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Fiesta of Sunset
The Peace Corps, Guatemala and a Search for Truth
By Taylor Dibbert
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2010 Taylor Dibbert
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-7222-3
Chapter One
Prior to Departure
"If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them." —Henry David Thoreau
April 2006: Dallas
My departure is less than two weeks away, and I'm ready to begin the journey. There will be two days of "staging" in DC, and then I'm off to Guatemala for twenty-seven months. Right now I'm trying to get my mental house in order. From my previous journeys, I've learned that this is perhaps the most crucial component of successfully living and traveling abroad. Without some semblance of inner peace, I'll never turn a foreign land into my home. At this point, I think the adventure will be much more intellectual and spiritual than physical. To clarify: I have no doubt that the work will be physically challenging. I only mean to say that the greatest challenges and more significant personal growth will come from within.
I hope to write frequently while I'm in Guatemala. I believe books are such a personal thing. And the writing of those books is infinitely more personal. It's crazy to think that the vast majority of people who consume books and literature have never and will never meet those men and women who have given us a piece of their lives. To me, publishing a memoir would be analogous to walking around naked in an airport—not something I would feel comfortable doing. Hopefully one day I will have the courage to try, though I doubt it.
Mentally and physically, I'm as ready as I'll ever be, although deciding what to take with me is tough. The Peace Corps packing list sheds no light on an already opaque situation. Choosing which books to bring feels like I'm deciding which children are allowed to enter my ark before the flood, but decisions must be made. Hemingway, Dostoyevsky, Steinbeck, and Bret Easton Ellis have all made the cut. Fortunately, my dad has helped me put tons of music on my new iPod. Most surprisingly, I discovered my favorite pair of words only yesterday: solar adaptor. I guess even electricity is a luxury in Guatemala. God, how poor are these people?
May 1, 2006
Today is the big day: I'm heading to Washington DC, for "Peace Corps staging," a two-day orientation. There's no turning back now. I'm harboring a highly diverse basket of emotions this morning. Yeah, there's a nice mix of everything in there, which basically means that I'm nervous as hell. I slept for maybe twenty minutes last night. I stayed up and listened almost exclusively to "Naive Melody" by Talking Heads. I probably listened to that one song seventy times.
I can't remember ever being this nervous. Two years of my mid-twenties will be gone when I come back! That's enough time for me to get lost, find myself, and then lose myself all over again. Once every three months, approximately thirty new Peace Corps trainees fly to Guatemala City to begin their service. Statistically speaking, one third of those folks will quit early. Quitting early in Peace Corps vernacular is known as "ETing." ET stands for Early Termination. From what I hear, people choose to leave for all kinds of reasons—with the desire to be closer to significant others in the United States and homesickness being the two most common.
Joining the Peace Corps is the greatest risk that I have ever taken. There are so many unknowns, so many concerns of mine that have not been allayed. I have no idea how this will turn out. Right now, I can't even contemplate an Early Termination. I don't need a shameful black mark on my life story. But what if I am wrong? What if I fail? Would I be doomed to a life of failure? If I left early, I would be embarrassed. I would feel terrible. I don't want to go home with my tail between my legs. I don't want to quit because I couldn't handle it. I hope I'm tougher than that.
Will my time in the Peace Corps leave a lasting influence? Ernest Hemingway, a man for whom my respect continues undiminished, spoke of Paris being a "moveable feast." The time that he spent there in the 1920s, in his mid-twenties, had a lasting effect on him—both in terms of his career as a writer and his view of the world. I turn twenty-four in December. If I am lucky, Guatemala will become my "moveable feast." If I am lucky, I will encounter trials and tribulations that I will grow to embrace as significant rites of passage. If I am lucky, my time in the Peace Corps will leave an indelible mark on my life. If I am lucky, it will be an experience from which I can draw inspiration until I breathe my last breath.
May 2, 2006: Washington DC
Despite what any Peace Corps official may say, "staging" is a complete waste of everyone's time. Our group filled out pointless worksheets and participated in some childish role-play activities. On one occasion, each group of five was asked to draw a picture for everyone else. This picture was supposed to convey how we were feeling about moving to Guatemala. The group next to ours drew a picture of a guy jumping off a cliff and then landing in a pile of rocks. Pure poetry! They got a big laugh, but only because that picture rang true in everyone's heart and mind. I can't believe I'm sitting around with twenty-nine people who have also joined the Peace Corps! None of us has any idea what we're getting into. Of that there can be no doubt.
May 3, 2006: Dulles International Airport, Washington DC
I use the airport bathroom near our departure gate. I slowly sip from a water fountain nearby. I have not yet realized that water fountains are a luxury. I buy a copy of today's Wall Street Journal. I flash my fancy Peace Corps passport. I board the plane. This is it. Fellow Peace Corps trainee Andrew Gall from New Hampshire sits across the aisle.
"Hey fella, what are you thinking?"
"Not much, Taylor. I just a second ago realized that this is it. There's no way to avoid it now. I'm going to Guatemala."
Both of us are now laughing.
"You are right about that, Andrew. We should be all right though."
We're interrupted by the voice of the pilot. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.... Once we reach a cruising altitude of thirty-six thousand feet, we'll go ahead and turn off the seatbelt sign.... I'd also like to say that it's an honor to have thirty members of the Peace Corps traveling with us. We certainly wish them well; we know they will be doing a lot of good work down in Guatemala."
Wow. As dumb as it sounds, his words kind of choke me up. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, I hear something, a smooth crescendo. The entire plane, nearly a full house, is applauding. At that moment, I feel like I am part of something special. I feel special—regular old me. Could this really be happening?
Chapter Two
In Country
May 3, 2006
We arrive in Guatemala City and sluggishly deplane. Everyone looks exhausted, and we haven't even done anything yet. It is hot. I've been in Guatemala for less than ten minutes, and I'm already sweating profusely. I use the bathroom and restively wait for my luggage like everybody else.
We've just been greeted by the Peace Corps country director, Cynthia Threlkeld, and the training director, Craig Badger. Now we are leaving the airport to meet the host families with whom we will live during our three months of Peace Corps training in Santa Lucía Milpas Altas, which is just outside of Antigua. Actually, Santa Lucía Milpas Altas is where the training center is, but members from my training group will live in several towns besides Santa Lucía—La Libertad, Santo Tomás, and Magdalena, all in the department of Sacatepéquez. Departments in Guatemala are similar to states in the United States, and there are twenty-two in all. I never did get to know Ms. Threlkeld; she left to pursue a job in Africa shortly after my group arrived in country. I think she was offered a Peace Corps directorship there.
An hour later, I discover that where I'll be living is not that bad. There's even a showerhead in the bathroom—I had been bracing myself for bucket baths during training. In my bedroom, I have an electrical outlet and a chair. I'm living like a king in this Mayan paradise. I exchange pleasantries with the host family, but it's been a long day. I'm ready to pop a couple of Tylenol PMs and hit the sack, which is exactly what I do.
I have ambitiously planned to drink five cups of coffee before training starts tomorrow. About five years ago, I discovered that coffee is one of life's great pleasures, and now I cannot imagine my life without it. I love the way it smells, even though the taste is never as good as the aroma. I enjoy the taste of it, sure. But it's the caffeine that makes coffee so magical. It will course through my veins yet again tomorrow. I have been separated from my French press for only three days, and I am starting to feel uneasy. I didn't bring it with me because I thought my host family would think I'm weird or pretentious. Besides, I guess I could always buy one in Guatemala City or Antigua before I move to my site at the end of July. I remain guardedly optimistic about this; I have been told that Guatemalans export almost all of their good coffee.
Maybe I'll sleep well knowing that I don't have to deal with superficialities tomorrow. I won't have to listen to blowhards like Lou Dobbs on cable television either. Partisan grandstanding has become synonymous with purportedly logical solutions to my nation's energy crisis. The November election can't come soon enough.
I will remember for the rest of my life the day my Peace Corps journey became official. My dad was driving me to Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, and we saw the deluge of traffic coming into Dallas. Everybody heading into the city was just stuck. As we drove along, I sat ruminating in the passenger seat. "I'm not sure what I'm getting myself into, but thank God it isn't that." Monotonous white-collar jobs, dull cubicles, marriage, and kids are not going anywhere. Dallas is not going anywhere. So I'll cling to the goddess of youth—a fleeting deity if there ever was one. More importantly, I will try to help someone besides myself; I have seen enough of the world to know that I have been given enough help.
May 4, 2006
The coffee I drink this morning at my new home in Santo Tomás is terrible, basically a cheap version of Nescafé. I would later discover that Nescafé is the most expensive brand of instant coffee. Most Guatemalans only drink instant coffee. Over breakfast, I ask my host mom if she knows what a French press is. She tells me that she has never been to France.
Our first day of training begins at the training center, located in Santa Lucía Milpas Altas. Santa Lucía is a modest town situated between Antigua and Guatemala City. All the trainees are huddled in a circle with Country Director Cynthia Threlkeld. Until now, I had not known that Guatemala is, in fact, a popular and desired destination for Peace Corps volunteers. Ms. Threlkeld might be lying; the place had always seemed culturally bland to me. But she gives a decent spiel.
Evidently, our training group is comprised of two separate program groups: Small Business Development and Appropriate Technology. There are fifteen people in each group. Peace Corps volunteers do all kinds of work in Guatemala, including projects pertaining to small business, municipal development, agriculture, environmental issues, health, education, and infrastructure development. The Appropriate Technology program is focused primarily on building "technologies" to help rural families. Examples of these technologies would include ferro-cement tanks that capture rainwater, family stoves that conserve wood and channel smoke outside the home, and gravity-flow water systems. Water-system construction normally entails running PVC pipe from an isolated spring site to a distribution tank and then on to households.
May 5, 2006
Our formal Peace Corps medical briefings have begun. The head nurse, Kathy Arroyave, discusses some of the salient health issues in the country along with other medical policies and procedures of Peace Corps Guatemala.
"Okay guys, can anybody tell me what the most common health problem is among Peace Corps volunteers in Guatemala?"
Nobody speaks for at least a minute. I think all of us realize that this is a great time to space out.
"All right. Nobody knows? Okay, well, last year a hundred and seventeen cases of diarrhea were diagnosed for every hundred volunteers in the country."
Everyone laughs. Then we all realize that those numbers must be distorted. I'm sure plenty of people don't call the medical office when they have a bad case of the runs. In fact, who would ever call the medical office when they have the runs? What a bunch of weaklings. That's ridiculous. My mind starts to wander. What constitutes official diarrhea anyway?
For those of you who are wondering, diarrhea means that someone has four consecutive bowel movements that are inconsistent or watery. That is the technical definition of diarrhea in Peace Corps Guatemala.
Today we also discuss more safety and security policies, conduct Spanish interviews (to place people in classes according to ability), and receive the official training schedule. I never imagined the Peace Corps could be so boring. Of course, I've never had a real job, so I have nothing to compare it with. Later on, a group of current volunteers speak with us so that we can get the other side of the story. During the Peace Corps volunteer panel, the administration is not allowed in the room. Thank God.
Apparently, last year, one of the rape incidents was not included in the safety statistics presented to us yesterday. The following is supposedly a true story and one that I don't want to believe.
A female volunteer was raped. She was out "late at night." No one could be exactly sure what hour that was. The Peace Corps administration concluded that it was her fault for putting herself at risk by staying out late. She was summarily sent home. The details of this story are sketchy, largely due to the fact that she did not come forward with the rape charge until several weeks after the incident occurred.
We heard another story about four PCVs who were kicked out recently. With a good deal of liquid courage, they tried to scale the main church in Panajachel, Sololá. Even though only two of them were caught scaling the church wall, all four were put on a plane back to the United States. It was guilt by association, which seems grossly unfair. And to think that this was the same night they were sworn in and became official Peace Corps volunteers!
May 7, 2006
This morning, the medical staff gives all trainees a copy of Where There is No Doctor: A Village Health Care Handbook. If I read even one page of that book, I will subconsciously induce some strange and potentially lethal illness. Under the most extreme circumstances, the book might be relevant if I were stranded in a remote African village. But I did not join the Peace Corps to serve as a midwife. I did not come here to figure out what kind or rash I've got, nor did I come here to study epidemiology. Under no circumstances do I feel like getting in touch with my psychosomatic side.
In many ways, training is similar to elementary school. Every day, my host mother, Ana Lucrecia, prepares my lunch. Then I walk for about forty-five minutes, lunch pail in hand, to Santa Lucía. Usually I meet some of my fellow trainees at the park in Santo Tomás beforehand. Then we walk to the "school," or Peace Corps training center, together.
I review this routine as I relax in my bedroom. I also discover that my bedroom looks like a toolshed and smells like a barn. Maybe having the bathroom nearby should not be viewed as a convenience.
I have been in country for less than a week, but I'm already exhausted. I lie on my bed fully clothed, but I still feel somewhat exposed. I feel vulnerable and defenseless in an ethereal, intangible sort of way. My life has never felt more tenuous. I have taken a leap with twenty-nine other people. I have committed to the Peace Corps, but I have no idea what I'm doing. My site assignment is still unclear, because site assignments aren't given until the end of June. So until the end of June I don't even know where my new home will be. This is frustrating. I have been told that Peace Corps training is vastly different from Peace Corps service, although the differences are still unclear. How am I supposed to prepare? Why is the process so ambiguous?
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Fiesta of Sunset by Taylor Dibbert Copyright © 2010 by Taylor Dibbert. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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