Finding home

So I'm returned from Guatemala, confused but clear-thinking. I'm confused about my place in this US of A but its clear to me that I belong back in Guatemala for at least a little longer.

I've almost completed week 2 of being in this Obama-loving country, and I'm a little more stable than I was the first week...I mostly cried or wanted to cry at every moment. Now I'm just trying to stifle my emotions during the day, hoping that I can enjoy my time here.

There are so many wonderful things and people to enjoy here! My family and friends are INCREDIBLE people that I admire. Every moment I have with them is special. I love high speed internet. And our road system is great...much less scary to drive here than in Guatemala.

But I miss things that only my little Guatemalan village can offer me: constant loud radios playing bad music or telling Bible stories using dramatic voices; beans, eggs, and rice at nearly all meals; a common desire to find ANY excuse to laugh; constant children (whose children they are is not always certain...they seem to come from everywhere) rotating through the room asking "que esta haciendo" what are you doing?; NEVER being alone; always being able to make conversation originating from state the road...if its rainy, mud...if its dry, dust...and then elaborating on the frustrations of that state and its effects on health....I love my village (aldea)

I miss it all those little things, but even more I miss my friends there...and mi chavo (boy) there. The people, of course, is what makes the place special to me.

Today I have the honor to send packages to my friends or acquaintences' husbands who are here in the States. Its kind of sad because I know how hard it must be for them, and its sad to think that its so hard to send them stuff by mail because its so expensive. And because they want so badly to send something to their husbands to show how much they care and to help them remember their family. Pictures of kids they haven't seen in years...I can't imagine making that choice to leave my family and maybe never seeing them again. Its not like me going to Guatemala for a few years...I can travel back and forth whenever I want, all I need is to save some money and buy the ticket. Its not the same...it makes me sad.

One reason I went down to Guatemala was to get a better idea of the immigrant experience here in the US. Why do people leave their home and risk everything to make a few dollars? What is the experience of the families they leave at home? I also was curious about the culture of Central/Latin America, if it can be generalized.

After living about 5 months in a village in Guatemala, I've observed a little. I wonder how Guatemalans can survive emotionally here in the States because the culture I'm in is very collectivist and the US is NOT. I imagine that most single immigrants from countries and/or cultures like the one I'm in try to replicate their home country as much as possible, living 6 in one appartment (for financial reasons and emotional ones, for sure)...and create a subculture. But even with a sub-culture, its still part of the larger culture of the US and I wonder how that affects the immigrants. I wonder how it is when they get back from the US. I do have a neighbor that was in the US for about a year i think before he was deported, and he seems to have re-adapted normally. I think many times immigrants isolate themselves for many reasons, in addition to missing their home countries, they are afraid or rejected from society.

Ok that may be getting boring for some of you, but I've been needing to reflect a bit. More to come, for sure. Its been awhile, because i just don't have that much internet time (or patience) while I'm in my little village. I'm in the states for a few more weeks, then off again to my home. I'm still trying to cope with being here...it continues to be difficult in every way. Thank God I have such wonderful people to make it worth my while.

Guatemala I´m here

I´ve arrived here in guate. actually its been a month today! its july 4 our independence day but i wont be eating hot dogs and watching fireworks, instead i taught some rowdy 4th graders and now i´m going to walk home on muddy roads hoping it wont rain. sounds gloomy but i´m quite happy. sure i´d rather it be sunny and 75 and i wouldnt mind seeing my family and friends, but the life here is happy. allegre. i´ve found a few good friends and i´ve found a few older women who tell me all about their childhood marriage and trials. i like listening here because its less work than talking. anywyays i´m happy. everything is beautiful here...the hills, the little plots of land, the houses...its picturesque . i only have a few minutes before i better leave and brave the rain so i get back in time for lunch. today the family wanted me to help them plant cabbage, but i had to teach so maybe when i get back i´ll do some real work. the other day i woke up at 5 am and loaded broccoli onto a pickup, checking for worms, then we droe the pickup to the drop of place and unloaded all the broccoli into crates and then ontothe truck. everybody seems to get a kick out of seeing a gringa (white woman) working the fields. i enjoy it...its good to work. How do i feel here...what are my ideas...well i´m good. Sometimes i go crazy with the constant spanish and sometimes i feel a little nervous because i don´t know what to do or what to say but i´m learning. and the more comfortable i feel, the better my spanish and the less awkward things i do. Although, the family i live with got a real kick out of the fact that i washed only my hair the other day. they said.., "you didn´t wash your body? you´re like the birds that just dip their head in the water"
they think i´m a little strange. thats okay. i am strange. little do they know that i´m strange even in my own country.
At the church its good...they´re quite traditional and the church here is different than evangelical churches in the states. every church has its problems. sometimes i get frustrated, but that´s normal for me. i´m never happy with everything about a churhc. but i a m grateful for them...they have really welcomed me. i´ve said that before. anyways. its time to go...

i wanted to reflect a bit more but time...its always there....ticking...

Leaving One Home for Another

Today's the day to go to Guatemala

I woke up this morning so happy. I sat in our empty house drinking coffee and listening to some good tunes, thinking about how hopeful I am.  I'm so full of hope.  I'm going to be where I've wanted to be for over 6 months.  I'm going to make huge mistakes like mean to say "thank you" and really say "you really need to take a shower" or "i like to eat tree branches not your food."  That'll be horrible when I totally mess up. I'll probably have some horrible days teaching, especially at the beginning.  But I'm just so darn excited I can't help but think it'll be wonderful. 

This morning I'm at the cafe down the street from where I live (the only non-Starbucks cafe in the entire town).  Voilá is where I met my Mexican friends that made my life incredible while I was here in Texas last summer and every time I've been back. I wouldn't be me without them.  I came in this morning and the cashier was french so I talked to her for awhile in French. The guys behind me speak Spanish.  If only someone here were Hungarian then I'd have all the countries represented in which you could find pieces of my heart.  

This is my last blog before I leave this country.  I've lightened my suitcase quite a bit, and I still feel like its too much.  I hope I learn more about how to love better and with more Grace. 

I'm diving in!

I find Jesus in the Weirdest Places

I'm convinced that Jesus is found in the most bizarre places.  He was in the prison with me and 14 Guatemalans, 1 Mexican, and an elderly man from Nowhere, Ia.  Who would have guessed that I would find Jesus in criminals...

Well, I guess its not that surprising. He was with the criminal on the cross who was promised paradise.  He was with the tax-collectors and prostitutes.  But that's all written in the Bible...I didn't expect it to be real now. 

Jesus surprised me again the other day.  All semester long I'd been working hard at making these pillows that me and my friend Jeff were going to hand out to homeless people.  The project took all semester to complete, so we finally decided to meet up after graduation in Waterloo and find some people there who would like a little hand-made-with-love pillow.  I had made about 30...and they were beautiful...i really loved them.

So after I graduated I got to Waterloo and started thinking where to find people to receive these pillows...then the ICE raid happened in Postville, and so I decided to take some there because the people were definitely in need of comfort and love...and some are or soon will be homeless.  But the church only took a few, so I still had plenty left. 

Jeff finally planned to come through town on a Friday on his way home in Western Minnesota.   We were going to go to the Salvation Army, deliver our pillows and have some coffee and doughnuts with whoever would be there.  Thursday I got a call from Mike the compassionate elderly man who goes to the jail every week, so I went and Jeff went, so the pillow plans were canceled. 

All these pillows and what to do? I wanted to deliver the pillows, but the most important part was talking to people...homeless, poor, marginalized.  Sometimes we have to be intentional about taking steps that are uncomfortable or abnormal.  So finally, last Thursday morning, I got to the Salvation Army with a trunk-load of pillows.   I was a little shaken up that morning and I wasn't feeling too well for a variety of reasons, so I was a little more shy than usual.  I sat down in the waiting room and an older black man began to small talk with me.  Larry.  He told me that he had recently moved up to Waterloo from Des Moines and he was having a hard time finding an appartment. I told him I'd lived near Des Moines and I was just moving to Waterloo, as well, but that I was staying on my brother's couch.  He said I was lucky to know someone so I had a couch to sleep on.  Then we started talking about the pillow project and he told me about how his mom taught all 7 of her boys how to sew.  We discussed different pillow-making strategies...then he helped me carry the pillows in.  He commented on how well-made they were...what a kind person!  He helped me when a woman asked for one outside (i was still a little shaken up and definitely out of my comfort zone so I wasn't too quick at responding).  Good guy, Larry.  

When i'd dropped off the pillows, I decided just to go back home because I wasn't feeling well, so I said goodbye to Larry.  I felt so lame for not going to the coffee and doughnuts. I felt like I'd done what I didn't want to do--give without the human connection that is so important. I hadn't met a homeless person.  

Well, I drove to Dallas, and Saturday morning I woke up thinking about the experience, regretting my shyness.  Then I went over my conversation with Larry and realized that he was most likely homeless.  No appartment, no place to stay, "nice pillows", "what a great idea, Katy".  Then later on that day I was shopping (at the richest, fanciest mall I've ever ever been in) with my mom and we'd taken a coffee break; while we were talking I started laughing to myself because not only was Larry probably homeless, but I had spent a good amount of time talking with him, hearing his story, and that was the ENTIRE POINT of the visit.  But I did it without realizing or really meaning to do so.  All I did was sit in a reception room and talked to the person who was talking to me.  I'm sure Larry was wondering why I didn't give him a pillow! I can't believe I didn't!  It didn't even occur to me that he was homeless. He was just so nice and honest and talkative.

Jesus is just in the most peculiar situations.  I found Jesus in Larry.  I just hope Larry got a pillow (I hope he got the plaid brown ones...they're my favorite).  

The Protest and the Jail

Sunday was the day planned for a prayer service, some speeches about the Postville Raid, and a march to the Cattle Congress. So we went to church in CF then drove to the church in Wloo (quite a difference there...) called Queen of Peace. There were a lot of people from Postville who came and plenty of latino immigrants who came as well. The service was nice...its so good to hear people speaking of God and social justice and truth...its just so true. After a few bilingual songs, a few people spoke. Paul Real from Postville, another minister from Postville, Sister Mary from Postville, a woman from Postville whose husband had been detained, a woman from El Centro Latinoamericano, a man who was associated with meat packing plants (he was passionate!), and a woman from some community organization...and more I think. The speakers were really interesting because they talked of the situation with urgency...comparing it to Civil Rights movements of the past. The needs of the community are now a lot financial because there are so many families in which one or both of the parents are now detained and will be deported...how are the children going to join their parents? Its complicated and heart-wrenching. The call is for humanitarian aid to the families ripped apart and for comprehensive immigration reform.

The march was long! it turned out to be about 5-6 miles! Me, H, A and the kids went but A came to pick up one of them because it was HOT and he was tired. It was a great atmosphere...almost entirely latino...everyone was so kind and helpful with each other...there were a lot of families so people shared strollers. At one point I carried the 3yrold of a 8mo pregnant woman. It was quite a day. The priest from postville talked at the Cattle Congress and gave a speech of hope through saddness and frustration and sometimes anger. What a thing to experience.

The next few days I didn't volunteer anymore because I had to start getting something done for going to Guatemala...I'm not sure I actually made any headway there...Anyway, on Thursday night I got a call from the man who visits the prison every week (actually A got the call and called me to call him because she couldn't make it). He (Mike) needed a Spanish speaker again Friday at 9:15. So I went (a friend from Central who also spoke spanish was on his way to Waterloo anyways, so he came a little late). He is a deacon in a catholic church in Lafayette county, and he has ten times more compassion than I have for these people. I met him at Hardees and drove over to the prison. Right before I got in the van, I thought...this is crazy Katy. You don't even know this guy. It could be a crazy. But he wasn't. He was super kind. A retired farmer who now dedicates his life to serving others. He wanted me to do pretty much everything because there wouldn't be time to translate everything. So the format was this: introduce myself, ask the detained immigrants to introduce themselves and get a chance to express themselves a little
(this was the important part to Mike), then I'd read a scripture (Romans 5:1-5) and we'd pray and sing a song. I was a little nervous because I'd never been in a jail before, but I was very excited. We went in and waited for a minute then went with the detained immigrants to an empty room. There wre about 15 of them. ALL BUT ONE FROM CHIMALTENANGO GUATEMALA! It was awesome. What lovely people. They were ready to listen to me, mostly eager to talk a little bit, and grateful for our support. It was incredible what they talked about...they were sad to be away from their families and to only have debts to look forward to after they got home. They just wanted to go home. They understood that they took the risk when they entered illegally, but they didn't think that the law was fair to them. They were thinking about their families in Guatemala who didn't know about what happened and relied on the money they sent back. No bitterness only sadness and gratefulness. I made them laugh a bit and told them that there were many people who are angry about what happened to them and were praying for them and their families and were protesting to legislators about the injustices committed against them. Solidarity...I can never say that word right in Spanish but they laughed and understood what I meant. I told them that i'd be in Chirijuyu, and one said "Take me with you!" sadly and jokingly....i would if i could.

Very sweet people. I felt at home with them. I felt like it was my going-away party...or something. I can't help but cry when I remember their faces and their words. Even a week later. I hope they receive God's justice and compassion not just after this life is over, or in spiritual ways, but in tangible, eatable ways. I want them to feel loved every day even while they are in prison, i want their families to eat, i want them to be able to make a decent living, i want them to have opportunities. And i want our government to make it easier to work legally as a low-income immigrant in this country.


So I feel really down about this, but its not half the suffering of those who live among the families who are ripped apart, and that's not even as painful as it is for the detainees and their families here and home. What a week. sometimes i just wish that i didn't care about immigrants. Then I wouldn't have to spend this emotional energy, money, gas, or time on this. But, all it made me want is to live among these people and suffer with them...and maybe help to ease the suffering a bit as best I can.

Postville Encounter # Two

So Thursday we helped at the free clinic... While we (my sisterinlaw's sister who also speaks Spanish) were there, we asked the leaders at Postville if they needed bilingual help for the next day. They said we might be needed at the schools or with a guy who was going to the prison in Lafayette county to visit the immigrants detained there. Either sounded exciting. Later that night we got a call saying they didn't need help in the schools but we were needed in the prison. The guy in charge of the prison trip, who we thought was a priest, called us and told us that we'd need to be in West Union around 9:15. There are about 30 immigrants detained there and he didn't know any Spanish. He goes to this prison every Friday from 10-11am. We got up early to go, but he called and said that the visit was canceled because the lawyers were consulting with the detained immigrants. He was so disappointed, and so were we. But we were persistent and called the folks in Postville about opportunities there. We went at about 6pm to help...of course we didn't really know what we were helping with, but we were ready. We showed up and were taken into the house next to the church, briefly introduced to what we'd be doing, and separated into jobs.

The volunteers were mostly from Luther college in Decorah because they are so close and the leader of this part was from the college. We had several different stations where people could find out where their friends or relatives were detained, another station was forms for them to get the checks of their relatives, another to fill out a form to get the right to legal representation if they were sometime detained, another for women who were wearing an ankle bracelet from ICE--i don't know exactly what that form was for.

Anyways, I was working a desk and a computer. For a long time, though, i was just waiting for a computer or a cord or whatever I was waiting for...it was organized, but not perfectly (as one would expect when the government detains almost 400 people and leaves the families afraid to leave the church...it wasn't something everyone was prepared for). I spent a lot of time just waiting and waiting. I talked to a woman who was wearing traditional Mayan clothing, and it seemed like what I saw in Guatemala. Since most immigrants in Postville are from Guatemala, I didn't risk too much in asking here if she was from guatemala. She said she was and it turns out she's from a village about 15 or 20 miles from where I'll be (in less than two weeks...heart attack!!!). In fact, almost all of the people there from Guatemala are from the Chimaltenango region. Its like meeting someone while you're in Russia who is from your county. Its just crazy. As I waited I was just watching the people. When you just look at people, its easy to make judgments about them. There were a lot of men who looked lower class...stereotypes about poor Latinos were easy to remember.

But once the started coming through the lines and I started talking to them, all of that floated away like steam from coffee. They were so kind, respectful and spoke intelligently. They were easy to make laugh and chat a little bit with. It was pretty interesting. The woman I was working with drove me a little bit nuts at first, but after awhile she got on my nerves a little less.

Overall it was a good experience. We stopped at Guppy's On The Go just for good measure, got some reheated pizza and headed home for family night...more sheepshead and mojitos.

At St. Bridget's in Postville

This week has gone by so fast...my stuff is still not moved in...its a blur. I need to write what I experienced with this whole immigration raid and its aftermath. This is not current events...the Des Moines Register is doing a great job with keeping up with what is really going on (even though I'm sure much more is happening)...it seems like they are accurately reporting, from what I've seen and heard. The ACLU has made an excellent statement about the events. The Archbishop of Dubuque of the Roman Catholic Church has made a wonderful statement about how and why the Church should react to these events.

But here I will write about my experience for an individual's perspective.

On Wednesday, my friend and I decided that we didn't want to wait around anymore for a phone call about volunteering. So we got in contact with the church in Postville that is welcoming the residents of the town who are too afraid of ICE to stay at home. When we called, they said they had almost no bilingual volunteers. We loaded up my dad's car with the pillows I'd made, and got on the road. We showed up at Postville around 6ish and tried to find the people to get us something to do. As one would imagine, the place was crazy. Loco. People were everywhere: women with little children on their backs, young couples holding hands, bored teenagers, children playing. The minglers around the church included reporters, journalists, white community members, clergy, and volunteers. We found ourselves most useful in the free clinic that had moved from Decorah. The residents of Postville were too afraid to travel to Decorah for fear of ICE, so the clinic came to them. It was chaos, generally. I spent most of my time tracking down a girl who was rumored (and later the rumor was proven true) to have a broken tooth. The conclusion was to send her to the dentist the next morning in Decorah, but the family had no car, no money, and no desire to risk the drive. Then we had to track down a trusted friend of the mother who was bilingual and had a car who could drive the girl to her appointment. I was there from 6 until around 8:30 and I spent nearly the entire time with this family. It was nice to get to know the family...they were from Chimaltenango, Guatemala where I will be living in a matter of weeks. The mother was alone caring for her 3 kids while the father had been detained on Monday.

Being there was really good because I got to see the people who were left alone--the families who were torn apart, the high schoolers taking care of their nieces and nephews, and the welcoming community. I was impressed with the members of the community who were serving food, even though they looked a little out of place and uncomfortable being white english speakers, yet in the minority. They stood ready with serving spoons, eager to give food to any hungry passer-by, and seemed relieved to see people that they could communicate easily with. The volunteers seemed eager yet nervous...especially those who didn't speak Spanish.

Actually everyone seemed a little uneasy...for good reason. Afraid to go home...afraid to drive to a nearby town... I mean, for those of us who have lived here our whole lives and our parents lives, it seems a little bizarre for all these people to be so afraid of our "law enforcers". I mean, generally we feel accepting of that crowd...policemen are viewed by some as a trustworthy authority. ICE did say "there won't be any more raids at this time" and for many of "us" it seems obvious that they won't come again...it may seem absurd to be afraid to drive to Decorah from Postville...

But what if you were in Guatemala and you'd misplaced your immigration papers the day the government stopped at your workplace...would you trust them? Would you want your family to trust them? Would you trust them? Wouldn't you be afraid? Its easy to say that the government is "just enforcing the law" when you have not been wrongly accused or refused your rights. By knowing people who are not in the wrong, it becomes less clear that the government is in the right.

Rambling. What else happened on Thursday at Postville. Well, the volunteers and the coordinators and the parish leaders were very kind, but it was very disorganized. I didn't feel especially useful, but I was glad to be around. Once it seemed like the place was calming down for the night, we headed out. I dropped off a few pillows...it seemed like there were pillows and bedding in plenty. Then we tried to eat at the mexican restaurant in town, but it was just closing. The next best eating was at Guppy's On The Go, the gas station that (thankfully) sold Godfather's pizza by the slice.

Inside Guppy's, we were waiting in line with a tall skinny redheaded teenager who was hanging around until the latina cashier finished her shift because he was looking for something to do...he clarified that he doesn't go around causing trouble...it just finds him. So he was there, then there were to young guys buying cigars then an african-american man in front of me with a 12-pack of Bud. The two guys who asked first for Swisher Sweets then switched to "the most expensive kind." They seemed unsure, so I decided to give my input, "Personally, I think Peach cigars are excellent." They went with my decision, and when asked for an ID, the young man gave over his driver's license while saying "Papers. No papers. No papers" obviously making an inappropriate joke about an illegal immigrant's situation. Everyone laughed awkwardly while the cashier looked pretty pissed off. Then the man in front of us mumbled something then took his case back to the fridge and came back to the line and he said "Man, i shouldn't buy that beer tonight because I'm just going to go back to my place and drink it. And then I won't go to work. I've got to go to work." And we laughed and said "good job...that seems like a good choice." Weirdest 10 minutes I've had in a long time. Who knew such a multi-cultural experience could be had in Postville, Iowa.

To conclude...um...i've got nothing. Its late. I just played sheepshead with my bro, sisinlaw and her sister...now its late. Tomorrow's a big day--there's a prayer service/demonstration...lots of stuff happening to get some national attention on this issue finally. The NYtimes did a lame article on their website. Tiny. but at least its there and its seems pretty accurate. nothing like the DM register. I love their coverage of the last week.

More is coming. I had one more day in Postville that I'll talk about...so I don't forget what happened and so all of you lovely readers get a personal perspective.