JBrown: The Importance of Taking Initiative

I have been living in my tiny 30-house town for 2 weeks now. It is difficult to explain just how different my life has become, but I will try to do it the best way I know how; through examples. The pace here is a stark contrast to life in the United States. It brings back memories of my time in Ghana. There, one of my friends called it GMT, or Ghanaian Maybe Time. Here, it’s called la hora chapina, or the Guatemalan hour. Everything seems to take longer. I’ve wanted to set up a meeting to meet the 18 tour guides that work in the caves for about a week and a half now, but, despite warm receptions of the idea, the meeting is always postponed.

Through various conversations with some of the guides, I have noticed a prevailing desire to come together as a group and toss around ideas and, above all else, a particularly strong interest to learn English. It’s really encouraging to see how eager the guides are to learn English, and this will undoubtedly keep me motivated to learn Q’eqchi, the language that will unlock the world of the ancient Mayans and actually allow me to have any sort of social life in my town. Like giddy little children, some of the tour guides relish in the opportunity to practice their basic English, which usually only consists of key tour guide phrases. Here’s a sample of a normal conversation.

Giddy Guide: Good morning (in the middle of the afternoon)
Me: Haha. Good Morning. It’s actually---
GG: Welcome in the caves.
Me: Haha very nice, but it would be better to say, “Welcome to the caves.”
GG: No smoking.
Me: Nice.

However, these enriching conversations don’t just happen of their own volition. I want to emphasize the importance of doing stuff, for lack of better words. My town is very small and very boring. There are 30 to 40 houses that pepper the sides of a paved road. Sprinkled in there is also a parking lot with a visitor hut, bathrooms, a comedor, and a hospedaje, which can fit up to 15 tourists. During Semana Santa, the parking lot was teeming with tourists. Now, it’s teeming with absolutely nothing. There are only so many times that a man can walk back and forth from his house to the parking lot. Often times, I would like nothing more than to escape the punishing sun beams and stay inside my room reading a book. However, I know that I am not in Read a Book Corps, and I force myself to do something; to simply wander. So, I wander. Usually at the beginning of my wanderings, a thought dances through my head. What the hell am I doing here? foxtrots its way through my brain. Yet, at the end of that particular wandering, I contemplate on what I just did, and repeatedly find myself thinking, Well, I am glad that I did that. Let me tell you why.

One day, as I was sitting in my wooden chair in a puddle of sweat from the 90 plus degree heat, I decided to meander over to ye old parking lot and see if there was anyone sitting on the benches there, knowing very well that I most likely would not be able to communicate with whomever I may find. Misery loves company, right? Or was it, let’s all be bored together? Either way, I wanted to find a partner to share in some quality boredom time. What I found was a Guatemalan family standing on the path that leads to the caves. A new friend, one of the park guards, asked if I wanted to join them in a Mayan ceremony. Hell yes. My mind danced away and did a jubilant little pirouette. I started off on the walk to one of the caves; a cave I had not yet visited. Apparently we were heading to the cave used for ceremonies such as the one this family wished to perform. My host dad, who is also a park guard, joined us later on in our journey to the ceremonial cave. What happened next is one of the most bizarre and intriguing experiences that I have ever had.

We crept through the pitch black cave with flashlights to guide us. We then approached a fire pit and circled it 3 times. I later learned that this is done at the beginning and end of the ceremony to call on the support of the Mayan ancestors. As we solemnly circled the pit, I realized that I would be a participant in this ceremony and not just an observer. Soon a woman drew a design in the fire pit with chalk. Next, another woman arranged a pyramid of candles on top of twigs. Then, a man lit the candles, and the fire ignited and flames burst forth. The ceremony continued with 4 individuals, 3 women and 1 man, chanting in Q’eqchi. As the candles melted and the flames reached the twigs, the fire began to grow. The chanting grew louder, and from time to time, one of the women would circle the fire and stir the flames. I stood mesmerized as the flames swirled and danced, the cave slowly becoming brighter and hotter. At one point I turned around and looked behind me. Painted on the walls were our shadows illuminated by the fire. They loomed ominously, watching over us as if they were standing guard; as if the fire could leap up at any instant, and they needed to be ready to smother it.

Throughout the ceremony, we were required to drink alcohol, purportedly to give strength to the participants, and smoke cigars. Towards the end of the peculiar experience, one of the women moved towards a small child who seemed to be her daughter. I grew puzzled, as I saw the girl’s eyes widen with fear. The woman picked up the child and carried her to the fire. For a few agonizing seconds, she held the girl mere inches from the fire. The flames licked her clothing and extended limbs. Gripping her tightly, the woman placed her daughter down next to the raging fire and took a gulp of the alcohol. She then proceeded to spit the alcohol all over the girl in a great cloud of mist. This shocking behavior was later explained to me as a way to ask for wisdom and protection for this young girl during her formative years.

As the ceremony came to a close, the chanting reached a climax, and everyone began to sob. One by one we embraced each other and offered consoling words. The ritual was an attempt to speak to the Mayan ancestors, who possess sage advice and the secret to the land and life’s hardships. It was a deeply personal experience for these people, and I was astonished that they allowed me to participate in it with them. The last person to hug me was a middle-aged woman. She leaned in close and whispered, “Tiene dueños.” This translates to, “You have owners.” I interpreted this to mean that I have ancestors looking out for me. I am not a religious person, but, at the time, this statement seemed to possess an eerie truth.

I emerged from that cave as if emerging from a dream. One of the women turned to me and remarked, “The ancestors heard us. It rained while we were in the cave and helped the plants.” I looked around. It had, in fact, rained while we were performing the ceremony. I found that quite odd, as it had not rained once since I had arrived to my site. A mere coincidence? Who knows? And to think, I contemplated, I was going to stay in my room and read a book.

To briefly mention another time where I decided to take the initiative to explore my surroundings, I ended up running into two men from nearby tourism organizations, who happened to be here visiting my site. They said that they had heard there was a new Volunteer here and had wanted to talk to me. We talked for a while, and I took advantage of the time to exchange contact information and promise that I would stop by their offices in the future to continue our conversation about collaboration and mutual understanding for the years that I would be in Guatemala. Simply put, this initial contact would not have been made if I stayed in my room and pondered the challenging circumstances of my site.

So my plea to you is this. If there is something you are dwelling upon and don’t see the point in wasting your time by taking action, take action. Life isn’t about acting when the outcome is already known. Leave that for the inputs and outputs of machines. Life is about wandering down an unknown path and smiling when you realize where you have wandered. Thanks for wandering with me.