Saturday, August 31, 2013

Macho culture and what that entails.

It didn't hurt, but I could still feel where his hand had landed harshly on my backside. For several hours after I could feel the outline of every finger not due to pain, but because of how gross I felt. Thinking back to the few moments before it had happened it all made sense. I was waiting at the only light there is on my 15 minute walk to work. When it turned green I proceeded to walk across the street and as a couple was about to cross my path I slowed down. They were looking at me for what seemed like more than the average amount of time. I only seemed to notice it looking back on the scene. As I slowed, out of my peripherals I noticed a boy oddly close to me and once I slowed he veered away from me and down the street I was crossing. A block later I heard hurried foot steps behind me and then a firm smack. I immediately wheeled around amidst a stream of curses (I'm embarrassed to say)and by the time I had made a one/eighty to face my accoster he was already scuttling away and had made it at least 5 feet. The maybe 17 year old boy in a school uniform, the same boy from the block before, was retreating as fast as he had come on.
I had known it would be coming. If I had read into the events that happened right before the slap that was heard through Xela (not really); the couple watching him follow closely behind me, me turning on him right before he had planned to slap me while I was crossing the street I would have realized it was coming. I have been here four months and I'm honestly surprised it hadn't happened earlier. There are many American, European, and Canadian women in Xela working for non-profits or here to go to Spanish school. We stick out like soar thumbs and due to our light skin, blue eyes, and golden hair we're targeted. We're new, exciting, something men here don't see everyday. We're something to brag about, "I touched a gringa's ass today!" I have made many girlfriends here and they all have the same story to tell, all seeming to have the same reaction, dumb-founded stairs, silence, and sometimes even tears. I had mentally prepared myself for this moment, for when it was my turn. I had decided from the beginning that I could not stare dumbly. I told myself from very early on, "Penelope, you will take every precaution to be safe here, but something like being slapped, pinched, or grabbed will happen to you. You can either let it happen or you can do something about it." I had given myself this pep-talk every time I had heard one of my girl-friend's most recent stories.
Within my family I am known for my "take-no-prisoners" mentality and I hope it never fades. I was mentally ready. I turned around ready to do I don't know what, but found him already several feet away. Metal water bottle in one hand and tupperware container full of my breakfast (yogurt and fruit) in the other. With him already out of arms reach, making it unable to grab him by the collar and shake him I did all I could and chucked my breakfast at him. Store owners watching. The boy's eyes widened and I think he was literally dumb-founded. Unfortunately missing, my rage had not given me the clarity to aim (you can be sure something I will be practicing) and the unusual weight and balance to the tupperware throwing me off. He kept retreating and I proceeded to walk after him, metal water bottle raised yelling at him the whole way till he was in full sprint and around the corner. I am sure this was not his first rodeo, but I am confident that this was the first time he had ever received this sort of reaction. Ashamed and embarrassed of what he had just done to me I went and retrieved my breakfast which had luckily not broken open, but was lying sadly in a dirty puddle.
I think about all the women that are sexually accosted on a much greater level. How, what happened to me was really just child's play, but still made me feel disgusting and low. Why is that women are the ones that feel embarrassed after something like this happens? We did nothing wrong!
Guatemala lives under macho rule. Women don't have much to any say, constantly belittled, daughters don't usually receive the same treatment as sons, wives don't find themselves partners in their marriage, but just an object conquered; expected to clean, cook, and bear children. Within this macho culture women are raised to be passive and to obey men. Women are constantly berated with more than your average cat call (a simple whistle just won't cut it); heads hanging out of windows, targets of obscene sexual comments, and as I have experienced being touched inappropriately and without permission. This is normal. Sometimes I feel like the women have bought into it here, but really its all they know.
I only hear the stories of the other Western women that are here as I don't have many opportunity to have these conversations with Guatemalan women. I assume that they have similar and worse stories. In reality, us "white girls" have a little protection. If a Guatemalan women is touched, raped, goes missing its rare for justice to be served. There is little weight put on their lives. Heads would role if this happened to a "white girl". They rather not go through the trouble.

In Mayan culture God is made up of both feminine and masculine energy. When Mayan priests begin their prayers they first recognize the feminine energy, second the masculine. It was with the invasion of the Spanish and the male dominated culture they brought with them that the traditional gender role views slowly began to shift. While Mayan culture's appreciation of both female and male energies equally remains it suffered a greater blow. Guatemala has been heavily wounded by violence. The civil war left deep scars and Guatemalan women are especially exposed. In Guatemala more women (per capita) are murdered than anywhere else in the world (2009), and the murders, the so-called “femicidios”, are characterized by raw brutality and hatred towards women. Women find themselves the punching bags to drunk, stressed, depressed men.
While the appreciation for women within Mayan culture has suffered it is still a breath of fresh air to get out of town and walk through the dirt paths of the Mayan communities.

The need for education is great. The need for a rise in women's self-esteem is desperate. We work every day through women circle meetings to praise women. Teach them their not worthless. They are more than a body who's soul purpose is reproduction. I am proud of our work in the communities. We have seen differences in pride and self-esteem which will in turn change the view of how things should be in the home and the rest of the community.
Things are changing, but not fast enough and not on a large enough scale. Never the less I am proud of the progress we are making.

*For family and friends that read my blog I want you to know that I am not in danger. I am extremely careful. I walk no where on my own after dark. When I notice men on the sidewalk I move to the street and visa versa. I am very aware of my surroundings. If anything this experience has strengthened my vigilance. Please do not be worried. I promise I am more than alright.
**Photo by my friend Matthew Harris


Thursday, August 22, 2013

I blame it on trying to look nice . . . deflecting from my own guilt

HELLO!!!!! After an extremely busy summer I was able to take a breath! This summer the HSP/AMA team, with the partnership of our Service Learning Teams, built a complete kitchen for a school, a drainage system, 220 stoves (WOW!!!!), and beautiful cultural exchanges. Knowing I would need a significant rest after this marathon of a summer I asked my boyfriend to come for a visit. Lucky me he said, "yes!". Unfortunately for him he had no idea what he was getting into.
After living in hiking boots, dirty jeans, and the same 4 t-shirts all summer I bought myself a skirt the day before he came in and put together an outfit very foreign to the Guatemala me. I mean I had to try and look nice, right?? He flew in the day the last group flew out. I had timed it perfectly and planned everything in great detail! His plane, coming in almost an hour late, finally arrived and I was THRILLED! The adventure began! We immediately got in a van shuttle so that we could hopefully make the last connection of the day to the lake where we would be meeting up with some of my friends for the weekend. Thankfully the traffic, although bad, allowed us to make it to our connection with 10 min to spare. Whew! Jumping right into the next micro-bus we had another 2 and half hours to go till relaxation could begin although the catch up time was wonderful before we met up with my friends. Once arriving to the most populated town on Lake Atitlan our next leg was to hop into one of the last boats that takes you across (time crunched again).
Now remember how I had planned everything to the tiniest detail? The hostel we were staying in with friends had a kitchen and since I was really trying to show off I had brought so many things to cook with. I'm talking a bottle of wine, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, 5 different bottles of seasoning, a bag of almonds, pasta, hot sauce, and a jar of olives. Excessive I know, but this wouldn't surprise you if you knew my mother at all. With this being said, my backpacking pack was too heavy for me to lift and with a skirt on it would have lifted my skirt. Hence John and I decided to make a luggage switch, I now in charge of his light weight backpack and duffel and he taking care of my pack. Now back to the boat.
We climb into the boat as quickly as possible. It was 5:30 in the evening and lake gets extremely choppy starting at 2:00. Our things were put in the front of the boat and a tarp was thrown over top of John's head to keep the lake off of him. The town we were travelling to was the 4th stop. Judging by the arrivals to all the other docks I concluded we had about 45 seconds to get our stuff together and get out of the boat. Everyone is trying to make a Q in Guatemala so when we got to our stop about 5 children about 6 to 12 year old jumped on to the boat, grabbing at our things so that we would have to tip them once they had hoisted our things out of the boat for us. Being a tightwad I refused help and kept trying, I have zero upper body strength, to lift our things to John on the dock. Mind you the boat is rising and falling at least 2 feet with how choppy the lake is, the sky is dark, and all these kids are yelling at me at once. We finally get ourselves and the things out of the boat and to the hostel. A lovely evening with each other and friends. It could not have been more fun!!! Plans were made for the adventures to be had the next day and then much needed sleep.
Beautiful next morning! Went and had breakfast, we all put on our swim suits and John asks me where I put his backpack so that he could put his passport in the safety box. "I didn't put it anywhere. You don't have it?" . . . We made it through 12 wonderful hours of lake time without even realizing that I had left it on the boat. On the boat!!!!!
Needless to say it was not to be found, but the actual backpack was not so much the problem. It was what was inside; passport, copies of the passport (lock and key in the same place), credit and debit cards, driver's liscence, and car keys. I am awesome!!! Instead of the swimming and rock jumping we had planned we spent the whole day town hoping and grilling every boat driver hoping to come up with the location. Deciding we had done all we could do we spent the next day, our last full day at the lake not thinking about it, as best we could.
Then we had a day. Caught a shuttle at 9:00 am. Two transfers later and by 2:00 pm made it to the US embassy in Guatemala city. By 4:45 we walked out with a temporary passport and a letter from the embassy validating the story. Grabbed a sandwich and we're on a bus heading for Xela by 5:30. Arrived to the station and with a short cab ride we're finally to the comfort of my house! Finally we could have the rest of the time together without stress and responsibility!
We had so much fun! I got to show him where I live, he got to meet my friends, and eat at the same restaurants I go to often. We went to the hot springs, bakeries, inside beautiful churches, to markets, and salsa dancing. I mean we had a blast despite the fiasco.
Last day came said goodbyes with talk of him coming to see me again and I left him at the airport as I had a bus to catch and he needed to get through security. The next morning I heard the whole story, and I will keep this brief.
Due to the lack of entry stamp on the passport (we had a letter from the embassy saying the original passport had been stolen) the Guatemalan security gaurds gave him a hard time for about an hour before finally letting him go through. Made it to Houston. Going through customs, the stupid passport literally having all his information on a sticker stuck into the passport, had the hardest time scanning the passport. Finally going through, he made it to his connection flight 15 min before the plane was to take off, hence the doors being shut and missing his flight. Only other option was to Newark, NJ. Very different then Dulles. Arriving around 3:00 in the morning and without a wallet, his wonderful, amazing, awesome brother came to get him and drive him back to Richmond. When I called at 8:00 the next morning, mind you I had left him around 11:30 am the day before, he was about half an hour away from home.
The lesson in all this?? 1. Don't dress nicely because you can't lift your own things and you never take as strong of ownership of other people's things as you would your own. 2. Don't lose your passport. The consequences are intense!
Picture taken after the passport was lost, before he had the awful trip back home.