A Few Snapshots of Atitlán

Gerónimo is urinating into a hole in the floor though the bathroom is only ten feet away. "I'm about to close," he says in an unsteady voice. "Come back tomorrow." He extends his thumb and curls his fingers to form the shape of a bottle which he tips towards his mouth to indicate that he's been drinking. It's ten in the morning. I close the gate and head back up the cobblestone path. A little girl in the purple guipil that most little girls wear here smiles at me knowingly. Smoke is pouring out from her doorway, and frequently invades Gimnasio Atitlán. The other gym is about a mile away and will charge me twice as much, but there will not be smoke.

Later back at the house Juanita tells me that her older sister doesn't talk much now that she's back with her husband.  He doesn't want her to. "He also doesn't let her eat chicken. Solo ca-arne." She holds the stressed vowel in that last word much longer than any native speaker would, in a childish way, as if making fun of something, or whining. "How boring! And he beats her, but not as much as before they separated."

"I'll bet your husband doesn't beat you," I say, because there is something about her that is strong, something apart from her slight teenage frame and sweet demeanor.

"He hit me once. I told my Mom, and he started to cry."

Her mother, Magdalena, has been a grandmother for five or six years now. She looks old enough, but is in fact only about 37. After Irma was born, Magdalena's husband left the family to fend for itself. On a few dollars a day she has raised her girls to be loving and caring and clean and healthy. When I visit with the family I am always impressed with how they work together to care for the younger ones and readily help me cook and clean.

I will recommend Juanita as a housekeeper to the hospital when I leave, though I'm very disappointed with the way they treat their employees. Most of them are comfortable with the fact that they earn less than the legal minimum but discouraged that there is no hope for advancement. Antonio has been in charge of the inventory for four years and earns exactly the same as any newcomer. He is bitter about his situation and would love to head north to work for a few years, but knows that jobs are scarce now.

Two hospital administrators spoke to me recently about their concerns. "We can't allow you to have visitors at Las Milpas. A lot of things have been stolen and we can't have that." A few months ago a former employee of the hospital apparently stole $100 from a doctor here. She had left the money on the table and knew the woman was not particularly honest.

"Not only that, but several dishes and kitchen items are gone. I know what my countrymen are like. Maybe you can take care of yourself, but the Spanish doctors are delicate. Las Milpas is like a hotel; you can't just bring in anyone you want. Ask our permission first and keep a log of anyone who visits." The conversation switched to my scholarship program and proceeded to bounce oddly between the two seemingly unrelated themes. "I know you give scholarships to several people here, and the problem is they become insubordinate and don't want to work. I know you meet at Las Milpas with the people you give scholarships to.  I would like some clarification as to who they are."  He mentions many people's names. I help fewer than five people go to school, and only one has anything to do with the hospital.

"Only Ingri," I say, instantly regretting having divulged information, but not wanting people I don't help to be blamed. "Some other former volunteers pay her tuition, I just help a little with books and transportation costs." They reply that she doesn't work for the hospital, as if that wasn't the name they were looking for.

Two days later they fired her giving an excuse that made no sense (the gardener wasn't doing his work with her around, and also there are very few volunteers at Las Milpas...?) For her, it was not a huge economic loss, only four to eight hours per week. But the vengeful, jealous attitude is a huge problem, an overzealous  and reckless desire for control that leaves behind a fearful, overly cautious, resentful group of workers who are anxious to leave and find somewhere else to work. Two students I sponsor have left in the last few months.

Ingri's loss is Juanita's gain, at least for a few weeks until I leave.  I told her I would pay her $3.75 a day, $5.00 when she learns the job as well as Ingri, which is twice what her mother earns, and I hope that won't create problems. At the end of her first day I told her she was an outstanding worker and would get the higher amount. Last year an older woman named Rosa cleaned the place. Jared, who was in charge of Las Milpas at the time, always made us leave dirty dishes for her since she didn't do anything else. Ingri and Juanita both know how to look for dirt, so we try not to leave dishes.

The following day I go back to the gym. Julia, from North Carolina, comes in for a work out. She is the first woman I've seen at Gimnasio Atitlán. She was there the day before, two hours after I left, and said that was a mistake. Instead of closing, Gerónimo invited friends to come and get drunk with him.