Volunteer in Guatemala: Week one: Val’s take

Seeds of Help has a new volunteer in Guatemala. Her name is Valerie and she will be our guest blogger for these next couple of weeks. Her voice will be the day to day activities of what a volunteer with Seeds of Help experiences. Below is her first weeks thoughts and observations as well aa photo of Val with Brenda and two Guatemalan girls Seeds of Help aids in going to High School.

Week 1 in Guatemala was a whirlwind. Last week, we visited various schools in the Cumbre, met with women’s groups and Peace Corps volunteers, and spent time with the families whose children are being sponsored by Seeds.

A teachers’ strike has been in effect throughout Guatemala for two months, so many schools have not been in session for a total of four months (two months of vacation, and two months of teachers’ strikes.) The government and the striking teachers finally reached a compromise, so schools are back in session as of this week.

Guatemala experienced a significant earthquake (approximately a 5.6, I believe), but not before Chile’s large scale earthquake last weekend. Almost 450 people in Chile died due to the earthquake; much of central and South America seem to have been in a panic.

I worked at La Escuela Cuchumatanes today–the kids seem similar to American preschoolers in many ways (mischievous, silly, and adorable.) In more ways, though, they are different . Life is hard for them–and not in an “I-didn’t-get-the-toy-I-wanted-for-Christmas” way. Many of them have severe burns on their cheeks from consistent exposure to open flames and smoke in their homes (as this is how many of their families cook.) Some of them are already developing cataracts from the severe conditions in the Cumbre–the wind is strong, and the sun is even stronger.

Many of them are sick; you can hear it in their voices (which are raspy), or see that their persistently running noses are not so due to the common cold. It is evident that the work ethic and hard labor that they have grown accustomed to are ingrained in them–one of the students picked up a broom nonchalantly today and began sweeping up the scraps of paper that were strewn all over the floor after the students took part in a project. I don’t know a six-year-old in America who would do the same without being asked, and with such a jovial demeanor. (Some of the students, though in preschool, are 5 and 6 years old. It is difficult to tell sometimes, since they are so small for their age.)

It is difficult to teach the students certain things that seem “natural” in America, as the children here have grown up learning to do things differently. Many of them throw their trash on the ground (inside and outside), and don’t understand why they are asked to do otherwise. Some of the boys are accustomed to being physically aggressive, and they think it is curious and funny when you tell them not to push. They don’t understand. One of the preschoolers has asked me for money multiple times, or at least I think that’s what he is asking for. He puts his hand out and demands that I hand it over, and then laughs. I found it funny the first time. But now that I understand, it makes me sad.

This morning on the micro bus, I rode with a woman who threw a piece of trash out the window, and then another a few minutes later. It is hard for me to understand these things…especially when some families here take such pride in their land and their homes that they religiously sweep their dirt floors. A lot of people I have encountered act as though they have never seen an American. They stare relentlessly, or laugh when they hear me speak. It usually only happens with the children. Others act as though I belong.

The pace of life here is so different…I love the way families here take the time to eat together, to speak to one another–they genuinely care about each other; they are so unified. I love the way meals are homemade, and from scratch–and that no one complains about the meals that are prepared. I love that each person takes care of his family in a different way. I love that strangers talk to one another in the street–they say “good morning” or “good afternoon” in passing. I love that people go so far out of their way for one another…just because they care, not because they have a motive. And despite my claims of being a hippie, I love that as an act of celebration, they kill a chicken and, and, later, feast. That’s all for now.

Val taking a photo of one the schools she’ll be working with