This was a day that Mr. Joe Caye and I had been planning formore than a month, the trip to Machakilha, one of the most remote villageschools in the Toledo district. Unfortunately, the “better” of the two trucks was already reserved byanother volunteer so we were forced to endure the more reliable, but less thanaesthetically pleasing beast known as the “white truck”. With over 400,000 miles and lacking anyshocks, the body of this vehicle literally fell apart a week or so ago, but theengine is solid. I’ll refer you toJesuit Volunteer, Greg’sblog for that story. Anyway, Iarrived at the parish lot at the time that Mr. Caye and I agreed on the daybefore. Joe arrived 30 minutes later andwe loaded up with “goodies” such as pencils, notebooks, a soccer ball,volleyball and a box of donated encyclopedias. As we enter the cab, Mr. Caye reminds me that this will be a very longday. I agree and he goes on to tell methat we will need to finish delivering a message to several schools on our wayto Machakilha, including a couple that will add at least an extra hour or so toour trip that day. We are on the highwaybefore 6:45 and hit the rough road around 7:15. We picked up a teacher and deliver him and our message to Barrancovillage school before doubling back on our route. Next up is Conejo, Sunday Wood, Corozon andthe two teacher school of San Lucas. Wepass back through Corozon to carry the communication to Otoxcha and our finaldriving destination of Dolores around 10am. Joe spends a few minutes with the principal here before cutting theconversation short as we must begin a long hike into the jungle. We are met by two men from Machakilha villagewho have brought a horse to carry the load. I found it ironic that we were delivering outdated encyclopedias on aneven more outdated form of transportation.
So our foot journey began with 2 Mayans, Mr. Caye, myself and ahorse. Joe and I tried our best to keepup with the horse as our pacemaker, but soon enough we found ourselves bringingup the rear as our guides disappeared down the distant jungle path. The road was a mostly muddy clay-likeconsistency, dried by the sun and beginning to crack. This is the dry season and we scheduled thistrip during this time due to the fact that the road would be in the bestcondition of the year. Despite this, theroad was marked with vehicle ruts at least one to two feet in height, remindingme that the only trucks that dared to travel here were the large rosewoodtrucks that may or may not be obtaining their harvest legally. Oftentimes, the middle of the road was softand muddy, requiring us to walk on top of the ruts “tightrope style” and attimes the only passable spots were on the extreme edge of the road brushing upagainst the adjacent brush. Trails leadin and out of the bush in places of complete mud while sticks and logs had beenlaid over soft and wet spots. The lengthof the trip was not that difficult and although the heat was not too awful, Joeand I showed signs of sweat soaked shirts and brows.
The terrain was the most difficult and itbegan to wear on us after almost 2 hours. The last leg of the hike climbed quite a decent elevation before wefinally saw the familiar site of smoke rising through thatch roofs. Upon arriving into the village, we were greetedby two women who appeared to be in their mid-thirties. I was surprised to find out that they are the“alcaldes” or village chiefs. I supposethat I would expect a village this remote not to be so progressive in thisway. Joe believed that they had beenchosen based on their ability to read and write, so it may reflect on the stateof literacy of the village. We spentabout 15 minutes with these women discussing the state of village affairs asJoe and I catch our breath in the shade. My Keckchi language skills are next to zero so I did my best to smile asthey laughed and joked. As we left thesevillage leaders, Joe got me caught up on their impressions of the school andthe teachers there. They had mostlypositive observations with a few minor issues that one might expect at anyschool in suburbia…work load for students, staying after school, and communication. As we arrived at noon, the principal waspreparing to release the students for lunch break. He provided us with bagged water, a commoncommercial product available here. Ihave never tasted a better bag of warm water in my life as it was the firstliquid to touch my lips since starting this arduous journey. We then were led to the teacher’s house whereour lunch would be served and upon entering, we exchanged the usual pleasantry“Quabanu” which I believe means “May I enter?”. After being introduced to thecooks, we were offered hammocks to rest our tired legs until the meal was readyto serve. Traditional caldo (Mayan soup)with local chicken and warm corn tortillas…delicious! The real treat for me was the sweetTang-like juice that was served. I haveto admit that I probably took more than my share but I couldn’t helpmyself. It really quenched my thirstafter our long jungle hike. It wasn’tuntil later that my wife questioned my decision to partake in this drink as itmost likely was made with straight up river water. Oh well, I’m still alive. Lunch conversation covered everything fromschool matters to recent politics to the Guatemalan radio station playing inthe background. It is notable that JoeCaye, the 2 teachers and myself were seated at a central table while the womenand children ate separately sitting around the edge of the thatch house. I understand that this is the custom in thismale dominated culture, but it is curious that the women who prepared our mealwere not even interacting with their guests at all. After the meal, we again exchangedpleasantries. “Tohoqray” = “Thank you”and “Masachool” = “Very Delicious”. Wewere given a brief tour of the village as we headed back to school for theafternoon session. We saw the welllocated in the jungle and a sign that pointed back to the home that we justvisited.The clearing opened and Isnapped a picture of the school garden and then the familiar sight of childrenplaying football (aka soccer).
A quickpeek into the library revealed a “well stocked” and organized resourcecenter. I was surprised to see thatthis remote village had such a full library; neat, clean and ready for students and teachers to use. The principalrang the hand bell and the students filed into the classroom to hear Mr. Caye’spresentation. Joe introduced himself andhis position. He talked about how thisschool is special because of its location and how impressed he was with thecompound. We distributed the “goodies”carried by horseback and the children sang songs and poems to show theirgratitude. As I scanned the classroom, Iwas also impressed with the amount of hand-made manipulatives, especially areplica of the comprehension cube I introduced him to at a workshop just a few shortweeks ago.
Students were released fromthe afternoon session early so that we could meet with the PTA to discussschool matters. About 6-8 villagers werepresent including the alcaldes as well as the two teachers, plus Mr. Caye andmyself. The meeting that began inEnglish with translation quickly switch to Keckchi with heateddiscussions. I was reduced to anobserver paying close attention to people’s reactions, tone and bodylanguage. I consider myself fairlyequipped to handle most social situations, but I have found myself in thisposition more than once and each is uncomfortable. Everyone knows that I cannot understand theword being said but I am expected to participate all the same. As hard as I tried, I eventually gave up andbegan writing this entry that you are reading right now. Eventually, the meeting came to a close andthe teachers, Joe and I prepared for the hike out of Machakilha village. It had rained briefly during our meeting whichwas a welcome relief from the heat, but we were not very optimistic about thepossibility of it returning before we reached the truck. The horse and our guides had set the pace forthe incoming trip and now the outbound pace would be set by the weather. So what began as a drizzle for the first 30minutes of our return trip eventually built itself into a full rain that softenany bit of dry path left. The dry spotsthat appeared soft before were now worse and “bridges” made of logs and sticksbecame slippery.
At one point, I lost mystep and immersed my left shoe into 12 inches of mud. The rain continued to “bless us” for the next90 minutes as we trudged toward our vehicle awaiting us in Doloresvillage. Every 10-12 steps, I had tokick the gooey Earth from my feet flinging it into the bush in order to clearthe “Frankenstein” feel it gave my shoes. I took care not to complain about the rain and long hike as theseteachers make this journey regularly. Itwould not have done any good to complain about it. In fact, the more I accepted the rain, evenembraced it, the easier the journey became.
At one point, the principal made the comment that this would be goodmaterial for me to write about. Iadmitted to him that I had already begun to develop my blog post and that thisfinal leg of our trip had allowed me some reflection. How lucky was I to share this with him? Not many foreigners get to experience this remoteplace at all, let alone in such an authentic way. There was no tour guide or jungle lodgewaiting to pamper me. How unbelievably blessed was I to walk his walk? To eatin his home? To share the hardship of histravel? I began to think about theendless numbers of people in the world who walk miles each day to work, farm,wash and hunt. I am reminded of the ageold saying from our grandparents that “used to walk 5 miles uphill in the snow”to get to school. Life is hard, but inthose real moments I was afforded the time to reflect, to appreciate theblessing that life gives me. Oftentimeswe view a difficult situation as obstacles in our life. Instead we are called to accept and embrace theseobstacles in order to received God’s grace. Embrace your cross. Hold it tightand know that there are many rough edges to it. Accept it. The more we fightagainst it, the harder life will be. Only when we walk with it and own it will the load be lightened.
The terrain was the most difficult and itbegan to wear on us after almost 2 hours. The last leg of the hike climbed quite a decent elevation before wefinally saw the familiar site of smoke rising through thatch roofs. Upon arriving into the village, we were greetedby two women who appeared to be in their mid-thirties. I was surprised to find out that they are the“alcaldes” or village chiefs. I supposethat I would expect a village this remote not to be so progressive in thisway. Joe believed that they had beenchosen based on their ability to read and write, so it may reflect on the stateof literacy of the village. We spentabout 15 minutes with these women discussing the state of village affairs asJoe and I catch our breath in the shade. My Keckchi language skills are next to zero so I did my best to smile asthey laughed and joked. As we left thesevillage leaders, Joe got me caught up on their impressions of the school andthe teachers there. They had mostlypositive observations with a few minor issues that one might expect at anyschool in suburbia…work load for students, staying after school, and communication. As we arrived at noon, the principal waspreparing to release the students for lunch break. He provided us with bagged water, a commoncommercial product available here. Ihave never tasted a better bag of warm water in my life as it was the firstliquid to touch my lips since starting this arduous journey. We then were led to the teacher’s house whereour lunch would be served and upon entering, we exchanged the usual pleasantry“Quabanu” which I believe means “May I enter?”. After being introduced to thecooks, we were offered hammocks to rest our tired legs until the meal was readyto serve. Traditional caldo (Mayan soup)with local chicken and warm corn tortillas…delicious! The real treat for me was the sweetTang-like juice that was served. I haveto admit that I probably took more than my share but I couldn’t helpmyself. It really quenched my thirstafter our long jungle hike. It wasn’tuntil later that my wife questioned my decision to partake in this drink as itmost likely was made with straight up river water. Oh well, I’m still alive. Lunch conversation covered everything fromschool matters to recent politics to the Guatemalan radio station playing inthe background. It is notable that JoeCaye, the 2 teachers and myself were seated at a central table while the womenand children ate separately sitting around the edge of the thatch house. I understand that this is the custom in thismale dominated culture, but it is curious that the women who prepared our mealwere not even interacting with their guests at all. After the meal, we again exchangedpleasantries. “Tohoqray” = “Thank you”and “Masachool” = “Very Delicious”. Wewere given a brief tour of the village as we headed back to school for theafternoon session. We saw the welllocated in the jungle and a sign that pointed back to the home that we justvisited.The clearing opened and Isnapped a picture of the school garden and then the familiar sight of childrenplaying football (aka soccer).
A quickpeek into the library revealed a “well stocked” and organized resourcecenter. I was surprised to see thatthis remote village had such a full library; neat, clean and ready for students and teachers to use. The principalrang the hand bell and the students filed into the classroom to hear Mr. Caye’spresentation. Joe introduced himself andhis position. He talked about how thisschool is special because of its location and how impressed he was with thecompound. We distributed the “goodies”carried by horseback and the children sang songs and poems to show theirgratitude. As I scanned the classroom, Iwas also impressed with the amount of hand-made manipulatives, especially areplica of the comprehension cube I introduced him to at a workshop just a few shortweeks ago.
At one point, I lost mystep and immersed my left shoe into 12 inches of mud. The rain continued to “bless us” for the next90 minutes as we trudged toward our vehicle awaiting us in Doloresvillage. Every 10-12 steps, I had tokick the gooey Earth from my feet flinging it into the bush in order to clearthe “Frankenstein” feel it gave my shoes. I took care not to complain about the rain and long hike as theseteachers make this journey regularly. Itwould not have done any good to complain about it. In fact, the more I accepted the rain, evenembraced it, the easier the journey became.
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