Traveling to El Quiché

The object of the research part of my trip was to look at the impact of the pandemic, and the relationship between the pandemic and migration, in the three communities from which the vast majority of New Bedford's Guatemalan Maya population come -- Chinique, San Andrés Sajcabajá, and Zacualpa, all in the department of El Quiché. Since 2013, most of my Guatemalan sojourns have been in the department of Huehuetenango, not in El Quiché. Huehuetenango is also in the highlands, and it lies to the west of El Quiché. The population is similar to that of El Quiché in that it is largely indigenous, rural, and poor. Both departments have high levels of extreme poverty, chronic malnutrition (especially of young children), maternal and infant mortality, and chronic neglect by the central government. Both regions "send" a lot of migrants to the U.S., although the migrants from different regions (and different ethno-linguistic groups) generally end up in different areas, as indigenous people tend to go where their relatives, friends, and neighbors have gone before. If you're going to make the long and expensive journey to the US, you want to know that there are people at the other end who speak your language, and who will receive you when you arrive from the long journey across Mexico and then across the deserts of the southwest. 

Quick factoid: the price of the journey -- that is, the standard fee that you pay a pollero or coyote -- has increased dramatically during the pandemic. Although I wasn't specifically looking at migration in most of the pre-pandemic years, I would sometimes casually ask what the price of the journey was. My recollection is that in 2018-2019, it was around 60,000 quetzales (Q60,000). At current exchange rates, that would be around $7,750). It has doubled, and it's now about Q120,000-Q125,000 (over $15,000). People end up taking out loans at extremely high interest rates (as they come from money lenders and not banks), or mortgaging or even selling their land to pay for the journey.

There are also important differences. Huehuetenango's indigenous population includes at least seven distinct ethnic/linguistic groups -  if I can remember them without looking it up: Mam, Q'anjob'al, Chuj, Akateko, Chalchiteko, Awakateko, Jakalteko (also known as Popti), and some K'iche' people. According to Wikipedia there's a 9th ethnic group, Tektik (yes, I did look it up to see if I'd remembered correctly -- so I missed one, but I've never been in that part of Huehue and so I've never come across any Tektik people). 

The department of El Quiché includes the historic homeland of the K'iche' people and most of the majority-Maya population are K'iche' (the largest Maya ethno-linguistic group in Guatemala). There is a region dominated by the Maya Ixil (pronounced Ee-sheel) -- the municipalities of Nebaj. Cotzal, and Chajul. This is where the massacres that resulted in the genocide trial against former dictator Ríos Montt took place -- specifically in Nebaj. This is not because there were more or worse massacres there, but because the prosecutors found enough evidence ot mount a successful prosecution. When I was in Guatemala last, in 2019, I did spend some time in El Quiché, but much of it was in the Ixil region which I'd only visited briefly once before, and I spent a few days in Zacualpa (where I will travel in about a week's time), but otherwise my time was spent elsewhere. So this was going to be a return to some places that I hadn't visited for a decade or more. During my first visit to Guatemala in 2009, I spent time in San Andrés Sajcabajá (SAS) and visited there again in 2010, but I hadn't been back there since. And the two people with whom I'd spent most of my time, and who were, in effect, my hosts (one of them quite literally), have both since migrated to the U..S., so aside from contacts that I'd solicited from within the community in New Bedford (a few recent migrants who are from SAS), I didn't really have anyone "local". Chinique is where I lived during my Fulbright year (if any of you benighted readers have been following my blog since I began it in 2011, you might remember that -- extra points for you, but no shade if you don't), and then I visited again in 2012 when I was an international observer for the consulta comunitaria -- the community consultation (also called "consulta de buena fé" -- consultation in good faith) against mining and mega-projects. But I hadn't been to Chinique since then. When I visited Zacualpa in 2019, the bus passed through Chinique but I didn't get off and look anyone up, although I had an unexpected encounter with some friends from Chinique, Catarino and his wife Sandy, when my hostess in Zacualpa and I went to eat at an outdoor food stall in the market place in the evening. The food served at the Zacualpa food stalls isn't any different from what's available in Chinique (at night, usually grilled meats and sausages, maybe something stewed) but I guess they wanted a change of air so they had ridden over on Catarino's motorcycle.

There is no "good" bus from Guatemala City into the department of El Quiché, except to the market town of Chichicastenango, a popular tourist destination, and then only on market days (Thursdays and Saturdays). Monday, the day I was traveling, is not a market day and therefore there were no "good" buses (i.e. relatively comfortable with reserved seats). There is a direct bus from Guatemala City that passes through Chinique on its way to Joyabaj, which is about an hour east of Chinique, and is actually a fairly major city (the third largest in the department, which I hadn't realized before). But that is a camioneta (converted school bus) and those tend to be very crowded. The ayudantes (helpers) seem to feel that they need to squeeze as many people as possible onto the bus (obviously more passengers means more money in the driver's and ayudante's pockets), and when passengers who are already seated seem reluctant to scrunch themselves in so another person can fit on the seat, the ayudantes often call out "Donde caben dos, caben tres" (where two can fit, three can fit). I didn't want to spend the entire trip in discomfort, and also because there is a raging pandemic, it didn't seem a wise move from a health standpoint.

But there were good buses to Xela, and I would be able to hop off the bus at Los Encuentros, a place where a lot of buses stop on their way to various destinations, and it is the entry point to the one highway in that part of El Quiché -- if you can use that word for a two-lane road with a lot of speed bumps, and steep, winding curves. I decided I would make this a three-stage journey -- good bus to Los Encuentros, camioneta to Santa Cruz del Quiché (SCQ), and then a microbus (a 15-passenger van) from SCQ to Chinique. The microbuses are more comfortable than the camionetas (if you are in the back of the camioneta, every time the bus goes around a curve, hits a pothole or goes over a speed bump, it's a bone-shaking experience). 

I hadn't been able to buy a ticket online for the good bus (seems you can only do that 24 hours or more in advance, not the night before, as the website offered me tickets for Tuesday) but I figured that the bus might not be full on a Monday morning, and so I trusted that I could just show up at the terminal and get on the bus. My figuring turned out to be correct. One of the people in the house where I was staying told me she was driving to work on Monday morning and could give me a lift as her workplace was close to the Alamo terminal (a local bus company, not the auto rental company; I don't think they are related), which I gladly accepted.

I had brought a large suitcase and a smaller carry-on, along with a shoulder bag, for a couple of reasons. I was going to be in Guatemala for a month, and I knew I would be in several different climates, so I would need some clothing options. In the altiplano occidental (western highlands) the nights are often quite chilly, so I knew I'd need long pants, long sleeves and some layers. The human rights delegation with which I would spend a week was going to some places in the northeastern part of the country that are more tropical, and so I would need warm weather clothing as well. And then my running stuff -- shorts, longer tights, tech shirts ranging from singlets to one LS shirt, the necessary undergarments, and shoes. This girl needs two pairs of running shoes since it's a good idea to not wear the same pair of shoes two days in a row if possible so that the foam insole can recover from the pounding. Then the hydration pack in case I were going to be able to get in some longer runs (it squishes down pretty small) and finally the physical therapy/recovery stuff. Which consists of a travel-sized foam roller, a foldable yoga mat, and a travel-sized slant board to stretch out my calf muscles. And then of course my travel coffee-maker (it's about the size of a 12-oz cup and everything fits inside but it's still one more thing). All of which necessitated more than a single carry-on bag. I also knew that I was not always going to be in places long enough where I would have time to wash my clothes and let them dry (especially during the rainy season, it often takes well over 24 hours for a piece of clothing to dry (even underwear which I can normally dry overnight in my bathroom in Brooklyn). 

So I arranged with the people at the collective house to leave a bag with them, so I would only be burdened with a shoulder bag (big enough to fit my laptop, camera, and notebook) and the suitcase. The smaller carry-on bag would be useful when I traveled with the delegation, since we were only going to be out of the city for three nights, and I could then (I hoped) leave the larger suitcase somewhere.

We arrived at the bus terminal with plenty of time to spare. I purchased my ticket and was shown to a waiting room and then more or less on time, onto the bus. There were more tourist-type places along the highway, some new restaurants and gas stations, and new gas stations and restaurants under construction. I was the only person getting off at Los Encuentros, but fortunately I didn't have long to wait before a bus stopped on the fork of the road that led to El Quiché. The road to Chichicastenango and then Santa Cruz was more or less as I remembered it -- lots of speed bumps between Los Encuentros and Chichi, lots of steep ascents and sharp curves on a narrow road without a lot of guard rails. The bus terminal in SCQ was much as I remembered it. As soon as I got off the bus, my white skin meant that several ayudantes (or maybe some of them were drivers) immediately approached me, calling out "A donde vas, señora? Chichi? Xela?", assuming that I would be going to one of the popular tourist sites. I responded that I was going to Chinique and asked where I could find the microbus to Chinique, and someone told me by the bank outside the terminal, so I went to wait.

On all of the buses, about half or more of the passengers were wearing masks (it is supposedly obligatory on public transport in Guatemala but it is not enforced. There was less compliance on the part of drivers and ayudantes. The good bus was only about half full -- I don't know whether that was deliberate or there just didn't seem to be that many people traveling that particular route on a Monday at that particular hour. The camioneta was perhaps not quite as jam packed as some of the camionetas I've ridden previously. All seats were taken, and there were some people standing in the aisle, but I didn't have to struggle to breathe or elbow 10 people in order to be off. The microbus was also somewhat less crowded than I'd feared, and had slightly better mask compliance.

I looked around as the microbus made its way out of SCQ -- there were new stores, new gas stations, new houses, both in the town and on the road. At the entrance to the town proper of Chinique, there was still the sign that always made me smile -- ZONA URBANA (urban zone). This referring to a town with a population of around 2000 or maybe 2500. 

I had arranged to stay at an hospedaje -- a generic term for a lodging house or even a small hotel -- run by a friend of a friend, in the town center. I'd tried to make an arrangement with the landlady beforehand so that I could arrive, drop off my stuff, and then start on my work. I'd been able to get in touch with both her and a few of the people I wanted to interview, so although she was not available to meet me (she was working), her nephew found me (her directions were not quite crystal-clear) and let me in. It was clearly new construction -- not a new building, but a conversion of an existing one into new uses. It was located above the store owned by the family who had rented me the house where I lived in Chinique, and across the street from a store owned by the grandparents of someone I know from New Bedford. They were acquaintances of mine when I lived there -- I wouldn't call them friends, but I would stop by their store every so often during my year in Chinique. They were active in the cofradia which played a key role at the patron saint feast, and at their invitation, I spent the evening of the patron saint feast tromping around the town with the procession, which ended at the headquarters of the cofradia for food and music.

The room was clean, a little sterile (no traditional textiles on the bed or decorations, just regular bedding. And, to my disappointment, no wifi, no kitchen, no place where I could wash clothes. As I walked around a little (the subject of my first interview was coming to pick me up) I regained my sense memory of where things were in the town (although as I started to explore in the next few days, there were things that had changed). The church was obviously in the same place, although there were some new benches in the plaza that hadn't been there before, and a new municipal building was under construction. I walked to my old block and past my house, and peeked in at the garage that was across the street from my house to see if I could find the owner, Willy, who had repaired my pickup on numerous occasions (and had once helped me out at night when I had had a breakdown on the road several miles outside of town). But there was no one in the garage when I poked my head in (I could see a pair of legs underneath a vehicle up the block, and thought that was probably him, but didn't want to disturb his work). 

Well, enough for the journey and arrival....