July 19, 2006

I ventured off on this journey with what I thought was a good context and knowledge of Guatemalan life and culture. While I now believe, I began with a good foundation it was only the beginning of a journey whose roads would twist and turn in all directions. What was this simplistic Latin culture, relational and family oriented, hard working but lax with time and machismo and affectionate, hurt and devastated by a 36-year long civil war. Somehow became complex, a people devastated by dictatorship, civil war the CIA, corrupt police, social cleansing groups, struggling with racism and oppression, drug trafficking, deadly violence, robbers, gangs, family struggles, divorce, mistresses and other men, lack of arable land, deforestation, landslides, floods, poverty and devastation. This society somehow developed into something so much more, a complex puzzle that I do not know how or if I will ever be able to solve. The reality of devastation and hurt of these people has slowly crept into my being. A series of events, each I clearly recall, have altered my view.

Within the first few days of arrival, Hermana Elsy took me to San Antonio Seja, a small town just north of Rio Dulce. My previous view of their family and marriage was completely flipped upside-down, while I had it in my mind that everything in Latin culture was weaved around the family…it is not that simple. It is there that I met her whole family, and there were she grew up. The whole family, except Elsy and her younger brother, continues to live in San Antonio Seja with their families. I was welcomed into her parents’ house, and immediately I could feel tension well up inside Elsy. I met her father and whom I later came to know as her stepmother, whom tension and hatred stemmed from, as well as the stepmother’s mother who was also living in the house. We later walked through across the street to visit her brother and sister-in-law and children. We repeated this three more times, as four out of five of her brothers and their families live as neighbors in this small community. While the other, the youngest, is working in Puerto Barrios, only an hour away, for the Municipal.

It was our last visit that I started to feel her hurting heart. It was at the house of her eldest brother, Tomás, who was often like a father to her. The only family that came to her wedding and the only family that has ever visited them in Machaquilá. This grand burly sort of man grandly welcomed us with his fifteen-year-old daughter Celia, who was ecstatic to see her aunt. We proceeded to sit and talk, when her sister-in-law walked in and proceeded directly to the back, where her mother lives, without greeting or making contact with anyone. I saw the hurt in all three of their eyes, especially in the eyes of Celia. Both she and her mother are pure Que’qchi, traje tipica, typical dress and all. I later came to find out that for over fifteen years Celia’s mother has been seeing another man. Elsy has caught her, many times both in this house and in Poptún, the city near Machaquilá, as that is where he lives. The wife has often lied, said she was going to Elsy’s house to visit, and instead goes to Poptún to see him. It is then that she resents Elsy, both for her knowledge and her faith. Both Celia and Tomás do not know, but Celia is not his biological daughter, but rather of the other man.

Later on that evening, after all the brothers were visited, we walked back to her father’s large house. I had to soak it all in, it was such a blessing to be able to meet the whole family and to be welcomed in such a generous manner. Now, as I stared at this house, it was extremely large and kept so many secrets I still had to uncover. The front of the house was used for the father’s large and prosperous business, selling construction supplies. Just behind the shop lay the grand kitchen on the other side of which lay a grand open room where a large dinning table lay. Only up the stairs was a grand patio surrounded by more than eight separate bedrooms and two different bathrooms, unheard of here. The vast wealth of her father was clearly displayed, the fruits of a hard working person.

All of a sudden, Elsy asked me to follow her as she whispered that she wanted me to meet her real mother. I followed her on what I assumed would be a long journey to the outskirts of the town, when we stopped right after her father’s property. Directly behind her father’s expansive building lay a quaint one-bedroom house made of scrap wood. Quietly walking into the house, lit by one light bulb, we sat waiting for her mother’s reaction. The she clearly wore her years upon her face, clearly displaying her age. She wore her poverty with her simple clothes and now simple life; the years had not been kind to her. The one prized possession was her chicken, who sat in a basket near the window. She was old, shaky and seemed disillusioned, it was hard to watch Elsy look at her, as the pain in her heart deepened. I still did not the past, but seeing Elsy’s heart so beaten and tired I could not help but feel the emotional drain of her pain. We only stayed for a few minutes, as one of her brothers entered in his underwear. I could see the embarrassment, disgrace and fear in her eyes. He was completely drunk, like most nights for the past five years; his wife had left him for an opportunity to go to the United States. He immediately wanted to play with his niece Lizbeth who had quietly been with us. He picked her up and took her outside, for a minute they were within view but as soon as they left our sight, it was time to go. I sensed Elsy’s fear for her daughter and quickly said goodbye to her mother, while Elsy’s goodbye was also quite brief, we snatched Lizbeth and walked around to the house.

We snuck back into the house through a side door, and passed through two large business trucks, one of which I later found out was stolen, despite the families money. We wove in and out of the trucks and construction supplies until we reached the stairs. I could feel the pain seep out of her heart; she felt helpless. I followed Elsy into my room where she very quietly told me that when we returned home tomorrow she would tell me the whole story, as we would cause problems in the house if we were to talk about it here.

After we returned home, she told me the whole story, as Elsy told me with tears in her eyes. Her mother had left her father and kids when Elsy was young, for another man in the City. Her father remarried only six months later to a woman who wanted him for his money. Ever since, the stepmother proceeded to hide the wealth and act as if the family had little to nothing, even though the children knew different. The kids often went hungry and never had the clothing, toiletries or school supplies they needed, and resorted to steeling from local stores.

I later heard the story of Miguel's family, who is very poor and had seen the treachery of unfaithfulness. Miguel is the eldest of ten children, who Miguel calls father, is not his biological father as is true for many of the other kids. After Miguel left for Seminary in Guatemala City, his mother unhappy with his choice, decided to leave her father and children for another man. As the eldest, Miguel felt the pressure to return home every weekend to look after and often provide for his brothers and sisters, more than a seven-hour trip. His mother soon returned home, but the other men never faded.

Throughout my time in Machaquilá, the social problem of unfaithfulness in marriage has been revealed to me repeatedly. I want to tell you of just a few, so that you may understand the intensity and density of the situation. I have seen the devastation of an unfaithful spouse, in nearly every family I have met and probed further into their family life. Beginning with Kendi’s parents, the nanny of the house. Kendi has five brothers and sisters, the first two are from her husband, who later left her, and the last three are from another man who is now her boyfriend. The impact of a stepfather in this culture is treacherous, as if a child is not of your own blood, then they are not treated well. Often stepfathers are known to be physically, verbally and sexually abusive to their children. Kendi’s stepfather is suspected, but no evidence can be held against him. Kendi knows her situation, but was blessed to receive a last name that does not submit her to public humiliation. It is Guatemalan tradition that all have two last names, the first from their father and the last from their mother. It is then obvious when a child does not know a father. On a small side note, this is cultural idea that you do not help or treat a child that is not of your blood well, is ultimately, why within country adoption is not accepted by society and therefore usually remains a secret.

In the case of the Hermano, all is well in the house now, but a year ago, there was chaos. After years of marriage, his wife began to see another man. She would even bring him into the house while he was away working. So he decided that he could not put up with it anymore and fled to work in the U.S. in both Texas and New York. This was quite common, but to do so, he stole a large truck with some friends and ventured up through Mexico. During this time of his departure, the mother and fifteen-year-old daughter hosted men in their home, one for each. They were with men, drank and completely neglected the other three younger children who then spent the time in the street in front of the house. He would call the Pastors to check in on his kids, he was there less than a year when the Pastors pleaded him to return, as his children needed him. He finally returned three months after that phone call, to work things out with his wife for his kids. He ended up staying at the Pastors house for two-weeks, often the kids came over to visit and eat family meals with their father. He finally moved back in the house, and began to work on things with his wife. Cindy, their youngest daughter is not his biological daughter, Cindy does not know. He, despite his knowledge, treats her as if she is his own. Things between them are still not perfect, but he is willing to try.

A Hermana and her husband have a two-year-old son whom they adopted together. On and off he leaves her for another woman. He lives with the other woman and sometimes returns home, a year ago, he claimed he would stop, but needed financial help. He had to have three other men with outstanding bank records cosign for a large loan to get him on his feet; the Pastor was one of these men. The other woman is now pregnant and he refuses to leave her as she is carrying his baby. He has now fled to Puerto Barrios with the lady, gotten an apartment and pays all her bills. A week ago, he returned to her, he stays throughout the day, and eats meals with her and and the boy. However, when the sun goes down he returns to his pregnant mistress. Last week there was a huge fight between the couple, he hit her and the Pastors were called to go over and help.

Another aspect in which I have seen take a toll on the community, is its struggle with Drug trafficking. It just so happened that the Family had saved and stored all their newspapers for over two years in their still yet to be redone office. I had been searching through all of the newspapers, every Prensalibre that I could find, starting from most recent and working backward. When I started to notice a pattern, just about every other day was an article about Narcotraffico, or Drug Trafficking in the Petén. As we live in the Petén of Guatemala, this immediately alarmed me, and I proceeded asked them about everything I found.

They told me of the drug trade’s expansive roots, and warned at the dangerousness of talking or expressing interest in the subject. As many in the community are blatantly involved, they would have no problem killing to get rid of anyone who had interests in taking down their prosperous business. Just last year three young teenagers from Machaquilá, involved in the trade, were killed over drug disputes. Many women loose their husbands and children loose their fathers to the violence that comes with the trade. Just last night two large trucks quickly flew down the road well after eleven o’clock; Hermana Elsy looked at me with a scowl and said ‘narcos.’ Every week or so, a helicopter lands across the river at a ‘tomato’ finca. While tomatoes are grown, there so is marijuana, hidden within the bushes. Many men in Machaquilá work in the mountains cutting xate, a Guatemalan plant, for individual sale in the cities. Not all but certainly most, work in trafficking drugs. The xate is used to package, transport and conceal drugs, especially cocaine and marijuana. With this said, drugs and the violence and wreckage they bring are apart of the un-talked about problems of daily life in Machaquilá.

It is at these moments that I received the insight and knowledge, enough to allow me to feel a part of their pain and struggle. This is the daily life and struggle of the people in the Petén of Guatemala. There is the struggle for an ideal romance and family life where all passions are secure in faithfulness. The family struggle added to the struggle for civil peace, and freedom from the violence and brutality of the drug trade. Just these two subjects and my encounters with how greatly effect this community has taken my previous inferences about the simplicity of the culture to be turned upside down. The Guatemalan society is not a culture you can assign absolutes, or simply combine it as the same in all Latin culture. Life here is distinct, different and is made up of many layers that I am still trying to peel back and understand.