS-13) and Calle 18. Between 7 and 10 years ago, they reached an agreement where members would not attack each other in certain places- funerals and jails being two of those place. The agreement was broken several years ago and there was a slaughter of gang members at the prison; heads were severed and used as soccer balls. Needless to say, the truce has yet to be recovered.
-The military still holds an enormous amount of power in Guatemala today, despite being removed from executive office at the end of the civil war in the mid-1990’s. Speaking out against them in the press or any official forum is not only difficult, but can be dangerous as well.
Despite all of this, and despite the sometimes crumbling, sometimes dreary appearance of the city, there are things to celebrate. The former post office, still used in some capacity as such, now houses hundreds of dance and music classes offered for free to children found begging for money in the street. Instruments are provided for free, and the children put on performances and may even play in the program’s orchestra.
We visited an art gallery hidden away atop one of the many entrances to a shopping center. Walking through the center, we passed a number of hair and beauty salons either run by or catering to the gay/transvestite population, which Jacobo reports is very adept at staying out of sight due to societal pressure. The gallery housed a photography exhibit that chronicled street art/installations created by Alejandro Paz, entitled “Obras Publicas.” Some were thought-provoking, some puzzling.
Jacobo was a wonderful guide, and we covered many of the historic sites in Zona 1 over the course of the day. I noticed only two other groups of tourists in the city, unusual for a colonial capital with such rich history. Jacobo was also kind enough to drive me past La Limonada, the largest slum in Guatemala City, and through zonas 9 and 10. While it was clear that the city is very different from Antigua, we stayed out of the most dangerous zonas. At no point did I fear for my safety or worry that I was in danger.
Another talking point for Guatemala City- their central market has some incredible street food! Jacobo and I ate chiles rellenos (my first since arriving!) and dobladas. Chiles rellenos are chilies that have been stuffed with beef and deep fried. Ours were served topped with guacamole and a mild red salsa. Dobladas are tortillas filled with meat and cabbage, then deep-fried and covered with guacamole, salsa, and chopped onions and purple cabbage. I loved both of them, and washed them down with a licuado mixto (mixed fruit smoothie) from a plastic baggie with a straw sticking out.
We saw so many things today; I could easily fill up another three pages describing my experiences today! I'm so grateful to Jacobo for bringing me into the city (and safely back out of it!); while I understand that the places we didn't go today are vastly different from the places that we did, I still feel less intimidated by big, bad Guatemala City...
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Mi Chiquita esta Gordita!
I walked to each doorway, peeking into the rooms. Every crib held a little sleeping body, bathed in the mint-green sunlight reflected off the painted walls. Tiny limbs poked through the bars of some of them; dark fuzzy heads were visible beneath blankets in others. I scanned each room quickly, looking for familiar faces.
I strode across the small hallway, towards the rooms that always seemed to hold the babies nearest and dearest to me- Sandra included. The children with special needs always ended up in there for one reason or another. I had decided to look in that room last. I knew from speaking to Juan Pablo that Sandra was gone, as were almost all of the others.
An additional crib had been wedged into the room, crowding the small space even further, and complicating my efforts to peek inside each crib without waking anyone. I spotted Magaly, sleeping soundly in the corner crib, curled up on her side with one shoe on and one shoe off. Her shiny black hair hung straight across her face, obscuring my view of her almond-shaped eyes and petite nose. Only her tiny pink mouth peeked out.
The crib to my left held a healthy-looking girl with familiar features. I took in her large ears, beautiful eyes, button nose, rosebud mouth, and full cheeks. She looked at me, smiled, reached her arms up, and began to fuss. Could this be the same little girl I spent an entire month coaxing just one smile out of? The little girl who was so disinterested in people and toys? The little girl who was so frightfully thin and frail just two months ago?
I reached my hand between the bars and stroked her cheek.
Alison. Chica linda, tu me recuerdes? She briefly stopped fussing and looked at my eyes before continuing her impassioned treatise for me to pick her up.
As I lifted her from her crib, I was delighted to feel the weight she's put on. Compared to her former self, she's downright chubby now. Compared to a typical American baby, she's still likely a bit underweight.
Developmentally, she has made some progress, though she continues to present with very significant delays. A fellow volunteer reported that they feel she may have autism, although I don't agree. I still feel strongly that there is an underlying issue impacting her development beyond "simply malnutrition," but autism it is not.
Alison is still a timid, cautious baby who is reluctant to touch toys and fully explore them, but she displays some promising progress in her social skills. Alison frequently made eye contact with me; she delighted in watching me pull Legos apart and made eye contact expectantly when I paused between each block as if to say, "come on! do another!"
She is aso beginning to initiate play, though only in the few activities that she seems to prefer. She showed a particular affinity for the Sesame Street Shapes board book I had donated during my last tenure as a volunteer, and loved to turn the pages and point to the pictures. When I put the book down and tried to move to different toys, she several times handed me the book, made eye contact, and fussed until I began to read it again. Her social skills are delayed, but no more than her play, motor, and cognitive skills appear to be delayed at first glance.
At such a young age (under two), given her global delays, I think it's impossible to look at her and say with any certainty that she could have autism. Is she off? A little funky? Absolutely. A lot of parents and caregivers become concerned with autism if a child isn't interacting as they should socially. If all of a child's skills are at a certain level, consistent with their general development, the delays in social functioning are likely reflective of a bigger issue, rather than the sole issue impacting them.
A very well-respected doctor with years of experience diagnosing autism in children under age three delivered a presentation at the hospital I used to work for; the most prominent marker she noted for autism at that young age was a lack of initiation of social interaction. Alison makes eye contact and engages in reciprocal interactions and, although unable to communicate verbally in any effective way, does attempt to initiate those interactions.
For those wondering how Magaly has fared since her surgery- quite well! Her mother wasn't at the center, and I'm hoping that she is safe and well considering the domestic abuse she was staying at the center to avoid in the past. Magaly's legs are certainly stronger then when I left; the muscles holding her femurs into her hips are tightening up and she isn't so loosey-goosey legs out wide all the time any longer. She can stand with assistance and loves taking slow, laborious steps when held beneath her underarms to get toys from the basket (which we did a lot of today!). She fatigues easily, but has come so far from the little girl in the giant cast that she once was. I can only imagine the freedom she must feel.
There aren't currently any children with cerebral palsy or any obvious neuromuscular issues, but I imagine there are at least one or two like Alison. I have to admit that I spent much of my time today with her, "catching up" and bonding again. I've signed up for a few shifts over the next week to ease back into things and hopefully get a better sense of where the kids are, developmentally speaking. There are 19 kids there now- a full house! Pictures soon- I promise. :)
I did have an opportunity to speak with Heather when she arrived, looking far less distressed, later in the afternoon. Heather mentioned that her primary interest is actually in community outreach and working directly with the families rather than just the volunteers and institutional setting. She said she saw no issue with me working on implementing some training for volunteers whenever I was ready to do so, and fully supported any community visits I may want to set up. While I thought that would be the case, it's such a relief to get the official green light from the new coordinator- and also to learn that she sees the community work as as much of a priority as I do.
Casa Jackson- game on. :)
I strode across the small hallway, towards the rooms that always seemed to hold the babies nearest and dearest to me- Sandra included. The children with special needs always ended up in there for one reason or another. I had decided to look in that room last. I knew from speaking to Juan Pablo that Sandra was gone, as were almost all of the others.
An additional crib had been wedged into the room, crowding the small space even further, and complicating my efforts to peek inside each crib without waking anyone. I spotted Magaly, sleeping soundly in the corner crib, curled up on her side with one shoe on and one shoe off. Her shiny black hair hung straight across her face, obscuring my view of her almond-shaped eyes and petite nose. Only her tiny pink mouth peeked out.
The crib to my left held a healthy-looking girl with familiar features. I took in her large ears, beautiful eyes, button nose, rosebud mouth, and full cheeks. She looked at me, smiled, reached her arms up, and began to fuss. Could this be the same little girl I spent an entire month coaxing just one smile out of? The little girl who was so disinterested in people and toys? The little girl who was so frightfully thin and frail just two months ago?
I reached my hand between the bars and stroked her cheek.
Alison. Chica linda, tu me recuerdes? She briefly stopped fussing and looked at my eyes before continuing her impassioned treatise for me to pick her up.
As I lifted her from her crib, I was delighted to feel the weight she's put on. Compared to her former self, she's downright chubby now. Compared to a typical American baby, she's still likely a bit underweight.
Developmentally, she has made some progress, though she continues to present with very significant delays. A fellow volunteer reported that they feel she may have autism, although I don't agree. I still feel strongly that there is an underlying issue impacting her development beyond "simply malnutrition," but autism it is not.
Alison is still a timid, cautious baby who is reluctant to touch toys and fully explore them, but she displays some promising progress in her social skills. Alison frequently made eye contact with me; she delighted in watching me pull Legos apart and made eye contact expectantly when I paused between each block as if to say, "come on! do another!"
She is aso beginning to initiate play, though only in the few activities that she seems to prefer. She showed a particular affinity for the Sesame Street Shapes board book I had donated during my last tenure as a volunteer, and loved to turn the pages and point to the pictures. When I put the book down and tried to move to different toys, she several times handed me the book, made eye contact, and fussed until I began to read it again. Her social skills are delayed, but no more than her play, motor, and cognitive skills appear to be delayed at first glance.
At such a young age (under two), given her global delays, I think it's impossible to look at her and say with any certainty that she could have autism. Is she off? A little funky? Absolutely. A lot of parents and caregivers become concerned with autism if a child isn't interacting as they should socially. If all of a child's skills are at a certain level, consistent with their general development, the delays in social functioning are likely reflective of a bigger issue, rather than the sole issue impacting them.
A very well-respected doctor with years of experience diagnosing autism in children under age three delivered a presentation at the hospital I used to work for; the most prominent marker she noted for autism at that young age was a lack of initiation of social interaction. Alison makes eye contact and engages in reciprocal interactions and, although unable to communicate verbally in any effective way, does attempt to initiate those interactions.
For those wondering how Magaly has fared since her surgery- quite well! Her mother wasn't at the center, and I'm hoping that she is safe and well considering the domestic abuse she was staying at the center to avoid in the past. Magaly's legs are certainly stronger then when I left; the muscles holding her femurs into her hips are tightening up and she isn't so loosey-goosey legs out wide all the time any longer. She can stand with assistance and loves taking slow, laborious steps when held beneath her underarms to get toys from the basket (which we did a lot of today!). She fatigues easily, but has come so far from the little girl in the giant cast that she once was. I can only imagine the freedom she must feel.
There aren't currently any children with cerebral palsy or any obvious neuromuscular issues, but I imagine there are at least one or two like Alison. I have to admit that I spent much of my time today with her, "catching up" and bonding again. I've signed up for a few shifts over the next week to ease back into things and hopefully get a better sense of where the kids are, developmentally speaking. There are 19 kids there now- a full house! Pictures soon- I promise. :)
My visit to Casa Jackson, while a welcome one for me, was rather unexpected. Intending only to meet the new coordinator Heather and discuss joining the volunteer schedule, I had walked to Nuestros Ahijados after lunch and found myself waiting at the entrance to Nuestros Ahijados with the afternoon volunteers when Megan and Heather arrived at the gate. Heather had been mugged on her walk back from her apartment in La Candelaria, in the southern part of Antigua. She was visibly shaken and would not be going to Casa Jackson just yet.
Megan asked if I could take the new volunteers to Casa and run them through the brief orientation. Just like that, I was walking down the dusty road that stretches from Antigua to Jocotenango, talking to a high school senior traveling with her mother who was interested in pursuing a career in physical or occpuational therapy upon graduation, describing the myriad of issues that the kids at the center often present with. It was almost like I'd never left.
I did have an opportunity to speak with Heather when she arrived, looking far less distressed, later in the afternoon. Heather mentioned that her primary interest is actually in community outreach and working directly with the families rather than just the volunteers and institutional setting. She said she saw no issue with me working on implementing some training for volunteers whenever I was ready to do so, and fully supported any community visits I may want to set up. While I thought that would be the case, it's such a relief to get the official green light from the new coordinator- and also to learn that she sees the community work as as much of a priority as I do.
Casa Jackson- game on. :)
Produce and Politics
Yesterday's trip to the mercado (my first since returning) was at first a mission to find a decent blender. For those unaware, I probably imbibe about half of my day's food in liquid form. This is not a weight-loss strategy, or even a weight-maintenance one. Nope, I am just too lazy to prepare all the food supposedly necessary for my body on any given day. Awhile back, I realized it was far easier to throw a bunch of fruits and vegetables into a blender, press "on," and get my nutrition that way. I am not about to give up this habit, thus, blender shopping.
Several hours later, Corrine and I returned from the mercado laden with groceries. I found the blenders a bit pricey (a decent one costing upwards of $40-$80), although all do come with a one-year warranty, and decided to hold off a bit longer. While my blender-less return was a little disappointing, the short jaunt through the produce section at the mercado was anything but. Each stall had AT LEAST three to four items I couldn't identify, and a number were laden with boxes and bags of spices, dried chilies, and fragrant herbs used for cooking and making tea.
I had my first lychee! For anyone who hasn't seen a lychee outside of the bits they put in bubble tea, let me assure you that they're a pretty ridiculous looking fruit. Small and egg-shaped, the fruits I purchased had the bubbled texture of a raspberry, a color that varied between deep maroon and light peachy-pink, and little soft hair-like spikes protruding from each bubble. Opening them was even more disconcerting; after giving one a good squeeze and twist, juice squirted out and the outside split apart to reveal a white, translucent oval of fruit that conjured up memories of the placenta-like insides of a coconut picked too soon, but even more... well... weird. It was, however, delicious. I ate the entire fruit, including the nut at the center. I took some pictures and will post them another time. It was the most bizarre fruit experience I've ever had.
I'm looking forward to incorporating all of these awesomely weird new fruits and vegetables into my culinary rotation. It's time to start cooking again!
As many of you know, I'm fascinated and intrigued by almost all aspects of Guatemalan history and society. As with most Latin American countries, the US has played a large (often negative and downright reckless) role in the development of Guatemala's current political, social, and economic situation, and continues to do so. Also as with most Latin American countries, I learned next to nothing about Guatemala in school.
This is incredibly unfortunate. The issues plaguing Central and South America affect the US on a daily basis. Tons of military and economic aid is sent to different countries each year to protect "our" interests. Much of this is currently earmarked to fight the 'War on Drugs.' My intellectual goal for the next few months is to wade as best I can through the history of Guatemala, and the history of this issue that's threatening to destabilize the entire region I now (and for the next year, at least) call "home."
I unwittingly decided to make my move down here on a very special year- election year. I was aware that the elections were taking place this year, but the thought had taken such a backseat over the past few months considering the breadth of tasks I had to do to facilitate a move out of the country. As I mentioned on Monday, few Guatemalans hold any hope in the political system, let alone any of the myriad of candidates making illustrious promises to change society, eradicate extreme poverty, and the like.
In any country, election years can be intense and tumultuous. In a country where the government holds more an illusion of control than actual control over the vast majority of the population, the intensity can be frightening. Protests and riots are always possible, and violent crime often increases. This is true in Guatemala City, a city already known for having the highest homicide rate in the Americas. While this can be slightly off-putting, I see it as an incredible opportunity to observe a presidential election in a place where safety and security are not guaranteed; where citizens choose from 22 candidates rather than 2; and where people seem completely indifferent to politicos, yet reportedly lapse into violence over them.
I have a lot to learn about this country.
On a more exciting note, I'll be going into Guatemala City for the first time tomorrow! Outside of landing at the airport and immediately hopping into an Antigua-bound taxi, I've never set foot in Guate (which is what many locals refer to the city as). A friend of Ray's that I met last time I was down is picking me up from Antigua at 9am and taking me around for the day. The city has been such a mystery to me; I've heard so many horror stories, but at the same time, so very many people live and work there, or live in Guate and commute to Antigua for work. I'm really looking forward to seeing it, regardless of public opinion.
Later this evening, I'll be posting about my unexpected visit to Casa Jackson today, and the kids currently there- including a few from my last visit that haven't left yet! I think some of you will be very excited to hear how well they're doing. Also had a chance to speak with Heather, the new coordinator. I've decided to keep my personal and project-related posts separate so that people interested mainly in the kids won't have to sift through all my day-to-day observations and chatter for the family and friends following back home...
Several hours later, Corrine and I returned from the mercado laden with groceries. I found the blenders a bit pricey (a decent one costing upwards of $40-$80), although all do come with a one-year warranty, and decided to hold off a bit longer. While my blender-less return was a little disappointing, the short jaunt through the produce section at the mercado was anything but. Each stall had AT LEAST three to four items I couldn't identify, and a number were laden with boxes and bags of spices, dried chilies, and fragrant herbs used for cooking and making tea.
I had my first lychee! For anyone who hasn't seen a lychee outside of the bits they put in bubble tea, let me assure you that they're a pretty ridiculous looking fruit. Small and egg-shaped, the fruits I purchased had the bubbled texture of a raspberry, a color that varied between deep maroon and light peachy-pink, and little soft hair-like spikes protruding from each bubble. Opening them was even more disconcerting; after giving one a good squeeze and twist, juice squirted out and the outside split apart to reveal a white, translucent oval of fruit that conjured up memories of the placenta-like insides of a coconut picked too soon, but even more... well... weird. It was, however, delicious. I ate the entire fruit, including the nut at the center. I took some pictures and will post them another time. It was the most bizarre fruit experience I've ever had.
I'm looking forward to incorporating all of these awesomely weird new fruits and vegetables into my culinary rotation. It's time to start cooking again!
As many of you know, I'm fascinated and intrigued by almost all aspects of Guatemalan history and society. As with most Latin American countries, the US has played a large (often negative and downright reckless) role in the development of Guatemala's current political, social, and economic situation, and continues to do so. Also as with most Latin American countries, I learned next to nothing about Guatemala in school.
This is incredibly unfortunate. The issues plaguing Central and South America affect the US on a daily basis. Tons of military and economic aid is sent to different countries each year to protect "our" interests. Much of this is currently earmarked to fight the 'War on Drugs.' My intellectual goal for the next few months is to wade as best I can through the history of Guatemala, and the history of this issue that's threatening to destabilize the entire region I now (and for the next year, at least) call "home."
I unwittingly decided to make my move down here on a very special year- election year. I was aware that the elections were taking place this year, but the thought had taken such a backseat over the past few months considering the breadth of tasks I had to do to facilitate a move out of the country. As I mentioned on Monday, few Guatemalans hold any hope in the political system, let alone any of the myriad of candidates making illustrious promises to change society, eradicate extreme poverty, and the like.
In any country, election years can be intense and tumultuous. In a country where the government holds more an illusion of control than actual control over the vast majority of the population, the intensity can be frightening. Protests and riots are always possible, and violent crime often increases. This is true in Guatemala City, a city already known for having the highest homicide rate in the Americas. While this can be slightly off-putting, I see it as an incredible opportunity to observe a presidential election in a place where safety and security are not guaranteed; where citizens choose from 22 candidates rather than 2; and where people seem completely indifferent to politicos, yet reportedly lapse into violence over them.
I have a lot to learn about this country.
On a more exciting note, I'll be going into Guatemala City for the first time tomorrow! Outside of landing at the airport and immediately hopping into an Antigua-bound taxi, I've never set foot in Guate (which is what many locals refer to the city as). A friend of Ray's that I met last time I was down is picking me up from Antigua at 9am and taking me around for the day. The city has been such a mystery to me; I've heard so many horror stories, but at the same time, so very many people live and work there, or live in Guate and commute to Antigua for work. I'm really looking forward to seeing it, regardless of public opinion.
Later this evening, I'll be posting about my unexpected visit to Casa Jackson today, and the kids currently there- including a few from my last visit that haven't left yet! I think some of you will be very excited to hear how well they're doing. Also had a chance to speak with Heather, the new coordinator. I've decided to keep my personal and project-related posts separate so that people interested mainly in the kids won't have to sift through all my day-to-day observations and chatter for the family and friends following back home...
Monday, July 18, 2011
Leaving One Home for Another
Cramped in the small seat I should be accustomed to after all the travel I've done the past few years, I drifted in and out of consciousness from Boston to Houston, then Houston to Guatemala City. I've often favored red-eye flights for their low price and high availability, feeling strongly that the resulting fatigue was nothing a few cups of coffee or laughably expensive airport espressos couldn't remedy.
After waiting two hours for the Continental agents to arrive and begin checking passengers in, I made it to my gate at 5:00am. Boarding was surprisingly quick, and I found myself fading as soon as I sat down. The anticipation I usually feel while waiting to take off, the eagerness that keeps me scribbling away in my journal despite the fact that it's barely dawn and I haven't slept nearly enough, was completely overshadowed by the exhaustion I had been pushing aside for the past week. I was feeling burnt out from the physical and emotional toll of moving my life thousands of miles away, but the steady stream of commitments to be kept and loose ends to be tied had kept it all at bay.
Not-so-affectionately nicknamed "Robot Girlfriend" by my previous two boyfriends for my general lack of tears and visible emotion (beyond excited, happy, or irritated), this weekend taxed my mental faculties more than I had expected. Perhaps I gave myself too much credit for being too unshakeable in the face of "regular" events like moving and the like. In retrospect, it seems more that I simply forgot what it was like to feel everyday emotions such as sadness, especially when unrelated to something that my objective mind cannot deny as being "sad." Moving? That doesn't have to be sad. It's exciting! A step forward! A step closer to the work I'm trying so hard to do! Logically speaking, what should be sad about that?!
For every step towards the life I am choosing, I must take a step away from the life I was given. The life I've known for years. The people, places, and things that have always been there, regardless of the configuration or my sentiments regarding their presence. Looking behind me at some of those elements, my pace quickens and my steps get bigger, eager to increase the distance as quickly as possible. Others, not so much. It turns out that the vulnerability that used to plague me, that I thought I had banished, has just been far more selective in expressing itself.
While I will return to the US in a mere nine weeks for my mothers remarriage, this departure was a difficult one. The pattern of go away for a sizeable amount of time, return, kill a few months, and go away again is now turned on its head. Stay here for awhile, visit for a bit, be here for a few months, maybe visit again. IF "home is where your stuff is," after six vacuum-packed bags of clothing and bedding later, Guatemala is indeed now home.
For anyone needing a laugh or perhaps a reminder of my lack of saintliness, I landed in Guate with not just one down comforter, but two (vacuum packed, of course), as well as no less than four different shades of semi-permanent color conditioner. The six pairs of shoes and five bathing suits felt a little excessive as well, but thanks to the miracle of the almighty Space Bag (sponsorship, please?! so much free advertising!) I can rest easy knowing I have footwear and swimwear for ANY occasion.
I kid. But really, those things are incredible. I had no intention of bringing comforters until I realized that the contents of my suitcases were sliding around inside due to all of the extra space. I actually debated with myself for a bit. How can you NOT feel ridiculous arriving to live in a developing country, where so many live on dirt floors, with TWO fluffy soft comforters in your suitcase? Hello, American excess. I guess you win this round...
This past weekend can only be described as a whirwlind. Beginning Friday, it was goodbye after goodbye after goodbye. Some were anticlimactic, some were sweet, some were easy, some were gut-wrenching. Some I knew would be hard, others I didn't quite expect. All of them added to the growing current of weariness I've been battling.
For how drawn-out, mentally and physically tiring, and overwhelming the month leading up to this move has been, the move itself and my arrival in Guatemala has been anything but. Delayed only 15 minutes due to some storms in Houston, I arrived in the city, went through immigration, and retreived my bags without incident. The taxi driver was pleasant, my taxi-mate (a Dutch woman living in the Caribbean and traveling throughout Central America) was friendly, and the drive wasn't a harrowing one. I arrived to Corinne and Charlie's- soon to be AMY'S!- and they helped me bring my bags inside. As I stood there, surrounded by my stuff and two wonderful friends, it hit me- the hard part of moving was over.
I am moved. I am here. I live here now. I have one single place where I will lay my head every night. One place where I will shower and eat and relax and read books. One place that I can call my own. No more of this nomadic life, bouncing around between apartments and family members. I haven't felt like ONE place was truly my own home in so long. I look forward to that, however long it takes.
Not only do I have a home of my own, but I have chosen this home for the proximity to the kids, community, and work that I love so very much. It's an empowering thing to consider... After years of telling myself and others that someday, I would live, work, and help outside of the country, it feels amazing to have taken that step in earnest. I can recall so many moments, sitting in various doctors offices, hearing the same thing over and over: This is a stage. You are seeking something outside of yourself because you are unhappy. You are not a person who will be able to do this sort of thing. Ever.
As of today, as of right now, I haven't done a damn thing yet. I haven't fufillfed the goals I came down here with (obviously). I haven't figured out a way to connect families with the support they want; to educate and empower community members and caregivers to change the lives of the children in their care. But when that plane touched down today laden with me and my two comforters and enough pink hair dye to last a lifetime, I accomplished something I often feared wasn't possible, but resolved to do regardless. Those wheels touched down and as I walked off that runway, a ten-year-long battle I've fought with myself and often those around me finally came to an end.
Are there going to be difficult times ahead? Ciertamente. Am I going to struggle, and cry, and feel absolutely defeated sometimes? Absolutamente. Is it going to stop me, slow me down, or diminish my resolve to fully realize the rest of my dream, the part that isn't about me or what I do, but the kids I've committed myself to?
Not a chance. :)
After waiting two hours for the Continental agents to arrive and begin checking passengers in, I made it to my gate at 5:00am. Boarding was surprisingly quick, and I found myself fading as soon as I sat down. The anticipation I usually feel while waiting to take off, the eagerness that keeps me scribbling away in my journal despite the fact that it's barely dawn and I haven't slept nearly enough, was completely overshadowed by the exhaustion I had been pushing aside for the past week. I was feeling burnt out from the physical and emotional toll of moving my life thousands of miles away, but the steady stream of commitments to be kept and loose ends to be tied had kept it all at bay.
Not-so-affectionately nicknamed "Robot Girlfriend" by my previous two boyfriends for my general lack of tears and visible emotion (beyond excited, happy, or irritated), this weekend taxed my mental faculties more than I had expected. Perhaps I gave myself too much credit for being too unshakeable in the face of "regular" events like moving and the like. In retrospect, it seems more that I simply forgot what it was like to feel everyday emotions such as sadness, especially when unrelated to something that my objective mind cannot deny as being "sad." Moving? That doesn't have to be sad. It's exciting! A step forward! A step closer to the work I'm trying so hard to do! Logically speaking, what should be sad about that?!
For every step towards the life I am choosing, I must take a step away from the life I was given. The life I've known for years. The people, places, and things that have always been there, regardless of the configuration or my sentiments regarding their presence. Looking behind me at some of those elements, my pace quickens and my steps get bigger, eager to increase the distance as quickly as possible. Others, not so much. It turns out that the vulnerability that used to plague me, that I thought I had banished, has just been far more selective in expressing itself.
While I will return to the US in a mere nine weeks for my mothers remarriage, this departure was a difficult one. The pattern of go away for a sizeable amount of time, return, kill a few months, and go away again is now turned on its head. Stay here for awhile, visit for a bit, be here for a few months, maybe visit again. IF "home is where your stuff is," after six vacuum-packed bags of clothing and bedding later, Guatemala is indeed now home.
For anyone needing a laugh or perhaps a reminder of my lack of saintliness, I landed in Guate with not just one down comforter, but two (vacuum packed, of course), as well as no less than four different shades of semi-permanent color conditioner. The six pairs of shoes and five bathing suits felt a little excessive as well, but thanks to the miracle of the almighty Space Bag (sponsorship, please?! so much free advertising!) I can rest easy knowing I have footwear and swimwear for ANY occasion.
I kid. But really, those things are incredible. I had no intention of bringing comforters until I realized that the contents of my suitcases were sliding around inside due to all of the extra space. I actually debated with myself for a bit. How can you NOT feel ridiculous arriving to live in a developing country, where so many live on dirt floors, with TWO fluffy soft comforters in your suitcase? Hello, American excess. I guess you win this round...
This past weekend can only be described as a whirwlind. Beginning Friday, it was goodbye after goodbye after goodbye. Some were anticlimactic, some were sweet, some were easy, some were gut-wrenching. Some I knew would be hard, others I didn't quite expect. All of them added to the growing current of weariness I've been battling.
For how drawn-out, mentally and physically tiring, and overwhelming the month leading up to this move has been, the move itself and my arrival in Guatemala has been anything but. Delayed only 15 minutes due to some storms in Houston, I arrived in the city, went through immigration, and retreived my bags without incident. The taxi driver was pleasant, my taxi-mate (a Dutch woman living in the Caribbean and traveling throughout Central America) was friendly, and the drive wasn't a harrowing one. I arrived to Corinne and Charlie's- soon to be AMY'S!- and they helped me bring my bags inside. As I stood there, surrounded by my stuff and two wonderful friends, it hit me- the hard part of moving was over.
I am moved. I am here. I live here now. I have one single place where I will lay my head every night. One place where I will shower and eat and relax and read books. One place that I can call my own. No more of this nomadic life, bouncing around between apartments and family members. I haven't felt like ONE place was truly my own home in so long. I look forward to that, however long it takes.
Not only do I have a home of my own, but I have chosen this home for the proximity to the kids, community, and work that I love so very much. It's an empowering thing to consider... After years of telling myself and others that someday, I would live, work, and help outside of the country, it feels amazing to have taken that step in earnest. I can recall so many moments, sitting in various doctors offices, hearing the same thing over and over: This is a stage. You are seeking something outside of yourself because you are unhappy. You are not a person who will be able to do this sort of thing. Ever.
As of today, as of right now, I haven't done a damn thing yet. I haven't fufillfed the goals I came down here with (obviously). I haven't figured out a way to connect families with the support they want; to educate and empower community members and caregivers to change the lives of the children in their care. But when that plane touched down today laden with me and my two comforters and enough pink hair dye to last a lifetime, I accomplished something I often feared wasn't possible, but resolved to do regardless. Those wheels touched down and as I walked off that runway, a ten-year-long battle I've fought with myself and often those around me finally came to an end.
Are there going to be difficult times ahead? Ciertamente. Am I going to struggle, and cry, and feel absolutely defeated sometimes? Absolutamente. Is it going to stop me, slow me down, or diminish my resolve to fully realize the rest of my dream, the part that isn't about me or what I do, but the kids I've committed myself to?
Not a chance. :)
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