Xeabaj Community Assembly

My eyes strained forward into the thick fog as I guided my bike through the turns in the mountain road. The fog gets as thick as a pall of smoke up here in the highlands of Alaska, reducing visibility to a few meters at times, so I was hoping to avoid a collision with an oncoming pickup, a pedestrian, wandering pig, etc. I was en route to Xeabaj I, a village of some 100 families, to a community assembly very much like the one in Pacamán that I recounted on this page in December. I wheeled into town and towards the church, rolling over soft pine needles strewn on the street. Their rich aroma hung in the damp air.

I was surprised and quite pleased to see that the community was already assembled when I arrived. I greeted some of the men I knew from the development committee, and we began the meeting. The bulk of the conversation debated whether acquiring corrugated sheet metal to fix leaky roofs or constructing a health clinic was a more pressing need for the community. I followed along the best I could, though at times I had my friend Juan had to translate from K’iche to Spanish for me. The cold fog came up out of the valley, and the people shivered, huddling down deeper into their clothes. Mostly the men spoke, but a couple of women gave their opinions as well.

After some time nobody else spoke and Juan looked at me. “They want the roofs,” he said. I suggested we do a vote just to be sure, and we saw there was nearly unanimous support. Many folks raised both their arms and called out to show their enthusiasm, and despite the wet chill the atmosphere was quite festive.

The next step is to guide the community development committee through the preparation of an application to a government agency that could provide subsidized roofing materials. Xeabaj I is also participating in my reforestation project , and in two weeks all the men and I will head up to a nearby mountaintop to enclose the spring that provides the village with water with barb wire and to prepare the land for tree-planting in May.

After the meeting ended I wheeled my bike back up to the main road, a pack of twenty children close behind. I politely declined some invitations to play ball; it was getting late and I didn’t want to get caught in the dark on the way home. I pedaled through foggy fields and forests, breathing clouds and mountain air, crunching gravel beneath my tires.