Zacualpa lagniappe: Doña Caty

Doña Catarina, or Doña Caty, was more than generous in opening her home to me, and trying her best to provide me with contacts for people who might talk with me about the various markers and memory sites. At first, she hadn't quite understood what I was after -- she thought that I wanted to talk with people about the war itself. It took a few minutes of conversation face to face -- not over the phone or via WhatsApp messages -- to explain that I was really interested in the representation of the war more than people's experiences of the traumas. 

As we spent time together over the two days I was in Zacualpa, she told me a little of her own story. She was a mother with young children when the army attacked. She wasn't living in the house she currently occupies but in an aldea. She fled with her children, and joined people who had also fled to (relative) safety in the mountains and forests. I don't know whether she was technically living in what were considered Comunidades del Pueblo en Resistencia (Communities of People in Resistance) -- that term usually refers to settlements that were established by people who had to flee as longer-term refuges. When I was in Nebaj, I talked to people who had lived in the CPRs for 14, 15 or 16 years. It wasn't entirely clear in our conversation exactly how long Doña Caty stayed in the mountains with a group of people -- it seems like several months at least, possibly longer. 

She told me that she had trained as a comadrona -- a midwife. So while she and her children were in hiding, she attended to pregnant women who were giving birth in the mountains, as well as women with young children, since there were no other medical people around. I hadn't known she was a midwife, and I don't think she attends births any more, as she is very occupied with her work as a leader and organizer. 

She had been active as a local leader in CCDA, the Comité Campesino para el Desarrollo del Altiplano, when I first met her in 2011, and also worked with victims of domestic violence. On one of the two mornings I was there, I came back to the house at midday to find her downstairs "sala" (it means both "hall" and "living room") filled to overflowing with women (and about 3 men) who were gathered for a regional meeting of CCDA. Although the meeting was entirely in K'iche', she invited me to come in and explained who I was. I asked her if I could have a moment to tell them about the human rights delegation that I had been part of in 2018, since part of our mission was to talk with members of CCDA about the threats and assassinations that members of the organization had experienced. She agreed; I spoke for just a couple of minutes and then she translated (or summarized) into K'iche' for me. After that everyone wanted to take a picture with me. There were too many to fit into a single frame inside the cramped room so we took a couple (one of which is above).