At Large in the World: Guatemala

Katie D.

December 3, 2008 - 6:05 PM

During the summer of 2007 I took a solo trip to Guatemala to attend an intensive language school. I knew next to nothing about Guatemalan history or culture, or really anything about what I would be doing there aside from the name of the school and my second year level of Spanish. I was traveling by myself for the first time, and it would be a three week stay.

I arrived in the Guatemala City airport, which was spotless and modern, with prices in American dollars and everything brand new and expensive. Right outside the airport doors, however, was a mass of people looking for returning family members, hawking cheap goods, begging. Luckily I had arranged ahead of time with a hotel that came to get me at the airport, because at that point my Spanish was at the "stumbling and terrified" stage. But I just breathed and got through it, got in the hotel van and settled in for the one night I'd be in the capital city. There was another college student from the US staying there, and we decided to take a walk around the city. Guatemala City is a scary place: there is barbed wire on most of the rooftops, and men in uniform with guns on every street. Some were guards at the entrance of banks or electronics stores, others were police in groups of three, but there were also men in groups of ten or twenty marching in the streets. People had high walls around their houses, with broken glass embedded in the top.

I wonder what it would be like to live a whole life surrounded by this kind of suspicion and fear. It seemed that everyone was just waiting for a break in, a riot, a rebellion. The men with guns at the banks and stores did not have small guns. These were large, two-hand guns that looked both dangerous and odd in the context of what, to me, would be a simple question of entering a bank. Guatemala has a lot of the same kinds of development and urban issues we have, but are militarized in a way that is frankly intimidating. Nothing I can expect from home would work with me in that country.

I spent the first two weeks in Quetzaltenango, a small city where I lived with a host family and studied at a language school. Quetzaltenango isn't a tourist destination, but was no where near as scary as the capital. There was still barbed wire, still guards, but no men marching in the streets and far less fear obvious in the streets.

At the Spanish language institute I worked with a teacher one-on-one for five hours a day in the afternoons. During that time I took all the Spanish I had learned during high school and college courses and learned to make them functional in conversation and writing. I had two teachers, both of whom were Guatemalan women from the city. We would have lessons in grammar or pronunciation for about half of the class time, but also spent a large amount of time in conversation. We would talk about our lives: our families, our homes, our countries. We talked about religion and politics and history.

As my classes were going on, I was also attending school-sponsored events. These included not only trips to hot springs and tourist spots outside the city, but also visiting speaker events. These speakers were not scholars, but rather local citizens who could speak to their life experiences. One spoke about the upcoming election that took place the day after I left the country. While this was a fascinating glimpse into the political system of another country, it was most interesting to learn about Guatemalan history, particularly the war of the 1980's. I was confronted by the knowledge that these people had experienced a government-sponsored civil war against its own citizens, supported by US corporations and government. US interest in Guatemala was centered around the agricultural production opportunities there, and the conflict largely surrounded the interests of a large US fruit company in opposition to small farmers and those who wanted to socialize property. This conflict devolved into genocidal attacks on indigenous communities by the state military, and guerrilla warfare in the jungles that left thousands dead.

It was a strange learning environment for me, and a powerful lesson in the implications of US policy. Thousands of people died over the profit margins of a single US corporation, and the human rights abuses of the government did not influence America's tacit monetary and training support of these actions. I was learning this piece of my country's history for the first time, and I was being taught by the victims of my country's actions.

These inequalities became more obvious as I left the city for my third week of study in a rural area. The sister school I studied at was located in an area that had had electricity for less than three years, and clean water in the individual houses for less than one. I stayed in the school at that location, and again studied individually with a Spanish teacher. But I also ate meals with a family, from whom I learned more about systems of global inequalities.

Their home had two rooms for six people. It was cinder blocks and a tin roof. The food was simple but delicious, and was partly paid for by my presence at meals. The father in the family worked more than two hours' bus ride away, and had to leave every morning before four. The mother, therefore, would rise before three in order to prepare his breakfast and lunch. Despite their hard work and base-level lifestyle, they still had barely enough to get by. On my last day with them, my host told me that he was planning to migrate to the US because otherwise he had no hope of providing his daughter and her fiancé with any hope of a home. He told me that he believed entirely in the American Dream: he knew that if he made it to the US and worked hard he would be able to return with enough money to provide the hope of a better life for his children than those he had experienced himself.

The American Dream, the American Promise. This man would soon be entering the US labor market's underground, illegal components. He would not find a welcome from the Americans, and would be seen as a criminal, someone unworthy of basic human resources and governmental support. The majority of what I had witnessed in the way of media attention and individual action led me to believe that most "Americans" were not aware of, or interested in the problems of the other countries in the Americas, including those problems caused by US economic and military policy.

My trip to Guatemala taught me many things. I reached levels of Spanish comprehension far beyond anything I had achieved in classes before. But while learning these linguistic lessons, I also learned about the culture I was imbedded in. I learned a little about the injustices practiced by my country, supported by my tax dollars and consumption patterns. People I spoke with suffered twenty years ago from a war my country helped create and perpetuate. Someone I shared a meal with was in a desperate economic position, partly because of the impact of US agribusiness on his agricultural options.

But aside from these weighty subjects, I also made huge discoveries about myself. I learned that I am capable of traveling abroad by myself, even as a young woman who sticks out like a sore thumb in any non-Anglo setting. I learned responsibility for myself and got my first real taste for the excitement and joy of international travel. I learned the value of conversation with everyday people I meet, and the importance of removing oneself from the tourist route in order to truly understand a new place.

During my stay, I also found time to experience many of the beauties of Guatemala. I swam in the Pacific Ocean, in some of the largest surf I have ever witnessed. I planted trees with a man dedicated to reforesting the hills around his village. I learned backstrap weaving, the traditional textile method of the Mayan peoples of Central America. And I encountered the most wonderful hot chocolate I have ever tasted, at a little café in downtown Quetzaltenango. The chocolate is manufactured right next door, and you can drink it with a hint of cinnamon or vanilla, or served with additions of liquors or ice creams. If you are ever in the area, look it up: Café Luna, the best hot chocolate in all my world experiences.

That is the secret to my favorite international experiences:

• Self-discovery
• New cultural understanding, historical implications, and truths I have never been exposed to in my scholarly life.
• A volunteer experience
• Learning a new craft
• Conversation with local people
• Hot chocolate

Katie's rules to international travel: speak to anyone, hear what is said, get your hands dirty, learn something you can take home with you, and drink the hot coco.