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I panicked. I had quickly secured my local currency and traveler's checks in my money belt (as was suggested by the guide books). When I reached the luggage conveyor belt, mine was nowhere in sight.
"Where is it?" My nervous voice quivered a bit. I could hardly say two Spanish words to the guard, but I didnt want to appear like a dumb North American tourist who only spoke English. "Over here." The official-looking man led me to a locked cage at the end of a darkened hall. Images of headlines like "American Lost in Guatemala City Airport" flashed through my mind.
He swung open a creaking gate. Which one?". A wave of relief swept over me as I found my sturdy suitcase still intact. The next 24 hours in the filthy, crowded streets of the capital city were quite enough for me -- thank you very much. The constant cat-calling, grime, noise, and fear of being mugged reminded me of New York City. Finally, I found my way to my destination: a bright green house-turned-Spanish school across the street from a military outpost.
I traveled to Guatemala to spend a low-cost ($110-120/week, all-inclusive) six weeks learning Spanish in the western highlands of this "land of eternal spring." Others at the school were there to study one of the 22 Mayan languages. We -- dozens of students of all ages, backgrounds and hometowns from across the U.S., Canada and Europe -- studied five hours a day in one-on-one tutoring sessions.
Neither our host families nor the townspeople spoke English, so we had around-the-clock Spanish practice. The experience gave me the opportunity to learn how Guatemalans of different ages and lifestyles lived. I was part of a weaving class in the rural village where my host mother taught elementary school. I also took part in household chores like washing clothes by hand and making tortillas from scratch.
Teaching at Centro Maya had no strict rules. Whatever interested a student became the lesson plan. One student prepared for future Central American sojourns by visiting travel agencies and restaurants with her tutor; another conversed with his teacher as they toured the city by bicycle. I visited local organizations like the local human rights office and the citys branch of the governmental women's office. I learned a lot about how Guatemalans are shaping a more just and peaceful society. The disk jockey at a small community radio station announced my visit to his listeners as he broadcast from a tiny room equipped with home electronics and egg cartons for sound cushioning. I also went to a photography exhibit documenting urban social problems such as child homelessness and environmental destruction.
Frequent side trips to nearby colonial churches, outdoor markets, hot springs and lush countryside, films, and conferences all showed us students snapshots of the many faces of Guatemala and its people. Centro Maya also offered weekly visits to the rural children's school it sponsored. Friday night communal dinners at the school, followed by fiestas, brought out the spirit of unity and shared friendship across cultures. One couple who had learned the Mayan language of Quiche used their farewell dinner to set original poetry to spontaneous guitar music.
The teacher-owners at Centro Maya came from all over the western half of the country -- both cities and villages. Not only were they patient and experienced in teaching Spanish, but they were knowledgeable about both their country and their fields of interest, such as politics, education, social science, law, religion or the environment. Some were getting graduate degrees in addition to their completed college and teacher training. If I was interested in touring the area, taking weaving or music lessons, learning about country politics, or gender relations, the teachers at Centro Maya wanted to help with information and resources. One teacher, Victoria Quiex, knew of my special interest and lent me a whole file of publications about Guatemalan women (of course they were all in Spanish). I also heard personal accounts of the brutal repression of the indigenous people in the 1980s, as I practiced my conversation skills with Monica Montejo, another teacher. Even in the private classroom, she lowered her voice as she relayed the horror of crying, "Papa, mi papa," and her heartbreak when he had fled the family home for his own safety.
The informal education I received was just as valuable as my class lessons. I saw poor indigenous families eke out a living on any rocky slope they could claim or cling to any marginal job they could get in the city. Children tended animals or crops in the impoverished pueblos (villages), instead of learning to read and write. Women begged for jobs as domestic servants ("muchachas" or girls) or sold food on street corners. One mother gathered her family's dinner by picking through a pile of vegetable rubbish at the end of the market day.
Most striking was the contrast between such poverty and the excessive wealth of the minority. Cars, trucks, U.S.-style packaged foods, appliances, and electronics were testimony to this obvious disparity. One day, I saw a gas station with a tidy, well-lit convenience store, much like I would see on any U.S. street corner. Less than 100 yards away was an elderly man laboring up a hill on a rickety bicycle laden with packages of what easily could have been 100 pounds.
Racism against the indigenous population often seemed inescapable. It was difficult to listen to the assumptions that these hard-working people had "prehistoric hands," that the white in the country's flag symbolized "the purity of the race" (I never could figure out what that meant), or that because my teachers were not from Spain, their language skills were not up to par.
The injustice of it all often gave me a heavy feeling of depression. I wrote in my journal, "How easy it is to give up and feel helpless here. But maybe that's because it's not MY country and culture that's being eroded." If it were, perhaps I would find the strength to keep it alive.
The attitude I encountered in both teachers and students at Centro Maya was such a spark of hope. The idea that "our house is your house" permeated the cool, dry mountain air around the school. "We hope we're not just your teachers," emphasized Tito Morales, "but also your friends. This is your home in Guatemala."
Johanna van Strien, a student from Holland who stayed to work as a student-teacher liaison at Centro Maya, described the atmosphere: "I love the feeling radiating from the teachers here. They all have an extreme love for their country and they share that with the students." Since the government signed a human rights accord in March 1995, theme of building a peaceful and developing society has dominated the thoughts and actions of everyone who cares about Guatemala. For the teachers at Centro Maya, that meant taking deep personal pride in their project. It was evident everywhere: in the cleanliness of the building; the welcoming atmosphere any day of the week; the care taken in everything from celebration of birthdays to making the right match between students and their host families.
"Centro Maya is more than a school -- it's a community of diligent individuals who want to make a difference in the future of Guatemala," explained Debbie Gellert, another student.
"The idea of Centro Maya is to form a learning community between teachers and students in a mutually respectful, reciprocal way," according to Pablo Hernandez, a teacher-owner. "We're working opposite of a society that says that money is the only goal. Here in Guatemala, education often distances people from each other and from their humanity. We're trying to go against that."
This philosophy manifested itself quite clearly. "The teachers at Centro Maya are very open with their lives," said Shannon Boehm of Los Angeles. They have even shared more with me than I ventured to ask. They really enjoy having us here at the school and it shows." At one Friday night dinner, Marty Lordier, a schoolteacher from Colorado, expressed the prevailing spirit at Centro Maya. The room was silent as it glowed with the candles she had shared with each student. Afterwards she added, "I just keep thinking about the hope here."
-- Our summer is a good time to visit the Guatemalan highlands. Temperatures range from daytime highs in the 80s to nighttime lows in the 50s. It's a great way to escape from the heat!
--Vegetarians beware: You may end up like me and often have just watery beans, homemade cheese, tortillas, rice or bread as choices. Vegetables may be hard to come by. A friend decided to avoid the hassles and ate chicken while she was there.
-- Centro Maya de Idiomas has two representatives (former students) in the U.S., Max Kintner and Mary Pliska . They offer excellent advice on preparing for your trip. Contact: (504) 899-4666, fax (504) 899-1869 at 710 Webster, New Orleans, LA 70118
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