Sustainable development Archive

Planting the Kingdom of God in Sibinal

Planting the Kingdom of God in Sibinal

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SIBINAL, San Marcos, Guatemala – Juan Pablo Morales and Nate Howard come from vastly different religious traditions, social circumstances and geographies. But in the end, it was their faith that brought them together in their opposition to the mining industry, and in their project to provide economic alternatives in one of Guatemala’s poorest regions.

For Juan Pablo, it was his faith in a just and loving God; for Nate, it was a faith in the potential of humanity. And for both, as they work together to establish sustainable development options in a region slated for strip mining, it’s a faith that the people can find a way to earn a living from the land without destroying it.

“We are constructing the Kingdom of God among the poor in Guatemala,” Juan Pablo began, his smile as wide as a child’s. “Poverty is not part of God’s plan; poverty is the anti-kingdom. When I speak of the anti-kingdom, I am speaking of the forces of darkness, the forces of empire, of neoliberalism, which tend to flow from the North to the South.”

Juan Pablo speaks the language of liberation theology, an approach to Catholicism born in the deeply divided Latin American continent when brutal dictatorships held sway. Some religious leaders in those days saw the brutal repression coming from the government and chose to side with the poor; many paid with their lives. Eighteen priests and 150 catechists were murdered in Guatemala, according to Juan Pablo’s reckoning, and 400 villages were massacred.

“The Evangelicals are preaching the coming of the apocalypse – but we went through our apocalypse during those 36 years of war.”

The numbers are close to home for him; his brother was among those catechists who were killed. But far from driving him away, it left him with a commitment to follow in his brother’s footsteps. After four years of study he, too, became a passionate teacher of the Catholic faith, and soon he moved into a position with Caritas, a nonprofit Catholic organization serving the poor.

Nate is softer-spoken but no less passionate about the church’s calling to empower the poor. Like many Indiana natives, he was raised an Evangelical Christian, but drifted away from the faith in his youth. He studied at Indiana University and then Eastern Pennsylvania University, getting an MBA in international economic development. Now he is working for the Mennonite Central Committee, helping communities to build sustainable, locally based economic models.

His hands-on experience in Guatemala gave him a completely different view of economics from that he had learned from his economics textbooks.

“Economics is not a science; it’s really the study of human relations,” he says. “It’s about our relations with the earth and with each other; it’s about theology, ecology, sociology.”

He sees his work here as primarily supporting Juan Pablo and the villagers, rather than running the development project. “Our goal is to try to help people see themselves as powerful actors and to work together to see what’s possible,” he said on our bumpy chicken bus ride up the mountain.

Living and working in the San Marcos district in the mountainous western side of Guatemala, close to the Mexican border, has been an eye-opening experience for this Midwesterner. Economic opportunity is so limited here that about 70 percent of the male population of this region has migrated at some point to the United States, and the money they send back is what raises the standard of living above that of extreme and grinding poverty. Now, however, with the economic crisis and increasing anti-immigrant sentiment, more and more Guatemalan immigrants are finding themselves out of work; many are heading back home, some compliments of U.S. Homeland Security.

Nate and I rose at 4 a.m. this morning to catch a bus for the two-hour drive to the town of Sibinal, and from there we were going to climb a mountain to La Vega del Volcán and see the fish hatchery. But the top of the mountain is cloaked in a blackish grey, and as we order our eggs and black beans and coffee, Nate’s contacts in La Vega call to warn him that the village is being deluged in a downpour.

The sheer rocky climb is hard enough when it’s dry, Nate tells me, and Juan Pablo arrives and seconds his concern. “You can probably make it, but you will suffer,” he said. So I settle in for an interview instead.

What Nate and Juan Pablo are focusing on is a loosely organized network of cooperatives in several rural villages in the municipality of Sibinal. One is a trout hatchery in La Vega, where the clear, spring-fed mountain streams make this hard-to-cultivate species a natural. The hatchery has been such a success that the community is now working on Phase II, raising fingerlings to sell to surrounding communities.

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(Trout farm at La Vega del Volcán: Nate Howard photo)

Other agricultural projects, including potatoes and ornamental flowers, have helped diversify the regional market opportunities beyond subsistence maize and beans, and have brought in a little cash.

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(Flower farm at La Linea: Nate Howard photo)

But what has Nate most excited at the moment is the ecotourism project, which would take travelers on a variety of treks, most of them through the unspoiled wilderness of the Tacaná volcano on the border with Mexico.
After breakfast with Nate and Juan Pablo, they took me down to the municipal building to speak with local council members, and I fielded a lineup of rave reviews for their work.

“There’s been a lot of international aid organizations here over the years; they’ve spent millions of dollars, and little has changed,” said Elfego Zunún Ortiz, one of the council members. “But we’re seeing now how these folks are doing an extremely effective project without spending a lot of money, just by involving the people in the leadership and planning of the project – and we have great hope.”

Domingo Javier Godines, another council member, stressed the importance of sustainable development projects like these as an alternative to mining. “We see the mining as bringing development to the United States, to Canada, to Europe – but it brings very little development to us, the poorest people in Guatemala – just 1 percent of the profits stay in Guatemala,” he says.

I’ve heard the statistic many times and have verified it; as hard to believe as it seems, it’s true.

Godines went on to describe the scene at a mining project he’d visited in El Salvador. At the foot of the mountain, 35 communities had lost their water source – a situation he predicts will happen here if the mining is allowed to continue.

Howard, for his part, underscores the importance of these development projects as an alternative to the mines.

“We believe that this type of community organizing and economic development will have a major impact on how communities like Sibinal respond to mining proposals in the future,” he wrote in a recent report. “Why would the people of La Vega del Volcán consider selling their natural springs and land to a mining corporation if they are being used for their trout production and other sustainable agricultural enterprises? Why would the communities of Sibinal acquiesce to the destruction of the mountains and bird habitats that attract paying tourists to their villages?”

Why indeed. He’s shared a few photos with me, and it’s enough to make me return – when it’s not rainy season. I want to see this breathtaking beauty for myself, and I want more than anything for the group to be successful in preserving this spectacular corner of the Kingdom of God.

Meanwhile, for more information about the project, to book a trek, to contribute to the project or to volunteer, contact Nate Howard at natedavehow@yahoo.com.


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Archaeologist shifts focus to modern-day Mayans

Archaeologist shifts focus to modern-day Mayans

POPTUN, Guatemala – It’s been a long day, and Rosa Maria Chan is still not finished. She’s traveled for hours on twisty, rocky country roads, held community meetings in three villages, toured a cacao farm, met with the liaison for funding from the World Bank and a tilapia farmer, answered questions all day long from a visiting journalist, checked in with the Guatemalan Vice-Minister of the Environment and a score of others via cell phone, and ate a hasty dinner while checking her e-mail.

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It’s 9 p.m., and by most people’s standards, it would be a good time to turn in. She has a two-day workshop on watershed protection beginning tomorrow, and she needs to prepare.

But now the mayor of Poptun is here, visiting with a Guatemalan legislator who is head of the committee on environment, and she has some networking to do.

There’s no such thing as down time for Rosa Maria Chan, director of ProPeten, archaeologist turned administrator of one of the country’s most respected environmental organizations. The tireless drive she once applied in six-day jungle expeditions, like the one where she discovered an ancient Mayan village she named Zapote Corozal, she now channels into marathon searches for funding.

This time, however, she’s motivated not by the call of an ancient people but the spirit of their descendents, migrants who have been pushed off their land by poverty and war. These are the people she sees as key to a stable, sustainable future for a seriously troubled region.

The Peten, home of Tikal and a host of other magnificent Mayan cities, takes up a third of Guatemala; it is the largest of the country’s states, or departments. Until relatively recently, it was an untamed jungle wilderness. In the 1960s, that began to change, with the construction of a new highway, followed by wealthy landowners coming in and clearing the jungle to make way for enormous cattle ranches. These landowners, called latifundistas, were seeking a calmer place to live, away from the conflicts in the highlands resulting from an attempt at agrarian reform, and Kek’chi and Mopan Mayas moved there to work the plantations.

The ‘70s and ‘80s brought a different sort of migrant, those fleeing violence in their homelands in the highlands. In three decades, the population of the area increased 10 percent each year; in 1990, the former wilderness was home to 300,000. But the bulk of the newcomers didn’t find the good farmland they were hoping for, as most of that had already been snatched up by the latifundistas. Instead they settled on parcels on the hillsides and planted their milpas as they had for centuries. The forest was decimated.
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In 1990 the government responded to international pressure to preserve what was left of the forest – mainly a huge swath of jungle and wetlands in the north, where the Maya Biosphere Reserve was created, forming the largest natural preserve in Central America. In 1995 it followed suit with four smaller preserves in the south of Peten.

In theory, it sounded good. The problem was that the people living there had nowhere to go. A long-range plan to resettle them was not carried out, and continued population growth led more and more people to invade the preserves, causing escalating conflicts, especially in the region of the Maya Biosphere Reserve, where ProPeten – at that time a project of Conservation International – had a field station to do research and work with local communities to protect the preserve.

Unfortunately, people in the local communities saw the environmental community as a threat to their survival. The tensions culminated in the burning of the field station and a highly publicized incident in which members of the ProPeten staff were held hostage.

This was all before Rosa Maria’s time, but she relates the history as if it were her own – as it was soon to be, as Carlos Sosa, her longtime friend and mentor and the founder and director of ProPeten, asked her to become the head of its board of directors. “I know you, and I know you will never sell out ProPeten,” he told her.

The hostage crisis, Rosa Maria says, just brought to a head the differences in philosophy between the staff of Conservation International and the local staff of ProPeten. As she sees it, Conservation International, like most of the mainline conservation organizations at the time, took a strictly conservation-oriented approach, whereas the local staff recognized the need to integrate social policies into the organization, a need that CI failed to respond to.

“That’s why I refer to myself – and to ProPeten – as an environmentalist, not a conservationist,” Rosa Maria told me on the day we met. “I see people as part of the environment, and if you don’t include them in your plan, it will fail.”

Sosa gave up trying to convince the Conservation International leadership to change their strategy and decided it was time to separate. What ensued was a painful power struggle that Rosa Maria euphemistically calls “a divorce.” As chair of the board of directors, she was drawn into the struggle. It was a nightmarish time that she doesn’t like to recall, especially the most painful part. During that year, Sosa was diagnosed with late-stage cancer, and soon after, he died.

The board of directors called an emergency meeting and immediately asked Rosa Maria to take over as director. It was a difficult decision, as she was currently involved in a high-profile archaeological project at Piedras Negras, listed as one of the world’s most endangered historical sites by UNESCO. The organization was left nearly bankrupt and without even an office or supplies after the rift with CI. Most people would have run in the opposite direction.

But Rosa Maria felt called to the task. She finished her two-month commitment at Piedras Negras and set to work rebuilding the organization. Seven years later, by all accounts, her work has paid off; ProPeten is seen locally, nationally and internationally as one of Guatemala’s most successful environmental organizations.

One key to Rosa Maria’s success has been her longtime experience working with government and nonprofit agencies. She started by working her way through college in a job with the Guatemalan Secretary of Planning. Here she learned how to do budgets and negotiate the system, and she began to build allies at the national level. She later held jobs with several other nonprofits, including the German nonprofit GTZ, and learned how to write fundraising proposals.

On a normal day, she juggles telephones and e-mail accounts and meetings with the agility of an acrobat. But today, she’s left all that behind to enjoy the fresh air of the countryside and meet with some of the communities she’ll be raising funds for. I’ve been invited to ride along, because this is really the only time she has to meet with me. So she and two ProPeten staffers, Elder Hernandez and Hector Choc, explain to me some of the many programs ProPeten is sponsoring in the countryside as we bump along a country road past scorched hillsides and grazing cattle.
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On this particular day, she’s meeting with some of the five communities that have expressed an interest in starting cacao farms. Rosa Maria is approaching international foundations to find the funding for this project, and she wants to be sure the communities are prepared to invest the time necessary for a successful project.
“Cacao is a good thing to promote here because it’s native to the area, and it’s part of their indigenous tradition,” she explained. “It requires shade, so it’s a form of agroforestry, which protects the soils and the watersheds.”
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Ultimately, however, perhaps the most important result is to give these families a way to earn a living on their own land without slashing, burning and using it up, as so many families have done. It will also give them the incentive to resist the land speculators coming through to buy up tracts for the oil palm companies, which ProPeten and other environmental groups see as an increasing threat to the region.

Other programs that ProPeten is sponsoring now throughout the countryside include tilapia ponds, ecotourism projects, a educational program with a soap opera and xate cultivation – xate is a native plant used by the floral industry which has been severely depleted in Guatemalan forests by foraging campesinos who sell it to make a living.

In fact, the illegal harvesting of xate has grown to the point that, as Guatemalan forests have been depleted, people have been crossing over the border to Belize to harvest their xate. The plant is now in danger of extinction and the government has passed a law requiring xate dealers to verify that their harvests come from legitimate sources. Guatemalan incursions into Belize for xate harvesting is on the decline in the past year, Rosa Maria’s Belizian contacts have told her, in part due to the new law and in part because of the xate cultivation promoted by ProPeten.

After two days in the communities come two days of meetings of an entirely different sort: local and regional leaders gather to map out a strategy for watershed protection. Then, on Saturday, a meeting with a local women’s cooperative.

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While Rosa Maria’s work may be tiring, it is not without its rewards. Southern Peten has embraced her with open arms, and everyone from the mayor to the local agriculture administrator and the head of the regional planning department shows up to spend two days mapping out a watershed management plan under her direction.

“I’ve had the opportunity to work closely with Rosa Maria since the beginning of my administration and I’ve seen the success she’s had administering this organization and working with the local groups and the municipality,” said Poptun Mayor Angel Kilkán Ochoa. “She’s a woman of enormous vision, and I wish we had 10 or more people like her, and that all the municipalities would work with her and her team to lift up our communities together.”

Donald Perez, coordinator of the regional organization of community leaders, agreed. “I would say that today, ProPeten is the NGO with the weight and experience to represent the initiatives of conservation and human development in Peten – and given that Peten represents a third of Guatemala, we could say that we’re really good ambassadors for conservation at an international level for our country, thanks to the live experiences of ProPeten that are excellent examples.”

Here are some images from the four days I spent with Rosa Maria, Hector and Elder. The videotaped interview with Rosa Maria (above) is available only in Spanish at this time – sorry!). For more information about ProPeten, visit their website, www.ProPeten.org.


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School for Street Children converts tourist dollars into miracles

School for Street Children converts tourist dollars into miracles

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Eco-evangelical Mayans work for a greener village

Eco-evangelical Mayans work for a greener village

PAXTOCA, Totonicapán, Guatemala – Martin Pedro Toc Sic is an eco-entrepreneur on a mission. Standing amid the green, forested hills of his native village, this young Maya marketing major explained why he left a good-paying job in the city to try and make his mark in his hometown with projects designed to keep those hills green.

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“My father told me a long time ago, ‘Martin, God wants a vocation for you.’ And I always looked for it,” he said. “Then one day, God touched me with fear. I was listening to a radio program about the way the climate is changing and it scared me so bad I ran to my room and hid under the covers and trembled. But then I realized I had to do something about it. Instead of hiding in the house, frightened, it’s time to find solutions.”

Martin is a curious mixture of many things that on the surface don’t seem to blend. He’s a business-minded environmentalist and an evangelical Christian working to revive the Mayan cosmovision. He’s the founder of Projuve, short for Youth Program for Sustainable Development (Programa Juvenil para Desarrollo Sostenible), and his enthusiasm for his subject matter is contagious. A youth leader in his evangelical church, he’s managed to attract nine others to the cause, including Carmina, now his wife-to-be, and they’ve all put their work aside today to meet with me at their new Forestry Center, a small protected plot of tree seedlings they are nurturing for a reforestation project.

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The youths begin with a brief and very professional introduction, each telling me which of the Projuve departments they belong to: environment, programs, fundraising and business development. The young women are dressed in corte tipica, the traditional Quiché Mayan woven skirts and lacy blouses. The young men are all business casual.

“Here it’s normal for the young people to wear their hair long and their T-shirts loose, but we don’t want to do that,” Martin explained to me later. “We want to have the respect of the community, so that’s why we dress this way – formally. We are trying to earn their trust.”

In the year since their founding, they’ve garnered the support of a local cooperative, which has given them the land and supplies for their forestry center. They’ve held a Christian eco-concert, Una Sola Voz por el Planeta (One voice for the Planet) to raise money for their cause.

They’ve established a recycling project in their town; in a place where the idea of recycling was once as far from most minds as the moon, villagers are now separating their plastic, glass, metal and paper from their organic waste and saving it for the Projuve volunteers, who collect them every two weeks and truck them to the recycling center in Xela.
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On an ordinary day, many of this dynamic group can be found hauling bags of rich volcanic soil and mulch from the surrounding forest to mix into the tiny nursery bags for the seedlings in their Forestry Center. Already they’ve got some 8,000 sprouts here, including white pine, oak, cypress and the endangered pinabete, or Guatemalan fir. Their goal is to plant 100,000 in the surrounding deforested areas by the end of the year.
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But this is only the beginning. Their long-range goals include an ecotourism program in the surrounding mountain valley, built around a spectacular waterfall in the forest near here. They’re collecting plastic and glass bottles in a warehouse near here that they plan to use as the base for an adobe Earthship-style ecological house, and they’ve enlisted the aid of a green architect to help them design it.
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The only thing standing between them and the conversion of Paxtoca into an ecovillage, it seems, is money – but they have faith it will come.

We took turns telling our stories, and each of the youths, from 16-year-old Nicolas to 24-year-old Carmina, shared their fears of a devastated planet and their dream for a green future for their children.

Martin and Carmina took me for a breathtaking hike through the village, up through the cornfields surrounding the forest and down a trail through the woods to the waterfall, which they’ve used as the backdrop for their stunning brochure and their power point presentation.
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Then, since the cooperative had loaned them the car for the day, they took me up into the mountains to see another ecological project in the region, the Aprisco Sendero Ecologico, an educational ecocenter in a virgin pine forest near the town of Totonicapan. The hike among the old-growth pines refreshed the spirit while learning stations along the way taught about the endangered birds and trees this forest harbors.

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Aprisco is an initiative of CDRO, the Cooperative for Rural Development of the West, an organization that has been promoting sustainable development in the Western Highlands for a generation. They took me by the organization’s learning center, where I had a chat with Ana Victoria Socop, one of the organization’s directors.

Here are a few comments from each of these young movers and shakers that will stay with me.

Martin:

“Jesus loved nature! Remember the story of how he released the doves from the people who were selling them in the temple? Remember how he said, the birds of the air don’t worry about where they will get their food, but God takes care of them. God gave us dominion over nature so that we would take care of it.”

“Our Maya culture is closely related to nature, but we’ve lost a great deal of that. So why don’t we go back and reclaim what’s ours? The Maya saying is, leave no one behind. This applies to nature, as well.”

“We created the concept, ‘empre-ambiental’ (empresarial plus environmental) because we have to have development, but it doesn’t need to hurt the environment. I said to myself, if they can do this in Xela, why can’t we do it here? Here we have the resources, the natural beauty. We should be able to make it work here.”

“I give talks to the young people and I say, ‘Kids, now is our time, it’s the time for us to show what we are made of.”

“If they support us from outside, that’s great but we also have to learn how to generate our own financing. A lot of times groups will arrive in the villages and the people will say, ‘What are you bringing us?’ We say, ‘what do we have to offer?’ We’re trying to change the paradigm.”

Ana, 20 – “We were seeing that the trash was collecting all around and it was really affecting us. Sometimes the grandfathers cut the trees in the mountains and don’t replant them. So we got together and we said, we have to make the change; if we don’t, nobody will. We want to have a beautiful place to hand down to the little ones when it’s their time.”

Jairo, 21 – “I’d been studying science and thinking already about the way the future is looking and feeling really scared about it. Then one day at church I heard a talk that Martin gave and I said, and I loved the idea, I was delighted to join this team.”

Pablo, 20 – “Now that we’ve been going around picking up the recyclables the people are beginning to trust us. Guatemala is changing and I realized, I wanted to be a part of it – we have to really put out the effort to make it better.”

Nicolas, 16: “Now is the time we can raise up a generation of change. Maybe the last generations believed that you could cut the trees down and they’d come back by themselves, but now we realize they don’t come back by themselves, and without trees there is no life, we can’t breathe.”

Josias, 20: “Sometimes we young people don’t really think about what we’re doing, just throwing trash and such. Now we’re beginning to realize what our environment really needs, and that’s why we’ve started all these projects, which are going to require a lot of work. And since I’m in charge of fundraising, I know we’re going to need some money to make it happen, and I’m not sure how we’re going to do it, but I know we have to.”

Jose, 18: “Up here in the highlands, the sun used to just warm us, but now it burns us. We have to do something for our planet. We can’t fix what’s already been done but what we can do is raise the awareness of our friends and neighbors, saying what are we going to leave our children? We can’t give them a destroyed planet. We want them to be able to have what we enjoyed.”

Carmina, 24: “I had the opportunity to work as a volunteer in an NGO, and I was sharing with many foreigners. I realized that the reality we were living – we went to many places where there were not more trees, the mountains were completely treeless. We saw places where there was extreme poverty. This motivated me to do something, but I didn’t know what to do by myself. I saw how the foreigners came to help, but when they extended a hand to help, the people would reach out and say, give us more.”

“Why do other people come to help our people when we can do it ourselves? But then a friend told me about Projuve, and at first it didn’t really convince me. The third time I said, let me see what they’re doing. Then it was Martin who told me the whole vision of Projuve. Then I said, I think I can contribute something here. So I decided to stay and see what I could do to realize the vision of a green Paxtoca.”


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Road to change for the Maya

Road to change for the Maya

(above: Nathan and Japhet Chun demonstrate the squawking sound made by the moving parts of the heliconia plant, leading to the common name “parrot plant” and its use as a Maya plaything.)

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SAN ANTONIO VILLAGE, Belize – The green school bus was already full when I climbed aboard in Punta Gorda. It was market day, and all the Maya ladies with their colorful satin dresses sat amid their purchases and their children, ready to make the journey home. As my eyes sought an opening, one of the men in the back got up and approached me with a broad smile.

It was Reyes Chun, chair of the Toledo Ecotourism Association, who lives in San Antonio Village, which is why I chose to come here. “This is my wife, Jenny,” he said, pointing to a smiling woman in purple satin, her hair combed carefully into a tight knot. “She will take care of you.”

Jenny and I chatted for the 40-minute drive, most of it down rugged and rutted gravel roads through the jungle. I asked her about the coming of the Guatemala Link Road, a feeder road for the Puebla to Panama highway, which will pave the way for the Free Trade Zone of the Americas. The highway is slated to run a few miles from her village, I have been told.

I’ve read a consultant’s report warning of severe environmental and community degradation in the highway’s wake if the government doesn’t provide a plan for their protection, and San Antonio is on the list of affected communities. Jenny doesn’t know about this. She’ll be glad to get to town more quickly, and she hopes that with the highway, electricity will come to the rest of the village. For now, however, this all seems a distant mirage.

The afternoon sun beat down unmercifully on the zinc roof of the one-room cement-block house, but still it was a welcome respite from the wilting rays outside. Another, larger one, wooden with a thatched roof, was behind it – later I learned it was the kitchen. But now it was time for Jenny’s son Noel to take me to the guesthouse, which would be my quarters during my stay.

IMG_2796 He led me out past the rice drying on huge mats in the hot sun, down a footpath and into the jungle. There in a clearing along the path was a thatch-roofed wooden building with everything I needed – a table and chairs, beds with mosquito netting, a comfortable wooden-framed love seat, a large patio looking out onto the jungle – and best of all, a colorful hammock. This is where I was to wait until someone came for me.

Under the guesthouse plan devised by the Toledo Ecotourism Association, different families would come at different times of day to take me to their homes to share meals with them. A variety of tours and activities were available: a village tour, a farm tour, a walk to the waterfall, lessons in embroidery or basketweaving or tortilla making.

IMG_2811 I signed up for all three of the tours and stepped into the guesthouse, a blessed respite from the unrelenting sun. The thatch was much cooler than the zinc-roofed house below, designed to let the breezes flow through while providing a thick mat of protection from the relentless rays. Now I understood why each family had a thatch house as well as the cement and zinc one; the thatch house was cool and comfortable, but it took a lot of work to construct and maintain, Noel explained. The cement one could be relied upon when the other was down for repairs.

As he headed off down the path, I felt a twinge of anxiety. Nothing to do! I should have brought my computer, I scolded myself. I could have been writing.

It was far too hot for a tour, and nobody in the village seemed to be moving. Even the birds in the trees were quiet; only an occasional rooster broke the silence.

I sat on the wooden bench for awhile, contemplating my options. Finally I did what any sensible traveler would do; I clambered into the hammock, which I discovered had been strategically placed to catch the breeze.
I observed the herringbone-like pattern created by the overlapping cohune palm leaves overhead, the local material used to make thatch. I examined the way they were tied together and to the wooden beams with what looked like vines. Later, Reyes showed me the vines they used to do this work – they belonged to the monestera philodendron, commonly known to most North Americans as house plants – only these were growing up skyscraper-tall trees, with leaves the size of a tabletop.

My eyes grew heavy. The hammock swung gently in the breeze.

“How nice that I don’t have a computer,” I thought.

Suddenly I awoke to the sound of a gentle whirring outside, near the eves. I listened intently: zip, whir. Zip, whir. A hummingbird – hovering right above my hammock! The creature had zipped in under the eaves, where it hovered for a few seconds before zipping out the other side, then hovering overhead again, as if to deliver a blessing. Then, in a whir of bright green and red, it was gone.

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There was little time for lollygagging, however. Noel and 12-year-old Jeffrey were soon heading up the path to take me to the waterfall.

As we made our way through the thatched-house village and into the jungle beyond, I asked him about his future plans.

Noel is studying accounting and planning to move away from the Toledo district – probably to the nation’s capital, Belmopan – so that he can find a job and raise a family. He’d love to stay closer to home, he says, but there are so few jobs in Toledo. The alternative, he says, would be to stay here and work his father’s cacao farm, but with six sons and a daughter, it’s clear there’s not enough to go around.

IMG_2819 The Chuns are actually fairly well off compared to many. Reyes is working overtime to send his children to high school, which is not free in Belize. More than two-thirds of the people in this district are considered poor, and more than half are considered extremely poor.

IMG_2800 “My father is working hard on a plan to get more jobs here,” says Noel. “I really hope he can be successful.”
Noel is talking about the Toledo People’s Eco Park, a far-reaching plan that the Toledo Ecotourism Association has been hammering out, a plan that builds on the success of the guesthouse program and goes far beyond tourism to promote reforestation, sustainable agriculture and eco-manufacturing while creating jobs in the local economy.

The TEA, a group with representatives from all the region’s major cultural groups, has been working on this plan for a number of years and has come close to garnering governmental and NGO support, but thus far, it has not been able to get significant funding for this plan. The hope is that the highway will provide the catalyst to finally put the plan in place.

IMG_2902Reyes hopes the coming of the highway will bring the resources necessary to finally put the Eco Park plan into motion. On the one hand, he reasons, it could bring opportunities and money to the Forgotten District. But he hopes Toledo can learn a lesson from the Cayo District, where the gains have been reaped largely by international developers.

“In the Toledo district we should learn by example,” he said. “What we want to do in Toledo is a complete vice versa to the example of the Cayo District. The TEA should be the steward to actually motivate people to know what the highway will bring. I know for sure once the highway is open and our land is not secure and our resources are being hampered, then it will be a total loss, and we will not become the owners of our own resources.”

****
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Back at the guesthouse, the sun was dropping behind the trees, and I dug out my flashlight and prepared for the pitch-blackness. A youngster named Lupio fetched me to take me to his grandmother Romalda’s house for rice and beans.

I climbed a rugged footpath up to where the compound sits, surrounded by jungle. This is where Reyes grew up; Romalda is his mother. Chickens and pigs scratch in the dust outside her thatched house. Romalda and her daughter Tomasa are squatting in front of the fire, making fresh corn tortillas, when I arrive.

Romalda rises to show me to the table, and she reaches for a kerosene lamp, which she fills and lights, as it’s growing dim.

Tomasa is deaf, she explains, but very smart. I can communicate with her using sign language, she explains.
The eggs are delicious, prepared with tomatoes and onion and served with beans and rice. Romalda wants to know where I’m from.

She tells me of her nine children, only three of whom still live in the village: Tomasa, Reyes, and another daughter who is also deaf. All the others have gone to distant towns to make a living.

“They say that the highway is coming, that it will bring jobs and electricity,” she says. “They’ve been saying that for so many years – I don’t know now if I will see it before I die.” She gives a resigned laugh.

I stand to help with the dishes, and Tomasa pours cold water and a bit of soap powder into a plastic tub. I wash, she rinses; soon, however, she shakes her head firmly. She hands me the cup I’ve just washed and runs a finger over it, making a face; it’s greasy, I understand. So is this one, and this one. Obviously I need schooling in this art. We laugh together and I begin again.

As I take my leave, Tomasa touches her lips with her hand and extends it toward me, smiling, and I reach for it. But Rowena laughs.

“She’s saying thank you,” said Romalda. Suddenly I understand – this is universal sign language. I touch my lips, extend my hand and smile in thanks and in farewell.

***
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In the morning, there’s breakfast with Jenny, where she shows me some of her handmade creations: fine embroidery, necklaces of bead grass and basketry made from the local jippi jappa palm.
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Then it’s time for a tour of Reyes’ cacao farm, together with a walking workshop on scores of medicinal plants along the way.
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Back at the guesthouse, I wait on the front porch and watch the palm leaves dance in the breeze. Rosita and her friend are walking down the path with baskets full of clothing, headed for the deep spot in the creek I’d never noticed, just below the tree line. There amid the trees they scrub their clothes and bathe, chatting and giggling amiably.

A world lost to time, it seemed – but only for a few moments more. Change is coming to this village, and to dozens more that will be affected by the Southern Highway. I think of the stream that provides the village lifeline; the little boy making a gang sign at me as I passed by; the friendly young man who works in Belize City, home for a visit, who worries about what will become of his village.

But it’s time to catch the bus back to Punta Gorda Town, and I’m late. I say my goodbyes to the Chun family, catch a bumpy ride in a pickup truck and feel the wind on my face.


Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

Com:Plot conspires to take back a city

Com:Plot conspires to take back a city

One of the most intriguing groups in Guadalajara is Com:Plot, whose name is a play on words; “com,” for “community,” and “plot” as in “scheme” – plus the word “complot” means “conspiracy” in Spanish.

Com:Plot’s mission is to encourage the city’s development in a more sustainable, more human-oriented direction. One of the most successful projects to date has been the City Walks, or Camina por Guadalajara. The city is divided up by participants and a route stretching across the city is mapped for each team. The 40-kilometer walk is done over two days, and along the way, participants take note of the changes along the way.

“The idea is that we go along discovering the city: how it’s growing, what’s happening, how it smells, how it feels at different times of the day,” said Patricia Martínez, an environmental journalist and occasional Esperanza Project contributor who has joined forces with Com:Plot. So we experience the city with all our senses. It’s more than a recognition of what occurs within our urban borders, it also proposes other ideas like the recuperation of public spaces.”

They pass through posh suburbs, working-class neighborhoods, abandoned byways and truly depressing locales. When each team returns, members put their heads together to identify a problem area where they will plan an “intervention,” an action that will help turn the tide in that troubled area, or at least bring public awareness to the problem.

Patricia shared with me some stories and photos from the second Caminata, held last fall. Right now they are gearing up for the third Caminata, to be held the second weekend in February in conjunction with the city’s 467th anniversary. If you’re interested in participating, check out their website here for more info. Meanwhile, here’s a little “before” and “after” from one of the group’s most creative “interventions.”

Miravalle Playground: Before

Create your own video slideshow at animoto.com.

Miravalle Playground: After

The destruction was too costly to repair or replace. What the group did do was clean up the area and use stark white stenciled letters to illustrate what should have been there: Proud mother, lovers, children, tree, paint, trash can, basketball game, green. The result:

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Another intervention, equally as poignant, took place at Las Pintas lake. This lake between Tlaquepaque and El Salto has been polluted since the late ’70s, and the children of young families who live nearby have no place to play.
The intervention: Com:Plot members created sillhouettes of children playing, fishing, spending time at the lake like they used to do.

Create your own video slideshow at animoto.com.

El Parque Nómada, or Nomad Park, was a profound statement on the need for a more inclusive transportation policy. The team created crosswalks and bikeways where there were none, literally rolling out the red carpet for pedestrians to demonstrate that they were really “kings of the road.”

Create your own video slideshow at animoto.com.

In their own words:
“El Parque Nómada questions the monopoly of the use of public space by automobiles, liberating the space monopolized by cars to enable the use of other activities and more inclusive transportation alternatives. The citizen on foot can experience the possibility of a city at a more human scale in his or her own neighborhood, with pleasant spaces where they can circulate by bicycle, walk, or rest, meeting other walkers or having the chance to develop their own dynamic. With this exercise, we evoke the longing that is dispersed amid the auto exhaust and the noise of engines, so that this desire will grow and these neighbors will take up the idea themselves.”

One more intervention, the bus stop, was very practical. The team built a bus shelter from discarded wooden pallets. When a government inspector complained and threatened to remove it, they simply ignored him; commuters showed their approval with appreciative use, and the shelters remained.

Click Patricia_Martinez_interview to see the interview with Patricia.

Taking the encampment to a bigger field

Taking the encampment to a bigger field

By Tracy L. Barnett
Lead photo by Gerardo Montes de Oca Valadez

A Guadalajara citizen encampment aimed at stopping a $76 million bridge construction project has packed up after a month of awareness-raising activities about sustainable urban development, from movies and plays to classes and workshops. But they’re not going away, they promise.

This video from Ciudad Para Todos is their colorful and defiant farewell to the encampment.

From Ciudad Para Todos on YouTube:

“After a month of cultural and informative activities, face to face with our fellow citizens and confronting the authorities, cold weather and annoying motorists, our encampment has moved (but it’s not going away).

“The motive: A wish to change for other (less contaminated) airs, to shift strategies, to continue the struggle on many other fronts.

“We’ll continue camping, we’ll continue showing movies, we’ll continue sowing and harvesting the future on every sidewalk that will receive us. For a city for all, for an inclusive city, for a sustainable city that guarantees a future for generations to come.”

Translations of the signs in the video:

“Let’s exchange the bridge for quality of life.”
“Let’s exchange the bridge for democracy.”
“City of humans, not of cars: Con-science!”
“Your bridge crosses me: through the Millenium Arches and under the Arcediano (Arcediano Dam: A $300 million project flagged by American Rivers as a threat to the region)
“Let’s exchange government for bicycles”
“Let’s exchange the bridge for common sense”
“SEDEUR (Secretary of Urban Development) = Secretary of Urban Despotism”
“Keep the coins, we want change”
“Let’s exchange the bridge for public space”
“The encampment has moved, it has not gone away…. to be continued!”

Read the whole story here (in Spanish)

We are looking for volunteer translators – please write to tracy@theesperanzaproject.org if you’re interested!