Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Two people we've met
NEW FRIEND NO. 1
It's impossible not to get sucked into the history of Guatemala if you're a long term visitor. There's plenty to read and lectures to attend, but local Guatemalans aren't keen on discussing the 36-year civil war that resulted in the mass killings of whole villages. We figured the war was too far in the past or irrelevant at the moment.
But last night, I met Taxa, who turned all this reasoning on its head. Taxa (speaking the wonderful Guatemalan Spanish that is so easy to understand), told me that the army continues to terrorize Guatemalans. She was living in a village in the Guatemalan highlands when the army came in, lined up men, women and children and shot them in front of other villagers. "Morning and night, they would pull us out of our homes and we would watch as they killed more of us," she said.
Taxa's grandfather had struck a deal with the army, and so some, but not all of her family was spared. I asked her if Oscar Berger, the current president of Guatemala, is any better, and she nodded her head vigorously. "He robs us, but at least he doesn't kill us," she said.
Taxa was one of the first and only people who spoke to the United Nations Truth Commission when they came into town, asking for stories. Even today, she said, people hush each other when they talk about the past. "My people are traumatized," she said.
At the moment, Taxa is a painter who lives with her American husband in the United States. They're working on a book about the atrocities in Guatemala, but she's worried about the project. She's afraid the army will read the book and exact their revenge on her family. She intends to use her husband's last name and to wear a huipile, a traditional indigenous shirt, with the woven pattern of a different village.
NEW FRIEND NO. 2
This morning, I spied a guy who bore eery resemblance to Steve Pulkkinen, Levi's dad. He was cradling a two-month old baby, cooing to it in Spanish. I went up to him and he stuck out a hand. "I'm Steve," he said. "From Seattle." Fun coincidence.
This Steve is in the process of moving to Nicaragua, and for the next four hours, he regaled Levi and I with stories of the jewelry industry, drunk, gay roommates in Granada, ex-wives, his junk store in Fremont and living in east Tacoma. We were in stitches.
There are lots of French people here, too, but they are smelly and rude to Americans (one said to me yesterday, "If you had told me you were French, I would have been nicer." Screw you too, monsieur. Levi is irked that one of the guys hasn't stitched up the rip in his pants that permits his butt cheeks to hang out. I agree that skinny Frenchmen with excessive butt hair should keep it to themselves.
It's impossible not to get sucked into the history of Guatemala if you're a long term visitor. There's plenty to read and lectures to attend, but local Guatemalans aren't keen on discussing the 36-year civil war that resulted in the mass killings of whole villages. We figured the war was too far in the past or irrelevant at the moment.
But last night, I met Taxa, who turned all this reasoning on its head. Taxa (speaking the wonderful Guatemalan Spanish that is so easy to understand), told me that the army continues to terrorize Guatemalans. She was living in a village in the Guatemalan highlands when the army came in, lined up men, women and children and shot them in front of other villagers. "Morning and night, they would pull us out of our homes and we would watch as they killed more of us," she said.
Taxa's grandfather had struck a deal with the army, and so some, but not all of her family was spared. I asked her if Oscar Berger, the current president of Guatemala, is any better, and she nodded her head vigorously. "He robs us, but at least he doesn't kill us," she said.
Taxa was one of the first and only people who spoke to the United Nations Truth Commission when they came into town, asking for stories. Even today, she said, people hush each other when they talk about the past. "My people are traumatized," she said.
At the moment, Taxa is a painter who lives with her American husband in the United States. They're working on a book about the atrocities in Guatemala, but she's worried about the project. She's afraid the army will read the book and exact their revenge on her family. She intends to use her husband's last name and to wear a huipile, a traditional indigenous shirt, with the woven pattern of a different village.
NEW FRIEND NO. 2
This morning, I spied a guy who bore eery resemblance to Steve Pulkkinen, Levi's dad. He was cradling a two-month old baby, cooing to it in Spanish. I went up to him and he stuck out a hand. "I'm Steve," he said. "From Seattle." Fun coincidence.
This Steve is in the process of moving to Nicaragua, and for the next four hours, he regaled Levi and I with stories of the jewelry industry, drunk, gay roommates in Granada, ex-wives, his junk store in Fremont and living in east Tacoma. We were in stitches.
There are lots of French people here, too, but they are smelly and rude to Americans (one said to me yesterday, "If you had told me you were French, I would have been nicer." Screw you too, monsieur. Levi is irked that one of the guys hasn't stitched up the rip in his pants that permits his butt cheeks to hang out. I agree that skinny Frenchmen with excessive butt hair should keep it to themselves.
