return to guatemala

8/8/2019 Return to Guatemala

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RETURN TOGUATEMALA

Danilo LpezStylus Publications

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Second Edition 2006Dallas, Texas

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Copyright 1992, 2006 by Danilo Lpezwww.lulu.com/danilo_lopez2


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Dedicated To

All

The Indigenous Peoples

Of The Americas


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Introduction I visited Guatemala for the first time in 1979. It was ashort stop in the month of July, to meet with my fiance,Kristabel, my wife for now twelve years.

During the preceding years I had the opportunity to visitMexico, United States and all of the Central Americancountries. Guatemala had stricken me as the mostadvanced country in the region, with a high standard ofliving by Central American parameters. Nevertheless,the indigenous population -sixty percent of the country'stotal- is kept at the margin of progress.

I went back for another short visit in 1982. Myimpression of the country was still the same. My last tripwas in December of 1991. Maybe it was my long

absence or my six years in Miami, which I was told spoilspeople, but Guatemala City didn't look the same anymore.I saw poverty everywhere, and a country worn out by

war, economic stress, and political maneuvers. I saw thecountry with a different eye.

They say that truth is in the eye of the beholder. I wouldlike you, the reader, to look at this book that way. Myintentions are not to offend anybody, but to convey what I


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saw, what I felt: a country, like many others, that issuffering, with people full of hope, and warm humanqualities, and working with faith for a brighter future.

Danilo LpezMiami, January 1992

- - -

For the second edit on, 2006:

This books I can sadly say, remains true to its original

impression. Maybe the only difference s that people are

los ng hope.

D.L.

Dallas Texas


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Table of Contents The Return 1The City 3Townboys 5Mass 7A Tale 9Guard at the Bank 13Road to Antigua 15Public Laundry 19House of the Spaniard 21Antigua 23Ixem Onam Sotoj 25Pink Necks 27Eyes of the Beholder 29Market 31Chichicastenango 33

Tikal 35Atitlan 37Dolls 39Reunification 41

Acknowledgements 43


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The Return

I came back after twenty years,nothing has changed. Time stopped.The overcrowded smokey busesstill carry the sad faces ofold women and rational peasants.

A man sitting on a park benchenamors a fourteen year oldgirl.

In the streets, the junky carsblast their noisy horns at a fatdriver whose pick up truckwon't start.

The avenues seem narrower,the houses look smaller.It is as if time shrunkeverything, except theomnipresent poverty.

It is I who changed.


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Even the trees struggle to survivethe last drought, and the dustysidewalks, broken, are adornedwith beggars, drunks, and raggedyboys playing with spin tops.

A policeman approaches mybrother-in-law."You made a bad turn at thatcorner", he accuses. My in-lawhas been parked here for half anhour. Ten minutes of quietdiscussions, give and take, andtwenty Quetzales (*) in his pocket,the policeman happily let him go.

"It is December 24" he tells me,

"He doesn't have a toy for his kids"

(*) Quetzal, national currency; US$ 1.00 = $10.00 Q


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The City

The houses have engulfed the mountains.Most of the green is gone. Many mansionsoccupy its place.The radio talks about insurgents.A baby is carried on his mother's back.

Rush, rush said the woman,fast, steady, short steps, the babyjumping... she missed the bus.

The breeze is cool. Children innocent.

Streets are ancient, like a lunarlandscape, full of holes, and I scribble

words writing in my pad, coming from theairport.

The polticos are others, the promisesthe same. All swear and vow year after year,but nothing changes.

It is hopeless.


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Townboys The night is chilly.

These children spend the whole nightselling fire crackers. No license is needed.No time to go to school. No sweater tobrave the cold winds. No shoes.

Only a zinc roof, some old planks to screen outthe people buying, bargaining, and thedogs urinating against the improvised store.

Some ornaments on the walls. It's Christmas time.Work all night long, so the tourists and thericher, and the poorer can celebrate theirsfiring crackers and little toy tanks.

"Eight quetzales, seor, I will sell itto you for seven".

My daughters understand the message I'mtrying to convey. There is poverty.There is joy. There is happiness.There is sadness. There is love andunderstanding, and this culture shock


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that illuminates for them-minute by minute-the dark side of the bright moon.

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Mass Here, hard wooden benches,no air conditioning or fancy fans.No special room for crying babiesor lavish sound systems.

Common people fill the nave.The priest still getting ready.

A lot of children, old women,young women.A few ashamed men seem to havebeen dragged here by a jealousspouse or a commanding mother.

There, in a corner, lies a creche.

I bet its resemblance with thereal thing is amazing.Baby Jesus is not there yet.

Some nuns whisper their prayers.Up in the chorus, a rottenspeaker rattles "The Drummer Boy"with tunes of electric guitar andorgan. Three young boys sing


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the lyrics in Spanish.It is almost midnight.

Children dressed up like theThree Wise Men-nobody remembers the fourth, Taor-and the Holy Family.

Incense covers the air.The scent of flowers everywhere,candles and wreaths.A big crucifix welcomes theparishioners.

Outside, in the reduced parkinglot designed for twelve cars,a boy watches over forty of them, all

packed in, for a few centsa night.

Most of the people have walkedhere from several kilometersaround. It is a short journeyfor them, accustomed to walk, andwork, and walk.


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Here, girls are allowed to serveas "altar boys".

A girl with a tambourine had joinedthe band, and seventeen little kidsfuse their voices.

When the music begins againeverybody raises and sings.It is one call. Rejoice.One joy. Holding hands.

There is hope in their eyes.There is love. I feel their force.I feel the presence of God.


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A Tale

Father Randolfo, from El Salvador,has a mission in Guatemala City,at the church of Santa Catalina.

This tale the priest told me:

Time visited Amurabi and asked him:"Who are you?"

-"I am Amurabi, the King, andnobody can defeat me"-

Time said to Amurabi:

"I challenge you!"

Many years passed, Amurabi died,and his kingdom was reduced to dustand ashes. And Time told the ghostof Amurabi: "I have defeated you".

Time visited Ramses and asked him:


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"Who are you?"

-"I am Ramses, the Pharaoh, andnobody can defeat me"-

Time said to Ramses:

"I challenge you!"

Many years passed, Ramses died,and his nation was reduced to dustand ashes. And Time told the ghostof Ramses: "I have defeated you".

Time visited Caesar and asked him:"Who are you?"

-"I am Caesar, the Emperor, andnobody can defeat me"-

Time said Caesar:

"I challenge you!"

Many years passed, Caesar died,


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and his empire was reduced to dustand ashes. And Time told the ghostof Caesar: "I have defeated you".

Time visited Jesus and asked him:"Who are you?"

I am Jesus, Son of God, andI made you.

Many years passed, Time ended,eternity continued, and Jesus saidto the ghost of Time:

-"I have defeated you"-

I am still on time, eternity isnot here yet.


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Guard at the Bank Nobody talks to him.The guard stands at the entrance,a galil rifle in his hands.Beware of the guerrilleros thatcan come into the bank anytimeand take some money for theirmighty cause.

No carpet, no sophisticatedsecurity systems.He is the sentinel, the center.He is the system. He is feared.

Nobody looks into his eyes.People come in, perform their

transactions. Leave.I change my one hundred dollarsat a rate of 5 to 1 with thelocal currency. Now I have fivehundred. A Mastercard sign hangson the wall. Diners Club isaccepted, too.

Before leaving, I turn to the guard:


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"Have a nice day", then he answers,his face, illuminated with anunimaginable smile,"Have a nice day, seor!"

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Road to Antigua Down, down and up the hill,we have three lanes where two onlyshould exist,

Texaco, Marlboro, Wendy's andRay-O-Vac signs waving good byeto the traveler

the neighbor to the North has soldeverything, except anti-pollutiondevices, handicap codes and healthinsurance

Goodyear, American Airlines andVisa card,

let's send cocaine in exchange,and immigrants, and sugar, and labor

prices are low, prices are cheap,they have sold us everything, includingMadonna, Michael Jackson, and The New KOB

everything


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let's send them good leather, some artsand crafts, and tax evasion and interest debts,even some children to adopt or to takebody organs from

they have sold us everything,except wealth

The road to Antigua is a very modestversion of the expressway, a strong smellof burning oil in the air, dizzying,buses expell black fumesfrom the rear, into other cars

Poverty everywhere, and they tell methis is Heaven compared to Nicaragua

A boy crosses the street, meanderingthrough the taxi cabs with hiswooden cart, almost clipped bya motorcycle, the driver cursing him,the boy is going to McDonald's to buya hamburger

A bunch of oranges lay on the pavement,a little girl quickly picking up some


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to eat and resell

A bald mountain to my right, a deepabyss to my left, the tortuous pathclimbing the hill

Traffic is getting thin, the air cleaner

It cost one thousand dollars per squaremeter to build this road, they finishedconstruction a year ago, today it is full ofbumps and holes

The new social christian government isapplying for a loan to repair thestreets, it will cost five thousanddollars per square meter to repair the

road

They have learned to accept poverty,no government has paid them right,no president has kept his electoralpromises

Liberal and conservatives alike havelied to them,


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democrats and Christians took away theirmoney, their jobs, their education,their health, their lives and theirgeneration's

The housing projects are abandoned,more office buildings are being built

The traffic ahead is slow, a cow isgiving birth on the swale

The new office buildings will house theMazda headquarters, they will laundermoney and crowd the city, the ownerswon't pay property taxes or building permits

Latinamerica

-not Atlantis, not Lemuria-is the lost continent, destroyed by theConquistadores, exploited by theCrown, abused by the USA,ruled by local dictadores, demolished bysocialist governments-the predators for excellence-and back to square one


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Public Laundry

The Mayan women have been comingto this well for generations,with their colorful dresses theycarry the child on their backand wash tons of clothes

Water is cold, hands red and hard,like the mayan vases at thePopol Vuh Museum, like this stone wheeldisplaying the perfect Calendar

Now the well is gone, a park and a series ofpublic lavanderos in its place instead,the water still cold, the women stillmulticolored, and bearing the children

that will bear the children, that will bearthe children...


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House of the Spaniard He came to this land full of dreams,his mission was a mixture of Religious Crusadeand Capitalistic Enterprise

In the beginning, the Indians admired themand gave gold in exchange for mirrors, thosewere the Creators, they the creatures

Later came baptism, and force, and disease,death

The Americans fought back, the mysteriousblonde centaurs had short spears that spitnoise and fire, they could kill at willfrom the distance

Christian temples were built on top of thepyramids, opposing mirror cities wereerected, a new single God replaced the Creators,the natives continued their subversive customsand rites, covered by a veil, masked

The Spaniard is satisfied. It is not easyto be a conqueror. The spices, the gold,


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the new varieties of plants had a price

He has a grand house, made out of thickblocks, precious woods, and spanish tile,a patio in the middle, galleries around, arcadesand a fresh fountain where a vision of hiswife, waiting in Sevilla, appears at dawn

Up on the second floor, in the Arms Room:muskets, blades, swords, pistols, cannonsused in the quest, and also trophies:obsidian spears, bows and arrows, a rattanthrone that belonged to the Quiche King

He is alone now, admiring his possessions,while she, the most beautiful native, sleepsin their bedroom after taking a bath downstairs

In the interior patio, the water in the fountainruns smoothly

Through a circular, narrow, high window, astreak of light falls in, it hits a polishedfamily crest with an embossed matte drawing,the reflection forms a dark cross on his face,it is an omen:


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within two hundred yearsa new race of mestizos, born from centaurand indian, will end the Spanish Empire andbuild a New Republic there

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Antigua On each block a temple,on each block ruins,soldiers at every corner,and crafty windows

A dog scratches its ribsagainst the palisade,two boys fire crackers in theplaza, in front of one ofthe many ancient churches

In the park across, twoQuiche women weave in a looma black and redpatterned carpet nobody will buy,

a bottle of Pepsi always bytheir side, and a child beggingfor milk


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Ixem Onam Sotoj When he was five, he needed a livertransplant, the candidate saw an excellentopportunity for his presidential campaign,the business men saw an excellent opportunityfor their financial campaign

When he was ten, he had a good liverand a lot of newspaper clips about themiracle boy who survived the first livertransplant in the country, gone were the daysof the Mayan vindication represented by thisboy, gone were the offerings of financialaid to teach the Quiches how to fish, insteadof giving them the fish, or the meat, orthe milk for that matter

Ixem Onam Sotoj sold a kidney yesterday,his sister is ill and his parents don't haveenough money to cover the expenses, pluseach of them sold one already

Where are the candidates? Where are thebusinessmen? Father Randolfo has a prayergroup that meets every Friday night, Ixem


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was invited along with his sister and parents,they preach and pray, miracles happen there,skin cancer that disappear in front of my eyes,brain tumors reduced to nothing in seconds

Ixem's sister has leukemia, but not anymore,the doctors are amazed, they don't understandwhat is going on, Did they make a misdiagnosis?

Back at his home town, Ixem Onam Sotoj sacrificesa lamb to the Creators, for they have listenedto him, no more kidneys will be sold, he onlyregrets he did not invoke the Creators before.

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Pink Necks They are the kind of breedthat thinks they're tops

They wish they were in anEnglish country

I think with rave:"If you don't like it here,go somewhere else"

Do they think the same of us whenwe visit their country?

A local woman, who also speaksenglish, tries a different approach,

and talks politely to them,offering her help and hospitality

Is she trying to be nice or justsarcastic?The Canadians stop complaining,they don't say "Guatemalansare stupid" anymore,a sardonic smile emerges on the


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man's face

I still want to send them to hell

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Eyes of the Beholder At night the city is beautiful,you see the sides of the mountainilluminated by a million lights,you don't know where the mountainends and where the sky begins,and although the streets are asnarrow as alleys, with busesblocking other cars, and teenagerscoming out of a party, and men froma bar fighting on the sidewalks,

you can feel the warmth of poorpeople that have learned who todistrust and who to confide in

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Market We park, descend the stairs, rustic boothseverywhere, all in the open, more stairsto descend. Inside: large, narrow corridors,no natural light, six-feet wide by twelve-feetlong booths full of merchandise:

carpets, belts, jackets, ashtrays, paintings,candles, you name it, they have it here, all madeof local raw materials

many tourists from Mexico and Germany, from Italyand the USA passing by

a merchant who sells a little bit of everythingwarns us: "Grab your purse tight, don't walk

alone, don't loose sight of your children,it is my country, but I have to tell youthis, there are some people out there whomake me feel ashamed"

a dumb woman talks to me in a sign language ofher invention, but effective: she's sayingshe was born that way, she's hungry, she wantssome money to eat, we give her some


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Today, there is a tiangue in almost eachLatin American city, in the open or undera roof, or a combination of the two, likethe one in Guatemala City

The marketplace is a human institution,Etruscans and Greeks, Fisiocrats and Lemurians,all had some sort of site within the cityto exchange goods and trade with differentcurrencies

Mayans had the Tiangue, an atavisticplace to find commerce and supplies:lambs for cacao, ocote for crafts, goldfor corn, tools for clothes

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Chichicastenango Forty five degree slopes and one hundredeighty degree curves make the road tothis colonial town

There is one entrance and one exit,a small van is blocking it, twentybuses behind me and twenty cars in frontof me are honking horns, execrating theson of a gun who parked in the wrong place

Finally, everything starts to move,Juanito is asking me for four quetzales towatch over my car, he follows me for tenblocks until I finally accept his offer

A woman in her eighties is wobbling outof a cantina, a bottle of rum in her hand

In front of the main church, hundreds ofindians have a market in which they sellhats, blouses, wallets, collars, earrings,all colorful, a blind beggar is askingfor money, a crippled girl, with no eyespulls my daughter's skirt, she wants ten


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cents to have breakfast, it is 1:00 p.m.

The market has grown, it has overflowedits original boundaries

Somebody puts a hat on my head,"It looks good on you, seor, only sevenquetzales", "no, thank you"

At the main stairs the pagan priestsor brujos give counsel to a pair ofwomen, they burn incense, dance and smoketobacco

Their bible is the Popol Vuh,which neither Father Francisco with histeachings nor Don Pedro with his guns

could take away from them

Inside the Catholic temple, whichhas a monastery attached, three womensell candle sticks of different colors:white, if you are looking for marriage,pink, if you want to cure an ailment,yellow, if you want a good harvestSeveral monoliths lie on the floor,


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one for each type of petition, the altarhas a strange Christ, some odd saints allblackened from the fumes of the candlesburning all day long

These Indians are not speaking in tongues,they speak their tongue: Mayan, quiche,Cakchiquel, and they communicatewith their own gods, for buried belowthe church, is the Mayan temple

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Tikal The Spaniards came to America, theyhad an enormous empire;the Aztecs ruled Mexico, the largest cityin the world; the Incas were masters inMachu Pichu, the greatest empire of thishemisphere; and the Mayans commandedGuatemala, a dense pyramidal city-state,mirror of a class society of artists,priests and slaves

Tikal is the tip of the iceberg of thiscomplex of cities, Uaxactum and Yaxha,Nacum and Zotz, urban planners and poets,sculptors and astronomers, mathematiciansand architects

Today, the road is protected by the Kaibiles,an elite force within the Guatemalan Army

The Mayans did not know the wheel, howdid they cut and move those heavy blocksthat crown the pyramids? But they inventedthe zero and counted in twenties their5,200-year empire with the accuracy of


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an atomic clock

We travel in the tourists bus, the guideexplains their concern about the ozonelayer depletion, about the rainforestextinction, and the many endangered speciespopulating the region, who is responsible?we all are, he says

The Argentinean woman to my left, an arthistory teacher in Mendoza, talks morethan the guide, the Spanish architect tomy right, talks about the constructionsystems, they say they know, my eldestdaughter tells me: "when somebody reallyknows, he or she doesn't say"

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Atitlan A thousand years ago, this was a lakeof lava with a drop of water

After the eruptions, this became a lake ofwater with a drop of lava

The two huge volcanos still observe theirwork, proud, majestic, solitary

A snake bird flies by, a local artisanworks for the cooperative creating woodensculptures and setting the prices, theyaccept dollars or Quetzales, they don'twant consultants telling them what or howto harvest, "we have been cropping our fields

for generations, and we have done it well,this is the Place of the Voices, don'tyou hear Tlaloc talking to us? Don'tyou see the hill-alligator crawling into theriver? Hunap protects us, Ixbalanquis our guard"


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Dolls Ixchel and Itzamn, the Creators,saw that the children in the worldbelow were suffering anxieties:the Lords of Totonicapn had becomevicious and envied the children'sability to be happy

The Creators remembered the threeIxtans who, posing as mermaids,had defeated the Lords before

The beautiful Quibatzunah was called tothe presence of the Creators, they mademinute reproductions of her, gave themlife and placed them inside small boxes of

copal, the sacred wood

The small dolls were hid by Quibatzunahunder the children's beds, thousandsof them, during the night, the dolls tookaway all the worries, and in the morningthe children awoke happy, the Lords ofTotonicapn had been defeated once more


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Reunification While the rest of the world is uniting,the crumbling Soviet Union is explodingin pieces, like another balkanizationtaking place

Europe, North, Central, and South Americaall trying to build new economies,redefine their role in a new world

and Spain says:

forgive the slavery, forgive the genocide,forget the Conquest in the name of God,forget the unilateral vision of whatshould be done

Forget the past, Latin Americans, takethe best of it, the best of our ancestors,look towards the future, the possibilitiesand the potential in this coming world,it is time to take our destiny inour hands, it is time to return to ourroots, the best of them, it is time toproject our Indian grandeur, our Spaniard perseverance,


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our cosmopolitan mixture

Let the universe be our homeland, eternityour time, humanity our family

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Acknowledgments

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I want to express my gratitude to my w fe, Kristabel, for

encouraging me with this project. My daughters Reima

A eksandra, Danibel Marie and Kristel De Fatima, and my

nephew, Adr ano Mart n Pat o, were very support ve too.

To all of them, thank you very much.

F gures in color were taken from the Dresden Codex.


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".. .a timely book for the rethinking on the meeting ofEuropean culture with the indigenous peoples of the

Americas... strong, authentic voice... good story telling,

rhythm... terrific rhyme, mage, mus c... excellent

picture-poems... good blending of English and Span sh

languages... dialogue as poetry... the variety in th s book

makes for goo d pacing..."

John Fremo nt, Editor

Danilo Lpez was born in Nicaragua in 1954. He movedto the USA in 1985, residing in Florida first and now inTexas. An architect, poet, and translator, his work hasappeared in La Prensa Literaria, El Pez y la Serpiente,Midwest Poetry Review, Hayden s Ferry Review, Othlo,Mindfire, Loch Raven Review, and many others. He has

published seven poetry collections (English and Spanish)and four poetry anthologies. He has been invited to readat the Miami Book Fair International, The HoustonPoetry Fest, the Austin Poetry Festival, etc.

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