I recently came across a box of letters that my parents returned to me many years ago and that I had completely forgotten. Among the letters were some that I had sent from Guatemala while I was doing research as a Brigham Young University graduate student. In the 1960’s in Guatemala if one wanted to become a teacher, he or she had to do a couple of years of public service working in rural areas where teachers were hard to come by. Some sociologist had theorized that mestizo (or ladino) teachers from urban areas who were forced to work with rural Indian students would resent and look down on their native Guatemalan charges.
Armed with an instrument designed to analyze the interaction between teachers and students in the classroom, I set out on my own to test the sociologist’s hypothesis. Here are some excerpts from those letters:
Momostenango, Guatemala, Sunday July 6, 1969. I’m sitting here in church services—or at least waiting for them to start. It’s a half hour past starting time. At present there are two missionaries, two members and myself in attendance. They say that attendance is usually about 55. We’ll see. Here in Momostenango meetings have to start at 2 p.m. since Sunday is market day and everybody has to go “de compras” (shopping) and also to try to sell anything they’ve grown or made. Meeting is starting…
While singing the opening hymn some fellow came crawling in the door on his knees crossing himself. One of the elders went back and showed him a seat. A little Indian kid is looking over my shoulder as I write this. The sermon is about the fast. Man, I think that’s all these people do! Short sermon—lasted about ten minutes. It was given about two thirds in Quiche and about one third in Spanish. The little Indian boy sat by me and I put an arm around him. He immediately snuggled under my arm and took my hand in both his grubby little hands. He’s a cute little fellow—could use some patches here and there…
Four Indian women came in for Sunday school. Each of them has a baby strapped to her back and a flock of little kiddoes around her feet. They openly nurse their babies which seldom fuss or cry. It’s interesting to watch the women wrap their babies onto their backs. They bend over and lay the kids on their backs. The babies cling there without moving until the mother puts a reboso around both of them. She ties it in front over one shoulder and then wraps another one around over the other shoulder. They tie the babies on their backs when they want to calm them down or to let them sleep—even while sitting on a bench in church. You wouldn’t believe how they put diapers on; they just wrap them around the baby’s legs with nothing in between. The diapers consist of old rags.
This morning I took my first shower since leaving Tapachula. Sure felt good. The two American missionaries I’m staying with have an old oil drum rigged up so they can build a fire under it. A pipe runs out into a rustic outdoor shower stall. There’s a partially rusted tin can full of holes on the end of the pipe that serves as a shower head. Works fine.
Thursday, July 10, 1969. I think this Momostenango school is a pretty good one as far as Central American schools go. The teachers take a great interest in the kids and appear to be professionally oriented. I’ve found a lot of things that differ from that which I have been told about ladino/Indian relations in the highland schools.
I am moving to the village of Cunen with the help of Mr. Penrod who is assisting Dr. Lyman who hails from Delta, Utah. They, along with a registered nurse, are donating their time gratis to provide medical services to the indigenous peoples of Guatemala. Cunen is about two inches to the right of Huehuetenango on a Texaco Guatemala map. Dr. Lyman doesn’t know any lengua (Quiche) and Penrod says all he does every day is to interpret for him. According to Penrod, the Doc’s already given out all the medicine he brought with him.
It was interesting to hear one of the missionaries talk about the wife of a prominent American he knows—not criticizing her, just telling me about her. According to him she is pretty high class and is deathly afraid of germs. She sits in the car with the windows rolled up during visits to Indian country because “she doesn’t want to get an amoeba.” The maids at their home wash their hands in Clorox before donning sterile rubber gloves to do the cooking. She has a couple of dogs. She heard a visitor say one day, “I hadn’t better pet the dog; I might give it fleas!” Ever since then she hasn’t let him near her dogs.
I woke up this morning with five flea bites on one foot alone and didn’t bother to search any further. Fortunately, they don’t bother me that much. However, Penrod’s legs are covered with big sores from flea bites and they about drive him crazy.
This week-end there’s going to be a big meeting of the worshippers of the Mayan gods. They’ll be burning copal (incense) to their gods and either blessing or cursing people while they’re at it. Don’t know if I’ll get to see it or not. I understand that many of the native people get along fine by blending the beliefs of Christianity, with its multiple saints, with their native Mayan religious beliefs, with their multiple deities. They seem to reconcile the two quite well.
Next week, the odyssey continues. Comments? mustardseeds101@yahoo.com
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