Single Stories

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Photo: Upper row: family portrait, Bottom: Atenojenes (my grandfather); Gregoria (my grandmother).

When you are new to a country, it is easy to generalize about the people based on your personal experiences. But what happens to you might be different from what happens to another traveler (and another and another). I cringe when I hear someone generalize about Guatemalans. I often refute what I hear and offer my own experiences and suggest that there are as many variations as there are people. For instance, someone said that Guatemalans think of tortillas as sacred and would never throw them on the ground. That’s a very innocent statement and maybe that person was told that by her host family. But tortillas are not sacred in my home because there are three of them in the dirt just outside the back door. That innocent example did not cast a judgement. But I am sensitive to generalizations because as a Chicana and I’ve been struggling against them all of my life.

Yesterday I met a North American man visiting Guatemala. As we ended our conversation, he asked me where I was from. He knew I was from the U.S. so I answered, “California and New York.” He looked slightly disappointed in my answer, paused and then said goodbye. I figured, though I could be wrong, that he wanted to know my ethnicity, because I get that question every single day. I don’t mind it when Guatemalan’s ask me because I understand the curiosity—I’m a foreigner here in this pueblo. But I flinch when questioned by North Americans because it insinuates that I am different from everyone else or that I don’t belong. I’m proud of my cultural heritage and once I know someone I’m happy to swap information about our cultural heritage.

[I’m thinking of my friend, Barbara, and all our shared stories in coffeshops around New York City, especially The Blue Stove in Brooklyn’s Greenpoint neighborhood. Wait up, Barbara, we’ll resume when I get back there. We have a lot of catching up to do!]

During our pre-service training in the Peace Corps, we had a few classes on cross cultural understanding. In one of those sessions we were treated to a screening of a Ted Talk by Nigerian writer and Mac Arthur Genius Grant recipient, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, titled, “The Danger of a Single Story.” In her brilliant talk, she warns, “Show a people as one thing and only one thing, over and over again, and that is what they become.” I might add, that it is not what they become, but it is what they become in the eyes of others. She continues to describe the power of the storyteller to shape attitudes towards a person or a people. This is especially evident today, politics being what they are. I keep hearing people defend the new immigration policies, because they want to be protected by the “bad people,” despite research that shows that there is no link between immigration and crime in forty years of data.

But national narratives that have been bred for generations are hard to overturn. Read: There’s an Intriguing Sociological Reason So Many Americans are Ignoring Facts Lately Business Insider, Feb. 27, 2017

Back in the 1990s I remember seeing the hilarious theatre productions by Culture Clash in San Diego. Those of us in the audience from the Chicano community laughed loud and long, because the humor was medicinal or our pain over how we’d been stereotyped negatively or simply rendered invisible. Culture Clash used stereotypes to construct their characters. These were not only stereotypes that were fed by media but also stereotypes, icons, and heroes that Chicanos/Latinos had bonded to, to form personal and group identities. Cultural Clash explored them all and sometimes it was like looking through a mirror so we could see how we were framing ourselves and laugh (or cry, or cry with laughter) and sometimes it felt painful to see the ways that we, as a people, were pegged, limited and held back in society.  Another theater group, Chicano Secret Service, did the same type of work and both groups helped many of us realize that while we had many things in common, we are also unbound in who we could be as individuals.

So, now that I’m in Guatemala, every time I think or start to say, “Guatemalans seem to….” and I stop myself from uttering a single story about this diverse culture.

Tuk Tuks, Motos, Trucks

img_20170218_131103You can get anywhere within town on bicycles, motorcycles, tuk tuks, cars and trucks. My town is pretty small so I can walk everywhere, but when I’m pressed for time or carrying a load, I take a tuk tuk. [See above photo] Tuk Tuk drivers fit in as many people as they can. There’s room for three people in the back (though sometimes it’s a squeeze) and two people can sit in front flanking the driver. The front seats are tiny and I always have to hang on to avoid falling out. Add children and babies in the back and you’ve got a crowded tuk tuk. But at two quetzales per ride (27 cents), it’s worth it.

Motos (motorcycles) are everywhere. Women and men alike, drive them. They carry their partners, friends, children and infants on them—without helmets. I see a lot of women that ride side-saddle on the back. [See photo below]

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Once I saw a woman holding her sleeping toddler whose limp body dangled from her arms. I often see toddlers and young children sitting in front of the driver. One day I’ll have to ask my friend who is a doctor at the hospital about the frequency of moto accidents; I’m really curious. Peace Corps Volunteers are never ever allowed to ride on motorcycles. Bicycles are okay as long as helmets are used.

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People that come from surrounding aldeas (communities) often arrive on the backs of trucks. [See below] On market days, trucks come and go throughout the day, carrying passengers and their children and goods. They often ride on the sides and back rims of the truck which seems pretty remarkable considering the bumpy, curvy roads. I can barely keep myself from sliding one way or another when I’m riding INSIDE a bus!

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Our town has one main road that is not wide enough to accommodate parked vehicles, passing traffic, PLUS the large carreteras (large buses) and major transport trucks that pass through town. So there’s a lot of cooperative moving to the sides of the road so larger vehicles can pass. It’s quite a dance.

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The carreteras (see above) are what get you from town to town. Bundles, backpacks, and boxes get placed on top of the bus unless you can hold it on your lap. Last weekend, the drivers were kind to me and placed my heavy duffel bag next to them in front of the bus or next to the back exit door. That made it easier for me to grab when I exited—I had to take four buses to my destination. Each carretera has a driver and an ayundante (helper). The ayundante goes up and down the isle collecting fares and helps older women like me climb aboard or jump off. The bus seats can comfortably seat (relatively speaking) two people but oftentimes a third person will squeeze in by necessity. I have never been in an uncrowded bus so you just learn to deal with it like everyone else here does. For sure the inexpensive price of long distance travel makes it worthwhile.

There are also micro-buses but I don’t have any new photos to add of them today. They are simply vans that go a little further outside of town into the neighboring communities. I’ll be taking those to my school sites starting next week. They too, can get very crowded as I noted in my post on FBT Pt  1.

One last thing to note: I have not seen a single airplane overhead since my arrival five months ago. Isn’t that incredible? Living in San Diego and then Brooklyn, there were airplanes over my homes every 10 or 15 minutes, not to mention the frequent helicopters in San Diego. No freeway and airplane noises here! Instead I hear birds, dogs, chickens, roosters, cows, pigs and and every once in a while, fireworks/bombas. The absence of airplane and freeway noise is wonderful.

At night, I’ve become reacquainted with the stars!