In June 2009, I took my second trip to Central America, and my first to Guatemala, to help to build homes in its rural highlands in support of a New Jersey-based non-profit organization known as De Casas a Hogares or From Houses to Homes. As I boarded the plane, I knew little about Guatemala, its history, its people, its politics or its plight. I became involved with Casas through a family friend who had adopted a little girl from an orphanage in Antigua a few years earlier. It was enough for me to become involved to help a friend to achieve his goal of making a difference in a region that would always be the birthplace for his little girl, Isabel. With an open mind and only modest goals, I ventured down with a group of soon-to-be friends to a new world that I was sure would be different than the one I was about to leave. How different it might be or what lasting impression it might have on me or the group was unknown, but it sparked my imagination to travel to a new part of the world with a spirit of giving and positive intent.
On the flight down to Guatemala City, I wondered how Guatemala would compare to the Papagayo region of Costa Rica or to the Ouaxacan region of Mexico, both places I had visited with my family within the last ten years. As the plane began its descent through the clouds, I could see the very mountainous terrain below with small villages littered everywhere along the ridgelines seemingly without care or caution for the peril of the next heavy rain, mudslide or eventual earthquake. The rain that pelted the plane’s window helped to explain the verdant countryside and lush vegetation that lie below. The familiar site of two baseball diamonds, perched high atop the mountains, brought a smile to my face. Baseball is always referred to as America’s pastime, but any review of an MLB team’s roster today would tell you that the future of the game may lie in the hills of Central America, the Caribbean or far away Japan. The 1500-meter elevations made me think of Coors field in Colorado, a place were nearly every game played turns into a homerun derby. As we approached the runway, we dropped down at a steep angle right into the heart of this expansive city. As I heard the wheels go down, I could almost believe we were going to land on the rooftops of the many shacks that made up miles of shantytowns stretching out in every possible direction. In contrast, once inside Aurora International, the building was new, very modern and filled with all the amenities. In fact, for desperate travelers who could not wait to super-size their bodies before boarding for home, there was refuge in a sparkling new McDonald’s restaurant that stood as a beacon for those craving a McCombo, a McNifica or a Cuarto de Libro. To think, you can have all of these calories for just 89.50 Q! (Note: $1 U.S. Dollar = 8 Quetzal).
Guatemala is a country of stark contrasts. It has incredible natural beauty with mountains reaching to the heavens and ramshackle shacks juxtaposed with high-rise modernity invading its valley floors. It has vast natural resources and local farms that yield an abundance of food, but these crops are distributed as exports around the world, leaving those living in the country in devastating poverty. Remember this when you sip on your next Starbucks cup of Joe featuring Guatemala Antigua coffee for $4 U.S. a cup.
Our bags came quickly and without event. We loaded nearly twenty bags on available carts and marched towards Customs only to be turned back because we had not completed yet another form. Once the forms were completed and collected (but not reviewed), we were clear to exit the airport to a massive throng of people, all neatly organized behind a rope line just outside the exit doors. Among the many Mayan faces was a sole white-haired, white guy named Joe Collins---our fearless leader and guide for the coming four days. Joe was an unassuming man with a strong handshake, a friendly smile and a sincere openness to the many volunteers who help to support his organization. Joe spoke with passion and a sense of purpose about the mission of his organization. He was proud of his local building team and proud of the impact that Casas has had on the more than 230 families for whom it has turned houses into homes. Perhaps his most endearing quality was his modesty and his lack of need for recognition for the work he was doing. It is worth noting that he was equally parsimonious in his praise and encouragement of his volunteers as they toiled away building the houses. In my mind, it was his way of saying ‘there’s plenty more work to do down here in Guatemala, let’s make the most of our time together by focusing on the work and not the praise.” After one visit down to this third-world country with incredible poverty, suffering, injustice, and self-defeating misogyny, you realize that he is a wise and selfless man.
Day One: Building the foundation for the houses
With an early start to our day, and a bunch of local turkey sandwiches in plastic bags to eat for lunch, we were off to the build site. We rode in the back of two small pick-up trucks up to the highlands that surround Antigua. The view around us was mostly of jungle with various houses, many large, and the occasional religious statue along the roadside. We did catch a peek of Antigua rooftops as we climbed ever higher. As we reached our destination, we noticed plenty of people walking on the streets with wood on their backs, clothes on their heads, and kids by their sides. Upon arrival at the building site, we confronted walls of cornstalks with the occasional corrugated metal door. As we pushed the corrugated metal door open to our build site, we revealed a long and narrow pathway back to the actual living areas. I stopped and I stared at the rudimentary structures that appeared hopelessly frail and unworthy of protecting these families from the elements. You may already know that parts of Guatemala receive up to 150 inches of rain per year, including the occasional hurricane. Once inside the courtyard, with our families in plain view, it was easy to see inside their shack homes. Sadly, their homes were filled with rubbish, ashes from the most recent cooked meal, melted plastic soda bottles and half-clothed babies crying out with a mix of tears, dirt and mucus smeared across their faces. One could not ignore the ridiculously makeshift and unsanitary outhouse that was adjacent to the homes. There was no electricity or running water. In fact, water was rationed and was only available every third day. The gaunt and sickly dogs running along side the frisky roosters and the reluctant hens only added to the chaos and to the insanity of these people’s lives. Yet, despite all of this poverty and the sub-human living conditions, these families appeared hopeful, engaged, determined and grateful. Their brilliant smiles, in contrast to their beautiful brown skin, signaled their happiness at our arrival.
Our hands were soft and without calluses. We were all in need of gloves and thankful to have them supplied by one of our team members. Chests puffed out, filled with caffeine, in need of a shave, we all were immediately put to work. The job was revealed over time that day, but essentially it was to dig a 48-inch deep, 1-foot wide rectangular trench (19X13) for the foundation of each home. In addition, we were to cut a bunch of rebar, mix a massive load of sand/cement/rock into concrete, and then pour (one five-gallon paint bucket at a time) the now-mixed concrete into the trenches to form the foundation of the house. We thought we would be done in five hours by 2 p.m. We finished up nearly eight hours later, shortly after 5 p.m.
As we broke ground and began to dig, we quickly realized how deep 48-inches really was. Emmanuel Lewis never looked so tall. Three hours of digging later, we were about 75% done. We stopped digging and politely begged for a lunch break. A quick review of each team’s work on the two foundations revealed that our team was close to the finish line while the other team needed to do a little less chatting (and supervising) and a little more digging.
Lunch became an adventure when we decided to go to buy food for the families rather than eat our sandwiches in front of them. After an excursion through the local streets past a bunch of tiendas, our team, and the two mothers, arrived at the local butcher to purchase some meat. The meat needed to be cooked (likely for dinner), so we also bought ham and cheese packages, bread and three dozen, locally-made tortillas right off the hot grill along the roadside. Once we got back to the build site, we gave the food to the families and everyone ate amply. While we were gone, a soccer game broke out with the Casas employees and our teenage boys. The Casas team proved more than able to hang with the Verona superstars at a game that looked like a cross between soccer and kick-the-can (water bottle).
In the afternoon, the team finished up digging the trenches and then we concentrated on mixing the sand, cement, and rock on the level ground adjacent to the building site. Numerous buckets of sand, bags of cement, buckets of rocks and buckets of water later, we had prepared nearly one hundred or so buckets of concrete ready to pour into the trenches. With the men in alternating positions in a line leading from the concrete to the trenches, we stretched out our arms to pass the buckets one-by-one to each other until they reached the last man who would then dump the concrete in the trench over the cut rebar that lie below. As dusk approached, we finished our work just as the skies began to open up. A nice little ‘thank you’ from the heavens above… Mission accomplished and not a moment too soon, we hopped into the back of our pick-ups for the thirty-minute ride back to our hotel. Soaked, cold and tired, we all proudly marched through the lobby of the hotel and straight to the hot shower to reward ourselves for a job well done.
Day Two: The Cambiando Vidas School
The visit to the school was inspiring. Twenty young boys and girls from the poorest families all of whom were sparkling clean, singing songs (“No more monkeys jumping on the bed”), and absorbing the lessons of the day. The transformation from lost soul to promising mind was miraculous. The mothers of these children were also present in support. Each mother working to keep her commitment to support the school so her child could continue to attend. The school was a Montessori school that emphasized learning through play. The guiding principles of the school, its curriculum, the quality of the teacher we met and her attachment to her students, and the leadership of the principal made me think that this school was competitive with some of the best schools back in the States. There was a clear understanding of the need to break the cycle of poverty by strengthening the family’s commitment to their children’s education, lifting up women to be equal to men, and tapping into the potential of every student. The Cambiando Vidas School under Janeth de Reyes’ leadership is truly changing lives.
We learned that the existing school was in a location that was occasionally flooded by the river than ran just behind the structure. Through some good fortune, or divine intervention, a piece of property was bequeathed and nearly $125,000 in funds donated to allow a new school to be built close by. The school is to be opened in September 2009 and it is envisioned to serve nearly 120 students through Grade Six. This represents a nearly 6X increase in the number of students that will be educated with a clear path to graduate to the next grade and then to matriculate into a more advanced school in Guatemala City at Grade Seven. To his enormous credit, Joe and the Casas organization took on the challenge of building this school that will now be at the center of all of the work and goodwill that is being done for these rural highland families.
All of us left with a greater appreciation of the link between a strong family nucleus, a shelter for basic living, and the role of education to lift one out of the shackles of poverty. Education is a privilege, not a right, in Guatemala.
Day Three: Climbing the active Pacaya Volcano
Yep, you read it right. We planned to climb an active volcano. Why wouldn’t you want to climb a the Picaya Volcano after reading this advertisement for the trip? See below.
At a height of 8,420 feet, the Pacaya Volcano offers the climber a spectacular look at an active volcano, complete with boiling lava and occasional spewing of steam and ash. The climb is relatively easy as you can drive first to the village of San Vicente de Pacaya and then walk a couple of hours to the summit.
TO EXPERIENCE A VOLCANO IN ERUPTION IS AMAZING
A word of warning: there have been numerous armed robberies and attacks recently on Pacaya and one should check with locals before attempting the trip alone. Some of the tour groups provide armed security guards. Remember also, to not get too close to the crater as it does erupt. And be sure to take warm clothing because the summit does get windy and cold.
Hmmm, upon a closer read of this ad, I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t want to go?!? Let’s see, we begin with a two-hour, vertical climb in deep sand and over hot rocks to get near, but not to, the summit. Then, boiling lava. Sounds nice, but I have never tried it. Some tour groups provided armed guards. Not ours. The word ‘occasional’, just how often is that? I occasionally get a headache. I occasionally go to the dentist. Occasionally, a comet enters into the Earth’s orbit. Which could it be? The word occasional makes you think one simple thought: it could be today!
Now, let’s revisit the headline: “To experience a volcano in eruption is amazing.” Sure it is…. Why would I doubt you? I’ll go ahead and take your word for it, but I do want to point out that its amazing only once because, of course, once it erupts…you DIE. No problem, I suppose, because, luckily, I had sent a postcard home just the day before.
So, for those of us that have not trained in Kenya for long-distance running to compete in the New York City marathon, we could have any or all of the following things happen to us:
A. Altitude sickness
B. Heart attack (a la MJ and B. Mays)
C. Get robbed by bandits
D. Melt
E. All of the above
If any of these highlights don’t light your fire, so to speak, then you may love the spewing steam and ash or the occasional eruption (remember Mount St. Helens?). Now, remember, what goes up must come down. The hour-plus journey down the mountain ain’t no picnic on the hips. I don’t know about you, but just melt down by Nike tennis shoes right now. I’m in!
I know it’s expensive to travel to Guatemala and it may be difficult to find the time to hike a volcano, so, for a more local experience, say at the New Jersey Shore, I would recommend the following:
Pick a hot and muggy day and, with shoes and socks on your feet plus a walking stick in your hand, I would begin walking in the deep sand (preferably up and down the dunes) for about two hours. Then, when you reach the top of the dune for the final time at the 120-minute mark, you can close you eyes and imagine you were high up on a volcano. With a friend’s help, you must then step right onto some hot coals fresh from the BBQ and stand on them for about 15-20 minutes or so (depending upon how long you wanted to look at the ‘lava’ or wait for a possible eruption). When you are overcome with emotion and excitement and you have taken plenty of pictures, you can then walk down the dunes and across the beach for another hour or so before hopping back in your hot car for an hour until you reached your hotel/house. I mean it! Get out there right now and then you, too, can tell your friends that you have climbed a volcano!
Me? Hard as it was to pass up such a wonderful hike, well, I took the easy way. For 100Q, I rode a horse. In fact, I hopped on my horse almost immediately. I never broke a sweat. My trip to the volcano turned into a pleasure-filled horseback ride in and out of the jungles of Guatemala. Note to self for future trips: my horse, Tormento, had wicked flatulence and, after being hit relentlessly by his master, he delivered a left kick to the spleen that would have made Ali proud as his master fell to the blackened earth writhing in pain. Tormento took me up a well-traveled side road (not the deep sand found in the ‘shortcut’) to a point where I could watch folks laboring to climb the purely vertical ridge while simultaneously melting their shoes. In my post-climb results reporting, I did not hear a single person say that they planned to climb another volcano any time soon. In answer to the question, “how was it?” A young Norwegian father with his son at his side replied, “disconcerting.” Now that’s honesty in advertising.
You might ask, “Well, what else could you guys do if you didn’t climb the volcano?” Did I mention the beautiful Pacific Ocean that was just an hour away and could be seen from base camp of the volcano? Sandy beaches, small fishing villages with good seafood, water, waves. Sounds awful. Alternatively, with a little more effort and expense, one could explore Lake Atitlan, Rio Dulce or the Mayan ruins at Peten.
On a different note, let me share a few words that have different meanings after my trip to Guatemala.
Rich and Poor. The stark contrast between very rich and very poor was everywhere. A mall that was reported to be nicer than the Short Hills Mall in NJ towered over millions of people who, on average, make less than $2,700 US per year. That’s one Brioni suit for an I-Banker back in the Big Apple.
Walls. Navigating through Antigua, you find yourself awkwardly walking on narrow sidewalks next to buildings with windowsills that jut out every twenty feet or so. It’s impossible to walk side-by-side for a full block. Rather, you are forced to walk single-file or, for the daring adventurers, you can spill into the street with a watchful eye on the oncoming traffic. When it’s raining (and it usually is in June), you walk uncomfortably in the drip line of the buildings. Walls and more walls, one after the other, all connected together in some medieval castle-like compound. If you are lucky enough to venture behinds these mysterious walls, you will often find open courtyards filled with exotic plants, paved floors, wood ceilings, fountains and more. A true paradise opens up for you to enjoy. One would never imagine the splendor that exists on the other side of these walls. Walls serve to separate the two worlds of Guatemala: rich and poor. As Frost once wrote, “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.”
Chicken Buses. Imagine a simple yellow school bus that in some Cirque de Soleil inspired moment has become the Magic Bus. You know, plain Jane becomes a tattooed, body-pierced, lipstick-wearing floozy. These crazy carnival-colored school buses ride at 70 miles per hour down the steep hills (steeper than those San Francisco) that descend for miles with their brakes on fire and only the deep-sand, runaway alleys on the left-hand side of the road to save them. The reputation of these Chicken Buses is that they are reckless, accident-prone, and rarely on time.
Guns. Not unlike parts of Mexico and Venezuela, those that have money have made sure that anyone trying to take it understands that they might get shot by a man wearing a bullet-proof vest carrying a sawed-off shot gun. Whether it is a nice restaurant, a clothing store, a jewelry store or Citibank, each of these establishments has protection.
Bagels and coffee. Get there early or it’s bagel (singular) or no bagel at all. The coffee ranged from terrible to great. Surprising that it wasn’t always great given that it is one of the country’s most profitable export crops. I liked the espresso or double espresso rather than the regular coffee. I should count my lucky stars that there were any bagels at all.
Farmers Market and $40 dollars U.S. On the second day, after our visit to the school, we wandered off to the local farmers market to buy some food for our families. You would not believe the size and scale of this farmers market and its vast offerings. Bananas, mangoes, tomatoes, pineapples, papaya, black beans, white beans, red beans, etc. were all available in ample supply. In the more permanent structures that made up the market, one could buy diapers, soap, feminine products, toilet paper, boxed milk, cereal, cooking oil, rice, juice, etc. With all that our families required, it is the first time that I can ever remember that I crossed toilet paper off my list of ‘essentials’ when going to the market. For $40 US, we bought an entire crate of food, including oil, milk, butter, rice, cereal, beans, sugar, freeze-dried coffee (sort of funny), etc. We purchased four or more of each item to fill a crate for each of four different families. It felt great to give this multi-month supply of food to the families as a final gift before we departed. A mere $40 dollars never seemed to go so far.
Mayan ruins. The indigenous people of Guatemala, the Mayans, represent more than 50% of the nearly 14 million people that live in the country and there is little vestige of this once-proud and innovative people that thrived in the centuries before Christ. The subjugation of the Mayan people by those with power and money (Spanish aristocrats, for-profit US companies, the CIA, etc.) is one of the greatest injustices that one confronts in the highlands and on the streets of Guatemala.
Angelica. Among the many boys and girls at the build site, one little girl, in particular, stood out. Not because she looked any different than all the others. No. She, too, was filthy with no shoes or underwear to protect her. She stood out because she had boundless curiosity and a boldness to invade our building site with her constant presence. She wandered in an out and she engaged us. When we stopped to say her name, she smiled at us. She walked along the edges of the trenches, but she did not fall in. We cautioned her to step back away and she smiled at us. She peered down in the depths of the trenches below and she could nearly touch our pick axes and shovels. Never did she come close to getting hit nor did she force us to stop our work. She simply edged close enough to get our attention and then she smiled at us. She stood next to the cement as it was being mixed as if to supervise the mixture to make sure it was correct. She caught our eye and she nodded with her approval. As though she were sleeping, she rested on the wood board that lay upon the mound of stone and rock. It was as though she sending a signal that we (amateurs) should not forget to mix the final ingredient into the pile to make cement into concrete. Had she done this before?
For all of us, she was the face to Guatemala and her spirit invaded our own. Her playfulness and her engaging personality made us love her and she unknowingly forced us to let the pain and poverty enter into our hearts. We might not have done this so easily if it were not for her infectiousness. She made us accept her as an equal. She made us all empathize with her struggle and she helped us to appreciate our own good fortune. She made us think of our own families. She was a little girl as magical as our own children. She could easily be a little sister or a friend. She made us think of home and she helped us to love our own children even a little bit more.
Final thoughts
Nearly five hundred years after its founding in the New World, Antigua no longer holds its status as the seat of Spanish economic power and rule in Central America. It does retain its unique culture, however, serving as a destination for missionaries and curious travelers who want to explore the beauty of this city to learn of its history and to help its people. At the heart of the city is a central square that is bustling with life and festivities. In a flash, one can see young couples out on a date, fancy cars playing loud rap music, elderly men standing around doing little, acquisitive tourists from far away places like Scandinavia towering over the masses, respectful nuns praying in their white dresses, and authoritative uniformed officers directing traffic. These folks, and many more of varying backgrounds and interests, all combine to make up the diverse fabric of this city.
Lurking behind the spruced up facades of the churches and the domed cathedrals that line the magnificent central square, one can see the ruins and the ruble of colonial and religious structures that did not stand the test of time. The efforts of the past 500 years have helped the church to grow its flock, though, with approximately 3 out of 4 Guatemalans now loyal to the Roman Catholic faith. With the presence of religion still visible everywhere from the mountain top shrines to the tombs of monks and priests, one cannot help imagining how a more progressive position on equal rights for women and increased tolerance on the use of contraceptives could help to break the cycle of ignorance and generational poverty. Such an act might do more to change the fate of these people than all the charity and generosity in the world combined.
In the faces of the Mayan street peddlers, especially the little boys and girls of which there are so many, you see the longing for a better life or, maybe more simply, just equal opportunity. One can’t help but wonder how the beautiful and innovative Mayan people, who for centuries dating back to 900 BC enjoyed such advanced societies as evidenced by the ruins at Tikal, devolved into poor street peddlers who now pray to new and different gods while being subjugated by foreigners from different lands. Like the volcanoes scattered throughout the country, these people and their issues simmer with periodic eruptions that will continue unpredictably as the forces of insurrection swell below the surface. As fellow Americans with our own history of revolution and war, we must understand their struggle. We would be foolish to expect that there won’t be more conflict similar to the recently ended thirty-six year civil war. With less than a decade of peace, we can expect conflicts to reignite again against any government unable to rectify the imbalance. Charity notwithstanding, there won’t be real peace until the indigenous Mayan people have a greater stake in their country’s riches and greater representation in the halls of power.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.
It is hard to appreciate the lives of ordinary families in the heart of the rural highlands of Guatemala. Pictures and stories cannot fully capture the hardship and the struggle of these young parents as they work to provide the basics of shelter, clothing and food to their families. My vacation and business trips to other third-world regions like India, Northern Africa, Turkey, and Venezuela did not prepare me well for this journey. Beyond armchair compassion and generous donations, I know now that you must visit a problem first-hand to appreciate its magnitude. If possible, you must chose to act more forcefully by stepping into the center of the problem. By doing so, you receive far more than you give.
I leave Guatemala with a sense of accomplishment in knowing that I made a difference in the lives of good people. I carry with me new bonds of friendship and playful camaraderie with my fellow travelers. I have an indelible set of memories from which to generate countless stories to share with my own family and friends. I hope the stories in this blog will help to encourage others to find their own way to contribute and to become involved. Being a volunteer is a big commitment, but it returns to the volunteer far more than it demands of him or her. It is a step I encourage everyone to take at some point in her/his life.
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