Bits and Pieces

San Miguel is a small town. Actual estimates of the population vary widely, but I don't think there are more than two thousand people living there. And I have noticed this past week, they all know who I am. Every last one of them.

"Buenas tardes", I say to people as I pass by walking. "Buenas tardes, Juan" comes the reply. Do I know this person? Heck no, I've never met them. But being the only gringo in town, in fact the only gringo who has ever lived there, in effect makes you a celebrity. Now everybody knows my name. I imagine them talking to each other, in the corner store, the corn mill, after church: 'Have you seen these three gringos that live here now?' 'Yes, we have gringos among us.' 'The children say they are teaching in the schools.' 'My kids say the man is named Juan, perhaps I can invite him to dinner and he will marry my daughter and take her to America.' 'Ah, but Doña Octavia is already trying to get him to marry her daughter.'

Ok, ok, maybe it isn't exactly like that, but they must be talking, because all the sudden they all know my name. And I ain't lying when I say that multiple women in the community are manuevring to try to entice me into wedding their daughters. Such is the life of an American in a poor country. It's kind of like being a rock star, but you have to crap in a latrine.

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I haven't gotten a chance to write about Carneval, which is what they call Mardi Gras in Latin America. It was a blast. First of all, Chepe and Luvia dressed me up like a woman. People, meet Juanita. She's a mighty fine looking gal, eh?

Ok, so I should have shaved...I actually went on to don a scary mask, so it didn't really matter. Then I went to the house in town where all the participants were congregating in their costumes. Men dress like women, and women like men, though actually only one woman came with us. (Apparently there is danger of getting your bum pinched.) Finally we went out into the streets and danced following a sound truck for hours. People throw confetti and eggs and flour, so you get junk all over you, and it's a lot of fun. There was a costume contest at the school as well, and the Peace Corps volunteers got to be the judges. It was an honor, and a tough job, as all the kids looked terrific. Costuming at Halloween is not common in Guatemala, so Carneval is the time when folks pull out all the stops!

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Some of you who went to view the photos I posted (if you couldn't view them previously, you should be able to now: http://new.photos.yahoo.com/jengler7/) asked me what the heck is this?

It is a pila, an important part of any Guatemalan home. In the middle there is a basin where the water is stored. On the sides are lavaderos, or wash boards, for doing laundry and dirty dishes. I recently had a clothes washing lesson from Luvia--it turns out that despite the fact that I washed my own clothes all six of the months I spent in Central America prior to coming on Peace Corps, I have been doing it all wrong. Hopefully I'll improve my technique before I head out on my own in a month--or I'll have to marry a muchacha to keep me in clean clothes for the next two years!

Love to you all...