photos from our last day in Antigua & goodbyes to Guatemala

love these ladies

perfectly awkward in antigua

On the plane now back to San Francisco and I have a strange mix of emotions. I'm excited to go home but not quite ready to jump back into my routine there. I don't think I can be the same - I feel a shift that I can only hope will last. How do I explain what we went through these past 15 days? How they feel like worlds away? How humbled we were by the people we met and served, by a life we will never have to know? How do I describe that quiet dignity? Everything we saw and felt and tasted and grumbled and laughed about? All the stories we were told? Likely we will say it was "fun", "a great experience" and that will be that because it doesn't take long to start seeing eyes glaze over, despite best intentions. And what words would do it justice, anyhow? The good and the bad, all of this. It's been amazing.

in which i use a lot of parenthesis and hang out with a clown

Today we met with the comadronas (local midwives) for our reunion. Dr. Chaperone lectured about retained placentas and the women discussed the herbs they use in their practice, then we all sat in the sun and ate tortillas and rice. Placentas, herbs, and rice = all you really need for a great party.

One of the women, Gloria, was incredibly passionate about learning from us and expressing her frustration that so many of the other midwives are resistant to change (she lectured them intensely as they snoozed in their plastic chairs). Hopefully more young women decide to become midwives and can get an education that incorporates both the traditional and Western practices. I know that a lot of efforts have been made to provide education for existing comadronas, without much change in the mortality rates. I think a large part of it has to do with their fear of change and mistrust of new information from outsiders.

Jesus Antonio, the health coordinator and an amazing man

Gloria and me

Tonight Felix (translator, professional clown, father, non-profit organizer, etc) came up to our room to chat and make balloon animals/bicycles/guns/flowers for us (naturally). We got to talking about the strict rules here and in the program (the "gangs" and dangerous night life are, as I suspected, nonexistant), a four month work-abroad trip he is hoping to be accepted to in the U.S., and recommendations for things to do in Antigua. Like that, he was texting a friend of his who lives there to see what was going and whether he could stay with her. So - tomorrow night four of us are going stealth-mode past midwife security with our Guatemalan tour guide to finally get a taste of this country after dark. Calidad, man.

marry me, andres

Tonight we are lead through the cold hard forbidden streets of SLT to the house of a man named Andres. It's so lively out, people everywhere... and I wish I could have had the chance to explore it more after dark. I feel like there is something you completely miss about a place when you only see it in the daylight.

Andres is a sweet, small man. He explains to us about growing up on a coffee plantation, where he began working at 11 years old, under a strict class system, practically as a slave. Sin derecho, sin voz...no hay salida. He describes what it was like working within a system that discriminates so harshly against indigenous people, denying them of their rights - to land, to health, to education, to life. He speaks with so much passion for the environment and social justice - and with so much appreciation to be able to share his history and passion with us. Cuando estoy trabajando para la paz de mis amigos, tengo paz en mi corazon. He argues for a culture of service, to keep your eyes open to the conflict worldwide and to be willing to work against it for peace and social justice. El servicio nos llena el vacio de la violencia, de la guerra... He says that when you think of others, notice their needs and work for them, you liberate yourself. And I believe him.

I can't speak for everyone, but tonight is magical for me. I'm the first to call out someone for being corny, the first to be a skeptic, to make a joke out of every situation I find myself in and the first to admit that it's probably out of fear... but the passion for life, the genuine belief in his work, and the capacity for hope and goodness that I see in Andres is something you don't see every day. It's contagious. There is something so beautiful and simple in the way he phrases everything that is, unfortunately, lost in the translation to English. His hope is especially remarkable given his past, the culture of violence he grew up surrounded by, and the social injustices he likely still faces to this day. This enthusiasm and kindness bring out that something in me that chose to come on this trip and was so eager to begin working out in the community in the first place and este felicidad, no puede comprar.

...

It was our last day of clinic today. I've been horrible about recording where we went and what we did the past several days, as the work became our daily routine (again - how quickly we adapt). Hitting myself for it. Hard. BRB, hemorrhaging.

i rode Jennifer and i liked it

Currently on a small blue boat named "Jennifer" heading across Lake Atitlan. It's another absurdly beautiful day. The water is dark emerald green and still so far this morning, rippling only from Jennifer's pure power. It's strange catching glimpses of the extravagant houses that line the lake, presumedly owned by Ladinos (Guatemala has a sharp racial/socioeconomic divide between Ladino and Mayan peoples. Yes. Ladino with a D). The hills surrounding the lake are covered in trees, with the exception of the large trails left behind by the landslide during the hurricane last fall, scars of destruction and of nature's indifference to all the lives of those living below. We are headed first to San Antonio, a town Dr. Chaperone likes for its handmade woven goods and ceramics, then to Panajachel (or Gringojachel), a tourist town, for lunch. We have to head back to town around 2 before the lake gets too choppy. Might get splashed. Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times, folks.

yes this happened.

12 oz to freedom