For people travelling or working internationally, there comes an inevitable, surreal moment in which we realize that the end is near, that the experience abroad is drawing to a close. Though it often sneaks up on us, there arrives a time in which we must pack our bags, tie up our loose ends, and say our goodbyes, which somehow remain difficult despite age and numerous other experiences abroad.
Whether I like it or not, I have arrived at this moment. My term with Manna Project officially ends in one week, and I have begun to say my “despedidas” to my coworkers, community, and lifestyle. As many other travelers have surely experienced, I am flooded by warring emotions. On the one hand, I feel “high on life” as they say. I cannot wait to return home with fresh eyes and a wealth of experiences that will help me to view my life in new ways. The year in Sololá has recharged my metaphoric battery, and when I begin my next occupational endeavor and graduate school applications, I know that I will hit the ground running.
On the other hand, I am struck with the realization that never again, will I be able to relive this experience. Never again, will I play with Needy Maria during recess or force a smile as I reluctantly accept the atol offered daily at the school. Never again, will I arise to the same panoramic view of Lake Atitlan’s blue water and looming volcanoes. Never again, will I share a gynecologist’s office-turned-house with the same intelligent and inspiring individuals. I will surely talk (probably over-excessively) about these experiences, but no one at home will truly understand. I fear that the fire ignited by this year will wane, that I will be become comfortable at home, and the experience with Manna Project will seem as though it occurred six years, instead of six weeks ago.
For weeks, I flirted with the idea of extending my position with Manna Project. I also nearly accepted a seemingly ideal position with a Virginia-based NGO, which would have allowed me more time with my family, experience coordinating medical mission trips, and frequent travel to Central America. However, in the end, I declined both options for a principle that I have come to maintain wholeheartedly: namely, the importance of saying goodbye. Continuing with Manna Project would have overly prolongated the process of transitioning to an American lifestyle, whereas the NGO would have denied me any transition and required me to begin work in July.
Though not particularly enjoyable, it is crucial for us to transition from our time abroad, to properly say goodbye to the people, geography, and routines of our past months. Saying goodbye validates our time abroad; goodbyes help us to internalize that the experience actually happened. Thus, we must undergo the process of grieving the end of the experience, laughing at the fond memories, accepting that the time is over, and contemplating our next life steps. Although our exact experiences can never be recreated, they have changed us in ways that can never be erased.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Stones and Butterflies
Long time, no talk! Sorry to be a bit AWOL for the past few weeks. Things around here have been pretty hectic, though equally wonderful. For the past two weeks, my coworkers and I were so fortunate to host two groups of Spring Break from Vanderbilt and University of Georgia. Consisting of 10 students a piece, each group spent one week living in Sololá, learning about MPIG, and experiencing the Guatemalan 
landscape and culture firsthand. And trust me, between group discussions concerning international development, scavenger hunts in the congested, though vibrant Sololá market (one team got a picture of a man sporting a “Shapes: Fitness for Women” shirt), savoring the famous Yummy Donuts, salsa lessons, tortilla-making lessons, kayaking, and exploring Pana, San Pedro, and Antigua, both weeks were chalk-full of new experiences and memories. I hope the volunteers’ trips were as meaningful to them as they were for my housemates and me. We all truly enjoyed our time with the volunteers and were sad to see them leave.
In addition to their plethora of cultural and social activities, each group also completed a special project in Chaquijyá. Working alongside the town leaders and
other community members, the Vanderbilt group installed trashcans on the main road in the caserio Central. Not only did the trashcans look spiffy with the MPI and city council logos, but the community also agreed on a long-term arrangement to collect and sort the trash into recyclable and non-recyclable material.
The following week, the UGA volunteers executed their project in the primary school of Chaquijyá’s caserio Cooperativa. With the assistance of the school’s teachers and Padres de la Familia members, the volunteers transformed a vacant, dusty room into a clean and colorful library, complete with tables, chairs, bookcases, globes, whiteboards,
office supplies, books, maps, and games. The instant we left the newly furnished room, the library became inundated with students, examining the globes and games with fascination and laughter. Despite the extra coat of lacquer splattered on their clothing, the volunteers all seemed to relish in the children’s joy, and I hope they will continue to cherish the relationships formed not only with the students, but with the teachers and adults as well.
You know, especially in the field of international development, I feel like we always hear people preaching metaphors about small stones creating extensive ripples on the water, or about butterflies causing hurricanes on the other side of the globe. However, while these s may seem a bit cliché or hokey,
the message behind these maxims is real and poignant. Just as one spark can trigger an entire forest fire, so can minor actions produce enduring effects. Overall, I was so thrilled for the volunteers to be able to witness how seemingly simple projects can spark programs that will benefit Chaquijyá for years to come.
Peace
Ginny
landscape and culture firsthand. And trust me, between group discussions concerning international development, scavenger hunts in the congested, though vibrant Sololá market (one team got a picture of a man sporting a “Shapes: Fitness for Women” shirt), savoring the famous Yummy Donuts, salsa lessons, tortilla-making lessons, kayaking, and exploring Pana, San Pedro, and Antigua, both weeks were chalk-full of new experiences and memories. I hope the volunteers’ trips were as meaningful to them as they were for my housemates and me. We all truly enjoyed our time with the volunteers and were sad to see them leave.
In addition to their plethora of cultural and social activities, each group also completed a special project in Chaquijyá. Working alongside the town leaders and
other community members, the Vanderbilt group installed trashcans on the main road in the caserio Central. Not only did the trashcans look spiffy with the MPI and city council logos, but the community also agreed on a long-term arrangement to collect and sort the trash into recyclable and non-recyclable material. The following week, the UGA volunteers executed their project in the primary school of Chaquijyá’s caserio Cooperativa. With the assistance of the school’s teachers and Padres de la Familia members, the volunteers transformed a vacant, dusty room into a clean and colorful library, complete with tables, chairs, bookcases, globes, whiteboards,
office supplies, books, maps, and games. The instant we left the newly furnished room, the library became inundated with students, examining the globes and games with fascination and laughter. Despite the extra coat of lacquer splattered on their clothing, the volunteers all seemed to relish in the children’s joy, and I hope they will continue to cherish the relationships formed not only with the students, but with the teachers and adults as well. You know, especially in the field of international development, I feel like we always hear people preaching metaphors about small stones creating extensive ripples on the water, or about butterflies causing hurricanes on the other side of the globe. However, while these s may seem a bit cliché or hokey,
the message behind these maxims is real and poignant. Just as one spark can trigger an entire forest fire, so can minor actions produce enduring effects. Overall, I was so thrilled for the volunteers to be able to witness how seemingly simple projects can spark programs that will benefit Chaquijyá for years to come.Peace
Ginny
Monday, March 14, 2011
Spring Break!!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Retreat and Relationships
One of my favorite perks about being a Program Director is the retreats that MPI requires all PD’s to take each quarter, once every 3 months. Financed by the organization, these retreats not only allow PD’s to get to know another part of their host country, but they also provide a space away from work in which PD’s can further bond as a team and develop their group dynamic and vision.
Last Monday, my coworkers and I returned from our second retreat, in which we spent six days in the tropical climate of Guatemala’s Caribbean coast. The trip began with a lengthy, yet luxurious charter bus ride to the port town of Puerto Barrios from where we snagged a water taxi bound for Livingston. We then spent two days in Livingston listening to reggae, relaxing at postcard beaches, and venturing into the jungle where they filmed the original Tarzan movie. Following these excursions, we boated up the Rio Dulce to Lake Izabal, the largest lake in Guatemala, and to our pleasant surprise, both the river and the lake exceeded the guidebook descriptions. Picture a tranquil, brilliant blue river narrowly enclosed in a steep canyon whose walls are masked by cascading green plants and flowers. Innumerable white herons are nesting in the nearby shrubbery, cormorants are disappearing and emerging amidst the gentle waves, and flocks of prowling pelicans are diving into the water in search of fish. Eventually, the river opens into a lake so immense that you cannot see the mountains encasing the far shore. Now, picture yourself on a small boat amidst this nirvana. Let me tell you, it is nearly impossible not to ponder the world and your life, when you are surrounded by such an idyllic environment.
Following this reflective voyage up the river, we kayaked and tanned for one day at the isolated Denny’s Beach Resort on Lake Izabal, then stayed the remainder of the retreat in Rio Dulce town at a rustic hostel nestled into the jungle. The capstone of the trip, on the last day, we visited Finca Paraiso, the world’s only hot water waterfall. Though we all left the falls drenched in the rotten-egg smell imparted by the sulfur, it was worth every scent to be able to stand in a cool stream while simultaneously being showered by hot water. Dana and Jared, brave souls, even jumped off of the falls into the pool below.
Possibly due to my love of Bob Marley, or my passion for all things aquatic, or maybe even my weird obsession with humidity, I found the coast to be an ideal retreat location. More than eight hours away from our home and comfort zones in Sololá, my coworkers and I were able to explore unfamiliar locations together and come together as a team. Amidst the rewarding chaos of directing programs, fulfilling organizational roles, and maintaining relationships with community members and other expat volunteers, we sometimes forget to spend time together as a group. Immersed in our relationships as coworkers, we sometimes overlook our relationships as friends. I am so grateful for the retreat, as it reminded us of the importance of these friendships.
While our time with MPIG offers us a unique professional experience in the field of international development, the position of Program Director also allows us to form lifelong relationships both with community members and with our coworkers/housemates. As our time with the organization draws to a close, we must remember to cherish and cultivate these friendships. 25 years later, we may or may not remember the details of a 6th English lesson plan, yet I am certain we will recall the memories we make together as friends. Our work will always be a priority and will shape us into our future selves. However, every person we meet, every friendship we form will also become a part of us and we must remember to treasure those relationships and each other.
Last Monday, my coworkers and I returned from our second retreat, in which we spent six days in the tropical climate of Guatemala’s Caribbean coast. The trip began with a lengthy, yet luxurious charter bus ride to the port town of Puerto Barrios from where we snagged a water taxi bound for Livingston. We then spent two days in Livingston listening to reggae, relaxing at postcard beaches, and venturing into the jungle where they filmed the original Tarzan movie. Following these excursions, we boated up the Rio Dulce to Lake Izabal, the largest lake in Guatemala, and to our pleasant surprise, both the river and the lake exceeded the guidebook descriptions. Picture a tranquil, brilliant blue river narrowly enclosed in a steep canyon whose walls are masked by cascading green plants and flowers. Innumerable white herons are nesting in the nearby shrubbery, cormorants are disappearing and emerging amidst the gentle waves, and flocks of prowling pelicans are diving into the water in search of fish. Eventually, the river opens into a lake so immense that you cannot see the mountains encasing the far shore. Now, picture yourself on a small boat amidst this nirvana. Let me tell you, it is nearly impossible not to ponder the world and your life, when you are surrounded by such an idyllic environment.
Following this reflective voyage up the river, we kayaked and tanned for one day at the isolated Denny’s Beach Resort on Lake Izabal, then stayed the remainder of the retreat in Rio Dulce town at a rustic hostel nestled into the jungle. The capstone of the trip, on the last day, we visited Finca Paraiso, the world’s only hot water waterfall. Though we all left the falls drenched in the rotten-egg smell imparted by the sulfur, it was worth every scent to be able to stand in a cool stream while simultaneously being showered by hot water. Dana and Jared, brave souls, even jumped off of the falls into the pool below.
Possibly due to my love of Bob Marley, or my passion for all things aquatic, or maybe even my weird obsession with humidity, I found the coast to be an ideal retreat location. More than eight hours away from our home and comfort zones in Sololá, my coworkers and I were able to explore unfamiliar locations together and come together as a team. Amidst the rewarding chaos of directing programs, fulfilling organizational roles, and maintaining relationships with community members and other expat volunteers, we sometimes forget to spend time together as a group. Immersed in our relationships as coworkers, we sometimes overlook our relationships as friends. I am so grateful for the retreat, as it reminded us of the importance of these friendships.
While our time with MPIG offers us a unique professional experience in the field of international development, the position of Program Director also allows us to form lifelong relationships both with community members and with our coworkers/housemates. As our time with the organization draws to a close, we must remember to cherish and cultivate these friendships. 25 years later, we may or may not remember the details of a 6th English lesson plan, yet I am certain we will recall the memories we make together as friends. Our work will always be a priority and will shape us into our future selves. However, every person we meet, every friendship we form will also become a part of us and we must remember to treasure those relationships and each other.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Healthy Perspectives
Health is an issue that merits much attention in Chaquijyá Central. Currently, the most pressing problems affecting the community include malnutrition, dental issues, respiratory diseases, and skin ailments. Although residents will travel to the nearest hospital (about 40 minutes away) when faced with a dire emergency, most community members rely on the services provided by a few local practitioners and organizations. Ixim Achi is the primary health organization in the community and receives funding from the Guatemalan national government. Working in numerous communities throughout the country, Ixim Achi sponsors health clinics in all four caserios in Chaquijyá and provides them with medicines, equipment, and oversight on monthly health workshops (“charlas”) provided for expectant mothers and women with recently born children. The clinic in the Chaquijyá Central is directed by Rosa Chumil, who also oversees nine volunteer health promoters, or “vigilantes,” who assist in the monthly charlas and monitor health issues and pregnancies in assigned sections of the community. Despite the presence of these individuals and organizations, existing programs in Chaquijyá Central only target children under 5 years of age, expectant mothers, and women over the age of 15, as many girls in Chaquijyá begin having children at this age. Children between the ages of 5 and 15, namely the children in primary and middle schools, do not receive adequate medical attention or health education.
Consequently, considering the number of preventable ailments affecting children in the community, my fellow PDs and I concluded that health education in the Primaria Central would be an ideal premier health program for MPI in Guatemala. Our initial idea was to collaborate with the nine local health vigilantes to lead monthly charlas in the school. Each month would target a different grade of students and focus on basic health topics, such as washing hands, sanitizing food, hygienic dental practices, and women’s health for girls in the older grades. Providing incentives for their efforts, we would work closely with the vigilantes to create lesson plans for the workshops, and then the women would lead the charlas themselves. Although we would devise ways to reinforce the lessons in our classes throughout the interim months, we would take a backseat during the actual workshops, so that the vigilantes might be able to lead the lessons themselves if we were forced to leave Chaquijyá suddenly (yay sustainability!).
Well, it was a great plan. We held the first day of the program this past Thursday and Friday, and the charlas themselves were very successful. Health promoters from Ixim Achi generously offered their time to help us conduct our initial two charlas with the first grade students, and the women lead workshops that not only were fun, but that also instilled in the students useful information about personal hygiene. By and large, we were so thrilled with the charlas and the students’ positive responses.
Unfortunately, the vigilantes did not share our same enthusiasm. My coworkers and I had asked the nine women to attend the charlas so that they might receive a clearer idea of our vision for the project, and they did react to the workshops as eagerly as we had hoped. Lacking a financial incentive, the vigilantes did not feel as though the program would be valuable use of their time.
Needless to say, my coworkers and I were disheartened. We had invested significant time and effort into devising the details of the project, and the most crucial component of the program, the vigilantes, were reluctant to participate. What were we going to? Considering that Chaquijyá has no other organized health promoters working solely in the community, should we scratch the program? We could lead the charlas ourselves, but then how could we make the program sustainable?
My coworkers and I ultimately decided to keep the program with a few alterations. For the time being, we will lead the charlas ourselves; however, we will continue searching actively for other individuals and organizations with whom we could partner. To make the program more immediately sustainable, we will pull from our connections and resources to create a health curriculum with various topics, activities, talking points, and other information that may be used by PDs or organizations in the future. Additionally, we have spoken with Ixim Achi concerning the possibility of training a community member to lead charlas, and so we will be searching within the community for someone who is interested and qualified.
Overall, despite the change of plans and initial disappointment, I believe that we have learned many valuable lessons from our experience with the charlas and the vigilantes. Primarily, the experience serves as a reminder to establish shared goals with our partners and partner organizations. If we are not on the same page with our desired partner organization, we cannot hope to accomplish any program. Effective and lasting change cannot occur if the community and we are not striving for the same objectives; development is a joint effort. Furthermore, we have once again realized the importance of flexibility and resourcefulness. In the sphere of international community development, events and programs sometimes (in fact more often than not) do not unfold as planned. In creating a health charla curriculum and working with Ixim Achi to train individuals, we have learned to make the best of what resources we have and allow for flexibility in our programs. There is no easy road to successful development, and we must remember to remain flexible and positive, while keeping realistic expectations.
Consequently, considering the number of preventable ailments affecting children in the community, my fellow PDs and I concluded that health education in the Primaria Central would be an ideal premier health program for MPI in Guatemala. Our initial idea was to collaborate with the nine local health vigilantes to lead monthly charlas in the school. Each month would target a different grade of students and focus on basic health topics, such as washing hands, sanitizing food, hygienic dental practices, and women’s health for girls in the older grades. Providing incentives for their efforts, we would work closely with the vigilantes to create lesson plans for the workshops, and then the women would lead the charlas themselves. Although we would devise ways to reinforce the lessons in our classes throughout the interim months, we would take a backseat during the actual workshops, so that the vigilantes might be able to lead the lessons themselves if we were forced to leave Chaquijyá suddenly (yay sustainability!).
Well, it was a great plan. We held the first day of the program this past Thursday and Friday, and the charlas themselves were very successful. Health promoters from Ixim Achi generously offered their time to help us conduct our initial two charlas with the first grade students, and the women lead workshops that not only were fun, but that also instilled in the students useful information about personal hygiene. By and large, we were so thrilled with the charlas and the students’ positive responses.
Unfortunately, the vigilantes did not share our same enthusiasm. My coworkers and I had asked the nine women to attend the charlas so that they might receive a clearer idea of our vision for the project, and they did react to the workshops as eagerly as we had hoped. Lacking a financial incentive, the vigilantes did not feel as though the program would be valuable use of their time.
Needless to say, my coworkers and I were disheartened. We had invested significant time and effort into devising the details of the project, and the most crucial component of the program, the vigilantes, were reluctant to participate. What were we going to? Considering that Chaquijyá has no other organized health promoters working solely in the community, should we scratch the program? We could lead the charlas ourselves, but then how could we make the program sustainable?
My coworkers and I ultimately decided to keep the program with a few alterations. For the time being, we will lead the charlas ourselves; however, we will continue searching actively for other individuals and organizations with whom we could partner. To make the program more immediately sustainable, we will pull from our connections and resources to create a health curriculum with various topics, activities, talking points, and other information that may be used by PDs or organizations in the future. Additionally, we have spoken with Ixim Achi concerning the possibility of training a community member to lead charlas, and so we will be searching within the community for someone who is interested and qualified.
Overall, despite the change of plans and initial disappointment, I believe that we have learned many valuable lessons from our experience with the charlas and the vigilantes. Primarily, the experience serves as a reminder to establish shared goals with our partners and partner organizations. If we are not on the same page with our desired partner organization, we cannot hope to accomplish any program. Effective and lasting change cannot occur if the community and we are not striving for the same objectives; development is a joint effort. Furthermore, we have once again realized the importance of flexibility and resourcefulness. In the sphere of international community development, events and programs sometimes (in fact more often than not) do not unfold as planned. In creating a health charla curriculum and working with Ixim Achi to train individuals, we have learned to make the best of what resources we have and allow for flexibility in our programs. There is no easy road to successful development, and we must remember to remain flexible and positive, while keeping realistic expectations.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Think Fast
Approximately 1 billion people currently experience hunger. According to World Vision International, about 1 in 4 of the world’s children suffer from malnourishment, and about 5 million children will die this year from hunger-related causes. Hunger is a formidable issue that fuels civil unrest, a cycle of 
poverty, and economic crises throughout the world, and the number of hungry people in the world continues to rise each year.
This year, in order to further our understanding of global hunger, the Program Directors at all three MPI sites participated in the 30-hour fast organized by World Vision International. Though allowed to consume fruit juice, we were highly encouraged to not consume solid foods or coffee (eek!) from 1:00pm this past Thursday until 7:00pm the following Friday. In addition to the fast, PD’s also participated in service activities organized through their respective sites, and discussions concerning our personal sentiments regarding the fast. In Guatemala, we began our fast with an hour of service at a local feeding program and then conducted dialogues in house and with the Ecuador PDs via Skype. The fast was both physically and emotionally taxing, but we all persevered
and I believed that we learned a great deal from the experience.
To be honest, when I first learned about the fast, I was not crazy about it for numerous reasons. Primarily, any given day, I probably spend more time eating than not, and I was not sold on the idea of forgoing food for an entire 30 hours. Additionally, I felt several moral qualms on the matter. Who were we to expect that a mere day-long fast would allow us to empathize with the suffering and turmoil of hunger victims? Watching movies on laptops, drinking clean water, and cozily sitting in our warm beds, we would be surrounded by numerous luxuries and we would have a kitchen stocked with food in case of emergency. We would begin the fast with the assurance of copious amounts of food in 30 hours and we would never suffer the anxiety of wondering the source of our next meal.
The fast also did not touch me initially at a personal level, as our physical experience of hunger would not resemble the experiences of the hungry in Chaquijyá. Many residents of Chaquijyá suffer from chronic hunger. While many of them may only eat one meal a day, they do eat. Our experience would more closely resemble the acute hunger of victims of natural disasters or war, whose food sources become cut off very suddenly. Like I said, there were numerous reasons. Overall, it seemed to me that our experience would not remotely resemble those lived by the impoverished, and I was hesitant to believe that the fast would affect my perspectives in working with the community members of Chaquijyá.
Having successfully completed the fast, I cannot say if the experience will affect how I make my lesson plans or teach my classes in Chaquijyá, but I can say that the fast did prove to be more enlightening than I had expected. Namely, even if the fast did not radically change my thoughts on world hunger, the experience did stimulate me to think. Though the fast was not “authentic” per say, hunger dominated my thoughts for 30 hours and compelled me to ask to ask more profound
questions about myself and the larger issue. Indeed, I realized that is impossible for me to fathom the experience of chronic hunger. This realization excited in me both a rush of gratitude for the numerous blessings I am fortunate to enjoy, and also a larger appreciation for the resilience of people suffering from hunger. All over the world, people who survive on minimal food still work and struggle to support families. Often the most impoverished people possess the most physically taxing jobs, and millions of hungry people toil each day all the while still nourishing love for their families, religious beliefs, and/or inner determination.
I am so grateful for the smack-in-face, out-of-the-comfort-zone experience that was the fast. Sometimes I need a shock to my system to make me open my eyes and see the world around me more clearly. Global hunger is truly a world issue that cannot be fixed in a flash by one organization or government. Whether through monetary donations, volunteering, or spreading awareness, all of us must find our own ways to contribute to the struggle to insure food security for our fellow humans.
poverty, and economic crises throughout the world, and the number of hungry people in the world continues to rise each year.
This year, in order to further our understanding of global hunger, the Program Directors at all three MPI sites participated in the 30-hour fast organized by World Vision International. Though allowed to consume fruit juice, we were highly encouraged to not consume solid foods or coffee (eek!) from 1:00pm this past Thursday until 7:00pm the following Friday. In addition to the fast, PD’s also participated in service activities organized through their respective sites, and discussions concerning our personal sentiments regarding the fast. In Guatemala, we began our fast with an hour of service at a local feeding program and then conducted dialogues in house and with the Ecuador PDs via Skype. The fast was both physically and emotionally taxing, but we all persevered
and I believed that we learned a great deal from the experience.
To be honest, when I first learned about the fast, I was not crazy about it for numerous reasons. Primarily, any given day, I probably spend more time eating than not, and I was not sold on the idea of forgoing food for an entire 30 hours. Additionally, I felt several moral qualms on the matter. Who were we to expect that a mere day-long fast would allow us to empathize with the suffering and turmoil of hunger victims? Watching movies on laptops, drinking clean water, and cozily sitting in our warm beds, we would be surrounded by numerous luxuries and we would have a kitchen stocked with food in case of emergency. We would begin the fast with the assurance of copious amounts of food in 30 hours and we would never suffer the anxiety of wondering the source of our next meal.
The fast also did not touch me initially at a personal level, as our physical experience of hunger would not resemble the experiences of the hungry in Chaquijyá. Many residents of Chaquijyá suffer from chronic hunger. While many of them may only eat one meal a day, they do eat. Our experience would more closely resemble the acute hunger of victims of natural disasters or war, whose food sources become cut off very suddenly. Like I said, there were numerous reasons. Overall, it seemed to me that our experience would not remotely resemble those lived by the impoverished, and I was hesitant to believe that the fast would affect my perspectives in working with the community members of Chaquijyá.
Having successfully completed the fast, I cannot say if the experience will affect how I make my lesson plans or teach my classes in Chaquijyá, but I can say that the fast did prove to be more enlightening than I had expected. Namely, even if the fast did not radically change my thoughts on world hunger, the experience did stimulate me to think. Though the fast was not “authentic” per say, hunger dominated my thoughts for 30 hours and compelled me to ask to ask more profound
questions about myself and the larger issue. Indeed, I realized that is impossible for me to fathom the experience of chronic hunger. This realization excited in me both a rush of gratitude for the numerous blessings I am fortunate to enjoy, and also a larger appreciation for the resilience of people suffering from hunger. All over the world, people who survive on minimal food still work and struggle to support families. Often the most impoverished people possess the most physically taxing jobs, and millions of hungry people toil each day all the while still nourishing love for their families, religious beliefs, and/or inner determination.
I am so grateful for the smack-in-face, out-of-the-comfort-zone experience that was the fast. Sometimes I need a shock to my system to make me open my eyes and see the world around me more clearly. Global hunger is truly a world issue that cannot be fixed in a flash by one organization or government. Whether through monetary donations, volunteering, or spreading awareness, all of us must find our own ways to contribute to the struggle to insure food security for our fellow humans.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Lessons from the First Day of School
As I mentioned in my previous post, last Monday marked the first day of classes for the students at the Primaria in Chaquijyá Central. Wearing new clothing and all armed with new notebooks, the school’s 300 students gathered on the basketball courts to listen to speeches by the school principal. Anxious to meet their new teachers and classmates, the younger students could hardly stand still and received frequently “Hush!”’s from the nearby teachers. Feeling mature and important, the sixth grade students coolly positioned themselves against the back wall, crossed their arms, and obviously felt way too cool to be in the same school as the tiny first graders. Overall, the scene almost perfectly matched my memories of primary school. I was astounded by the similarities between this first day of school in Chaquijyá and the opening days I experienced when I was in primary school in Virginia.
However, shortly after the introductions, an event occurred that was completely foreign to me. Before entering their classrooms, the teachers divided each grade into sections. Now, the division itself did not surprise me, as I could hardly imagine one teacher trying to lead 50+ students in a single classroom. Instead, what astounded me was the way in which these divisions were made. Esteban, the school’s director, instructed each grade to form a line in the center of the basketball court. He then moved through each line, and alternating each student, randomly assigned each student to a different section. Upon learning their section, the students ran to their new classrooms and eagerly waited to see which ones of their friends would be in their section. Ultimately, each class contained a random assortment of students, including different friend groups, skill levels, and learning styles.
These divisions astonished me. In the American private schools with which I am familiar, the faculty spends hours upon hours assigning students to different classes. Whereas the Guatemalan parents seemed content with the class sections, many American parents would in fact be livid, if their children did not have friends in their class or receive their desired teacher. Many American private school parents possess strong opinions regarding the school’s teachers and will advocate for their children to be with those teachers who they believe will most likely help them to excel.
Watching the divisions continue, I began to wonder the cause of this dissimilarity. Generally, despite their plethora of differences, I believe that the American and Mayan cultures share a surprising number of commonalities pertaining to education. No matter their incomes or number of children, parents in Virginia and Chaquijyá possess the same dreams of sending their children to universities and enabling their children to lead successful lives in an occupational field they enjoy. What larger cultural differences fuel this specific divergence regarding education?
Ultimately, it boils down to this: the culture of United States hinges on its emphasis of the individual, whereas the Mayans possess a community-centric culture. In the United States, individuals are encouraged to examine themselves, explore various activities and subjects that satisfy them, set goals, and then make those goals happen. Success is the by-product of individual initiative, diligence, and resourcefulness. Because of this mentality, American parents feel pressured to personally ensure the development of their children as successful individuals, and consequently they take active roles in deciding what authority figures will contribute to this development. Their children need teachers who best suit their individual learning styles, and consequently parents sometimes hesitate to trust the teachers who might not fit their children’s individual needs.
Conversely, Mayans in Guatemala perceive their children primarily as part of a larger community, and their children’s development is linked to the overall community’s development. Accordingly, while most parents attend monthly meetings to better the school and the community, few parents argue for their children’s specific academic needs. Teachers are community members and therefore all of them merit trust. By and large, Mayan parents believe that the community will support the children and their futures will be products of the community’s demands and opportunities.
Whether at the individual or community level, at the end of the day, Mayan and American parents are always seeking to improve the lives of their children in whatever capacity they can. I am so grateful not only to be working for the betterment of the children’s education in Chaquijyá, but also to have the opportunity to live in a different culture. Interestingly enough, by living in another culture, I have learned so much about my own culture, and I am so excited for my remaining months with Manna Project International.
However, shortly after the introductions, an event occurred that was completely foreign to me. Before entering their classrooms, the teachers divided each grade into sections. Now, the division itself did not surprise me, as I could hardly imagine one teacher trying to lead 50+ students in a single classroom. Instead, what astounded me was the way in which these divisions were made. Esteban, the school’s director, instructed each grade to form a line in the center of the basketball court. He then moved through each line, and alternating each student, randomly assigned each student to a different section. Upon learning their section, the students ran to their new classrooms and eagerly waited to see which ones of their friends would be in their section. Ultimately, each class contained a random assortment of students, including different friend groups, skill levels, and learning styles.
These divisions astonished me. In the American private schools with which I am familiar, the faculty spends hours upon hours assigning students to different classes. Whereas the Guatemalan parents seemed content with the class sections, many American parents would in fact be livid, if their children did not have friends in their class or receive their desired teacher. Many American private school parents possess strong opinions regarding the school’s teachers and will advocate for their children to be with those teachers who they believe will most likely help them to excel.
Watching the divisions continue, I began to wonder the cause of this dissimilarity. Generally, despite their plethora of differences, I believe that the American and Mayan cultures share a surprising number of commonalities pertaining to education. No matter their incomes or number of children, parents in Virginia and Chaquijyá possess the same dreams of sending their children to universities and enabling their children to lead successful lives in an occupational field they enjoy. What larger cultural differences fuel this specific divergence regarding education?
Ultimately, it boils down to this: the culture of United States hinges on its emphasis of the individual, whereas the Mayans possess a community-centric culture. In the United States, individuals are encouraged to examine themselves, explore various activities and subjects that satisfy them, set goals, and then make those goals happen. Success is the by-product of individual initiative, diligence, and resourcefulness. Because of this mentality, American parents feel pressured to personally ensure the development of their children as successful individuals, and consequently they take active roles in deciding what authority figures will contribute to this development. Their children need teachers who best suit their individual learning styles, and consequently parents sometimes hesitate to trust the teachers who might not fit their children’s individual needs.
Conversely, Mayans in Guatemala perceive their children primarily as part of a larger community, and their children’s development is linked to the overall community’s development. Accordingly, while most parents attend monthly meetings to better the school and the community, few parents argue for their children’s specific academic needs. Teachers are community members and therefore all of them merit trust. By and large, Mayan parents believe that the community will support the children and their futures will be products of the community’s demands and opportunities.
Whether at the individual or community level, at the end of the day, Mayan and American parents are always seeking to improve the lives of their children in whatever capacity they can. I am so grateful not only to be working for the betterment of the children’s education in Chaquijyá, but also to have the opportunity to live in a different culture. Interestingly enough, by living in another culture, I have learned so much about my own culture, and I am so excited for my remaining months with Manna Project International.
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