Puppies, patience, and prayers

Neighbor's son Dilan learning to pet Nola nicely.

When it rains in Guatemala, it pours.  The rainy season is upon us, and I must say, I'm happy it's here.  The cursed dust that has covered every surface for the past three months has settled.  The smell of drunk men's urine on the main roadside has been graciously washed away.  And at night, the rains bring in a lovely breeze that allows me to sleep under the covers without sweating through my pajamas. 

With the rains, however, come other complications.  Mudslides, flooded crops, contaminated water supplies...because when it rains here, it rains.  Just like, coincidentally, in my service.  Since Jareau (my sitemate) left nearly three weeks ago, my life has literally been turned upside down.  I moved into a new house, I adopted a handful of projects, I was finally able to facilitate my first teacher workshop, and on a whim, I brought home a 4-month old chucho (street dog).

Nola, my puppy, has become a true test of my patience.  She is, in a way, a replica of my Peace Corps experience.  The beginning is tough as hell, full of doubt, confusion, and lack of control.  But I expect that as Nola grows out of puppy-hood (assuming I'm able to train her along the way), she will be just as rewarding as my PC experience has recently become.  It's just going to take a few months of hair-pulling to get through it.   I still wonder daily what the hell I'm doing with her and why I decided I had the time (or the money) in my life to take on such a huge responsibility.  But here I am (or rather here she is, gnawing earnestly on my hiking boot), and for now all I can do is try my best to figure it out, maintain my sanity, and keep my shoes well out of puppy reach.

Groundbreaking ceremony

Which brings me to patience.  Puppies take a lot of it.  So does Peace Corps service.  But no matter how patient I manage to become here, I will never be Guatemalan Patient.  Today marked the ground-breaking of the Tzibal "Eco escuela," or Bottle School.  The community started this project nearly a year ago, and have been patiently waiting since then for this to really happen for them.  Between our evacuation in December, Jareau leaving and a few other unexpected complications, the project has been pushed back more times than I can count.  Each time, however, the community remains hopeful, in high spirits, and remains patiently awaiting the U.S. funds (thank you Hug It Forward!) that will make their bottle school possible.  About two weeks ago, I went up to the school and met with the director.  He took me up to the lot where the school is to be built and showed me a small altar of flowers, burnt incense and candles.  He explained that the previous night a number of village elders had held a Mayan prayer ceremony in hopes of allowing their project to begin.  That was the moment I realized how badly the community wants this school to be built.  It's not just the teachers or the parents with children who will attend the school that care.  It's the entire community.  And their prayers were answered today with the inauguration/groundbreaking ceremony, which also, incidentally, involved a Mayan priest, incense, and lots of praying (plus a Gringa with a pick-axe).  Because for Guatemalans, it appears that patience and prayer go hand in hand.