I have this great idea. One day when I grow up, I am going to have a webcam in my greenhouse, so people can go to my website and click on “growcam” and see a live feed of how my garden grows. But in Guatemala, with the limited resources we have, I have to stick to occasional posts. It seems wrong to have a WiFi-linked webcam with continuous internet feed, while people here still get tuberculosis and live in huts with dirt floors.
As part of his ongoing enthusiasm for the project, my dad sent me a pH test kit, so I checked the acidity of the soil. Hmm, looks like neutral. I guess that shoots one of my guesses as to why the pumpkins keep getting bottom rot. That leaves moisture, and calcium deficiency. I added lime a few weeks ago, and started opening BOTH ends of the greenhouse for better ventilation. We’ll see where that leads. The pumpkin thing is disappointing, because it uses up a LOT of square footage for very little return. Next year, those puppies are going outside. The locals all grow q’o’ outside, and it’s a close relative of pumpkin, so they would probably do fine. I wish I’d have thought of that before.
In related news, we met the culprits who slashed our greenhouse. Some of the other village kids were over to see the cucumbers, and mentioned that they knew who did it. They weren’t “tattling”, per se; they just wanted me to know so I wouldn’t worry about the issue being unresolved. After quite a bit of coaxing, I was able to get them to tell me it was José, the son if a guy we know in town. José and a few buddies had bragged in school that they’d stolen five cucumbers and a melon form the gringos while we were out of town. I made a mental note to go talk to their dad in the near future.
Imagine my surprise a half hour later, when a bunch of kids showed up, bringing José and his cohorts in tow. A very strange situation developed. From the best I could understand (kids here speak even less Spanish than the adults), it was a weird sort of communal Mayan justice/apology thing. The guilty kids looked pretty unhappy to be there, but sortof resigned to their fate. We talked a bit, and i explained that I wasn’t mad, but them cutting my greenhouse was a bad thing to do and I don’t want them to do it again. Also, if they want cucumbers, they should come and ask me. I share them with everyone, and even though I don’t give them out every time, I would be happy to share with them in the future. After several minutes of this, I invited everyone down to the greenhouse, and handed out all the rest of the ripe cucumbers to anyone who wanted one, even José.
I hope that worked. I guess we’ll find out. The culture here is so different from ours sometimes. Their sense of communal unity can be such a negative thing, like the disaster with the translators; or a powerful force for good, such as this spontaneous “making things right” by all the kids. I think one of the biggest challenges facing the Q’anjob’al today is how to harness this unity in a positive way, while minimizing its disadvantages.
We do a lot of strange stuff here. A few weeks ago, our neighbor Reyna asked if we could pick up a piñata for her daughter’s birthday. She would do it herself, but she wanted a big one, and they are only available in Soloma (about 2 hours away by bus) and it would be really hard to manage the trip, the piñata, and her infant at the same time. I needed to go to Soloma anyways to get money from the ATM, so I volunteered.
What transpired was classic Gringo hilarity. “Get a girly one,” she asked, so I got a Strawberry Shortcake. The piñata turnd out to be almost as tall as I am. I dreaded squezing it on the bus, but was lucky to discover a coaster bus ready for the trip back. There aren’t a lot of coaster busses, but they are sweet if you can find one because they have a lot more room than a camioneta. They also have fixed seating, so they can’t squeeze extra people onto your lap like in the schoolbus-style camionetas.
“Hay lugares?” I asked, sticking my head into the bus. (Are there seats left?)
The people inside nodded, eyeing the piñata suspiciously.
“Es mi novia,” I explained, nodding towards the piñata. (It’s my girlfriend). They all laughed. Soon we were on our way. Coaster busses also have HUGE windows. As we rode through Soloma, I saw our reflection in the glass storefronts. I was completely obscured by Strawberry Shortcake in my lap, as though she were another passenger. Aha, that explains the strange looks from people on the sidewalk.
The journey went without a hitch, due to the extra space in the coaster. I was worried about the cramped microbus for the last leg of the trip, so I told the coaster driver to go past the microbus depot and drop me off at the dirt road to our village. I hiked the last 45 minutes with my “girlfriend” in my arms, causing squeals of glee from all the kids I encountered on the way home.
Yesterday was Independence Day again. And, like last year, we were asked to judge the Niña de Independencia beauty contest. Thing is, we actually thought we had evaded it… until one of the teachers came by at about 8pm to tell us that two of their three judges had bailed on them. Could we please judge? OK.
What followed was pretty standard fare for Guatemalan beauty contests, but at one point Emily and I had to exert superhuman effort to not fall out of our chairs laughing. Some of the students were doing a “modern dance”, which is in itself hilarious when performed by 4th-grade Mayan girls. But when they back it up with American music and don’t know English? Then you get things like “The Bad Touch” by the Bloodhound Gang. Imagine a trio of nervous 4th graders shimmying back and forth to lyrics like “You and me baby ain’t nothing but mammals/ Lets do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.” I won’t repeat some of the funnier lyrics; this is a family blog. But I will say, I LOVE that song.
The girl that won this year was the best of the candidates, and I am pleased to announce that she actually won on the force of her speech and poise at the end. Her discourse was on the evils of alcoholism, a fitting topic for the occasion. I pondered that the next day as we drove by the guy passed out in the middle of the road, lying in a lake of his own urine.