Tag: Guatemala

10 Things I Will Not Do In 2012

Brendan Scott

1. I will not leave major life situations up to chance.  Playing the dice game on my phone to decide if I am going to have a second burger is fine, but not acceptable for major life changing situations.  No, I did not use my phone to help me make my decision to move back to Colorado after living in Guatemala.  That would have been stupid, plus I made that decision in 2010.

2. I will not spend half the year without a job.  2011 was a rough year for work.  I spent half the year teaching and the other half babysitting  Way to put my college degree to work. Eff em up, Eff em up GO CU!!

3. I will not read the rest of the Millennium Series.  The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo was a true bore fest.  I know Stieg Larsson was trying to create a tense mystery, but he failed to make me care about any of the characters.  And if I don’t care about the characters I don’t care about the story, he also never really put any of them in real danger (at least in the first book and at least for the first 300 pages, which is too long for me).  I guess a better way to put it, I am not going to waste my time on poorly written books.

4. I am not going to fly American Airlines.  I was surprised when in late 2011 they filed for chapter 11 Bankruptcy, because they had over charged me for several of their mistakes.  With all of the extra money I gave them I would think they would be financially sound.  Since when is it my fault that they canceled a ticket I purchased and notified me by sending me an email in, wait for it,  . . . Spanish.  A language I am not completely fluent in.  This miscommunication cost me over 200 dollars when I had to re-buy my ticket.  They also conveniently lost the recording of a phone conversation I had with one of their representatives, which would have proved the error was theirs and saved me money.  I will eventually write a blog about how much I hate American Airlines, but for now I am still too mad.

5. I am not going to be a host for a party of amoebas.  If you have traveled outside of the U.S. you understand the temptation to taste the rich local food.  It can be so colorful and exotic, but more often than not, it is also very dangerous.  So, no street food for me.  I am saying no to hotdogs for under a dollar, which is a shame because gringas, garnachas, cheveres, and tacos are great.  Living in Colorado has been a bit safer for my bowels as I have yet to walk past any of my favorite street vendors, but after Thanksgiving 2011 I wasn’t sure some of my old uninvited friends (amoebas) weren’t throwing a party in my stomach.  I am not going to host that party in 2012.

6. I am not going give up on my dream of dating Jessica Scheel (Miss Guatemala 2010).  Because if I am afraid to dream grand dreams, then I will live an empty life.  There is only one snag in this whole thing, I am just a normal guy living in the states and she is super famous (or kind of famous).  Maybe it would be better to say, I am not going to give up on my love life even though it’s seemed more like an impossible dream at times.

7. I am not going to succumb to a Zombie attack.  As many people believe that 2012 is the final year on earth and a Zombie Apocalypse is bound to happen, I vow to be prepared.  Those brain suckers will not feast on my brain.  More realistically I will not spend all of my time sitting in front of the TV.  2012 will be a year for doing and living.  It will not be a year for the undead.

8. I will not stop dreaming about Guatemala.  I am not completely sure if I am in control of this one, but I have had dreams about Guatemala, my friends and my students, almost every night for the last six months.  Typically in the dreams I am teaching at Hogwarts, but the school for wizards and witches is always located in Guatemala and the student body is not British, but Guatemalan; more specifically all of my old students.  I am not sure what these dreams mean, but I am pretty sure they will continue well in to 2012.

9. I am not going to give up on my dream of becoming a writer.  My current plan is to go back to school for my masters in  teaching, but my end goal is to be published.  I love writing and I want to be able to share my ideas with the world.  I am not going to stop dreaming this dream.

10. I am not going to live timidly, except for when it comes to street food.  The Mayan calendar ends on December 21st.  Some people think this means the end of the world, but in reality we never know how much longer we have to live.  Life is precious, so don’t hold back.  For God has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind. (2nd Timothy 1:7)

What are you not going to do in 2012?  I hope everyone has a safe and happy New Year!

How To Celebrate Christmas In Guatemala and the Meaning of Christmas

Brendan Scott

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Last year I learned the meaning of Christmas.  I spent Christmas 2010 in Guatemala, away from the snow of Colorado and more importantly away from my family.  Guatemala, or at least my home city of Xela, doesn’t celebrate Christmas the way most of the world celebrates the birth of Christ.  Sure at the Inter-American School, where I worked, we had a Christmas Play.  Last year the elementary performed the well known play Izzy Saves Christmas, where Izzy the mouse saves Christmas.  Haven’t heard of it?  Well, it’s a Guatemalan staple, or it is now.

I also taught my students what the best kind of Christmas party is; a White Elephant Party.  Who doesn’t want to go home with an alarm clock in a country where it is better to use your cellphone as an alarm at night, because anything plugged into the wall just might lose power.

But where Guatemala, and especially Xela, differs from Christmas in the United States is Christmas Eve.  Growing up as a Presbyterian Pastor’s kid in the United States, my family’s Christmas tradition centered around our church’s Christmas Eve service.  Every year, especially when I was younger, my mom would force me into my Christmas best, drive me and my sisters to church, and we would light the Christ Candle.  As I documented last year, in my blog I’ll Be Home For Christmas, my family always had the misfortune of lighting the Christ Candle, which never went smoothly.  I fought with my sister in front of 1,000 plus people who’d come to church expecting to hear how Christ came to bring peace on earth and goodwill to men.  The next year they expected something else, and I did not fail them.   I dropped a lit match on the carpet floor.  Fortunately the church didn’t burn down.

I did not have to light the Christ Candle for Christmas Eve in Xela.  I was a spectator, surrounded by friends and Guatemalan families who had come to celebrate Christ’s birth.  As much as I missed being with my family last year I enjoyed witnessing how the Latin culture celebrates Christmas.  My favorite part of the service at Saint Mark’s was the Posada.  A handful of kids marched into the church dressed as Guatemalan Marias and Joses with sumbreros and mustaches followed by a very Guatemalan baby Jesus Cristo.

Shortly after the service, after I had sung my share of Spanish Christmas Carols I headed back to my house with Skyy a fireworks crazed freshman , his mom Susan, whose house I lived at, Jen (co-worker), Blake and Amy (co-workers), Blake’s family, and Holland (another co-worker) and his boys to set off fireworks.  Ask anyone in Guatemala and they will tell you setting off fireworks is the real reason for the season.  I may have spent upwards of twenty dollars on fireworks, which didn’t even match all of the explosives Skyy brought to the table.  Us guys took the next couple of hours detonating our ammunition.  At midnight Xela sounded as if it were under attack, the entire city lit up like the large Christ Candle.

Christmas Eve has aways been family time for me, quiet and relaxing (after the Christmas Eve service at least).  This year I plan on watching “How Earnest Saved Christmas” with my two sisters.  I look forward to waking up on Christmas morning and being with my family.  But I will always remember how much fun I had lighting off fireworks and celebrating my savior’s birth with people my Guatemalan family.

Christmas is not about what you do, what you give or what you get, but in the end it is about enjoying the birth of Christ with those who are around you.  No matter where you are.  Last year on Christmas day Donna and Laurel McMarlin (Laurel was one of my co-workers) welcomed me into their family and shared their Christmas with me.  They helped make what could have been a lonely day, a day full of love and celebration, which made for a perfect Christmas.

An American Adventure

Brendan Scott

After living in Guatemala for three years the idea of moving back to the United States sounded boring.  I thought, “Where’s the challenge in living in a country where I speak the language fluently?”

But readjusting to the states has been different than I expected.  While I can talk to almost everyone I meet, life here is still a challenge.  Just because I can communicate with everyone doesn’t mean making friends has happened effortlessly.

A couple of weeks ago, before the weather turned, I was transplanting trees for my uncle and it made me think about how hard it is to move.  To transplant a tree correctly the timing and soil must be right.  Pick the wrong season and the tree will whither and if the dirt is too hard the tree’s roots will never extend far enough to keep the tree alive.  And not to mention a lot of water must be added to keep the tree healthy in its new home.  It is also a lot of hard work for the person digging up the tree.  The trees roots must be left intact so that it can take hold in its new hole.

After I dug up and transplanted the fourth tree I was ready to admit change comes just about as difficultly for humans.  We root ourselves in our own holes and resist being transplanted even if there might be a better location for us.  Two of the trees I dug up and transplanted were hidden behind large pines.  They’d been there for years and years and their roots had taken hold in the dirt, but no one could see these trees.  They were wasted back behind the pines, but once I dug them up and planted them in their new holes my aunt said to me, “It looks as if they’ve always been there.  Like they’ve belonged there all along.”  She was right.  These two trees looked beautiful in their new locations and even if the change was difficult, it was good for them.

I know my life might not seem as adventurous as it was when I was living in Guatemala, but a challenge can be taken as an adventure if one keeps his or her eyes open and is willing to look for the bigger story.  And the challenge of taking jobs when I can get them  is a change that I hope has been good for me too.

I believe that my American adventure is just starting and I am excited to see where God plants me.  When God plants me into the soil he has prepared for me I know my roots will take hold and God will continue to grow me into the beautiful creation he created me to be, that’s his bigger story.  But if that is to happen I must be willing to let him do the work in me he desires to do.

No matter where I live I must live in his will, because that is right where I need to be and that’s when the true adventure begins.

Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own

Brendan Scott

If time heals all wounds, do you think all the wounds have been healed?  This, the morning after, a decade later.

Many of the students I taught at the Inter-American School in Xela have never known a world with the Twin Towers.  One student, Sebastian, a squirrely little boy who would rather make his classmates laugh than kick in the winning run in kickball, was born in Canada on the day of the 9-11 attacks.  His life will always be strangely connected to the attacks.  He came into the world as so many were taken away.

Last year, as he celebrated his birthday at IAS, I asked his mom what it was like for her on that day.  She told me the doctors didn’t let her know what was going on and that for her the day had been a true blessing.  Sebastian, is a true blessing.  His laugh and the myriad of nicknames he dumped on me always made teaching him PE enjoyable.  Life has gone on.  But I know many of us cannot forget what happened.

10 years later and many of us are still wondering how we move forward from here.

September 11th, 2001 started like any Tuesday for me.  I was a month in to my new school at Battle Mountain High School, my new life in Vail, Colorado.  I was lonely but I didn’t want to make friends, because I figured I would just move off in a year for college.  I had built up a hard shell of isolationism.  The move from Tulsa to Vail hurt me deeply.  The loss I felt when I left the friends I had known almost my whole life redefined who I was.  I was no longer the leader at my church.  I felt like a nobody.  I felt weak.  The move took away my confidence and sadly I didn’t want to find it again.  I felt I was just okay floating along until college.

As the day unfolded on the televisions, which were tuned in to the news in all of my classes, our identity as a nation changed.  We were once independent and indestructible. As the towers crumbled, I knew we’d never be the same.  I knew I needed people, sadly a knowledge I didn’t act on right away.  And as the months passed I believe the entire nation realized it needed one another as well.  The hard shell of our nation was cracked, if only just a little, that day.  As we mourned the loss of so many people, we came together.  We were hurt.  And we changed.

September 12th, 2001 was the day we all picked ourselves up and began to move forward.  We started to change, but what change has really occurred?

Maybe you were one of the first responders.  Maybe September 12, 2001 was your second day digging through the rubble of the collapsed buildings.  Maybe you were one of the first to enlist in our nations armed forces.  Maybe you were one of the first to be deployed overseas to Afghanistan.  Maybe you were one of the first to march into Bagdad and liberate an oppressed people.  Maybe you were one of the pastors who comforted those who lost loved ones.  Maybe you were, like me, just a student who stared at the television and watched the world change.  I watched and watched and watched.  I was drawn in by the stories of loss, horror, and hope.  By nightfall on the 12th, 82 people had been confirmed dead and 11 people had been rescued.  I believe we’d realized that sometimes you can’t make it on your own.

U2’s lead singer, Bono, wrote the song Sometimes You can’t Make It On Your Own while dealing with the loss of his father, but as it seems to happen the words speak to a deeper truth.

Tough, you think you’ve got the stuff
You’re telling me and anyone
You’re hard enough

You don’t have to put up a fight
You don’t have to always be right
Let me take some of the punches
For you tonight

Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don’t have to go in alone

And it’s you when I look in the mirror
And it’s you when I don’t pick up the phone
Sometimes you can’t make it on your own

We fight all the time
You and I… that’s alright
We’re the same soul
I don’t need… I don’t need to hear you say
That if we weren’t so alike
You’d like me a whole lot more

Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don’t have to go it alone

And it’s you when I look in the mirror
And it’s you when I don’t pick up the phone
Sometimes you can’t make it on your own

I know that we don’t talk
I’m sick of it all
Can, you, hear, me, when, I, sing
You’re the reason I sing
You’re the reason why the opera is in me

Hey now, still gotta let ya know
A house doesn’t make a home
Don’t leave me here alone

And it’s you when I look in the mirror
And it’s you that makes it hard to let go
Sometimes you can’t make it on your own
Sometimes you can’t make it
Best you can do is to fake it
Sometimes you can’t make it on your own

If time really does heal all wounds, I think 10 years later we would all be fine.  But people still hurt.  People still see today, ten years after the first day after, as if September 11th, 2001 was yesterday.  10 years later I hope we all know that we are not alone.  And together, unified, is the only way to move forward.

But is being united truly enough?

Over the last ten years I moved forward.  I broke out of my shell, graduated from both high school and college, and then moved to Guatemala.  For me Guatemala has been and will be the most definitive time in my life.  As I lived outside of my home country, away from every comfort I’d grown up with, I realized how much I needed God in my life.  And I found out that God has something for me.

I believe God has something for the United States as well.  On September 12th, 2001 he began the healing.  While we were all in mourning, while we were all being led away from whatever was normal just 48 hours before, God was busy working.  Over the past ten years, while we came together as a nation, we have all been in a form of exile.  Being an American has been something different, our indestructible identity is gone.  We are still proud, as we should be, but the pain of being attacked still lingers, maybe in a way no one thought it would.  I believe the biggest change we have undergone as Americans is not knowing how to be who we are, Americans.

Do we love?  Do we realize we need each other?  Or do we stand apart?  Do we mourn alone-wrapped up in our own fear?  Do we stay in exile, confused about who we are and what God has for us?  Or do we come back to our foundations?  It is a new decade.  It is time for us to realize that God has a plan for us all.  As he said to the exiled Israelites through the profit Jeremiah, “This is what the Lord says: ‘Whenever seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my gracious promise to bring you back to this place.  For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  You will seek me and find me when you seek me with your whole heart.”

Are we going to be a nation that finally turns its eyes to God?

We have fought to defend ourselves.  We have strengthened our defenses.  Can we lay our weapons down when it matters?  Can we love when love is what is needed most?  On September 11th we were all hurt badly.  It has been ten years and one day.  Let this be the first day we love first instead of hardening our hearts toward everything that might hurt us.  How long must we sing this song of hurt and pain?  Not another ten years.  Not another day.

We must wait on God and seek him out with our whole hearts the way King David did when he wrote Psalm 40because he will bless us with something new.

I waited patently for the Lord;

He inclined and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit,

out of the mud and mire;

He set my feet on a rock

and gave me a firm place to stand,

He put a new song in my mouth,

A hymn of praise to our God.

Many will see and fear

and put their trust in the Lord.

Zombie Tag and the Top 10 Things I’ll Miss About Guatemala

Brendan Scott

What will I miss about Guatemala?  Not much-A whole lot.  How ready am I to live in the states again?  Very-Not at all.  You may have guessed it, I’m a mixed bag of emotions about my departure from Guatemala.  I will miss the slower lifestyle.  I love how in Xela I can walk from my gym at one end of town to my house at the other end in twenty minutes.  I hate how on a rainy day the streets fill like rivers and cars swerve to splash through the puddles just so they can make sure I absolutely do not make it home dry.  Even though the cars splash me, I still enjoy Guatemala and it has become my home.

Here is my top 10 things I will miss about Guatemala:

  1.  My students constantly trying to make me repeat after them in Spanish. “Mister, burros dice que . . . ?”  If you repeat something quickly enough I guess I’ll say what.
  2. The ayudantes (the driver’s assistants who take all of the payments on the chicken-bus or microbus) constantly trying to help me on and off the minibus, as if after three years I still didn’t know my way around Xela.
  3. The risk of buying cheap movies on the street that the vendor promises are in English.  Will it be in English?  I hope it wasn’t filmed in the theater.  What?  It’s in Russian?  At least they’ll exchange the movie for another one if it doesn’t work.*
  4. The constant attention from the shoe shine boys in parque central.  No, I don’t want my shoes shined, can’t you see I am a gringo and I wear sandals all of the time?
  5. Taking my pre-kinder students out to the basketball court to play with the hula hoops and the boys fighting over the more manly colored hoops.  “Yo quiero azul!!”  Or how one very little boy always wanted the small “ula ula” because, as he said, “Yo soy muy chicito!” It’s hard to take these boys seriously when they’re trying to claim to be manly and really little all at the same time.
  6. The lack of safety rules in Guatemala.  “Oh you want to go and roast a marsh-mellow on that lava flow?  Absolutely, and I’ll take your picture!”
  7. Playing Wii ping-pong with my friends and co-workers until late in the night.  (Only on nights we had power.)
  8. Playing Zombie tag with my Kindergarten class out on the basketball court at the Inter-American School.  They love trying to eat each other’s brains.  And their pronunciation of “Must Eat Brain” always made me smile.  Just say, “mustefrain” and chase your friends around like a zombie and you can play Zombie tag too.
  9. Listening to it rain.  The cars may swerve to hit the puddles so they can splash me and other walkers, but the sound of rain drops hitting the rooftops is mesmerizing.
  10. My students.  Hiking with them up La Muela.  Challenging them to become better writers, students, and people.  Having them challenge me to be the best I can be.  They made my time in Guatemala truly an adventure.

Not mentioned in this list.  The many dance parties.  And how my students love my crazy dance moves.  All I want is for them to learn to let go a little and have fun no matter what.

A few things I will not miss.

  1. Being over charged on a microbus, not to mention over stuffed, (I’ve been packed in one of those 15 passenger vans along with 35 other people).  Yes, I am a white North-American, but that doesn’t mean I have to pay more than everyone else.  It’s 1.25 Q for a microbus ride anywhere in town, just incase you’re interested.  I learned to always pay with exact change.
  2. Trash, trash, trash everywhere.  The mentalities of “oh we have someone to clean that up for us,” or “this plastic is biodegradable, right?” are really hurting Guatemala’s natural beauty.  I might start a relief cause “Dumpsters for Guatemala.”
  3. The slow and often inconsistent internet.  Man, I would love to check out that video of Justin Bieber, but unfortunately my internet isn’t fast enough.  I guess I’ll just have to miss it. (read with a hint of sarcasm.)
  4. Never knowing when the lights will come back on.  It’s been out all night for the past two days.  I’m glad I hadn’t really wanted to Skype with my family back home.
  5. How difficult it is to fly out of Guatemala.  Weather is always a problem here.  I’ve been delayed because of snow storms (yes, these storms were in the US), volcano eruptions, tropical storms (Agatha!!!!), and random thunderstorms.  Not to mention the fact that when you live in Xela you always have to drive to  Guate the day before your flight, which makes everything a little more drawn out.
It would have been very easy to come up with more than five things that I wont miss, but it also would have been even easier to name more than 10 reasons why I will miss Guatemala.  I have come to love this country, even with all of it’s quirks.  I am going to miss the country and even more so the people dearly.  Thank you for the past three years.
 
 
*I know it’s illegal, but when living in another country it’s hard to see movies any other way.  Plus it helps out the local economy.  And if the dvd doesn’t work you can go back and exchange it for another one.  No questions asked.

Brendan verses La Muela

Brendan Scott

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La Muela sits outside of Xela (Quetzaltenango, Guatemala) like a giant molar waiting to grind out puny little hikers like raw meat.  During the dry season, a hike up to La Muela, which isn’t the summit of the actual mountain, but the main destination for day hikers and therefore I refer to it as the summit from here on out, is a quick but challenging trek that offers a beautiful view of the city.  During the rainy season, hiking La Muela is a completely different monster.  It is best to start the hike early in the morning, as the skies can almost be guaranteed to dump rain anywhere from 12 o’clock on.

On tuesday the 7th, my plan was to start climbing early so I could avoid the rain.  I had invited some of my students along and had asked them to be at my house at 9 am.  Maybe I should have asked them to be there earlier.  Only Hugo showed up at 9, but I wasn’t too worried, Guatemalans are typically late and I was following Michael Slocker’s (my brother-in-law) statuses on facebook, because Katie, my sister, was at the hospital about to give birth to Lincoln, their second child!!!

Finally by 10 o’clock everyone arrived and I was pulled away from my computer scene.  I only found out later that my nephew was born at 7 pounds 7 ounces.  He’s going to be a John Elway fan for sure!  As we headed out of the house I should have pushed my fellow hikers, Jose Pab (otherwise known as Little Pablito), Sani, Skyy, Marcos, Skippy, Hugo, Juan, and Dani (the only girl to brave the trek), to take a taxi up to the beginning of the trail, but the boys wanted to hike the entire trail, which includes a good section on the road out of Xela up to Almolonga (an outlying town).  Cars speed up and down this steep road, but the boys ran up it with a fearless attitude only boys seem to have.  Dani kept telling me that I was trying to kill her.  So we hailed a taxi as soon as we saw one, which wasn’t very soon.  He charged us an exorbitant amount, for the distance he took us, but it was worth it.  I could tell Dani didn’t want to walk up that road much further.  Most of the boys decided to hike the entire way, so we waited for them where the dirt trail leaves the cobbled road.

We pushed our way up past the random soccer field that sits at 9,000 some odd feet and then climbed up the rocks that would soon be slick with rain.  As we climbed higher, the clouds dropped lower.  Shortly before noon we were enveloped in a cloud, it was dry, but I could tell the rain was on its way.  As the cloud draped itself around us, several of the kids mentioned how it made them feel like we were on the moon.  I felt more like I was on a volcanic adventure.  In fact the rocks that make up La Muela used to be part of a volcano, which exploded, littering the terrain with giant volcanic rocks.  We were in a different world than the one we’d hiked out of a couple hours before.  We’d left behind houses and busy streets.  We were now all alone.  Just us and nature.  The cloud made it feel like God wasn’t even there.

But we climbed higher and the cloud drifted away.  Like children freed from the watchful gaze of their parents we clambered up toward the summit of the molar.  The tip of La Muela is a sharp volcanic rock that juts toothlike up into the sky.  Often Mayan worshipers can be found offering sacrifices at this tooth like structure.  They climb from grass to boulders to the tooth to reach the top.  On the 7th we didn’t climb to the top to offer any sacrifices to the Mayan gods, yet I wasn’t sure with the thunder growing louder that we might be sacrificed anyway.

“Let’s get out of here,” shouted a couple of the kids as thunder cracked right above us.  “NO, I need a picture to prove we were here,” I replied as I scrambled to the sharp summit.  We snapped our pictures and began our descent.   To make it down from the summit rock climbing skills are required.  Some of the kids were a little nervous about this part of the hike.  I made sure I stayed right behind them and showed each where to place their hands and feet.  I love helping people challenge themselves so they can reach goals they never thought possible.

Climbing down off of the summit was hard, but all of them made it.  And I think because they challenged themselves they now know they can do more than they thought they could before.

As I stepped down from the rock we’d all just descended the rain started.  It started slowly but it was consistent, making the rocks as slick as a Guatemalan politician’s hairdo.  While we were off of the summit we weren’t down yet.  The rocks bellow the summit almost form a rigid crown around the molar creating a natural burier.
We decided to continue our descent through a small hole in one of the rocks in the burier.  Normally I go around the burier, but the kids wanted an adventure, so we ducked down between the small opening in the rocks.  I had forgotten that going through this crack was a bit trickier than the way we had ascended.  Skippy, Dani, and I made it through the crack, but the other boys backed out.  Skyy, Hugo, and Juan and flat-out disappeared and I had told the other boys, Marcos, Pab, and Sani, to descend the way we had hiked up, which would mean they would meet us on the other side of the crack, but as soon as I made it through the crack I realized they had not followed my instructions.  So as quickly as possible I leapt back up the wet rocks to find where the boys were.   As I reached the place I had last seen them I realized that Marcos’s group had followed Skyy, Hugo, and Juan.  I spotted them bellow going in the opposite direction from which I had told them.  I shouted down to them through the rain to come back up and follow me, but they refused.  Wet and needing to go help Dani and Skippy I told them to meet us at the soccer field.

Hikes always go awry as soon as people split up.  I knew things could spin out of control if I wasn’t careful.  Fortunately Dani, Skippy, and I made it to the soccer field safely.  Sani, Pab, and Marcos sauntered out of the woods opposite of us about 10 minutes later.  Relief.  We called Skyy to find out where they were on the mountain.  “Oh, we’re already almost home,” replied Skyy calmly.  We stood perplexed.  How did they make it down so quickly.  We made our way down to the road in the rain and waited for Susan, Skyy’s mom, to pick us up so we wouldn’t have to walk for another hour in the rain.

As I stood under the cover of a little tienda, near the trail-head, waiting out the rain, I started thinking about how much I am going to miss these adventures.  My hikes up La Muela have made the mountain familiar, yet each time it surprises me with a new fun challenge, like hiking it in the rain with a group of crazy kids.  Although, I think the kids challenged me more than the rain.  That’s why I am going to miss the relationships I have forged over the last three years more than the hikes.  As I have spent time with them, inside and outside the classroom, they have challenged me to become a better teacher and friend.  Hopefully these friendships will last as long as the mountain we climbed.  The rocks may move during each earthquake, and it’s rather scary when they do (I know from experience, but that’s another story), but I know these friendships will last the next shake up in my life.

Mother’s Day Twice a Year

Brendan Scott

Tuesday morning five a.m. and an explosion rips me from my sleep.  Who’s birthday is it? (It is common for birthdays to be celebrated here with a barrage of fireworks at the crack of dawn.) I think as I roll over and try to drift back to sleep.  It wasn’t someone’s birthday, it was Mother’s Day.  But wasn’t Mother’s Day on Sunday?

Here in Guatemala, Dia De Las Madres is always celebrated on the 10th of May, and what better way to celebrate your mom than to set off a battery of fire works.  At least I wasn’t woken by a live marimba band at 5 in the morning like I was two years ago on Mother’s Day; horrible.  All morning, as I taught PE outside on the basketball court, the sound of mothers being celebrated drowned out the screams of excitement from my elementary students.

If you are ever in need of fireworks, you don’t need to drive to the county line because Guatemala has an abundant supply of what you want; even after the firework factory exploded during lunch last week, I had been sitting in the library when I heard a distant rumble.  At first I thought it was thunder, but it was a blue sky day.  Maybe Xela was under attack!  Nope!  The fireworks factory had caught fire due to the heat and exploded.  Sadly, the explosion didn’t limit the amount of fireworks sold to the many sons and daughters in Xela.  My Tuesday morning was one explosion after another.  And fortunately, unlike on Sunday, none of those explosions happened inside of my body.

Guatemalans really know how to celebrate their moms.  But just because in the states people don’t set off fireworks doesn’t mean us, US Americans, don’t love our moms.  On Sunday, I spent most of my day Skyping with my family.  Holidays are hard days for me to be away from my family, I can’t physically walk up to my mom and give her a hug.  As I sat Skyping with  my mom, it almost felt like I was home.  But almost only works in horse shoes and fireworks.  Like I almost regained my hearing after the umpteenth million firework exploded on the Guatemalan’s May 10th Mother’s Day.

I’m glad that my family celebrates Mother’s Day in a more laid back fashion.  As nice as it was to Skype my mom I would rather have been able to be in Colorado and light off a few fireworks to celebrate her in Guatemalan fashion; at least I would have been there.

I love Guatemala, all of it’s quirks and explosions.  It is a unique little country and has really become a beloved second home, but it’s hard to be here during major holidays.  On Mother’s Day I felt the pull to be home so I could spend some quality time with my family for the first time in nearly ten months.  But on the flip side, with a little more than month left here in Guatemala I don’t want to leave.  I want to stay and soak up all of the little bits of Guatemala that I can.  It is hard living with these two desires.  I know I’m moving, but I’ve also decided to live in the present as much as possible, so I am trying my hardest not to think about my move.  I love how Guatemala celebrates their moms and yet I know moving back home will be a great thing; I’ll be able to celebrate my mom in person.  What’s better than that?

A Day in Guatemala

Brendan Scott

Guatemala, my second home, is a beautiful and diverse country.  It has everything from the beautiful Lago Atitlan, the ancient pyramids of Tikal, the magnificent cascading waterfalls of Semuc Champey, the colonial cobbled streets of Antigua shaded by active Pacaya, and a proud and busy second city in Xela crowned by Volcan Santa Maria in the distance.

When I first came to Guatemala, I expected it’s natural beauty, but I’ve been continually surprised by Guatemala’s economic and educational gaps.  About 69% of Guatemalans older than 15 are literate and according to the CIA world factbook 56% of Guatemalans live in poverty.  In Guatemala the wealthy and educated are very wealthy and, as a teacher I may say this, fairly well educated, but they are in stark contrast to the poor that make up the rest of the country.

On any day in Xela I walk by members of the lower class.  Typically dressed in tipicos (their traditional dress) chewing gum and smiling or laughing with a baby on her back and a basket of corn tortillas balanced perfectly on her head.  She works hard, but is economically just above the handicapped beggars.  Many beggars are missing legs, teeth, arms, or other essential body parts, and are forced to sit on street corners waiting for any change to fall toward them.  Both the girl and the beggar have been forced to scrape the dust of the wealthy for a living, which has not given them the time to be educated.  And without education a person can’t grow.  They are forced to do menial jobs.  One such job might be charging one quetzal (Guatemala’s currency 8 quetzals to 1 dollar) to use their bathroom on the side of the road.

Having lived in Guatemala for three years, I feel like I’ve seem most of her extremes; her natural beauty, her wealth, and her poverty, but often I don’t encounter them in one day.  But that is just what happened during the first weekend of Holy Week.  While on the bus to Guatemala City I saw poverty.  Well, I wasn’t on the bus.  I’d jumped off between Solola and the next town.  My bladder was screaming, so I was thankful when the bus stopped so the driver could grab a snack.  It was 8:30 am and the roadside was teaming with food vendors.  I could tell I had time to empty my body of the Dr. Pepper I’d drunk.  As I stepped off the bus, I saw a little boy in a plain t-shirt, no older than second grade, manning a table in front of what seemed to be a room for bathrooms.  Growing up in the states I still dislike paying for restrooms, but I am sure this kid and his family are doing all that they can for a living, so I payed him the Q and walked past the table.  What I found was not a bathroom, the floor was dirt and it didn’t have a  complete roof (tin topped the stalls so at least if it was raining I could relieve myself and not get wet), but an unfinished section of the building with three old blue wooden doors with three 10 gallon barrels filled with water in front.  Two of the doors were locked from the outside, I’m assuming the toilets behind those doors were broke beyond repair because a dirty toilet hasn’t stopped many Guatemalans from using them, and the third was occupied.

I glanced over my shoulder to see if the bus was still there.  I could see the top of the bus from the natural skylight the boy’s family had designed into their building (it’s fun to look for the positives in these situations).  As I waited in line I realized that the water in the barrels was for flushing (not all of Guatemala has running water).  Each barrel contained a small bucket so the user could tote the water into the toilet and flush down their deposit.  The first stall opened up and I wanted to bolt inside, but the man had to fill the toilet so he could flush.  Ages passed and the line wasn’t getting shorter so I decided to pick a spot in the corner and moistened the dirt bellow my feet.  After making water I turned to see the bus rolling away.  Thank goodness for that skylight.  I zipped up and ran.  I was not the only one running, a few of the other patrons were dashing toward the bus as well.  Fortunately the bus stopped and I climbed aboard and made it to Guatemala City.  In the city I saw extravagance.

After an American breakfast at IHOP, the pancakes tasted refreshingly good, I made it to Oakland Mall.  If my description of the roadside rest stop matched most of your pre-conceived notions of Guatemala, even my little sister asked me when I first moved down here if I was living in a hut, then let Oakland Mall completely destroy those notions.  It is grand; home to an aquarium, a large food court and a beautiful movie theater.  Seeing a movie was the whole reason why I went to Guatemala City.  The VIP movie theater is outfitted with fully reclining leather seats and waiters ready to take your order from a complete menu all for only 68 Q (under 10 dollars), making it the fanciest movie theater I’ve ever watched a movie in.  It felt like luxury meant for kings.

It’s funny how after three years in Guatemala a day like this has come to feel normal.  Most people would experience culture shock.  Maybe I can chalk it up to the dismissive phrase, “Only in Guatemala.”  Yes Guatemala is beautifully diverse, and yes some if it’s extremes need to change, but for now I’m going to enjoy where I live.

How Did I End Up Here?

Brendan Scott

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Here I am stuck in the third world.  Three years pinned down with no guarantee of electricity, dry streets, or connection to the outside world.  Maybe stuck and pinned aren’t the correct words, but sometimes they’re the only way to describe how I feel.  I felt stuck at times during my first year in Xela, when I didn’t feel like I had any friends.  I felt stuck when my friends’ weddings passed me by and I couldn’t go.  I’ve missed at least two weddings and one birth; not fun.  And I felt stuck last June when tropical storm Agatha wouldn’t let me leave; all I wanted to do was be home with my family.  It was as if I had my hand pinned between a rock and I couldn’t move, just like Aaron Ralston, who’s harrowing struggle with a rock was the subject of the Oscar nominated movie “127 Hours” staring James Franco.  Fortunately over the course of two and a half years I’ve realized what a blessing it has been to be stuck in Xela.  And after watching “127 Hours,” I’m glad I didn’t have to give up an arm to realize the importance of having a community.  I’ve celebrated three birthdays away from my family and the friends I grew up with, and it’s been hard not having them around.  But it has also shown me how blessed I am here in Guatemala.  I am not alone.

I came to Guatemala as an individual, all alone.  Unlike Aaron Ralston, I didn’t come as a man who wanted solitude, dreaming of living life on my own, but as an individual who wanted to see what life outside of the states had to offer.  From the very start, when I was only 24, I knew I needed people around me to make my life worth living.  Now I am 27 and I feel like I have more of what it takes to be a man than I did when I first found myself stuck in the guat.  I know being a man doesn’t mean doing everything on my own, but having a community to share with.

Most people would say Brett Favre and Aaron Rodgers are men, despite both having played for the Greenbay Packers.   According to stats I’ve read about Brett Favre and Aaron Rodgers, both won their only Super Bowls at 27.  At 27 I have yet to win a Super Bowl.  But who knows I might move back to the states and join the Broncos and win multiple Super Bowls.  If men are judged on what they have done, then am I a man?  Sadly, I haven’t won a Super Bowl yet.  I could win multiple Super Bowls (Be better than Brett and Aaron) but that’s not what would define me.  You know what I have done though, what defines me?  I have begun to write again.  I have decided to go after my dreams, not Aaron’s or Brett’s.  Last month I applied to a creative writing program.  If I am accepted or not, at 27 I know that I am doing what it takes to be a man.  Each day I set out to love those around me in the best way that I can.  Because maybe they need to know that they need someone.  I am adding my life to the community around me and hopefully with a little love mixed in I’ll end up at age 28 stuck right where God wants me.

Here are some of the fun memories from my 27th birthday.

-On my Birthday I was showered with hugs and choruses of Happy Birthday (both in English and Spanish).  I think my favorite gift was when I walked into the elementary lunch room and the Kindergartners jumped up with excitement and started singing to me.

-That night most of my friends, most everyone on the Inter-American staff, came out to have dinner at Don Rodrigos, a little restaurant that serves beer and burgers.  I had a sandwich and an Orange Crush, ha!

-On Saturday night my students, most of the high schoolers, took me out to pizza.  Sometimes the freshmen boys, especially Skyy and Jose Pab, are a little crazy, but they know how to make someone feel appreciated.  And I am grateful for them.

-On Sunday I went ziplining with Jon, Laura, Kacey, Blake, Amy, Fernando, Stephanie, Mike, and Karen at Velo Xtremo, just a few of the people my life has been mixed with.  We all risked our lives and had a zipping good time doing it!

Life would not be worth living if I didn’t have all of you, my readers and my friends in Guatemala, around me.  Thank you for the part you have played in my past 27 years.  Here’s to many more!!

Tarantula Poop in Tikal

Brendan Scott

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Twas a month or so past I treked up to Tikal.  There I took hold a terrible tarantula, whom mistook my arm for a toilet.  Probably trying to be polite but it was perturbing.  Perhaps my skin was appealing and so pooping on my arm was pleasing.   I ponder not.

Maybe the Mayan monthly calendar was marked for a might of exscramient on my clean arm.  Maybe December 20th 2010 marked the mutual end of my relationship with spiders.  Possibly pesky spiders pretend to be pets, patiently pining their time to poop on the unsuspecting passer by.

Terrible tarantula try not to use the arm of another poor person.  Maybe make a mess on the grass.  Perhaps you probably thought you were only going to pass gas.  To trust a toot is a thing I hope you try not again.  Promptly I plopped the primevil eight legged plodder on the ground close to the pyramid before the tarantula tried ploting to poop again.