As part of our visit with Emily’s parents, we were invited to have dinner with Nas Palas and his family in their smoke-filled, dirt-floored kitchen. The meal was kalnel, or sheep, grown by Nas and his family to be eaten on special occasions such as this. As I looked around the room at the two-dozen smiling faces, I realized I was sitting exactly between Emily’s dad Mike Richardson and Nas Palas, two men that probably had less differences than things in common: both are in their early sixties, have many children and grand children, and shoulder the burdens of guiding a large household. A moment after this realization, I was called upon to translate an interesting conversation between them.

MR: Thanks for inviting us to eat sheep with you. It’s very kind of you to do that.

NP: You’re welcome. It’s a pleasure to share with you what little we have. You know, the people aren’t as nice as they used to be back in the days of our ancestors. In my grandfather’s time, a party for guest like yourselves would be MUCH grander: we would have invited Palxun, and Manuel, and any other relatives that live in the area… half the village would be here! But we’re poorer, and less friendly now. Also, back then, everyone had sheep. (Nas is one of the few people in village that still keeps sheep) People had more land, and places to graze their flock. In fact, the sheep back then were bigger. No one really knows why, but sheep today are this high (holds out hand to his side), and back then they were this high (moves hand about 6 inches higher). We’d kill two, and the whole village would eat.

MR: How many did you kill today? Just one, right?

NP: Yes, just one. And that was barely enough to go around. It was enough, but barely.

MR: We also want to thank you for taking such good care of Emily and Jaime. You’ve treated them like your own children, and as Emily’s parents, that means a lot to us.

NP: Hm. Yeah, that’s how we are, I guess. There were some doctors working here in the village once, years ago, and they lived with us as well. Really, it’s because of my wife. She says, “Bring them over! There’s always enough stew in the bowl for one more.” And if not? Well, just be patient, and eventually there will be. You know, some people help others because they want to get something out of it. But we’re not really like that, we don’t expect anything from anyone in return.

MR: And your wife? How old is she?

NP: Who knows? (laughs) When she was born, her mother didn’t want to mess with going into town and doing paperwork, so she was never registered. Years later, when I was in my twenties, I tried to figure it out. I went to the church. You know, they have records of baptisms. But I couldn’t find her in the lists. Then, when I was in my forties, the government changed the laws about inheritance. They said that anyone who wants to inherit land must have a cedula (state ID card). I told her to go to town and get her cedula. She said, “Why would I want to do that? I have nothing to inherit.” She didn’t see the point, didn’t want to spend the money, so she didn’t go. I got tired of fighting over it, so to keep peace in the house, I let it be. She isn’t in any government books to this day.

MR: I think that one of the strengths of the Maya is how they work together as a community. I learned about the Maya in school when I was young, and it’s an honor to meet people from such a great culture, people who have such strong respect for the land.

NP: Things with the Maya are different now, not like they used to be back in the days of my grandfather. This house we’re in, it’s bajarike, just wood planks and poles. That used to be all we had. Later, they started making them out of adobe, like that one over there, and now most people just use concrete block. But back then, they didn’t need masons and special house builders. When someone needed a house, like if they just got married, all the villagers went into the woods and cut what they needed, then everyone came together and they built the house in a matter of days. That just shows how the people used to get together, to help each other. It’s not really like that anymore, it’s a custom we’ve lost. (pauses) But some still do it, I guess. They do it in the Catholic church. If there’s a really poor family, the congregation gets together and donates jilkob’al (teamwork) and they build the house for them in the old style. But that is for extreme cases, and doesn’t happen much nowadays.

Our religious customs have changed a lot as well, since the days of my grandparents. It used to be that everyone had a cross of wood on the altar in the corner of their house. It wasn’t the cross of the Church, of God, it was the cross of the earth that represents the four directions and the four winds. They prayed to the spirits of the mountains, and the forests, and the earth. In February, at planting time, they made offerings and prayers for weeks at a time before ever putting a seed in the soil. That was to ensure the harvest would come.

MR: Do you still do that?

NP: No, we don’t do that. It’s sad, it’s a custom we’ve lost.

MR: So what are the religions in town, then?

NP: There are three main priests in the town: a Catholic priest, a Evangelical minister, and a Mayan priest. They pretty much keep to their own, take care of their respective congregations, and stay out of each others’ way. But once, many years ago, there was a big landslide. You know the place? (He asked that to me, and I nodded.) Right up the valley, near Pett. The landslides happened pretty regularly there, and the people figured they had to do something about it. So they took up a collection from everyone around, 5 quetzales each, and went to the Catholic priest and the Evangelical minister. They said, “Take this money as an offering, and talk to God and make the landslides stop.”

Then a guy from San Miguel Acatan said, “But wait, what about the Mayan priest? You can’t forget him. These two talk to God, but you can’t ignore the Earth. The Mayan priest talks to the Earth. We need all three to intervene on our behalf, or this will never work.”

So the two godly priests looked at each other, and somehow saw the wisdom in this, so they split the offering three ways and invited the Mayan priest, giving him his share. The next morning, the three off them appeared together at the foot of the landslide and prayed: the first two pleading with God to spare the people from landslides, and the third pleading with the spirits of the Earth. That was seven years ago, and there hasn’t been a landslide there since. (pauses) You know, the Mayan priests in town are the center of all the Mayan beliefs. To this day, if a family is going to go on a long journey, say, to the capitol, they visit with the priests. They leave an offering, and ask if anything will happen on the trip. The priests know, and tell them, so they can be ready if something bad is going to happen. Everyone goes to find out, just to be sure. The priests also know WHAT will happen, but don’t tell that part.

At this point, he stops talking to Mike, and speaks specifically to me.

I keep meaning to ask the priests if I can take you to see the inside of the temple. They don’t let foreigners in, but I think they should make a special exception, and I am going to talk to them about it. I think it’s important.

At this point, people are milling around the room talking, and it becomes apparent that it’s time for photos, and the end of our discussion.