You may think we're crazy to spend our summer in Chiapas, but we think you're crazy not to!

It has been 7 days since the last visit to San Cris, and oh, what a long week it has been. Actually, it feels more like a conquest. The largest community that will be receiving stoves, Puebla Colonial is basically done! 24 meticulous particulate matter measurements later, 21 trials of spirometry- (some quick, but some painfully long tries) have put us over our largest hurdle on this trip so far. But in Chiapas, there will probably be more challenges to come.

There have been a handful of times in the past couple of weeks in which I thought to myself ¨Why didn't I stay in Newport Beach, where I have the luxury of eating whatever I please and have the ability to walk to the beach on a whim?¨ Generally these wistful thoughts happen when the rain is pouring down hard and we are walking up a steep, slippery hill of mud, or bouncing around in the back of a Nissan, bones colliding with the side of the truck bed. Or when I got a bug bite on my forearm, which became sausagelike and swollen x2 from wrist to elbow. But now that it has been over two weeks, these strange and sometimes uncomfortable scenarios have become a part of everyday life. Quexalhukum has become our home, the botoquin is now our bedroom, and Fernando's family is ours as well. We are not necessarily ¨assimilated" by any ethnographist's standards, but we have gotten to know some people well enough to appreciate what life is like as a Tzotzil in Chiapas, Mexico.

Like CB just posted, our experiences here have revealed the starking contrasts between the Tzotzil and US culture. That is, the universal cross-cultural comparison commonly made between the familial and social oriented people (greater good for all) vs the individualist (me, me, me, bigger is better, thus I want the biggest one). This is evinced by the tightly woven social network within the community and throughout Chenalho, which stems from the common history of the indigenous people and even moreso from their fundamental outlook on social justice. This social order falls under the name of "Las Abejas", a network of communities that stand in nonviolent solidarity in the pursuit of social justice for the indigenous people. In my eyes, this organization has redefined the limits that poverty imposes on people. Don´t get me wrong. There are still a large disparity with regards to resources, income, and basic rights. However, each day I am continually impressed with the strides that these communities have taken, especially with the health promoter model. Within Las Abjeas, there are health promoters, volunteered and/or elected by their respective communities. They are highly trained, and tend to the physical, emotional, and mental wellbeing of their communities. They are on call when they are at home, and unpaid. In the US, doctors would call them crazy! In their communities, they are the highly trained individuals that do more than just provide a solution to a symptom, they do it sustainably and in a personalized manner. The health promoter is your doctor/nurse/PA/med assistant/neighbor and friend rolled into one, essentially. In Q, where most of the people share some familial blood, the health promoter could be your uncle, or your cousin also.

Where am I getting with this? You wouldn't think that people living in poverty, with homes made from wooden planks, with chickens running amuck in the home, and most of the population lacking access to education past the 5th grade, would have formed this sophisticated form of social structure and health organization. Health promoters make major decisions together "platicando" (via discussion). They push for improvement of their communities, striking a balance between the vertical and horizontal structures of donation and service. i.e. they will work with outsiders like us, who want to donate stoves in a manner that allows them to take ownership of the project. However, they will not accept welfare or donations from the a government that has oppressed them for years.

As a whole, I have found that my experience here has shifted many paradigms I've had in the past, about people, race, culture... If I walk down the streets of LA, and I see Mexicans working on a construction project, I may think of people like Antonio, one of the health promoters in Q that has to leave for months at a time to find work that will pay for his wife, Maura's needs back in Q. I may think of the amazing work that Fernando, leader of the health promoters, basically THE MAN in Las Abejas that has helped the communities take immense strides with regards to progress and health. As a small man in stature, wearing the typical button down shirt, belt with large buckle, and a large cowboy hat, one would never guess that he is a large contributor to the health of Chenalho, an essential player in the struggle against the odds of poverty. Some may think that we are nuts to spend our last summer running around in rubber boots, lacking regular access to showers and toilets. I'd say that people are crazy to not experience what we get to see everyday. Having a million dollar view of gorgeous green valleys and mountains ain't half bad either.

Cross your fingers for us while we try and manhandle stoves at the Guatemalan/Mexican border.

El termino de semana dos, segun Farah

Week 2 was probably the longest week we will spend in the communities. We left for Q Sunday night last week, and were planning to return on Friday. This week we worked in Colonia Puebla, a very rocky 45 minute ride from Q. This was the biggest community included in our project, as we are working with 24 families there. Placing the pumps most efficiently required a lot of planning, and we decided that if we stayed through the week and worked all weekend, we could place all the particulate matter pumps and finish spirometry by Sunday (yesterday). The thought was enticing enough to push back our San Cris return date, and thankfully, we did everything we set out to do. We even fit in spirometry in Q. The only problem was that our protocol in Q was a little off, since it was the first day we did it, and in Colonia Puebla, three women were sick (one of them was hacking away and still wanted to try, but we held off). I have to confess to feeling somewhat greedy/ambitious for data, but we also have to protect our participants from our own research because if we dont, who will?

Anyway, it was kind of exhilarating doing spirometry over the weekend in Colonia Puebla. In the midst of this village in the mountains, with rain and clouds and an extension cord so we could do the testing outdoors (with what seemed like half the community watching), and babies and chickens and horses wandering around, we had this machine worth a couple thousand dollars and these barefoot women with cloths covering their heads blow really hard into a tube to measure their lung function. With a Tzotzil translator explaining the graphs so the women could understand and see their progress with each trial. It was madness, mostly in a very good way.

Next week we start up in Chuchtik, with 8 participants. Initially we thought there were 9, but we are finding that what we expect rarely corresponds to what actually happens. And that is okay. It is exciting to start in a new community each week. Colonia Puebla was so different from Q, with the houses very close together and lots of little tienditas selling Pepsi and galletas. In CP, the kids are always eating fried snacks and cookies, to our dismay. They seem to have less land for farming than Q families. This is an unscientific opinion, but I wouldnt be surprised if health indicators in CP are poorer than in Q, as a result of less walking, more access to junk food, and worse sanitation. People throw garbage wherever they please, and with all the packaged food items available in CP, trash is everywhere.

Today and tomorrow are a break from field work, but we have a lot on our to do list. We still havent figured out the logistics and financing of stove transportation from Guatemala. We also have to print photos that we took for the families we have met. As Anna wrote, they love having their picture taken and we owe a lot of photos to eager families. Plus, there´s always the usual chores of laundry, groceries, email, etc. It´s been a long week of peanut butter and jelly so we´re all hoping to get some carne asada before going back, too.

We also took some good photos this week, and will try to post them before we leave tomorrow.

Week 1 Photo Update

I've created an album to some of our photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/aumorgan/ChiapasWeek1Update

I've tried to annotate most of them so you get an idea of what is going on in each one. We have given copies of all the photos to the people who are in them. We need to figure out how to get more photo paper and ink--photos are very special in Q.

The End of Week 1 in Chiapas

We're back in San Cris for a night, after finishing the adoption study in Naranjatik and collecting the particulate matter pumps from houses in Quexalhukum. It feels really good to shower even though Jackie and I just left San Cris yesterday. We are going to celebrate the Fourth of July tonight. This means beer and/or wine and/or carne asada, depending on which of the four of us you ask.

Our first week in Quexalhukum is over. It went by slowly, or rather so much happened that time didn't exactly fly by. I think we were all a little homesick, but really glad to be here having this experience. For me, I never could have imagined the kinds of challenges and learning opportunities this project would present, but I'm so grateful for them.

There hasn't been too much time for reflection since we've had pretty much constant work and issues with our equipment, but a lot that happened made me think about all the things we discussed before we left: social justice, public health, the effects of imperialism, indigenous rights. Meeting Manuelito in Acteal, the 22-year-old who survived the 1997 massacre because the dead bodies of his family members fell on top of him, was definitely one of those moments that struck me. Anna and CB talked to Alberto, one of the health promoters, about the massacre. 45 people died and the community put the dead bodies into coffins and traveled all the way to Tuxtla with them to show everyone what had occurred. How is it possible that this happened, and life is still going on? Atrocities like this have occurred and are taking place right now, so it's nothing new. Life goes on, injustice or no injustice. But it made me realize right now that to get the most out of & put the most into this experience, and to truly integrate myself into this project and the people we are sharing it with, I have to understand this history and what it means to the people who it affected. It's a profound task.

Other random thoughts...drinking among men in the community seems to be a common issue. While hanging out in the casa de salud in Q, we have been approached on many occasions by drunk men. Today, on the way to San Cris from Yabteclum, we saw a little girl waklking with her dad who was clearly drunk. She was basically supporting him as he staggered. We were approached by another drunk man last Sunday, who chatted to us in front of his undoubtedly embarrassed wife and three daughters. Anna and CB went to do the adoption study in a home in Q yesterday and found that the senora of the casa was hiding in the bushes from her drunk husband. This is sort of a gross generalization, but it made me think, no wonder Muhammad Yunus decided it should be the women who get microcredit and not the men.

We ate higado del toro (bull's liver) for dinner last night, which is supposed to be special (any kind of meat dish is very special). It was quite an experience. In an attempt to be more self-sufficient up in Q, Jackie and I bought a pot, a pan, and utensils so we can cook breakfast for ourselves and eat pbj's for lunch. Today we broke out the pan and Jackie made scrambled eggs with canned meat and instant coffee. I had eggs and tuna and that will probably be the last time that happens. The rest had eggs and vienna sausage. I think we are all decidedly over the canned meat and huevos plan. But with some sugar, salt, pepper and onions, I think we'll be able to make some truly edible meals with that handy hot plate. As soon as the electricity gets fixed again.

Another Emergency Trip to San Cristobal

Farah and I have returned to San Cris after 5 nights of no showering. We came back two days earlier than expected because the charger for our particulate matter pumps short-circuited this morning. Murphy's law. Anna Mo and CB told us that all we had to do to get a truck to Yabteclum (to get to San Cris) was go down the hill and go left, then wait for a truck to pass by. We walked an hour with all our laundry, a computer and our broken equipment up and down the hills but nothing came. We tried to make conversation with people we saw on the road, which was probably really entertaining for them since we know about ten words in Tzotzil, one of the native languages in Chinalho, the municipal area where we are staying.

We finally caught a truck to Yabteclum. I never thought I'd be so happy to ride in the back of a dirty truck, standing up with over half my weight strapped to my back with about ten other people. We made it to Yabteclum and then got a taxi to San Cristobal. The whole thing took us about 3 hours.

Being in San Cris is like a breath of fresh air. We tested the pumps to make sure they were still not working (they weren't) and then tried to reach Rufus, our PI. He wasn't available so we decided to get some coffee and food, and then go do laundry and wait for siesta time to end (a lot of shops close from 2-5pm). On our way to the laundromat, with all our dirty clothes, we found an electronics store and decided to stop there and ask for help. Of course, we had brought all our equipment with us. He referred us to an engineer a couple of stores down who ultimately was able to fix our problem, amazingly enough. Meanwhile, we bought a surge protector so that the inconstant voltage in the mountains won't wreck our machines.

A couple of days back, while Anna Mo and CB were here dealing with the pumps, Farah and I started the adoption study for last year's project. Up until then, we'd always been questioning whether we were doing the right thing installing stoves in these homes, essentially changing a cultural tradition that's been in place for thousands of years. It was a relief to find that the women are using their stoves and that it does make a difference in their quality of life. They save wood and have less symptoms associated with the smoke that fills their kitchens from the open fire. They still continue to use the open fire (fogon), because it heats up faster, enabling them to make more tortillas. The stove is not a perfect solution for these women, but it has made an appreciable difference. We also found that younger women tend to use the stove more than older women, so perhaps this is a cultural change that will occur over generations.

Doing the adoption study enabled us to get to know the community better, too. Farah and I learned some more Tzotzil words and how to greet and ask basic questions. We greet the women by saying "miliote" and they respond by saying "li ayun" in a high pitched singsong voice characteristic of the language. The women and children are very shy but are starting to open up to us. We took pictures of the families and the children who we met, and then printed them out on our photo printer, which they loved.

One of the things that make us glad to return to San Cris is the amount of hiking we had to do the past two days. On the first day, the houses we hiked to were nearby so it wasn't so bad. The second day, Farah and I split up. When I asked where we were going for the day, the health promoter, Alberto, pointed to casitas on another mountain. Farah ended up going to another community across a canyon, and ended up only benig able to do one house there. We are becoming masters at navigating steep, muddy, rocky, narrow trails in our knee-high rubber boots.

Now we are off to dinner. Fernando's wife, Carmela, cooks for us in Q and could not be more generous. Her meals are the best after a long day of hiking. Although we love rice, beans and tortillas, we are very excited to change up our meals here in San Cris. Hopefully, while we're here, we can also bring something special back to Carmela and her family.

It's been a long week, and I am incredibly homesick and miss everyone back at home. Hopefully, I will get used the rugged lifestyle (aka camping 5 days a week) and not being able to get in touch with the people I care about for extended periods of time. All in all, I'm having a great time. Thanks to Gregorio, I sleep like a baby in my cot in Q. We will blog again soon. As John Rose says, salud y justicia.

(Jackie y Farah)

Chiapas- My Perspective

It is Tuesday and I have been here for the better half of a week. I am not going to lie, there have been times in which I thought to myself -Why am I here? Are we wanted here? Are we going to make life at all better for the communities we are working with?

These questions ran through my head as I sit in the back of a camioneta, exposed to the harsh daily rains of the Chiapan climate, sitting next to a Tzotzil man carrying Coca Cola to likely sell in the community. I feel it when I talk to the native people of Chiapas, speaking to them in a language that is foreign to them in Spanish-the language that marks the centuries of oppresion. At first I thought I would have a benefit, maybe even a connection to the Tzotil people, in that I speak Spanish and that there is indigenous blood that runs in my family, but here they serve as no benefit. We quickly realized that we are outsiders, and no matter what mastery we had of the Spanish language, it did not bridge the wide gap between us and them. Here in Chiapas there are two types of people- Those native to these lands (the Tzotzil and the Tzetal, etc) and everyone else (including us).

To the people of Chenalho we are outsiders and no matter how much we try to extend to them we will always be. We do not know understand what it is to be truly poor and oppressed. The years of discrimination, oppresion, and of being marginalize show in all of their faces. It is like this unspoken truth that envelops the community.

Our group came with the goal to make life a little better for the people of rural Chenalho, and in the process, learn from the community and remind us that what needs to be changed in this world. Even with the advances we make with this project, I feel that we will take away more than the people will ever take from us.

I never saw myself priveleged in comparision to my peers, actually, I have been at a disadvantage to the vast majority of them. However, with the support of my family and the grace of God I have found myself pursing an education and career in which only 1% of the world has a privelege of pursuing. What is to be said for the oppressed people of this state and country, and of all the world? Is it enough to say that I am lucky to have been born here in the US and to have these oppotunities within grasp? Why cant this be the case for them?

These thoughts have been in my mind the whole trip. And with them come the feeling of sadness and guilt. It is not right for these people to be in this state, it is not right for such poverty to plague anyone. Everyone deserves to live a life that is fulfilling and free from oppression, fear, and anxiety that you may not be able to feed your family.

Chiapas is a battleground of social justice and the struggle of the oppressed. There are many entities out here that are looking to empower the marginalized people of Chiapas. I just hope that what we are able to work with the people of rural Chiapas to hopefully make life better for them...

first days in q

The past few days have been crazy busy and eventful. Chris and I are in San Cristobal to deal with technical issues, so I will take the opportunity to update on what has been going on, and, if possible, reflect a little bit on our experiences.

Saturday we finally made it to Q with all our belongings. It actually wasn't as harrowing a journey as I expected. We took two taxis all the way. We went to dinner at Fernando's house, where we were given beans and rice and a nice chicken they had bought from the city. It actually all seemed normal, until I would catch a glimpse of a chick underneath Farah's seat, or my own, and realize that I was in a totally different life. We spoke with Fernando about the possibility of getting stoves from Sedesol vs. working on a donation, and he told us we should talk with all the promotores about it.

Fernando has 4 children. The eldest is 11 and the youngest is 4. She is adorable, and her names is Carla. They are extremely well behaved and help their mother, but they also play with each other the same as all siblings. All the children stare at us, but they think it is funny when we try to speak Tzotzil words. We play peek a boo and kick around the soccer ball with them. It all seems normal until you see the 11 year old come home with a machete and a huge bag of greenery on his head, and he tells you he has been working all day since he is on vacation from school.

On Sunday morning we presented ourselves in church. The whole mass was in Tzotzil, and Fernando translated for us when we greeted everyone in Spanish. We told them our names, and that we were friends with the group from last year, and that we were doing a similar project. It seemed to go alright, but it is hard to tell. Then we went to Chenalo (the bigger city, the "municipio") for the fiesta de San Pedro. San Pedro is the patron saint of Chenalo, so there was a big party with a ferris wheel and lots of bands. Nobody danced very much, but they seemed to like the music. Fernando was excited to hear the band "Pumas del Norte," but we went home with his wife and sister (Roselia, a promotora) before they came on. There were also lots of drunk men after the fiesta.

In the middle of the day, we thanked Carmela (Fernando's wife), for the breakfast she made for us. She apologized for the small portion, and said that it was because she didn't have the money to buy food for us. That was a seriously awful moment. I have rarely felt worse. All of us set into a panic, and managed to buy rice and beans and gave them to her. The next day we bought some tomatoes, onion, and mangos. Before we go back, Chris and I want to buy more rice and beans and eggs. It still feels awful to eat there, especially when we can see all the children watching us. Food is, relatively, very expensive here. It seems to be almost what I would pay in the US, but the average income is so much less.

When we got a ride back to Q (in the back of a truk, which Chris, Farah and I are too tall for), we had to walk about 30 min back to Fernando's house. I felt like dying. It was all uphill, and I was seriously miserable and lagged 5 min behind everyone. It was pretty embarrasing to see Fernando's mother, who has borne at least 12 children and has several grandchildren, walk up the hill carrying goods on her head. She had to stop to wait for me to catch up.

On Monday we went to Acteal for a meeting of health promoters. We were able to present the options regarding the stoves, and they had a good discussion and told us that they would prefer if we were able to get a donation from HELPS, but if not, that we could try to take the responsibility for the stoves, and then give it to them. We told them we would try to get the stoves donated. It was also interesting to see how they planned how they were going to distribute vaccines to all the communities over 4 days. They all divided up. It is nearly impossible for them to communicate outside of the monthly meetings they have, so they plan ahead.

While we were waiting outside for Las Abejas to finish, we met Manuel. Manuel is a 23 year old from Acteal. He remembered the massacre very well, and his family, and most probably his parents, died in the massacre. I think it affected him a lot. He was clearly unwell. He said he had Typhoid, but he was otherwise affected. He was somewhat glazed over, and kept moving his armes. He said that when he was sad he made up jokes and songs to make himself feel better. He told us some jokes. We asked him to sing a song, and he did. It was about the massacre. He said he wrote it in December to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the massacre. It was very short, and I don't remember all the words, but it started like this "el 22 de deciembre, el ano 97" then he mentioned that his parents and cousins died in the massacre. It ended by talking about the little girls who were killed, ages 4 and a half, and 8 months. Despite what I have learned about Chiapas and the massacre, it didn't really hit home for me until I heard his song. When we left he said he had a surprise to show us, but we didn't get to see it because a truck came to take us away. I feel awful that we left him. I hope we can go back to see him again and give him my Spanish-English dictionary. He likes to learn English. We were walking up some stairs, he waited and walked at my pace, and told me "take care."

On Sunday night we tried to charge the pumps, and realized that they weren't charging. It was a fairly awful feeling because we felt sure that we were delayed at least a week. Chris and I came down to San Cristobal this morning to sort out all the issues. Jackie and Farah stayed back to do the adoption study in Q. We spent the whole day running around to various shops, realizing they were closed for siesta, trying another one, thinking the problem was solved, realizing it wasn't, and looking for another solution. We now think we have figured it out. We tried to go back tonight so that we could start placing filters tomorrow, but, after walking 20 min with our huge bags in the rain, we missed the last truck to Yabteclum by about 30 seconds. We tried to chase after it, but it was hopeless. I think it is probably for the best, given the dark and rain, but it is annoying to be delayed another day.

One very good thing that happened out of today is that we heard from Rodolfo that the stoves will be donated by Helps, though we have to figure out the border issue. Somehow miraculously, Fernando encountered us on the street, after his phone cut off. He said he recognized my voice :) Anyway, within 5 min, he had organized a meeting with the administrator of Doctors of the World, who we met with, and who is helping us hire an agency to transport the stoves across the border, so that we don't have to go there ourselves. I'm hopeful that it will work out.

I guess this is more of a recounting of events than a reflection of my experiences, but hopefully now you have a little bit of an idea of what we are witnessing. Life for the people in Quexalhukum is hard. Harder than I realized, though they could probably point to people for whom life is much more difficult. Some things are easier, of course. I suspect for people like Manuel, life is more promising. He lives in community where he can just float, and people look out for him.

But for others, life is hard. Carmela has to worry about how to feed her family. Everyone has to walk for hours in rain and mud to get anywhere. They have to work together to clear the roads.

Enough for now. I'm going to sleep. Tomorrow promises to be equally strenuous.

Colabal (gracias en Tzotizl)