Guate

It's a nickname for Guatemala City.

What else?

Well, it's clean. It's certainly cleaner than other capitol cities I've been in, though that isn't saying much. There were people everywhere sweeping and picking up trash. I love that! It's apparently been a conscious effort of the mayor (who was once upon a time governor and then mayor before that). The mayor has also made a conscious effort to make riding the bus safer. The "chicken buses" you've read about before tend to be subject to extortion by the gangs. That was true, too, in El Salvador. I was there when the gang members burned one bus to prove a point. The buses shut down for four days after that. The issue, at least as the mayor of Guate saw it, was that money was available. A person gets on the bus and pays the fare to the driver, so money is always on the bus. Gang members jump on and demand their cut, and for "safety" sake, the drivers give them the money. The new system in Guate eliminates all that. The fare is paid into an armed-guard-guarded machine before the person ever gets on the bus, so the driver never has money. The buses are new and green and have something resembling an accordian in the middle. They seem more comfortable than the revamped school buses, but they also get every bit as jammed full of people.

Also, there are still few places safe enough to visit, so there was little reason to take the bus. I took one with a few other people from the hostel. We went to the one square where there is anything to see. It has the cathedral, the national palace, and a park. Not far from there is the market. I'm not crazy about markets and wouldn't have visited this one otherwise. I would have preferred some time in the square and would have gone back there on my own if not for the frequent warnings about safety and the too-frequent admonitions to put my camera away. There were parts of the walk where I was all but forbidden to take out my camera. There was a nice walkway that the city is redoing that may grow up to be a safe place. We'll see.

People I've spoken with recently are astonished that I was in the city for a week. Most people tend to avoid it, other than the airport. I can see why. I wrote a review of Guatemala City for one of the websites thru which I booked a hostel, and I titled it "Not sure why you'd go there." I stand by that.

While my first night and day in the city were really quite positive, they had very little to do with the city. It had much more to do with the people.

One of those people walked with me one day and we dared to venture a little further from the hostel than maybe would have been recommended. We walked down Reforma Avenue, which on Sundays is closed off to traffic so people can walk, run, ride bike, skate, etc. in relative safety. Again, armed forces are everywhere. Reforma Avenue has a few things worth noting. One is the statue that looks like a replica of the Eifel Tower. I have pictures of that, I promise. It's very cool. It was built, as far as I understand, as a monument to the revolution that precipitated Guate's glory days.

There is also a military base on Reforma. The base had once been an ROTC training center (or something like that). It looks kind of like a castle from the outside and is one city block square. I have no photos of it ... inside or out. I didn't take one of the outside becasue I couldn't get a good angle. I didn't take one of the inside because the nice man in the military uniform told me I couldn't, and while he had given us permission to walk around inside the gate, he watched very carefully to make sure we went no further than granted and that we took no pictures. I get it, it being a military base and all, but a girl has to ask.

Which brings us to the American Embassy, which is also on Reforma. I wish I had taken a picture of it as we walked by it the first time, because on the way back, we noticed a sign that said that pictures were forbidden. Fair enough. No pictures of the embassy. There was an alley with a mural, though, and I wanted a picture of that, but as I lifted my camera, an armed guard told me "no." I asked for permission, specific permission, to take a picture of a certain portion of the mural. The man I spoke to spoke with another man and he another and he another, who asked me if I was an American and then went inside. When that last man came out, I was given permission to take one photo of specifically what I had indicated I'd wanted.

I was reminded of my picture of the American Embassy in Managua. I had taken a picture of it from the bus I was on, and my travelling companion pointed out that the guard was watching me all the while.

Also in this alley way were a couple frames with pictures of people who have sold documents, and people were encouraged to report them should they approach anyone.

I visited an Episcopal Church in Guate. I learned that there are two congregations, one comprised mostly of folks from America and England, and one comprised of people native to Guatemala. English is spoken at the first and Spanish at the second. They are served by different priests, and they never have combined services. I was invited to preach at the English service, and while I had asked about the Spanish one, I was relieved to know that the Bishop hadn't been informed, and it therefore did not happen.

I had a wonderful conversation about the diaconate and it's non-existence in Central America. The Bishop of Guatemala is also the Presiding Bishop of that province, and we talked about my understanding of the permanent deacon and the importance of that office in places like Central America, in which justice issues prevail.

I have little sense of how the church is engaged in justice issues or even what their mission work looks like. I did hear a too-familiar conversation about repairing the roof. I would have liked to talk to the priest of the Spanish congregation in Guatemala City, anywhere really, about what service ministry looks like in Guatemala. I had no opportunity to do that. I was thinking about going to the churches in the northeast, but Hurricane Mathew was there as was a recent outbreak of dengue fever, which I've come to understand is kind of like malaria on crack, and I opted against going.

There are adventures to be had in that area. Apparently El Rio Dulce is not to be missed. However, I'm not feeling very adventurous of late. Oh, sure, yesterday I jumped off a bridge and climbed higher and steeper than I ever had in my whole life (or ever will again, probably!) to see the most beautiful natural wonder I've ever seen (Semuc Champey -- google that) and then swam in the pools of that wonder. And yeah, it was cool swimming in a cave by candlelight.

However, after weeks of words of caution (Put your camera away. Don't wear a backpack. Only ride the bus if you absolutely have to. Don't go far by yourself? Did you hear the gunshot last night? No, that wasn't a car backfiring.) and prohibited activity due to dangerousness, my sense of adventure has waned some. As I was making plans for this trip, Edie (a wonderful mix of friend and mom) said to me, "My fear is that you have no fear." She saw fearlessness, I think, in my sense of adventure. These days, I'm wary ... and weary. I hadn't come to Central America to be a tourist. I had wanted to engage with people on the street, and that has not been a prudent idea solo, and no one I've connected with has been willing or able to venture with me. The words of caution have seeped into my being, it seems, and I've developed a sense of fear that I don't believe I had before I left.

And I can't help but wonder what living in that kind of fear does to a person -- to a people -- year after year after year. It's paralyzing and hopelessness-inducing. It's noted in the conditions that don't seem to change. It's noted in gangs ... and not the government ... having control of things. It's noted in folks saying "There's nothing we can do."

I don't like what it's doing to my spirit. I'm losing my sense of humor, and I'm finding it difficult to be gracious. And it's only been nine weeks. I kind of want to come home before I'm confronted with more of the darker side of my personality. I don't believe conditions here have created what I'm discovering I don't like about myself. I believe its stripping away the layers that make me suitable for civilized company and exposing a base core that is at once authentically and uncomfortably human.

I'm off tomorrow to Flores to see the ruins of Tikal. They are, reportedly, THE ruins to see. That will be my final adventure in Guatemala. I had also wanted to see the villages from which people in my parish have come. For a variety of reasons, that didn't happen either. I would venture back here with those folks, and if other friends or family express an interest to visit, I would come back then, too. I may also come back to talk more about developing the permanent diaconate.

Oh, who am I kidding? I know better than to make grand statements about what I will and won't do. God tends to mock me when I do that.