Day 52: Independence

“Yes, my consuming desire is to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, barroom regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording . . . . Yes, God, I want to talk to everybody as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night . . . ” - Sylvia Plath

I think almost anyone who has trained as a Peace Corps Volunteer could tell you that training, while fun, is exhausting. One of the reasons for said exhaustion is the utter lack of independence: your days are planned out seemingly to the last minute, you can’t leave your host house after dark (aka after 6:30 pm), and you have to ask your training manager for permission to leave your host town. Don’t get me wrong; these are good policies for the safety and security of trainees. But as a 23-year-old woman used to the freedom of a car, late night dates with friends, and whatnot, it can be hard to swallow.

The promise of increased independence was one of the main reasons I was looking forward to FBT, or Field-Based Training.  In FBT, all the trainees are sent to towns around Guatemala where current volunteers live.  We basically shadow the volunteers for a few days, observing their work and their lives.

I was sent with one other beloved trainee to the town of San Cristobal in the department of Totonicapán.  En route, I was immediately impressed by the geographic diversity and beauty of Guatemala.  We had traveled a little previously, but getting out of the most highly populated areas was new.  Once we made it to site, I was impressed both by the hospitality of our host volunteer (she greeted us with kiwis, wine, Milano cookies, cheddar cheese, and a giant, beautifully quilted bed) and by the relevance/usefulness of her work.  We spent one day attending a large “training of trainers” (basically a teach-in for Guatemalan health care professionals, educating them on better methods of disseminating knowledge for the good of their communities).  We also spent time working with a local group of women to create a safe space for young teenagers to talk about problems at home, sex education, etc.

I really felt that both of these projects were making a difference in the lives of Guatemalans, and that if I could work on even one similar thing during my service, it would be two years well spent.  Yes, I know the Peace Corps does good work (it would have been kind of silly to join if I didn’t believe that), but it was so refreshing to finally see that.  It’s all too easy to lose sight of the real goals and impact of service during the grueling hours of training.

Of course, FBT wasn’t all work.  We passed memorable hours exploring the surrounding communities…

Cross-stitching guipiles, the blouses that local women wear (this project will likely take all of my two years to finish!)…

And making pizza, from scratch, with some neighboring Mormon missionaries.  I have no pictures of this interesting experience, but I hope you will enjoy this artistic mural shot in lieu of photographic evidence of our cooking skills:

All in all, I returned to Peace Corps Headquarters feeling refreshed, optimistic, and excited.  We made it home just in time to celebrate Guatemalan Independence Day, also known as Quince (the nation declared independence from the Spanish empire on September 15, 1821).  Even though it was a rainy day, my host mom and I got to enjoy a charmingly strange, and inexplicably long, parade (over two hours, for a small aldea!).  Why do I say the parade was strange?  It’s a bit of a toss-up between the sexual dances performed by young girls (in a culture where married couples often don’t dance in public, for fear of appearing shameless)…

The awesome costumes…

The visibly downcast male cheerleaders…

And the McDonald’s contingent:

But Independence Day isn’t just celebrated with a parade.  In my town, it also featured frequent ear-splitting bombas, dance and music competitions, and antorchas (a country-wide tradition, in which children take to the streets running, carrying huge flaming torches.  I’m not sure why this is such a popular activity, because each year tens of children allegedly vanish without a trace).  In an already photography-heavy post, I leave you with several more pictures of the Quince celebrations:

The pig roast

The greased-pig catch (not the same pig)

The greased-pole climb (definitely the same grease)