Mangos, Pinol, and other deliciousness

I feel I should briefly explain how mangos got into my blog title. I was trying to think of things that defined my experience in Guatemala up to that point. I didn’t want to belittle my work experience in any way, but I did want to emphasize the importance of food and culture in my time here.

Having just returned from lunch, I am full! I finally had my first pinol today. I have been told of the deliciousness of pinol since my arrival, but I mistakenly believed you could still get it for dinner. Every time I have tried to go, there is never any left. So today, after I ate my tamales de flor de arroz, I ventured up to the market with my own bowl (as I had been warned that the pinol ladies sometimes used sketchy water to wash the dishes) and made my way through the maze of stalls to find the evasive pinol. I knew it was a soup of some sort but I really did not know what to expect other than that. After asking a few people, I arrived at a stall and asked for a 3 Q portion. The woman tore off some chicken and put it in my bowl then added the broth. It is a thick, corn based broth that is fairly salty and has lots of spices. At the least I could locate pepper and chile, but other than that I could not decipher the blend. Along with the tortillas and a liquado, it was the perfect Guatemalan lunch. Yum!

Normally for lunch, I make the trek from way down at the office up to my favourite comador (aka eatery) La Cobanera. Everyone who works in the kitchen is really nice, and the food is pretty standard but definitely good. There are only ever two options, which change daily, but they involve chicken prepared in some way and beef prepared in another. Along with it there is always rice and tortillas and then some sort of vegetable. I like when they make the mix of carrots and this Guatemalan squash stuff with a little bit of mayonnaise, though the field cucumber doused in fresh lime juice is a tangy, refreshing treat too. Sometimes there are beets, other times stewed squash, and once there was avocado. Oh- also its so good when there are yellow corn tortillas instead of white ones. They are sweet and somehow just more delicious.

For breakfast I usually pick up a bit of pan dulce (sweet bread) in one of its many shapes from a panaderia on my way to work. One of my former housemates commented on the fact that really all the bread tastes the same, with the exception of their version of French bread; it just comes in different shapes. I think his observation is fairly true. Upon entering the bread shop, the only question I am really left to ponder is which bread looks the freshest. It doesn’t matter if it’s the little round bread with the blob of sugary confection on top or the longer bread in the shape of a tree leaf with sesame seeds and sugary confection on top, its going to taste the same. Sometimes it will be so stale that its barely edible, and others it will be fresh out of the oven, there really is just no telling.

While that doesn’t really sound like a very substantial breakfast, it is usually supplemented with mangoes at the office. Who knew there were so many different varieties of mangos? The ones that come from the tree at work are medium to large- sized and are amazingly sweet and juicy. They are so flavourful! I used to think that mangos tasted like peaches mixed with the flavour of pine, but now I realise that analysis is symptomatic of my limited mango exposure via imported mangos in Canada. These ones actually taste like honey. They are perfect. Lately, the woman who cleans the office has been bringing in a basket of little mangos from her house in the nearby community of Pichec. They are called mangos de leche (milk mangos), though to me they taste nothing like milk. Sandra always squeezes them to mush inside the skin and sucks out the sweet juice. However, now that it is rainy season, you have to be careful about worms, so I peel them like a normal mango and chow down. I learned that this is important strategy when I was eating a big one at work and I felt a worm crawling up my arm. Worms or not, when they are still warm from being sun kissed, they are such a wonderful treat. Sadly, mango season is coming to and end. It has been sweet and delicious while it has lasted, and I have definitely had my fair share. I will miss my 11 o clock mango break, but apparently the infamous Rabinal orange season is around the corner.



This post has gotten really long, and I still haven’t discussed the glories of a Guatemalan breakfast. Or avocados, cilantro, guacamole, barbequed green onions, barbeque in general, gringas, dobladas, or market pizza. I will leave you drooling with those thoughts as I head up to the market to get my favourite after work snack- tortillas filled with onions and meat, grilled and topped with ketchup, mayo and piquante. Mmmm!

What are you doing in Guatemala?

As the rain pours down outside near the end of another day at the office, I thought it was time to write a little about my work here in Rabinal.

Before coming, I knew little about Guatemala other than its rich cultural Mayan history in the Pre-Colombian era. After first year law exams ended, I spent some time in Victoria reading the Recovery of Historical Memory (REMHI) Report written by Bishop Gerardi called Guatemala: Nunca Mas-Never Again. It was released in April of 1998, and 2 days later Bishop Gerardi was violently killed in his home in the capital. When I arrived, I read more in the UN sponsored Clarification of Historical Memory (CEH) Report and a lot of info about the massacres that occurred here in Rabinal and the surrounding communities. I feel better informed, but I'm sure there is still so much more that I don't know. My tenuous grasp on the situation in Guatemala becomes more concrete every day, but I still feel like I'm at the base of a mountain of information to scale. Nonetheless, I am here, working in solidarity with people in hopes attaining some semblance of justice.

Often my work feels divorced from the people with whom I interact every day. I do a lot of research on the international system we are using regarding specific questions posed by the lawyer with whom I work. My Westlaw password is once again ingrained in my memory and my USB chip is filled with jurisprudence of the court and commission. But every so often, just as I am beginning to become frustrated with the unstable Internet connection or feel like I am not making a concrete contribution, I get a refreshing reminder of why I am here.

A week and a half ago, I went to a meeting in one the nearby communities. We were at a woman´s house and on the porch area maybe about 30 women from the community were there. Each one had lost a husband, son, or brother in the massacre in their village. We were there to say that we wanted to help bring their case before the system we are using to seek justice. We couldn't promise money or anything other than the State's recognition of the wrongs that occurred 26 years earlier. These women all were totally on board and as we went through the list of names we had (I think they were from the exhumations or other petitions that have been filed), they all knew which relatives belonged to which victim and the dates of their death, or exhumation, or whether they were disappeared. I was sitting beside this woman who just exuded wisdom and strength, and the first name on the list was her husband. Mi esposo. It was so intense. And yet, these women didn't show sadness. They were laughing and sharing amongst each other, clarifying dates and places. Since the woman who was doing a lot of the speaking is pregnant, I was writing the names on the chart paper, which was an interesting experience in Achi orthography in and of itself, and I think the women were laughing with me at this attempt. Even though I had no clue really what they were saying, their laughter, smiles and strength made the same spread through me. They asked questions, made decisions...no holds barred. Their strength was incredible. I think it is one of the most profound experiences I have had so far, and likely one that I will never forget.

When I speak about my position to family and friends at home, I say I am doing an International Human Rights Internship. I feel like human rights is a term that gets thrown around and its significance becomes lost in the shuffle. What counts as a human right? How are people deprived of them- what does that entail? There are declarations and conventions, yes, but what does it mean in terms of how one lives everyday. In Canada, its sometimes hard to envision living without certain fundamental securities that many of us take for granted. At home, it is unlikely that I will ever receive a death threat for the work that I will do there. I don't imagine I will be persecuted for my political affiliations or my views of the world. I probably won't be killed just because of the colour of my skin, my gender, or my sexual orientation. If I did receive a threat or was to be persecuted, I could report it to a competent judicial body, it would be investigated, and those responsible would be punished accordingly. As a woman, I will likely face systemic discrimination at various points along my journey, but I have many fundamental freedoms that I exercise daily without notice. I have a post-secondary education. I have access to medical care, birth control, clean drinking water and housing. I have the freedom to chose any partner I desire and marry that person if I wanted to, regardless of gender. Not everyone in Canada can say all of the above. I try to be aware of my privilege, and to accept the responsibility that comes along with it.

But here, the situation is not even remotely close. What brought me here to work was the genocide of the Indigenous Mayan population. Racism, sexism, and homophobia are everyday realities. Fear still grips the population, as evidenced by the streets that are empty everyday by 8 pm. People are killed without reason, investigations are not conducted, and impunity reigns supreme. People live from meal to meal. For this reason, everything is available in small quantities. You can buy one egg, one piece of bread, one cigarette. It takes incredible courage and strength to subvert the status quo, confront fear head on, and fight for what is right.

The people I work with are all doing amazing work; they are courageous people and inspire me everyday. Returning from lunch today, one of the women who works in the women's office told me that she went to a play this morning put on my a group of women from Huehuetenango in the western highlands of Guatemala. It was called A Knot in my Throat and it spoke of one woman's story of rape during the conflict. The woman with whom I work said that even though it was the story of this particular woman, it is the story of so many women she knows and who come to the office everyday, and of thousands (possibly hundreds of thousands) of women across the country. The act of speaking, of telling the story, of breaking the silence, is so important, so significant.

So a month in, those are my thoughts thus far on what I am doing here. I am grateful for the chance to be here and to contribute where and what I can. The people of Rabinal show such strength in the face of adversity, and lead such rich lives amidst gripping poverty, again demonstrating the two distinct faces of life in Guatemala.

Here, the weather isn't small talk

I was strongly considering what to write about in my first entry. Having just returned from a mango break, I considered food. Sitting at my computer in the office, work would have been another natural option. But as I sit here, sweat is rolling down my face, so I think that I will write about the weather. I am additionally inspired by fellow writers recounts of the meteorological happenings in their respective parts of Canada. Weather is a bit fascinating, I think.

Today, or rather right now, the sun is brightly shining and it is hot! The heat and sun today is what I expected Guate to be like, despite warnings of coming during the rainy season. A good sweat here and there is certainly welcome, especially after a very wet spring (that is continuing to be so) in Victoria. The strength of the sun can easily render one ill with heat stroke or exhaustion fairly quickly.

But rainy season it is. As tropical storms and hurricanes begin their assaults on coastal regions throughout the Carribean, the southern US and Central America, I felt a sense of security being a good 7 hours in from the Pacific waters. However, when the rain starts, it is intense. Yesterday afternoon, I watched the weather turn from warm and sunny to dark and cool in literally the span of 5 minutes. Dark grey clounds rushed in from over the mountains and released their contents on the town. Huge drops pounded down, and within a short time the roads began to flood. The streets soon resembled rivers with brisk currents and muddy bottoms. The rain continued relentlessly for a few hours, and again last night.

Stormy nights are incredible here. Growing up in southwestern Ontario, sheet lightening happened regularly at night after the hot summer days, and here it happens much more regularly. Each flash shows glimpses of the dark rain clouds that still hang in the sky, drifting just quickly enough to notice them. When the rain is heavy, the sounds of the town are different. It is usually so loud that the rain is the only thing you can hear. It echos off the taracotta or sheet metal rooves, and pounds loudly on the concrete sidewalks. The dogs aren't barking, the crickets aren't chirping, and there is no one biking through the streets with advertisments blaring. There may be a frog ribbeting or the rustling of a palm tree outside my window, but the nights are free of human produced noise. Listening to the rain here is a humbling experience.

Guatemala is certainly a country of dualities, and one of extremes. I feel the weather illustrates this point perfectly.