Day 81: No Es Posible

“We’ve been robbed long enough.  It’s time to strike.”                                                                                                                                  - Minnesota Iron Range miners, 1916

I spent my first day in site unpacking and getting to know Sololá, the nearest city and also the nearest market.  My host mom took me to explore the rows of potatoes, beans, onions, corn, and bananas, sprinkled with local delicacies like jocotes and pigs’ feet and sweet corn tamales.  The whole place gave off that verdant aroma particular to farmers’ markets, and I can tell I’m going to enjoy spending time there.  The only downside is that, as a gringa, I’m almost always asked to pay double or triple the regular prices.  This means that I’m now experiencing a fierce mental war between my Minnesota Nice training and the necessity of improving my haggling skills.

My first day at work was spent in shy introductions to the seemingly enormous CAP staff (all of whom, in Guatemalan fashion, have a first name, middle name, and two last names), dull research into the organizational structure of the CAP, and brief forays into town to meet Important People (i.e. the local justice of the peace) and see the sights.  These forays were necessarily brief, because the town is basically one city block.  This block contains the CAP, a Catholic church, and several stores, and is surrounded by the primary school, the high school, the municipal headquarters, the currently-under-construction future CAP, another church, and more shops.  Outside of the one-block radius lies a mixture of houses, terraced farmland, and Evangelical churches.  It’s all very beautiful, but quite a bit smaller than I’m used to.

 

The view of San José Chacayá from a nearby hill

When I showed up at work on my third day in site, I found the CAP entrance closed, bearing a homemade sign reading, “NO ES POSIBLE CONTINUAR TRABAJANDO SIN PAGAMIENTO.  ESTAMOS ATENDIENDO SÓLO LAS EMERGENCIAS.”  Translation: "It is not possible to continue working without payment.  We are only attending emergencies."

As I perused the sign, one of my coworkers opened the gate to let me in.  My boss then explained to me that the majority of the CAP workers had not received their salaries since March, and that the other health workers throughout the department (the Guatemalan version of a state) were in the same predicament.  The majority of the departmental health workers had met in Sololá (the very day that I was there picking up vegetables in ignorant bliss), and had decided to go on strike.

Although this news was shocking to me, it’s apparently not uncommon in Guatemala.  A lot of governmental workers regularly go weeks or months without pay, forcing them to use their life savings for day-to-day expenses.  And when they go on strike, which is a similarly common occurrence, they might be paid in a matter of days, or in a matter of months.  It’s all very up-in-the-air, and pretty mind-blowing.  I mean, can you imagine the uproar if the U.S. government suddenly and without explanation stopped all medical funding in, say, Pennsylvania?  There would be immediate rage, and picket-lines, and demands for explanation.  But here, in Guatemala, there’s a sort of resigned-ness to the situation.  The health workers, after protesting in Sololá for one day, settled themselves in to wait; there was one brief newspaper article about the strike, and that was it.

So, my coworkers spend every day sitting around the CAP doing nothing.  The idea is that they are here in case of medical emergencies, but will not be doing any other work.  It’s a noble sentiment, although I’m not sure there’s much point in the educators (whose job it is to give educational talks to community members, weigh babies, etc.) or the secretaries coming in to work every day.

I was able to spend the first few days of the strike entering health data from the municipality into my computer, as part of the diagnostic I have to do for the Peace Corps.  Once I ran out of work to do there, I alternated between reading, journaling, and trying to spend time with the health workers.  The days dragged by, without any news as to when the workers might be paid.  And even though I’m pretty bored at work (it kind of sucks to start a new job at the same time as a strike), I know that my frustrations are nothing compared to what my companions must be experiencing.

Today, everything changed.  First of all, when I got to work, I learned that the majority of my coworkers would be taking me for a walk, to a lookout point near town.  En route, they bought me water and junk food from a local roadside shop, and joked with me about my complete inability to speak Kaqchikel.  Once we were at the lookout (which was incredibly beautiful), they all wanted to take pictures with me.  They then gathered me a huge bouquet of exotic flowers, saying, “flowers for a flower.”  And on our way back to the CAP, they stopped at a pear tree, and paid the tree’s owner for the privilege to basically strip it of all ripe fruit.  It was a really lovely excursion, and the generosity of my comrades made me feel much more at home in San José Chacayá.

After lunch, news came from Sololá that three of the big players in the health department had been detained, and another had fled to Guatemala City to escape punishment.  It turns out that all the money for all the health worker salaries in Sololá had been given to these four individuals, and instead of distributing it to the health workers, they had just pocketed it.  I don’t really understand how they thought they would get away with this genius plan, but there you have it.  The San José Chacayá CAP personnel, although sad that their friends in the health department betrayed them like that, have agreed to resume working on Monday, and I’m excited to see what sort of work we’ll actually be doing.

The view from my backyard.  #poshcorps

Of course, not all my time in my site is spent at work, thank goodness.  I’m also spending a good deal of time cooking (lentils, how I have missed you!), getting to know my delightful site mate (another Peace Corps Volunteer who lives in the same town), chatting with my host family (my host dad’s stories about being illegally immigrating to and being deported from the U.S. are especially fascinating), and binge-watching Masters of Sex (yes, binge-watching transcends all national boundaries).  Here are some of the things I’ve learned:

1. Masters of Sex is really good.
2. Guatemalans love to add the diminutive suffix “-ito” or “-ita” to seemingly everything, even if it doesn’t really make sense.  For instance, the word “ahora,” which means “now,” is usually said as “ahorita,” as in, “Let’s go to the shop right little now.”  Also, my name appears to have become Anita.
3. It is entirely normal for Guatemalans to answer their phones during business meetings, without leaving the room or asking their callers to call back later.
4. If your washing machine isn’t hooked up to a water supply, you can fill it with the garden hose.
5. Catholic church services here are just as serious as Evangelical ones.  At the end of my first service in town, everyone knelt down to say the rosary.  I only lasted 45-ish minutes, then sat down with my knees burning with pain and my stomach burning with good old Catholic guilt.  It was pretty embarrassing, given the fact that both my 5-months-pregnant host mother and numerous Guatemalan grandmothers were still going strong.  Also, my site mate has informed me that at Christmastime, it is not abnormal for Catholics to hold two-hour-long services, kneeling the whole time.
6. Speaking of pregnancies, Guatemalan women generally don’t get ultrasounds.  Unless they are hemorrhaging or experiencing severe abdominal pain or have some other warning sign, they pass their entire pregnancies without medical imaging.  This means they don’t generally know the sex of their baby, or whether they are carrying twins.
7. It is not uncommon to see drunks pass out in the street.  Literally pass out, as in, stumbling around one second and unconscious on the ground the next.
8. Guatemalans love scented toilet paper.  At least, the toilet paper section of the grocery store has led me to believe this must be true.
9. If you ask your host dad to give you and your friend a ride to Walmart so that she can buy a futon, he will graciously agree, and then arrange for you to use the municipality’s enormous box truck to transport said futon.
10. Last, and most importantly, the sound of three little pigs snorting and oinking themselves to sleep is quite soothing at night.