The Mayan World

somehow i woke up enough to get from one plane to the other. i don't really remember getting off the plane, or getting on the next one. in fact the only memory i have is standing in the customs line in front of some bastard who wouldn't stop talking about all the food they'd eaten on the plane, how full he was, how it was like waddling off a moving all-you-can-eat restuarant. i slept thru all the food. i had NOT eaten anything, i was NOT full, and the only reason I was waddling was because i had 3 lbs of M&Ms for my dad in my backpack. i vaguely remember walking across the tarmac to plane #2, thinking that it smelled like Guatemala, and passing out promptly in my seat. i awoke, realizing that everyone else was already off the plane and the stewardesses were kind of eying me. i felt like the pope, walking down the stairs of my personal plane onto the runway, but the humid, heavy air that permeates everything with the smell of burning jungle makes everything feel dirty, so i didn't kiss the ground. as i walked toward the sole terminal, i read the gi-normous writing on the side of the building: BIENVENIDOS AL MUNDO MAYA. Welcome to the Mayan world... and the mayan world it is! i was immediately surrounded by a dozen chocolate-skinned, high-cheek-boned men, "Taxi, miss? Flores? Tikal?". i shook my head, avoided eye contact, and headed for the exit, all the while straining my senses to feel the slightest touch on my backpack. there was a tall, white canadian family behind me, and the men began to harrass them instead, realizing they might actually have money. i sat down on the curb outside and waited for my ride.

the next 15 hours were a blur of sleep, food, family, a D-stringless guitar, Spanglish, making cookie dough (not cookies!), some guy trying to explain that he had been fixing the oven racks and now they were ready, remembering not to use tap water to rinse off my toothbrush, laying in the middle of the kitchen floor killing giant ants with a fly swatter while chit-chatting with my mom, and finally a cold shower and bed.

today is the day that feels like part of yesterday. my family tried to get me out of bed for an hour before telling me that there was french toast. then i was ready in 5 minutes. we drove thru the Santa Elena craziness, out to the highway, and turned down a small, rocky "road" to a small aldea called Mango, where little children eat green mangoes and stare at the gringa with shy, but steady, dark eyes. our first stop was at the home of a man with prostate cancer. he is nearly unable relieve himself. my dad took him to the hospital last time and removed a liter of urine. dad told us in the car how he put the man on a schedule of self-cathaderization, and how much better the man will feel. we enter the home with the customary, "Con permiso!" my father asks how the tube is working out for him. the response: "tube? what tube?" after a 5-minute discussion about the elusive "tube", the wife finally remembers it, and takes it (still unopened) from a bag on the wall. they haven't even tried the thing. at this point it dawns on me what is going to happen next. i excuse myself and spend the rest of the visit on a small bench outside, watching bony little pigs, bonier little dogs, and innumerable varieties of poultry roam the yard. thru the gaps in the board wall of the house, i hear my dad explaining once again the necessity of the cathader and the relief it will bring. the elderly man is embarressed to lower his pants in front of the girls (my 2nd cousin who is volunteering here, and a Q'eqchi health promoter). at this point, my dad's coercing tactics change from the U.S. professionalism he was taught, to the Guatemalan "get the job done" method. i hear him say, "look, this is only going to help you, and if you don't drop your pants and start using this thing, i'm going to have to bring the girls back with me every time to insert it."

next we went to a community building, where i was given the task of collecting 5Q (five quetzales, about 75 cents) for each consultation, and selling toothbrushes for 1Q. i was still exhausted at this point, and kept nodding off, regularly starting awake to find an adult standing over me holding out their 5Q bill, or a child shyly holding out a 1Q coin, saying that they would like a "rojita" (little red) toothbrush. by the end of the morning i was surrounded by about 15 staring children, each with his or her respective toothbrush. the older ones gripped them tightly and protectively, the younger ones used them to brush their hair or sweep the dirt off the porch. most of the kids already have a mouthful of black teeth, and their mothers have either gold teeth or no teeth. one of the moms asks me if i bleach my teeth. no, i just brush twice a day.

there are three dark-haired little boys with holes in their shirts having a pull-up contest, and they smile each time they notice me watching them. there is a tiny girl in a tinier peach dress trying to ride a bicycle, but between her tinyness, and her dress she repeatedly ends up on the ground. another boy scratches himself constantly...his left hand scratches his right leg, while his right hand scratches his left arm. i tell my dad that there is an itchy boy whose mother is not having him looked at. dad says, "ok, he has scavies. don't sit by him." i'm just as shy as the kids, but i finally work up the nerve to ask them their names. some have recognizable names, but for most of them i just try to repeat the same sounds. now the ice is broken, and all the children's previously unspoken thoughts and questions pour out: why isn't your hair black? where do you live? is it pretty in los estados? do you have sisters? is that book for school? doctor marcos is your dad? is that other gringa your sister? why does your family live here? where did you get those bracelets? is your mother going to have more children? are you going to get married? how much did that cost? why do you have vacation?

finally we load everything back into the truck, wave goodbye to our new friends, bust out the tuna-butt sandwiches (seriously, the brand of tuna is Atun-Fanny), and hit the road, dodging stray turkeys, dogs, horses, and kids.