I have been volunteering during my trip through Latin America in order to experience daily life in the places I visit and to give something back to the communities that welcome me and other travelers. I share my experience here as an example of how interesting and fulfilling volunteering during travel can be.
My time in San Marcos has been not just a window into real life, but a chance to participate. While the project I came to help with still hasn't started, I've learned so much and continue to be amazed by how happy people are to teach me about their lives and share their homes.
Eager to learn more about sustainable agriculture and local culture, I arranged a 2-week volunteer opportunity through Entremundos. A women’s community group was setting up a bread company to supplement their husbands’ slim earnings. Twenty quetzals ($2.50) is not enough to eat, let alone pay bills and send kids to school. The 36 women in this association bought an oven on credit and planned to sell bread door-to-door in rural communities far from the markets. The business was to get started on a Monday, and we would arrive that Thursday.
My only directions were to take a bus to San Marcos, get in a cab that said "EFA" on the window, and ask for Maria (name changed) when the cab stopped. I was skeptical, but of course, here, those kind of directions are all you need.
The village is gorgeous. Ringed by green, mist-shrouded mountains, chickens peck around the edges of corn fields and horses clomp down the cobbled street. The air felt thin and fresh after Xela's smog.
Maria, the initiative of the women's organization and my host, met me at her house. She is a strong and engaging woman. She attended school only through the sixth grade and then started working as a cook. She met her husband when she was 15 and now has three children of her own. Her husband worked as a landscaper in the United States for three years, missing his children’s school years in order to pay tuition. One of the boys moved to the US, and after 2 years, saved enough money to set up a small Internet business here in his parents’ house. Maria also provides rooms and meals to nine teenagers who attend the local agriculture school. Since there are only a few such schools in the country, students have to leave home, and there are no dormitories. The students think that my friend and I and our accents are a riot. They also think we are useful when it comes to doing their English homework.
I quickly settled into Maria's home, munching on enchiladas while she explained why the bread business still hadn't started. They needed to install the shelves, and then they needed a regulator for the gas oven. By then it was Friday, and they couldn't start on the weekend. They also had to plant broccoli plants, but first they needed chicken manure, and they can't plant in the afternoon because it pours, and they needed pans for the bread, but the local store didn't have enough, so they had to go to Xela, but they wouldn't be in until Wednesday... and so, maybe, we'll start making bread on Thursday, a week after my arrival.
We went into the association office while waiting for the advent of the bread business (the group we are with is part of an association of 15 groups and thousands of people who get training - capacity building mainly - from this umbrella association). Louis, who set us up here, wanted to double and triple check that we were happy. He also explained more about the micro-finance they do and was going to help us arrange to visit some organic coffee farms and a peach farm.
One lazy morning, we went for a walk, and a neighbor called to us on the dirt road, saying she heard we wanted to work to learn about their lives and whether we like to chop wood. She armed us with machetes, and we chopped kindling from a giant brush pile in the shade of the corn plants. She offered us a Coke and bread, which we ate in the shade with the chickens pecking at the crumbs around our feet. I commented that they had lots of rabbits - 35 in fact - and she promptly invited us for lunch the next day to taste a rabbit. She also told me that her daughter lives in Boston, where I am from. "Can you bring me? I need to visit her. She works in a restaurant. She says it is cold and lots of snow."
We arrived early for lunch the next day, and her husband decided to take us to see where the cow grazed. We wandered through corn fields, the leaves and fuzzy stalks brushing our faces, to a small clearing with an animal shelter. We talked about agriculture - that I want to study it when I got home and that he thought that was a great idea, because agriculture is the base of development for every country and the basis of life as well. He told me about their composting and manure projects, about how good the cow’s milk tastes when she gets a certain kind of grass, and about his son’s dreams to earn enough money in the US to come back and finish agriculture school and start a small potato business. The people of Guatemala are always friendly, reserved and yet open at the same time.
Back at the house, rabbit was ready, cooking over a fire built with the wood we had cut the day before. We ate in a wood-walled kitchen, the smoke only adding to the rich flavor of the rabbit, a dog, cat, and chicken watching as our host stirred the coffee on the stove and we shared stories about ourselves and our lives.
Back at Maria’s, the old woman that takes care of the family's corn plants was making tortillas over a wood stove, expertly flipping the pancakes from one hand to another and slapping them onto the stove. She tried to teach us, and we produced some lopsided cakes. We were amusing of course, and she said that tomorrow ours will be round like hers.
Maria's family - and in fact the whole neighborhood - has been incredibly welcoming, interested in learning about our lives and sharing their own as well. I strongly recommend volunteering in local communities to anyone tired of the gringo trail.