Week 10: Changes, Shadyness

Last week I came back to Guatemala to find it, incredibly, even more soggy than usual: tropical storm/depression Matthew had been sitting over the country for four days, and everything was soaked through and through. Miraculously, the hillsides had held up and there weren't any mudslides blocking the road to Xela. However, when I arrived home I found my room hadn't fared as well: one entire wall had turned fuzzy with green, white and brown mold. Upon further examination, the mold had already spread to another wall, two pairs of my shoes, the headboard of my bed, and one of my running shirts that had been hanging on a nail. Woah, right?

Initially I accepted this as "just another one of those Guate-things I'm going to have to deal with". But over the next few days I found myself waking up congested; more than what I'd get with a normal cold, which had been spreading around the school. And my nose would clear as soon as I went to school. So I soon convinced myself that living inside a ball of mold was unhealthy (duh, right?), and started thinking of what to do about it. My options were 1. get rid of the mold or 2. move. Because I was really, really fond of my family I bought some bleach on Saturday and attempted to scrub away the badness, but quickly realized that it was futile: mold had moved in while I was in Canada, and it was set on staying. You'd think that, upon realizing that my only other option was to switch families, that I'd be content with the decision, right? Nope. I was quite unhappy about it, and spent a couple days in denial, moping around and griping to my friends. Then Monday I woke up feeling especially ill and frustrated with life in general, so I fairly spontaneously decided that enough was enough: I was moving.

There were plenty of tears when I told my host mom about my decision, but she was very gracious and understanding. I had my "last supper" with them on Monday night. We had the usual: refried black beans, tortillas, fried plantains, eggs and coffee. We told ghost stories and gossiped, also per usual, and then after more tears and hugs, I left. As soon as I closed the front door behind me I had an incredible feeling of ambivalence: on the one hand I felt like I was leaving behind my family and my home, but on the other hand I was relieved to be walking away from the house which had given me so much grief over the last 2.5 months, what with the mold and bed bugs.

So now I am with a new family, lead by Doña Amanda. It is about the same distance from the school, in a mold- and bed bug-free room, and so far, so good. I'll write more about them in another post.

In other news, Saturday night was dramatastic. Here's the story: a group of us were hanging out at El Cuartito on Saturday night, sharing a bottle of wine and chatting. Behind us were sitting two /very/ drunk young Guatemalans. At one point, one got up and wobbled off. Shortly thereafter we realized that Merete's jacket was gone, which had her fancy Norwegian phone and wallet inside of it. Upon further recollection, Merete recalled that the guy that had been wearing a hooded jacket upside-down, which was probably hers. But the guy was long gone by the time we realized this. Luckily, his friend had hung around the cafe, and so Merete went over and started chatting with him. He started flirting/slurring with her in English, however when Merete eventually asked him about his friend and her jacket, he suddenly lost all ability to speak English and claimed that he had been drinking solo. So we told the waiters about our dilemma. They were really nice guys, and they tried to get information out of the friend, too. They failed, and recommended calling the police, so we did.

I'm not sure if the bartenders were responsible, but about five minutes later, not kidding, the Guatemalan version of Michael Chiklis in "The Shield" shows up: shaved head, wearing a keffiyeh around his neck, leather jacket and jeans, coolly smoking a cigarette. He said he was a "friend" of the police and then took the friend outside to "talk". Ten minutes later Merete goes outside to wait for the police to show up, and notices that the thief's friend face was bleeding from multiple places. Chiklis informs Merete that he "fell on the curb". /Sketch-y/.

Soon afterward eight cops show up in two big pickup trucks and interview the friend, which basically involved shoving him around on the street shouting questions, and when he still didn't say anything, throwing him bodily into the back cab of a police truck. Then they huddled, Chiklis included. A bit later Chiklis comes over to us and asks for Merete's Guatemalan phone. We ask why, and he says, we didn't find anything of Merete's in this friend's clothes, but if you give us Merete's phone, we'll say we found it in his pants and arrest him, keeping him in jail for one week, or until he fesses up about who his friend was. Skeeeeetch. Luckily this grand scheme couldn't have worked because Merete was leaving two days later.

After the cops found out that they couldn't frame anyone that night they lost interest and most drove off (they still took the friend to jail, though). Merete still needed to file a claim for insurance purposes though, so we went to the police station in the back of one of their trucks. The police station had more people with automatic weapons than I've ever seen in my life. Kind of intimidating, but we got the report filed and canceled her cards the next morning.

I've posted some photos of last week's market on my Flickr page. Usually on the first of each month the central park has a bigger-than-usual market, but this month Xela is celebrating their saint, the Virgin Rosario, so the market was /huge/. I went with a couple friends on Sunday. Didn't buy anything other than three slices of pizza (for $1!), but it was enjoyable partaking in the festivities.