TheBanyanTree: Learning to Expect the Unexpected

[apmartin at canada.com]

Learning to Expect the Unexpected


It was the rainy season in Guatemala, which usually
meant scorching heat in the morning and violent thunder
storms in the afternoon, but the weather for the past
week had been anything but normal. Continuously cold
and rainy, there were times the roads near our
residence disappeared under 6 inches of swiftly running
water.  It was hard for me to keep warm because I had
few ‘cold weather’ clothes with me.  

I had worn my fleece jacket to bed.  In the middle of
the night, I awoke with a jolt.  A giant had picked up
the house and was shaking it violently.  This can’t be
real, I thought, in my half-asleep state.  

The movement jarred me; my bed seemed to tilt.  An
earthquake!  Stronger than anything I had ever
experienced in Canada!  My foggy brain said to wait it
out.  It didn’t occur to me to seek the safety of a
doorway or to dive under the dining room table just
outside my door.  

The shaking slowed to a gentle tremor and stopped. 
Should I be doing anything?  Would there be more?  I
dismissed my questions, rolled over and fell back to
sleep.  And that choice could have meant death had an
even stronger aftershock followed.  It made me realize
that when an earthquake occurs during the night, it is
more dangerous because normally-careful people ignore
it.

The next morning, at breakfast, I discovered that
Guatemala was in a state of emergency, not due to
concerns about another earthquake but because Hurricane
Adrian was due to hit the Pacific coast and no one knew
what to expect. The news reported that all elementary
and secondary schools in the entire country, both
public and private, were closed for two days (Thursday
and Friday) as a precautionary measure.

Utatlan Spanish School, however, was not closed.  At
8:15 am, I shrugged into my backpack and set out at a
brisk walk, en route to city centre where it was
located.  The narrow, cobblestone streets were filled
with children in school uniforms whose parents hadn’t
heard the national alert.   

When I arrived at school, my teacher, Magda and I
discussed the earthquake.  She, too, had awakened
suddenly and had instinctively run for her children,
calling out to her husband, “Should we go outside?” 
Earthquakes were common in Guatemala, she said, but
weren’t usually as strong as what we experienced the
previous night.  Together we read the newspaper which
said the quake registered 5.1: significant, but not
destructive.  

The last major earthquake in Guatemala in 1976 killed
nearly 23,000 people, injured 75,000 more and left
approximately one million homeless.  Magda, a child
living with her parents in Guatemala City at the time,
remembered it vividly and related her recollections of
the devastation.  Nearby homes had collapsed and she
could hear the screams of the injured and dying.  She
and her family managed to get outside without injury
and had lived in the street for awhile afterward
because of the numerous aftershocks which continued for
many days.

We went on to read about the direction of the hurricane
and suggested precautionary measures.  The newspaper,
usually full of violence and murder, instead showed
photos of people on the coast preparing for the storm. 
(The newspaper recently reported there had been over
2200 murders in the first three months of the year, but
only 40 people had been charged.  Assassinations
relating to organized crime were common and nearly
everyone got away with it.)  Outside there seemed to be
an unnatural calm that made both Magda and I feel
anxious.  We didn’t know what to expect. 

The school’s afternoon field trip to ‘Aguas Amargas’
(which means ‘bitter waters’ because of the sulfur and
mineral content), went ahead as scheduled.  Ten
students met Marvin (the director of the school who
acted as our tour guide) and walked several blocks to
the bus stop.  We planned to take a chicken bus to
Zunil, a town about half an hour away and from there
hoped to catch a ride in the back of a pickup truck for
the twenty minute ride to the hot springs, which were
off the beaten track.  

As we waited, an ancient mini-bus pulled up.  The young
Guatemalan driver inside opened the door and called out
to Marvin, offering our group his services.  After some
dickering, Marvin and the driver settled on a price of
18 quetzales per person ($CAD3.00) which included
driving us all the way to Aguas Amargas, waiting, and
returning us to Xela.  It cost about $CAD1.00 more than
our original plan, but would be much more comfortable
and convenient.  

Almost immediately, I realized the bus was in disrepair
and probably hadn’t had a safety inspection in years.
Our route took us up into the mountains where there
were many steep inclines and declines.  Uphill, the bus
chugged along at 30 kilometers an hour so I knew we
would not be in an accident due to high speed.  It was
the downhill that worried me.  I didn’t trust the
brakes.

We passed the cultivated fields of Almolonga, a wealthy
indigenous town famous for its production of
vegetables. A lush patchwork quilt of vegetable patches
covered the valley.   We saw the Mayans working in the
fields.  Beside a rushing stream a dozen people washed
mesh sacks of carrots and threw them onto trucks.
  
Originally, the valley was covered in volcanic stones,
but these particular locals were highly-motivated. 
They cleared away the rocks and planted vegetables in
the dark volcanic soil, unlike the other indigenous
villages that planted only corn.  Water is plentiful in
the area and the farmers dug drainage canals so that it
was readily available to the fields.  They were so
successful in their endeavor they now exported
vegetables to El Salvador and other countries.  Nearby
communities have begun to change their agricultural
practices in order to follow their example.

On the far side of Almolonga, our bus passed Los Banos,
an area with numerous natural sulfurous hot springs. 
We passed acres of blooming flowers before reaching
Aguas Amargas which was situated in front of a
towering, bare vertical cliff that leaked steaming hot
water.  On the other side of the valley, Volcano Santa
Maria dominated the landscape, hiding Volcano
Santiaguito, one of the world’s most active and
dangerous volcanoes.

There was an abundance of maintenance people and
builders at the mineral baths because the premises were
being expanded, but we seemed to be the only customers.
  It cost 10Q (10 quetzales or $1.50 to enter).  Most
of our group wanted to hike up the mountain, which was
used for Mayan ceremonies, and later enter the pool and
baths.  Only Andrew, Brenda (a new student from
Britain) and I wanted to go into the baths immediately. 

The bath houses were composed of numerous private rooms
with stone bathtubs large enough for three or four
people.  All were vacant and their tubs, dry.  While we
changed into our swimsuits, the attendant turned on the
water and a gush of steaming sulfurous water quickly
filled one of the tubs..  

Andrew had numerous red welts on his body that were in
the process of healing.  Two weeks after arriving in
Xela, he had been attacked by insects and itchy bites
appeared all over his body.  He assumed he had picked
up a flea from Lula, the cat at our home-stay, or from
Nuevos Horizontes where we were volunteering.  

He fumigated his room and clothing twice but the
problem continued.  Oftentimes he complained he could
feel bugs crawling on his skin, and finally found a
brown spider-like insect smaller than a flea crawling
on his arm.

At his wit’s end, he visited a doctor who informed him
there were numerous varieties of blood-sucking
parasites in Xela.  The doctor said most people had
them but the difference was that Andrew was having an
allergic reaction to the bites.  To relieve the itch,
he prescribed an antihistamine, and offered no
suggestions on how to get rid of the insects
themselves.  

“They are everywhere,” the doctor said.  “It is easy to
pick them up when you ride the buses because of all the
animals.”  (We had ridden buses where there were
chicks, ducks, cats, puppies and pigs on board with us.)

Andrew, however, was not prepared to ‘live with them’
as was suggested, and fumigated his room and clothing a
third time.  Now, only red bumps remained of his ordeal.

At first, the water was too hot to enter so Andrew and
Brenda left for the swimming pool which was out of
sight of the baths.  I stayed with our clothing and
purses. There is too much theft in Guatemala to leave
anything unattended. 

After ten minutes I was able to ease myself into the
water. Andrew and Brenda joined me shortly afterward.  
 

“This is my first bath in three months,” I said, and I
wasn’t joking.  It was also the first time I had access
to a sit-down bath, having made due with showers, and
an occasional sponge bath.  Andrew, Brenda and I
enjoyed our mineral bath for nearly an hour and a half
before it was time to pack up and go.

When we boarded the bus for Xela, my gaze scanned the
sky.  There was still no sign of the impending storm.
Not even our regular afternoon thunderstorm had made an
appearance.  

That evening, Andrew, Brenda and I attended a
fund-raiser dinner for AIDS and TB patients.  Feeling
adventurous, I indulged in two glasses of white wine. 
Who knew what the morrow would bring?

::::