Her family found her on the ground, unconscious. She began having seizures and so they carried her to the clinic in Pojom, run by Vivir en Amor and staffed by volunteers. Vera, the volunteer in Pojom, knew that the child was in very serious condition and called us, Great Commission Air, asking if we could pick them up for transport to a location where the girl could get treatment. The closest airstrip was on the other side of a high ridge in Ixquisis.
In Mayalan, Robert prepared the aircraft for departure while Jennifer called Mosca-Med in Guatemala City to obtain permission to land in Ixquisis, just on the Mexican border.
It took twenty minutes to fly from our base in Mayalan to Ixquisis. It took well over an hour for the girl´s father to carry her on the road from Pojom, over the ridge and then to find a truck in the hamlet on the other side, finally arriving at the airstrip in Ixquisis.
We loaded the child, the father, uncle and Vera, into N538JP and departed for Guatemala City, an hour's flight away. En route, we arranged to have an ambulance meet us at the airport there. Vera accompanied the child and family to the hospital. Double-click on the video to see actual footage.
Great Commission Air makes flights like this all the time. We work with organizations like Vivir en Amor, with individual villages and simple Mayan campesinos that arrive on our doorstep in need. From 2003-2005, hundreds of medical patients were served in this way. We do this work to help those in need because it is our Christian mandate and we love to serve. To continue we need you to support this project. Thank you!
Showing posts with label Christianity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christianity. Show all posts
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Three for One Day in Mayalan
Thursday, Januar 9, 2008:
Our village - Mayalan - is a fair-sized rural town. About 3000 people here overall but there is no running water, electricity (except that provided by solar panels or generators) or sewage system, except the old-fashioned variety that has served well for eons. We have no post office, no official police, no radio station, etc... You get the idea.
What we do have, as of about a year ago, is a brand-new solar powered digital cell phone tower care of ComCell! With the advent of modern cell phone system, it seems that a large segment of the local population has been able to scrape together enough Quetzales to buy one of the disposable phones that are sold so cheaply now. For a mere q200 (about $25) you can buy a phone and talk-time for 250 minutes!
This tower has revolutionized communications in this place. These days, it is common to see a small Mayan woman walking down the street with a large bowl of corn or maza on her head, a baby in a sling on her back, talking on a cell phone! Absolutely incredible. It is a good thing too, as it allows families here to stay in touch with the missing sons and husbands who have had to find work in Mexico or the US.
One of the old communication technologies here is still firmly operational, TALKING REALLY LOUD to make announcements. Actually, a megaphone hooked up to a car battery is used to make community announcements and to publicize special deals at the local tiendas.
Today was a three-fer day. Across the road from us there is a three-walled building about the size of a garage. The ground level of this building houses the tienda, “El Tigre”. The top level constitutes the living quarters of the proprietor, Don Andres, and his extended family, a group of about twenty. There is a roof over the second level but no walls. Most everyone sleeps in hammocks strung from the posts that support the roof. Potted plants strategically placed along the perimeter help prevent accidental gravity induced injuries.
This morning at about 7:00 am, El Tigre´s very, very loud loud-speaker was turned on for the purpose of publicizing today´s once-in-a-blue-moon event (three for one). The megaphone, mounted at the top of a tall pipe, was turned so as to make it more directionally effective.
For the longest time, a young lady by the name of Amelia has been tending the store and making the announcements. She was very good at what she did. Amelia was especially good at making the three-fer-one announcements that could get quite complicated, mathematically. She did have the unfortunate habit of yelling into the microphone – an unnecessary pre-amplification technique that was especially not necessary at 7:00 in the morning. Particularly when the speaker pole was rotated so that the megaphone points directly at our house, only a couple hundred yards away!
Yesterday, Amelia bolted. She up and ran off to Mexico with a mystery partner to seek her fortune as an independent agent. Due to her absence, her father and the owner of the tienda, Don Andres, decided to make the announcement himself. Mind you, Don Andres is not a completely unsophisticated Mayan campesino, but his skills lay more in the machete sharpening department than they do in public speaking or mathematics.
On Three-fer day, you can buy a phone card, used to charge-up your cell phone, and get three times the face value of the card. A Q25 (25 Quetzale) phone card will charge your phone up with Q75. A Q50 card will charge your phone with Q150 and a Q100 card that will apply Q300 - you get the picture. What a deal, right? Well, don’t underestimate the amount of math required to figure all that out AND make a public announcement at 7:00 in the morning. While Amelia had this script completely memorized and could rattle it off five or six (or more) times in a row, each in a slightly different direction, Don Andres had not.
The announcements always begin with a blazingly loud rendition of Mexican Pop Polka music, interrupted with a squeel as the cassette tape is ejected mid-stream. The announcements typically sound like (in Spanish, of course):
"Bueno! Bueno! Hrmmmphhh – Bueno. Today in the tienda El Tigre, you can buy live chicken, potatoes (special, eh), fresh cabbage, and phone cards. Buy a Q25 card and get a Q75 credit. Buy a Q50 card and receive a credit for Q150. Buy a Q100 card and you will get Q300 credit on your phone!" and so on.
This basic message is repeated perhaps five or size times, with the loud-speaker periodically pointed in different directions, having an astounding impact on the volume, depending of your location.
Because of Amelias absence, this morning, Don Andres took the mic and began the announcement in the standard fashion:
"Bueno! Bueno! Hrmmmmph. Today, ah, we are selling phone cards with a special, ah. Hmmmphhh, tap, tap tap. Ah Bueno!"
And, thus, he verbally fumbled for about three or four minutes without actually saying anything.
Presently, a new voice could be heard over the loudspeaker. A young lady, probably sister-in-law of Amelia, took the mic. She managed to say Bueno about six times, tapped the mic, got some of the phone card prices mixed up and gave up.
Next, one of the teenaged boys took over. He began with gusto and was well into the announcement when suddenly three or four of the other, less successful, family members began trying to coach him. The sound of urgent coaching was easily audible in the background over the PA. He hesitated, briefly tried to start-over, and finally gave up.
Passing the mic over to his five-year-old little cousin, Frasi.
Frasi is a spunky little five-year-old fireball of a girl and had practiced this particular script a few times under the tutelage of Amelia and done very well before. She also began with gusto, speaking at a volume level that would not be legal in most airport traffic areas, and was well into the announcement when suddenly the voices of the failed announcers could again be heard in the background. She hesitated, briefly tried to start-over, and after a few moments, seemingly ignored everyone and made a perfect rendition of what would be the official three-fer announcement. We know who is going to be making these announcements in the future, don't we?
Our village - Mayalan - is a fair-sized rural town. About 3000 people here overall but there is no running water, electricity (except that provided by solar panels or generators) or sewage system, except the old-fashioned variety that has served well for eons. We have no post office, no official police, no radio station, etc... You get the idea.
What we do have, as of about a year ago, is a brand-new solar powered digital cell phone tower care of ComCell! With the advent of modern cell phone system, it seems that a large segment of the local population has been able to scrape together enough Quetzales to buy one of the disposable phones that are sold so cheaply now. For a mere q200 (about $25) you can buy a phone and talk-time for 250 minutes!
This tower has revolutionized communications in this place. These days, it is common to see a small Mayan woman walking down the street with a large bowl of corn or maza on her head, a baby in a sling on her back, talking on a cell phone! Absolutely incredible. It is a good thing too, as it allows families here to stay in touch with the missing sons and husbands who have had to find work in Mexico or the US.
One of the old communication technologies here is still firmly operational, TALKING REALLY LOUD to make announcements. Actually, a megaphone hooked up to a car battery is used to make community announcements and to publicize special deals at the local tiendas.
Today was a three-fer day. Across the road from us there is a three-walled building about the size of a garage. The ground level of this building houses the tienda, “El Tigre”. The top level constitutes the living quarters of the proprietor, Don Andres, and his extended family, a group of about twenty. There is a roof over the second level but no walls. Most everyone sleeps in hammocks strung from the posts that support the roof. Potted plants strategically placed along the perimeter help prevent accidental gravity induced injuries.
This morning at about 7:00 am, El Tigre´s very, very loud loud-speaker was turned on for the purpose of publicizing today´s once-in-a-blue-moon event (three for one). The megaphone, mounted at the top of a tall pipe, was turned so as to make it more directionally effective.
For the longest time, a young lady by the name of Amelia has been tending the store and making the announcements. She was very good at what she did. Amelia was especially good at making the three-fer-one announcements that could get quite complicated, mathematically. She did have the unfortunate habit of yelling into the microphone – an unnecessary pre-amplification technique that was especially not necessary at 7:00 in the morning. Particularly when the speaker pole was rotated so that the megaphone points directly at our house, only a couple hundred yards away!
Yesterday, Amelia bolted. She up and ran off to Mexico with a mystery partner to seek her fortune as an independent agent. Due to her absence, her father and the owner of the tienda, Don Andres, decided to make the announcement himself. Mind you, Don Andres is not a completely unsophisticated Mayan campesino, but his skills lay more in the machete sharpening department than they do in public speaking or mathematics.
On Three-fer day, you can buy a phone card, used to charge-up your cell phone, and get three times the face value of the card. A Q25 (25 Quetzale) phone card will charge your phone up with Q75. A Q50 card will charge your phone with Q150 and a Q100 card that will apply Q300 - you get the picture. What a deal, right? Well, don’t underestimate the amount of math required to figure all that out AND make a public announcement at 7:00 in the morning. While Amelia had this script completely memorized and could rattle it off five or six (or more) times in a row, each in a slightly different direction, Don Andres had not.
The announcements always begin with a blazingly loud rendition of Mexican Pop Polka music, interrupted with a squeel as the cassette tape is ejected mid-stream. The announcements typically sound like (in Spanish, of course):
"Bueno! Bueno! Hrmmmphhh – Bueno. Today in the tienda El Tigre, you can buy live chicken, potatoes (special, eh), fresh cabbage, and phone cards. Buy a Q25 card and get a Q75 credit. Buy a Q50 card and receive a credit for Q150. Buy a Q100 card and you will get Q300 credit on your phone!" and so on.
This basic message is repeated perhaps five or size times, with the loud-speaker periodically pointed in different directions, having an astounding impact on the volume, depending of your location.
Because of Amelias absence, this morning, Don Andres took the mic and began the announcement in the standard fashion:
"Bueno! Bueno! Hrmmmmph. Today, ah, we are selling phone cards with a special, ah. Hmmmphhh, tap, tap tap. Ah Bueno!"
And, thus, he verbally fumbled for about three or four minutes without actually saying anything.
Presently, a new voice could be heard over the loudspeaker. A young lady, probably sister-in-law of Amelia, took the mic. She managed to say Bueno about six times, tapped the mic, got some of the phone card prices mixed up and gave up.
Next, one of the teenaged boys took over. He began with gusto and was well into the announcement when suddenly three or four of the other, less successful, family members began trying to coach him. The sound of urgent coaching was easily audible in the background over the PA. He hesitated, briefly tried to start-over, and finally gave up.
Passing the mic over to his five-year-old little cousin, Frasi.
Frasi is a spunky little five-year-old fireball of a girl and had practiced this particular script a few times under the tutelage of Amelia and done very well before. She also began with gusto, speaking at a volume level that would not be legal in most airport traffic areas, and was well into the announcement when suddenly the voices of the failed announcers could again be heard in the background. She hesitated, briefly tried to start-over, and after a few moments, seemingly ignored everyone and made a perfect rendition of what would be the official three-fer announcement. We know who is going to be making these announcements in the future, don't we?
A Drunk Mayan Cowboy
Later in the day I walked over to the El Tigre tienda and bought a few phone cards in honor of Three-Fer day. Not wanting to spend all my quetzals in one place, I also walked up to the village center and inquired with one of the other phone-card sellers regarding availability of additional cards. The man in charge explained that they were out of cards but that he could transfer funds from his cell phone to my cell phone and that the value would triple in the exchange. This little feat of technological wizardry, especially considering the overwhelming rusticity of our location, seemed almost unbelievable. Despite my doubts, I asked him to demonstrate, which he quickly and professionally did. In only moments, my phone had been charged up with hundreds of quetzals, for which I paid him only one-hundred. Impressed, and anxious to take advantage of the great deal, I asked him to do the same for Jennifer’s phone.
As I stood in the open face of the tienda, protected by the sun by overhanging corrugated roof, my elbows resting on the wooden counter, I watched in amazement as the fellow on the other side rapidly typed in the commands required to transfer funds to Jennifer’s phone. I pulled my own cell phone out of my right-hand pocket and dialed my wife to warn her that a credit was about to be transferred to her phone, so that she could confirm the transaction. Being a bit hard-of-hearing on the left-side, I held the phone up to my right ear.
While I listened to the phone ring on the other end, an old drunk campesino with a cowboy hat and bright pink eyes staggered towards me from out on the road in a zig-zag pattern. The custom in this village is to simply ignore drunks. Most people don’t even walk away when one of them gets too friendly, though I am not sure why. There seems to be a tacit acceptance of their presence, if not their condition. This old Mayan cowboy, carrying a half-crushed plastic bottle of cane rum in one hand was definitely slobberingly drunk. He bellied up next to me, actually, he bellied up to me, standing to my left, and rested his head on my shoulder as he mumbled something unintelligible in mixed Spanish and Mam. He drooled slightly and was looking down as if at my foot. He kept pointing at my left pants pocket with his free hand as if to say that he wanted some money or something. After mumbling for a few moments and being much too close, he began to use foul language. The few words I could make out I didn’t like much. I began to sweat and noticed that a small crowd of locals, who had been enjoying each other’s company under the same shady overhang, were watching me and my new best friend. I hesitated to walk away because, as I said, nobody here seems to do that. The other reason I did not was that the fellow in the tienda was not done transferring gobs of quetzals to my wife’s phone. I called Jennifer over and over again while tried to edge away, without success. For some reason, Jennifer never answered the phone. The drunk followed me around, holding out both hands as if to say he wanted what was in my pockets. The small crowd also watched with an odd look of detached amusement.
After calling Jennifer six or seven times, I began to get agitated at the fact that my wife had neglected to keep her phone with her, as we agreed she would. Or, she wasn’t answering because, perhaps, she was having another, more important, call! I began to sweat profusely as I slowly walked just out of range of the drunk, calling Jennifer again and again. I finally simply paid the man at the tienda without confirmation and headed in the direction of home so that I could express my angst to my wife for her lack of procedural integrity - not having her phone with her. I would then confirm the transaction myself – because, after all, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself!
As I reached our home and stepped up on the cinder blocks that we use for steps, Jennifer called out a cheery hello and asked me if I had seen her phone anywhere. I was about ready to begin my speech about “why can’t you keep track of your cell phone” when I decided to make a quick check of my own pockets. I was somewhat amazed to discover that there was another cell phone in my left pocket, but I always keep mine in my right pocket. Upon further investigation, I was equally amazed to discover that there was one in my right-hand pocket too.
It took me a few moments to piece together what had actually happened, as my perception of the drunk followed everything I had expected from drunks. In reality, what had transpired at the phone tienda was this:
After dialing my wife and putting the phone to my good (right) ear, Jennifer’s phone began to ring, in my left pants pocket. As my own phone was occupying my only really good ear, I couldn’t hear her phone ringing softly in my left pants pocket. The drunk, being a socially responsible kind of guy, heard my pocket ringing and was on his way over to help me notice the obvious, as drunks are prone to do. When he rested his head on my shoulder, he was looking down into my pocket, wondering why the heck my pants were ringing while I was talking on another phone. As I nudged away from him and called Jennifer again and again, it made him all the more curious as to why I had a phone on my ear, but my pants were ringing. Naturally he followed me around, trying to point out this apparent incongruity. I can only guess what the group of folks in the shade of the overhang were thinking.
Honestly, I am the source of endless amusement here in Mayalan. I should charge admission.
As I stood in the open face of the tienda, protected by the sun by overhanging corrugated roof, my elbows resting on the wooden counter, I watched in amazement as the fellow on the other side rapidly typed in the commands required to transfer funds to Jennifer’s phone. I pulled my own cell phone out of my right-hand pocket and dialed my wife to warn her that a credit was about to be transferred to her phone, so that she could confirm the transaction. Being a bit hard-of-hearing on the left-side, I held the phone up to my right ear.
While I listened to the phone ring on the other end, an old drunk campesino with a cowboy hat and bright pink eyes staggered towards me from out on the road in a zig-zag pattern. The custom in this village is to simply ignore drunks. Most people don’t even walk away when one of them gets too friendly, though I am not sure why. There seems to be a tacit acceptance of their presence, if not their condition. This old Mayan cowboy, carrying a half-crushed plastic bottle of cane rum in one hand was definitely slobberingly drunk. He bellied up next to me, actually, he bellied up to me, standing to my left, and rested his head on my shoulder as he mumbled something unintelligible in mixed Spanish and Mam. He drooled slightly and was looking down as if at my foot. He kept pointing at my left pants pocket with his free hand as if to say that he wanted some money or something. After mumbling for a few moments and being much too close, he began to use foul language. The few words I could make out I didn’t like much. I began to sweat and noticed that a small crowd of locals, who had been enjoying each other’s company under the same shady overhang, were watching me and my new best friend. I hesitated to walk away because, as I said, nobody here seems to do that. The other reason I did not was that the fellow in the tienda was not done transferring gobs of quetzals to my wife’s phone. I called Jennifer over and over again while tried to edge away, without success. For some reason, Jennifer never answered the phone. The drunk followed me around, holding out both hands as if to say he wanted what was in my pockets. The small crowd also watched with an odd look of detached amusement.
After calling Jennifer six or seven times, I began to get agitated at the fact that my wife had neglected to keep her phone with her, as we agreed she would. Or, she wasn’t answering because, perhaps, she was having another, more important, call! I began to sweat profusely as I slowly walked just out of range of the drunk, calling Jennifer again and again. I finally simply paid the man at the tienda without confirmation and headed in the direction of home so that I could express my angst to my wife for her lack of procedural integrity - not having her phone with her. I would then confirm the transaction myself – because, after all, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself!
As I reached our home and stepped up on the cinder blocks that we use for steps, Jennifer called out a cheery hello and asked me if I had seen her phone anywhere. I was about ready to begin my speech about “why can’t you keep track of your cell phone” when I decided to make a quick check of my own pockets. I was somewhat amazed to discover that there was another cell phone in my left pocket, but I always keep mine in my right pocket. Upon further investigation, I was equally amazed to discover that there was one in my right-hand pocket too.
It took me a few moments to piece together what had actually happened, as my perception of the drunk followed everything I had expected from drunks. In reality, what had transpired at the phone tienda was this:
After dialing my wife and putting the phone to my good (right) ear, Jennifer’s phone began to ring, in my left pants pocket. As my own phone was occupying my only really good ear, I couldn’t hear her phone ringing softly in my left pants pocket. The drunk, being a socially responsible kind of guy, heard my pocket ringing and was on his way over to help me notice the obvious, as drunks are prone to do. When he rested his head on my shoulder, he was looking down into my pocket, wondering why the heck my pants were ringing while I was talking on another phone. As I nudged away from him and called Jennifer again and again, it made him all the more curious as to why I had a phone on my ear, but my pants were ringing. Naturally he followed me around, trying to point out this apparent incongruity. I can only guess what the group of folks in the shade of the overhang were thinking.
Honestly, I am the source of endless amusement here in Mayalan. I should charge admission.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sharing the Gospel with Neighbors
Sharing the Gospel with Neighbors:
Many of the kids that come to play on our porch are from families that speak Mam at home. Though most also speak Spanish and that is the language they use with us. An organization called “Faith Comes by Hearing” and an individual contributor were kind enough to donate several “Proclaimer” audio Bibles in several of the local Mayan languages including Mam, the most prevalent language in our village and in Spanish as well.
The children love to hear the New Testament both in their Mam language and in Spanish, as can be seen in the accompanying video. These audio Bibles are essentially amplified MP3 players and will run on solar power and also have an internal crank generator that can be used to charge an internal battery. A simple button-operated menu on the front of the device allows the user to scan through various books and chapters in the New Testament. The narration is of extraordinary quality and even includes background music. I highly recommend this product to anyone that wishes to bring the gospel to life in a community where Bibles are virtually non-existent or where most of the population does not read. They are especially useful here as many of these folks do not read, don’t have a Bible at home and many speak Mam at home. We wish we had a whole crate of these things! God bless the folks that worked for years translating the Bible into a their “heart language” of the people and the folks that made these devices!
Many of the kids that come to play on our porch are from families that speak Mam at home. Though most also speak Spanish and that is the language they use with us. An organization called “Faith Comes by Hearing” and an individual contributor were kind enough to donate several “Proclaimer” audio Bibles in several of the local Mayan languages including Mam, the most prevalent language in our village and in Spanish as well.
The children love to hear the New Testament both in their Mam language and in Spanish, as can be seen in the accompanying video. These audio Bibles are essentially amplified MP3 players and will run on solar power and also have an internal crank generator that can be used to charge an internal battery. A simple button-operated menu on the front of the device allows the user to scan through various books and chapters in the New Testament. The narration is of extraordinary quality and even includes background music. I highly recommend this product to anyone that wishes to bring the gospel to life in a community where Bibles are virtually non-existent or where most of the population does not read. They are especially useful here as many of these folks do not read, don’t have a Bible at home and many speak Mam at home. We wish we had a whole crate of these things! God bless the folks that worked for years translating the Bible into a their “heart language” of the people and the folks that made these devices!
Jack and Jill Went Up the Hill to Fetch a Tinaja de Agua
Monday, December 31, 2007:
WX: 7:30, 65 degrees, partly cloudy, no wind. There seems to be a pattern…
Jack and Jill Went Up the Hill to fetch a pail of water…
Jennifer and Beto took a walk down to the creek to get some water. We use what is locally called a tinaja. It looks like one of those ancient water jars you see in greek paintings. That particular shape actually serves several purposes. For one thing, water does not slosh around in it when it is completely full. Secondly, it is easy to pour water from it even when it is full. It is also mechanically strong shape to hold a liquid. The ones we use here are made of plastic, but otherwise look identical to the clay versions of yore.
While I was still wiping sleep from my eyes, Jennifer and Beto took two tinajas (a baby one for him and a 3 gallon size for Jennifer) to get water from the creek for cooking and washing. Walking down to the creek is relatively easy, as it is only a couple hundred meters away and downhill about seventy feet or so. The harder part is coming back up, with full tinajas of water. Jennifer has nearly perfected the skill of carrying a full tinaja on top of her head – balanced with the help of two hands. Beto is getting the hang of things as well.
Jack fell down…
There are some fairly steep and slippery parts of the path that lead back up to the house from the creek. Beto has not mastered the complete art of climbing steep, dusty and slippery hills while carrying an eight pound water jar yet. At the steepest part of the trail, he hesitated and then balked – whining and squealing like a stuck piglet for mama to come and pick him up! This distracted Jennifer, who was ahead of him (and above him on the trail). She set her tinaja down and headed downhill to help Beto. After a few steps, the big round jar with three gallons of water in it, not being a particularly stable shape, tipped over and began to roll**. Downhill is the direction everything rolls here, including thirty pound jars of water. Beto, being on the trail directly below Jennifer, happened to be in the path of the sloshing, spilling, rolling green-and-white-striped projectile. Jennifer clearly and loudly instructed Beto to “get out of the way”, but, alas, he did not respond with sufficient alacrity. He was momentarily preoccupied with what he must have thought was hopeless hill climbing chore carrying an unbearable load – by the time he looked up to see why his mother was shouting, it was too late to avoid being flattened by the speeding and now muddy tinaja. His whining and complaining about his previous predicament ceased immediately. Jennifer was truly afraid that he had been injured as the tinaja apparently had time to reach substantial speed before its progress was interrupted by my stalwart son. Even though he is only three-years-old, he weighs in at over forty pounds. Of course, that isn’t much when you consider that the tinaja might have still had twenty or so pounds of water in it when it hit him. You never have a video camera when you really need one! I would have paid good money to have seen the action in person.
Jennifer send Beto up to the house ahead of her. She shouted to me from outside indicating that she would like a little assistance if I was not too busy. Beto was a wet, muddy mess. I rinsed him off and stripped his muddy cloths and sat him on a bench to wait for his mother who was now recovering, and re-filling and retrieving the tinaja.
Breakfast: Somebody stopped by with a pound of sow-belly. Jennifer had a really hard time cutting it and started to get a bit testy after I suggested using a sharper knife. I guess having to make two trips for a jar of water is irritating.
I made toast and the kids and I ate toast and juice for breakfast while the pork fried – mmmm!
Later, Jennifer and Beto and I went back down the hill to fetch some more water.
** Most accidents happen close to home
WX: 7:30, 65 degrees, partly cloudy, no wind. There seems to be a pattern…
Jack and Jill Went Up the Hill to fetch a pail of water…
Jennifer and Beto took a walk down to the creek to get some water. We use what is locally called a tinaja. It looks like one of those ancient water jars you see in greek paintings. That particular shape actually serves several purposes. For one thing, water does not slosh around in it when it is completely full. Secondly, it is easy to pour water from it even when it is full. It is also mechanically strong shape to hold a liquid. The ones we use here are made of plastic, but otherwise look identical to the clay versions of yore.
While I was still wiping sleep from my eyes, Jennifer and Beto took two tinajas (a baby one for him and a 3 gallon size for Jennifer) to get water from the creek for cooking and washing. Walking down to the creek is relatively easy, as it is only a couple hundred meters away and downhill about seventy feet or so. The harder part is coming back up, with full tinajas of water. Jennifer has nearly perfected the skill of carrying a full tinaja on top of her head – balanced with the help of two hands. Beto is getting the hang of things as well.
Jack fell down…
There are some fairly steep and slippery parts of the path that lead back up to the house from the creek. Beto has not mastered the complete art of climbing steep, dusty and slippery hills while carrying an eight pound water jar yet. At the steepest part of the trail, he hesitated and then balked – whining and squealing like a stuck piglet for mama to come and pick him up! This distracted Jennifer, who was ahead of him (and above him on the trail). She set her tinaja down and headed downhill to help Beto. After a few steps, the big round jar with three gallons of water in it, not being a particularly stable shape, tipped over and began to roll**. Downhill is the direction everything rolls here, including thirty pound jars of water. Beto, being on the trail directly below Jennifer, happened to be in the path of the sloshing, spilling, rolling green-and-white-striped projectile. Jennifer clearly and loudly instructed Beto to “get out of the way”, but, alas, he did not respond with sufficient alacrity. He was momentarily preoccupied with what he must have thought was hopeless hill climbing chore carrying an unbearable load – by the time he looked up to see why his mother was shouting, it was too late to avoid being flattened by the speeding and now muddy tinaja. His whining and complaining about his previous predicament ceased immediately. Jennifer was truly afraid that he had been injured as the tinaja apparently had time to reach substantial speed before its progress was interrupted by my stalwart son. Even though he is only three-years-old, he weighs in at over forty pounds. Of course, that isn’t much when you consider that the tinaja might have still had twenty or so pounds of water in it when it hit him. You never have a video camera when you really need one! I would have paid good money to have seen the action in person.
Jennifer send Beto up to the house ahead of her. She shouted to me from outside indicating that she would like a little assistance if I was not too busy. Beto was a wet, muddy mess. I rinsed him off and stripped his muddy cloths and sat him on a bench to wait for his mother who was now recovering, and re-filling and retrieving the tinaja.
Breakfast: Somebody stopped by with a pound of sow-belly. Jennifer had a really hard time cutting it and started to get a bit testy after I suggested using a sharper knife. I guess having to make two trips for a jar of water is irritating.
I made toast and the kids and I ate toast and juice for breakfast while the pork fried – mmmm!
Later, Jennifer and Beto and I went back down the hill to fetch some more water.
** Most accidents happen close to home
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Dateline Guatemala: Cure for Chigger Itch Discovered in Guatemala by Missionary Pilot!
The Chigger itch has definitely abated. The hot knife treatment works! Read earlier posts in this blog describing the procedure in detail. One note – it is possible to apply heat, the temperature of which is bearable, that is also capable of blistering sensitive skin. I found this out today by blistering my leg with the hot knife during one of my own experimental treatments. Moderation is crucial! A bit of Bedadine ointment and gauze was required to cover the ugly accident. The pain has subsided now, as it has been over six hours since the incident. I can say for sure that that bite does not itch at all! Sounds a bit like the scorpion sting treatment (see earlier story).
Chiggers
Sunday, December 30, 2007:
WX: 8:00 - Sunny, 65, no wind.
We listened to a sermon recorded by the pastor of the church we frequent in the US, Scio Community Aliance Church (a C&MA church). His sermons are always really good and recorde in mp3 format on their website: http://www.ScioCommunity.Org We were very pleased and it made us feel good to hear familiar voice and a good sermon!
Itchy chiggers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harvest_mite) were really bad last night. This little buggers are common here, especially in tall grass. Beto and I must have picked-up a load while we were visiting the cattle ranch. Both of us have bites about every 10” over most of our torso and lower bodies. The bites itch like mad, especially at night, for about a week. I have learned that the nymph stage of the animal is what bites people and that they do not burrow under the skin as is commonly thought. They do inject an enzyme fluid that breaks down skin tissue that they then eat. The enzyme is what causes the extreme itchiness long after they have fallen off or been washed off.
Today, our friend Luciana who lives in the village, stopped by to visit and we talked for a long time. She suggested that very, very hot compresses help. Jennifer and I had noticed that a hot shower always makes them itch less. I adapted that idea by heating the metal handle of a butter knife, until is was as hot as I could stand it, and pressing that against the small spot comprising the bite. To my delight, this crazy idea has seemed to work! The itchy spots I have treated like this at lunch time have not itched all day. I honestly don’t know if it has something to do with heat or if it is just a very strong placebo effect – but I don’t care either. I have tried the treatment on bites on my stomach, legs, and back. So far I have a 90% rate of success.
Now, I know a barber in the town of Coban that used to give me a free haircut if I brought him a live scorpion. We have plenty of them, so I would routinely take one with me when I knew I was going there and needed a haircut. He, in turn, would use them to treat some of his “patients”. He explained to me that there is a certain clientele that believe that the sting of a scorpion helps to alleviate the pain of arthritis and even angina. I suppose it is possible that the pain induced by the sting of a scorpion probably does take their mind off of their arthritis and angina! They pay this fellow q10 for each sting – about double the cost of a haircut.
It is possible, I suppose, that the pain induced by a hot knife on the skin is enough to desensitize me to the relatively mild itching of a chigger bite. But that might not explain the long-term relief I have gotten. I’ve read elsewhere that using ice on a scorpion bite is not advised because the venom actually breaks down and dissipates with heat but the reverse is true when it is cooled. Perhaps the enzyme from chiggers is broken down at a certain temperature – much like a turkey at 400 degrees. I really don’t care. Just getting relief from the itch is all I want! I’ll report later as to weather it works overnight.
WX: 8:00 - Sunny, 65, no wind.
We listened to a sermon recorded by the pastor of the church we frequent in the US, Scio Community Aliance Church (a C&MA church). His sermons are always really good and recorde in mp3 format on their website: http://www.ScioCommunity.Org We were very pleased and it made us feel good to hear familiar voice and a good sermon!
Itchy chiggers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harvest_mite) were really bad last night. This little buggers are common here, especially in tall grass. Beto and I must have picked-up a load while we were visiting the cattle ranch. Both of us have bites about every 10” over most of our torso and lower bodies. The bites itch like mad, especially at night, for about a week. I have learned that the nymph stage of the animal is what bites people and that they do not burrow under the skin as is commonly thought. They do inject an enzyme fluid that breaks down skin tissue that they then eat. The enzyme is what causes the extreme itchiness long after they have fallen off or been washed off.
Today, our friend Luciana who lives in the village, stopped by to visit and we talked for a long time. She suggested that very, very hot compresses help. Jennifer and I had noticed that a hot shower always makes them itch less. I adapted that idea by heating the metal handle of a butter knife, until is was as hot as I could stand it, and pressing that against the small spot comprising the bite. To my delight, this crazy idea has seemed to work! The itchy spots I have treated like this at lunch time have not itched all day. I honestly don’t know if it has something to do with heat or if it is just a very strong placebo effect – but I don’t care either. I have tried the treatment on bites on my stomach, legs, and back. So far I have a 90% rate of success.
Now, I know a barber in the town of Coban that used to give me a free haircut if I brought him a live scorpion. We have plenty of them, so I would routinely take one with me when I knew I was going there and needed a haircut. He, in turn, would use them to treat some of his “patients”. He explained to me that there is a certain clientele that believe that the sting of a scorpion helps to alleviate the pain of arthritis and even angina. I suppose it is possible that the pain induced by the sting of a scorpion probably does take their mind off of their arthritis and angina! They pay this fellow q10 for each sting – about double the cost of a haircut.
It is possible, I suppose, that the pain induced by a hot knife on the skin is enough to desensitize me to the relatively mild itching of a chigger bite. But that might not explain the long-term relief I have gotten. I’ve read elsewhere that using ice on a scorpion bite is not advised because the venom actually breaks down and dissipates with heat but the reverse is true when it is cooled. Perhaps the enzyme from chiggers is broken down at a certain temperature – much like a turkey at 400 degrees. I really don’t care. Just getting relief from the itch is all I want! I’ll report later as to weather it works overnight.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Rebuilding the Latrine
Tuesday, December 11:
Latrine Rebuilding:
Two men from the community stopped by, presumably at the bequest of the Directiva, to help build a new latrine. Our old one, built into the side of a hill about 100 feet down from the house, was about ready to fall over. They had a pick and machetes in hand, nothing else. I explained that the hole was good and deep with a concrete footing (constructed by our good friends and volunteers Ezra and Josyah Jay) and all it needed was a new floor and framework for the walls. They wanted to make walls with boards but I explained that we preferred to use blue tarp because it allowed air to pass through and allowed light to enter, thus reducing the number of bugs – mostly cock-roaches – that would take up residence.
The existing structure collapsed with a slight push as it was mostly eaten away by termites.
They began their work and I mostly let them do their job, asking them to fabricate a door at a particular location but allowing them to do what they felt was right. What they did was mostly right, except that roof sloped towards the uphill side of the latrine, emptying rain water into a spot that would not only drench anyone entering the structure through the door but also would puddle on the uphill side of the hole, eventually, I fear, filling the hole with water during the rainy season. They also used a rotten, termite infested piece of wood for part of the door frame. I gave them two metal hinges and a set of screws, but the used nails on the hinges instead, bending them in half to secure the hinges, as the head of the nails would otherwise have gone through the screw holes. Instead of building the new framework on the cement footing, protecting it from termites, they dug holes outside the concrete and sank the corner posts into it. I hate to cast aspersions upon men that came to help, but, the workmanship can only be described as, shall we say, rustic. At one point, one of the guys came up to the house and asked if we had some rope to tie the roof on with, which I did not understand. He found some short lengths of barbed wire and was heading downhill when I decided it was probably time for me to intervene. They had put the old corrugated roofing over the frame they had constructed and put a couple of 2x4’s on top of it to hold it down. They were going to use the barbed wire to secure the 2x4’s on top to the 2x4’s underneath, a technique commonly used, I guess, on their own sheds out in the fields. I suggested that we use nails instead, and they agreed that it might work but said that they didn’t have a ladder in order to get up there to hammer them in. I ran up the hill and got one out of the house and brought it down. I held it up while one of the guys climbed with a clutch of nails and hammer. Before I could figure out what he was doing, he had nailed through the 2x4 on top of the roof, through the roof and into the 2x4 beneath the roof!
Jennifer reminds me that these two particular Mayan hicks, as I would have called them, also survived 15 years of civil war, evading the Guatemalan army in the jungles with their families – those that were not killed. Instead of going to school and learning all of the things we take for granted, they were surviving, mostly, by their wits, doing what they had to do moment by moment, day by day. Not planning very far in advance and rarely ever using tools more sophisticated than machetes and shovels. I need to keep these things in perspective.
Audio Bible in Mam – Proclaimer:
Before they finished, I found out that one of them, Mr. Andres, was in charge of the local Evangelical CAM church. CAM is Central America Mission and is very popular here in Guatemala. His church is near the end of the runway and had existed for a very long time without a roof. I noticed that he spoke Mam and asked if he would be interested in an audio Bible that would speak the New Testament in Mam for his congregation. This is a “Proclaimer” Device donated by “Faith Comes by Hearing”. It is about the size of a carton of cigarettes and can run on a build-in solar panel or charged by an internal crank generator. I ran up to the house and grabbed the one with the label “Northern Mam” and brought it down for him to hear. He agreed that it was fine Mam and said that they would like to borrow it for their Bible study on Sunday morning at 8:00 am.
Wednesday, December 12:
WX: 8:00 am, partly cloudy, 70 degrees, no wind.
Breakfast: Eggs, plantains, toasted buns with butter.
Solar Panels:
The peak of the house is situated almost due North and South. I have already placed three solar panels on the East facing slope of the roof to take advantage of the morning sun, which is often quite strong. The afternoons are frequently cloudy, so putting many panels on the West side does not make sense, however, I took one of the 50 watt panels that I had not yet placed on the roof and mounted it on the west facing side, hoping to increase the charge on the batteries in afternoon – something the east facing panels do not do well at all.
Latrine:
Reinforced the ties for the tarp that covers the walls of the latrine with nylon string. Since the door was attached in such a way so that it swings wide open when not latched, I created a type of hook for securing it from the inside.
Reinforced the nylon string fasteners on the latrine tarp to hold it firmly in strong winds.
Visitors: Freddy Viatoro, the Guatemalan who owns the ranch several miles to the West – Rancho Palmera, stopped by just at dinner time (I common practice for him). He brought his son, who is celebrating his 14th birthday and his 15 year-old cousin, Juan Carlos.
Thursday, December 13, 2007:
Breakfast: Eggs, biscuits with Jam, coffee
Spent the morning determining that the PicPac packet radio decoder was defective.
Lunch: Peanut butter and jelly biscuits
Spent good part of PM recovering from gastro. distress.
Examined problem with Cessna Regulator issues:
When #1 Regulator selected and field on Front alternator is on, over-voltage is indicated on amp-meter
Measured voltages:
When #1 Regulator is selected, 24 volts is present on the #2 regulator input (0 volts on #1)
When #2 Regulator is selected, 24 volts is present on the #1 regulator input (0 volts on #2)
Apparently the wires on the switch are reversed.
Front alternator field winding voltages:
When #1 regulator selected, 24 volts is present on field on the front alternator.
When #2 regulator selected, 19 volts is present on the field of the front alternator.
Rear alternator field winding voltages:
When either regulator (#1 or #2) is selected, 20 volts or 19.5 volts respectively is present on the field winding.
There should be a shunt resistor for each alternator (and the battery) in series with the amp-meter.
Unexpected Visitors:
So say visitors are un-expected is the norm. All visitors are un-expected because nobody calls ahead, few have phones and few plan that far in advance anyway. Freddy Viatoro, a big Guatemalan rancher that we knew from several years ago, stopped by just after dark, as is common for him. He brought his 15-year-old cousin Juan Carlos, and his son, who was celebrating his 12th birthday. Freddy owns the ranch several miles to the west, Rancho Palmera, where he raises beef cattle. They have about 150 head. He spends much of his time in the city of Huehuetenango (pronounced wheywheytenango) where much of his family lives. Of course, we insisted that they stay for dinner, even though all we had was a pot of boiled cabbage with carrots and three pieces of fried chicken. We were about to go out and buy some more bread when one of our neighbors arrived, unexpectedly, with a load of food:
Angelina lives in the big house/tienda owned by Don Andres (Don – a title of respect). She lives there with the other daughters-in-law of the Don Andres. Angelina’s husband, like most of Don Andres sons, works in the US. It was her daughter Olga’s 12th birthday and so they had a LOT of extra tamales. She brought over about 8 or so, still hot and very tasty. These are not like the tamales in the US. The Mayans use real banana leaves and real corn dough (masa). Each one contains about 1 cup of masa and into each one is placedpiece of roasted chicken and mole, just about the size of a grape. These are steamed and kept hot in a container until eaten. Good food.
Latrine Rebuilding:
Two men from the community stopped by, presumably at the bequest of the Directiva, to help build a new latrine. Our old one, built into the side of a hill about 100 feet down from the house, was about ready to fall over. They had a pick and machetes in hand, nothing else. I explained that the hole was good and deep with a concrete footing (constructed by our good friends and volunteers Ezra and Josyah Jay) and all it needed was a new floor and framework for the walls. They wanted to make walls with boards but I explained that we preferred to use blue tarp because it allowed air to pass through and allowed light to enter, thus reducing the number of bugs – mostly cock-roaches – that would take up residence.
The existing structure collapsed with a slight push as it was mostly eaten away by termites.
They began their work and I mostly let them do their job, asking them to fabricate a door at a particular location but allowing them to do what they felt was right. What they did was mostly right, except that roof sloped towards the uphill side of the latrine, emptying rain water into a spot that would not only drench anyone entering the structure through the door but also would puddle on the uphill side of the hole, eventually, I fear, filling the hole with water during the rainy season. They also used a rotten, termite infested piece of wood for part of the door frame. I gave them two metal hinges and a set of screws, but the used nails on the hinges instead, bending them in half to secure the hinges, as the head of the nails would otherwise have gone through the screw holes. Instead of building the new framework on the cement footing, protecting it from termites, they dug holes outside the concrete and sank the corner posts into it. I hate to cast aspersions upon men that came to help, but, the workmanship can only be described as, shall we say, rustic. At one point, one of the guys came up to the house and asked if we had some rope to tie the roof on with, which I did not understand. He found some short lengths of barbed wire and was heading downhill when I decided it was probably time for me to intervene. They had put the old corrugated roofing over the frame they had constructed and put a couple of 2x4’s on top of it to hold it down. They were going to use the barbed wire to secure the 2x4’s on top to the 2x4’s underneath, a technique commonly used, I guess, on their own sheds out in the fields. I suggested that we use nails instead, and they agreed that it might work but said that they didn’t have a ladder in order to get up there to hammer them in. I ran up the hill and got one out of the house and brought it down. I held it up while one of the guys climbed with a clutch of nails and hammer. Before I could figure out what he was doing, he had nailed through the 2x4 on top of the roof, through the roof and into the 2x4 beneath the roof!
Jennifer reminds me that these two particular Mayan hicks, as I would have called them, also survived 15 years of civil war, evading the Guatemalan army in the jungles with their families – those that were not killed. Instead of going to school and learning all of the things we take for granted, they were surviving, mostly, by their wits, doing what they had to do moment by moment, day by day. Not planning very far in advance and rarely ever using tools more sophisticated than machetes and shovels. I need to keep these things in perspective.
Audio Bible in Mam – Proclaimer:
Before they finished, I found out that one of them, Mr. Andres, was in charge of the local Evangelical CAM church. CAM is Central America Mission and is very popular here in Guatemala. His church is near the end of the runway and had existed for a very long time without a roof. I noticed that he spoke Mam and asked if he would be interested in an audio Bible that would speak the New Testament in Mam for his congregation. This is a “Proclaimer” Device donated by “Faith Comes by Hearing”. It is about the size of a carton of cigarettes and can run on a build-in solar panel or charged by an internal crank generator. I ran up to the house and grabbed the one with the label “Northern Mam” and brought it down for him to hear. He agreed that it was fine Mam and said that they would like to borrow it for their Bible study on Sunday morning at 8:00 am.
Wednesday, December 12:
WX: 8:00 am, partly cloudy, 70 degrees, no wind.
Breakfast: Eggs, plantains, toasted buns with butter.
Solar Panels:
The peak of the house is situated almost due North and South. I have already placed three solar panels on the East facing slope of the roof to take advantage of the morning sun, which is often quite strong. The afternoons are frequently cloudy, so putting many panels on the West side does not make sense, however, I took one of the 50 watt panels that I had not yet placed on the roof and mounted it on the west facing side, hoping to increase the charge on the batteries in afternoon – something the east facing panels do not do well at all.
Latrine:
Reinforced the ties for the tarp that covers the walls of the latrine with nylon string. Since the door was attached in such a way so that it swings wide open when not latched, I created a type of hook for securing it from the inside.
Reinforced the nylon string fasteners on the latrine tarp to hold it firmly in strong winds.
Visitors: Freddy Viatoro, the Guatemalan who owns the ranch several miles to the West – Rancho Palmera, stopped by just at dinner time (I common practice for him). He brought his son, who is celebrating his 14th birthday and his 15 year-old cousin, Juan Carlos.
Thursday, December 13, 2007:
Breakfast: Eggs, biscuits with Jam, coffee
Spent the morning determining that the PicPac packet radio decoder was defective.
Lunch: Peanut butter and jelly biscuits
Spent good part of PM recovering from gastro. distress.
Examined problem with Cessna Regulator issues:
When #1 Regulator selected and field on Front alternator is on, over-voltage is indicated on amp-meter
Measured voltages:
When #1 Regulator is selected, 24 volts is present on the #2 regulator input (0 volts on #1)
When #2 Regulator is selected, 24 volts is present on the #1 regulator input (0 volts on #2)
Apparently the wires on the switch are reversed.
Front alternator field winding voltages:
When #1 regulator selected, 24 volts is present on field on the front alternator.
When #2 regulator selected, 19 volts is present on the field of the front alternator.
Rear alternator field winding voltages:
When either regulator (#1 or #2) is selected, 20 volts or 19.5 volts respectively is present on the field winding.
There should be a shunt resistor for each alternator (and the battery) in series with the amp-meter.
Unexpected Visitors:
So say visitors are un-expected is the norm. All visitors are un-expected because nobody calls ahead, few have phones and few plan that far in advance anyway. Freddy Viatoro, a big Guatemalan rancher that we knew from several years ago, stopped by just after dark, as is common for him. He brought his 15-year-old cousin Juan Carlos, and his son, who was celebrating his 12th birthday. Freddy owns the ranch several miles to the west, Rancho Palmera, where he raises beef cattle. They have about 150 head. He spends much of his time in the city of Huehuetenango (pronounced wheywheytenango) where much of his family lives. Of course, we insisted that they stay for dinner, even though all we had was a pot of boiled cabbage with carrots and three pieces of fried chicken. We were about to go out and buy some more bread when one of our neighbors arrived, unexpectedly, with a load of food:
Angelina lives in the big house/tienda owned by Don Andres (Don – a title of respect). She lives there with the other daughters-in-law of the Don Andres. Angelina’s husband, like most of Don Andres sons, works in the US. It was her daughter Olga’s 12th birthday and so they had a LOT of extra tamales. She brought over about 8 or so, still hot and very tasty. These are not like the tamales in the US. The Mayans use real banana leaves and real corn dough (masa). Each one contains about 1 cup of masa and into each one is placedpiece of roasted chicken and mole, just about the size of a grape. These are steamed and kept hot in a container until eaten. Good food.
Pet Scorpion Escaped
Friday, December 21, 2007:
WX: 7:00, 65, Cleared early, no wind, very humid.
We are planning to depart for Guatemala City today. Expect to stay at an empty condominium in San Cristobal next to Doug and Sarah Johnson. We’ll pick up packages waiting for us there, including our satellite tracking system and try to obtain a cellular, wireless internet modem from our cell service provider: Tigo.
Pet Scorpion Escaped:
While I was getting the plane ready for our flight to Guatemala City, Jennifer called me on the cell phone and asked if I had let the pet scorpion go last night. We kept this one (of the many we have encountered and killed) partly because of his size. It’s length was about five to six inches, stretched out, and had very large pincers.
We had a little excitement the other night. We had not fed our pet scorpion for a couple of weeks. I was out in the yard in the dark, starting-up the little generator when I noticed the very bright reflection of two eyes on one of the house pilings. I came out with a plastic container and captured a very large wolf spider. I put the open side of the spider’s container on top of the open scorpion container, expecting a fairly short meal preparation time of about 10 seconds, but the spider, possibly sensing the imminent consummation of his condition made a dash for a very slim opening I had accidentally created while tapping on the plastic, trying to get him to fall off the ceiling of his container, as it were. He ran across the table in my direction at an extremely high rate of speed, then jumped off the table very close to my feet, causing me to quickly backup in a reflexive action, causing me to know over the bench that I had been sitting on. It was all quite comical. I put the scorpion’s lid back on and placed his container back on the shelf, offering my condolences regarding the loss of his meal. Perhaps because of his advanced state of hunger – or perhaps because of the example set by the aforementioned escapee, and, perhaps due in part to the fact that I apparently failed to secure the lid with enough force to ensure his security, our little scorpion mascot disappeared at some point late in the night. Keep in mind that the shelf he was on was directly on the other side of a wooden divider from our bedroom. The divider was made of loosely spaced boards, any one of which he could easily have passed through. On the other hand, our floor is also composed of loosely spaced board, any one of which he might have simply fallen though to the ground, sixteen inches below that.
I don’t recall everything Jennifer said, exactly, but I think she questioned the wisdom of keeping a pet if I couldn’t properly care for it. I was saddened by the sudden disappearance of our pet, to say the least.
We piled into the 336 and headed off to Guatemala City. The air was a clear as could be and we quickly climbed from sea-level to 9,500’ and made a bee-line for Guatemala City. From our cruising altitude, we could plainly see almost all of the volcanoes in the country, from Pacaya, rising 8,372’, south of Guatemala City to Agua, at 12,335’ and Fuego and Acatenango, both rising about 13,000’. Farther to the south-west, near Lake Atitlan we could see the volcano Atitlàn and San Pedro. Much farther west, near Quetzaltenango, and San Marcos, Tajumulco rose clearly in the distance to 13,845’. The active volcanoes, Pacaya, Fuego, San Pedro and Santiaguito did not seem to be producing any smoke at all this day. There had been days when I could see thick plums of smoke and ash rising high into the sky, into or above the cruising altitude of most airliners, causing air traffic control to deviate some flights in order to avoid the extremely abrasive and dangerous ash clouds.
My landing at La Aurora Airport in Guatemala City (Elevation 5,000’) was designed to impress any pilots that might happen to be within view or taxiing into position for take-off. As it happened, the crew from the AGAPE hangar, another missionary aviation organizations, was out on the grass next to the west taxiway, portable radios in hand, watching my technique as I approached and landed using my typical short field technique. It is all the more impressive when you consider the length of the runway here, at 9,800’ and the amount of runway we actually used to land, about 800’. The guys there gave me the thumbs-up as I exited on the first taxiway exit – “Kilo”.
WX: 7:00, 65, Cleared early, no wind, very humid.
We are planning to depart for Guatemala City today. Expect to stay at an empty condominium in San Cristobal next to Doug and Sarah Johnson. We’ll pick up packages waiting for us there, including our satellite tracking system and try to obtain a cellular, wireless internet modem from our cell service provider: Tigo.
Pet Scorpion Escaped:
While I was getting the plane ready for our flight to Guatemala City, Jennifer called me on the cell phone and asked if I had let the pet scorpion go last night. We kept this one (of the many we have encountered and killed) partly because of his size. It’s length was about five to six inches, stretched out, and had very large pincers.
We had a little excitement the other night. We had not fed our pet scorpion for a couple of weeks. I was out in the yard in the dark, starting-up the little generator when I noticed the very bright reflection of two eyes on one of the house pilings. I came out with a plastic container and captured a very large wolf spider. I put the open side of the spider’s container on top of the open scorpion container, expecting a fairly short meal preparation time of about 10 seconds, but the spider, possibly sensing the imminent consummation of his condition made a dash for a very slim opening I had accidentally created while tapping on the plastic, trying to get him to fall off the ceiling of his container, as it were. He ran across the table in my direction at an extremely high rate of speed, then jumped off the table very close to my feet, causing me to quickly backup in a reflexive action, causing me to know over the bench that I had been sitting on. It was all quite comical. I put the scorpion’s lid back on and placed his container back on the shelf, offering my condolences regarding the loss of his meal. Perhaps because of his advanced state of hunger – or perhaps because of the example set by the aforementioned escapee, and, perhaps due in part to the fact that I apparently failed to secure the lid with enough force to ensure his security, our little scorpion mascot disappeared at some point late in the night. Keep in mind that the shelf he was on was directly on the other side of a wooden divider from our bedroom. The divider was made of loosely spaced boards, any one of which he could easily have passed through. On the other hand, our floor is also composed of loosely spaced board, any one of which he might have simply fallen though to the ground, sixteen inches below that.
I don’t recall everything Jennifer said, exactly, but I think she questioned the wisdom of keeping a pet if I couldn’t properly care for it. I was saddened by the sudden disappearance of our pet, to say the least.
We piled into the 336 and headed off to Guatemala City. The air was a clear as could be and we quickly climbed from sea-level to 9,500’ and made a bee-line for Guatemala City. From our cruising altitude, we could plainly see almost all of the volcanoes in the country, from Pacaya, rising 8,372’, south of Guatemala City to Agua, at 12,335’ and Fuego and Acatenango, both rising about 13,000’. Farther to the south-west, near Lake Atitlan we could see the volcano Atitlàn and San Pedro. Much farther west, near Quetzaltenango, and San Marcos, Tajumulco rose clearly in the distance to 13,845’. The active volcanoes, Pacaya, Fuego, San Pedro and Santiaguito did not seem to be producing any smoke at all this day. There had been days when I could see thick plums of smoke and ash rising high into the sky, into or above the cruising altitude of most airliners, causing air traffic control to deviate some flights in order to avoid the extremely abrasive and dangerous ash clouds.
My landing at La Aurora Airport in Guatemala City (Elevation 5,000’) was designed to impress any pilots that might happen to be within view or taxiing into position for take-off. As it happened, the crew from the AGAPE hangar, another missionary aviation organizations, was out on the grass next to the west taxiway, portable radios in hand, watching my technique as I approached and landed using my typical short field technique. It is all the more impressive when you consider the length of the runway here, at 9,800’ and the amount of runway we actually used to land, about 800’. The guys there gave me the thumbs-up as I exited on the first taxiway exit – “Kilo”.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Flying the Rio Negro Pass into the Ixcan lowlands
My family and I departed Guatemala City to return to our home in Mayalan in the Ixcan region of the Quiche department. The flight through the Siera de Chama Mountains is always breathtaking, especially this area over the Rio Negro where I frequently find a break in the clouds that allows me to descend into the Ixcan lowlands. Images like this may give you an idea of how remote this area is and how difficult road transporation can be. Many villages here have no road and rely on airstrips for emergency medical transportation, as well as more common cargo transport.
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