Burning issues

My friend Claire writes to ask me what I have done with Manicured Nails Catherine. I'm sure she'll be back, but right now I'm going to try my hand at some manual labour. I got talking to a bunch of Canadians who are working on the Guatemala Stove Project set up by Tom (who saved me from the potential bed bug attack) 12 years ago, and they have invited me to join them today.

I show up with my keeno hat on, feeling like I am going to see the real Guatemala and do something worthwhile with my day. I soon realise this experience is entirely for my benefit (the Guatemalan masons build stoves much quicker than a group of volunteers, but by coming here and seeing this small village where people cook over open fires I can see the reality of this life for myself, and feel horribly guilty - not because I was born into another life which is so much more comfortable than life in this Guatemalan mountain village, but for the things that I have seen fit to complain about before - and spoilt with the luxury of the choices I have had).

I walk into a room blackened with a layer of creosote on every exposed surface and thick with smoke. There is a fire burning on the floor but there is no ventilation so the smoke hovers like an ominous death cloud. Later I see women bending right over this fire, with babies in slings on their backs, and a beautiful little girl in a red dress, who can only have been about three years old, playing around the fire  while sneaking shy glances at the strange visitors. Nobody shares my instinct to get myself and this little girl away from the flames, because that's everyday life here. It is heart-breaking.

 
Inhaling wood smoke is the equivalent of smoking up to 16 cigarettes, and leads to respiratory diseases, eye ailments which often result in blindness, skin conditions and many other devastating health consequences. Worldwide, more children die from the effects of breathing in smoke from open-fire cooking than malaria. 20% of kids here will not live to see their fifth birthday. And I had no idea about this back home where I spent many happy hours deciding which colour nail polish to wear.

I do not believe that I should feel guilty for having been dealt another set of cards, and the manicured nails will undoubtedly remain a feature in my future, but my life will be forever marked by the knowledge that a relatively small amount of money together with the efforts of those that co-ordinate projects like this, can so immediately transform a family's daily life and drastically reduce the risk of the catalogue of diseases caused by smoke inhalation, particularly for the women and children of the family. The Guatemala Stove Project provides the necessary resources to build masonry stoves in impoverished communities and has contributed to building more than 3,800 stoves in the 12 years of its existence.

Back to the building....

The room we are going to build in today is small, dark and dirty (the room I described above has a newly built stove which will be in use after being left to set for three weeks). The beams come up to my chin, and the only place I can stand up is in the corner behind the main beam structure, with my head in the roof. There is no window and only a dangling light bulb, a bed and a lot of cobwebs. I cannot imagine a life growing up in this room, where a whole family lead a dusty, malnourished life. We have to move the bed to create a space to build the stove which will be centimetres away from where this family sleeps.

We are a team of six, led by mason Max who must be wondering what he did to deserve this clueless Brit who doesn't know the first thing about making cement and thinks a hoe is someone who has rather too many gentlemen visitors. He is very patient though and doesn't show it. I get stuck into making cement and soaking blocks, and later try my hand at smoothing cement over the exterior of the stove with a trowel: it's a bit like icing a cake (not that I'd know much about that either having used my oven approximately three times in the past year), but I have to leave the edges for Max as they're a bit tricky.

The other volunteers are welcoming and inspiring. On my team is Meaghan, who is 12, and taking part in the project with her father, Phil. She has chosen to come here as her first major trip away after her sister worked on the project two years ago. I am amazed. Meaghan is so unlike my 12 year old self: cheery and enthusiastically contributing to all of the tasks whereas I would have been swanning around Disneyland stuffing my face with chips and the idea of getting grubby in Guatemala would never have even crossed my mind.

    
Each stove requires 30 clay bricks, 30 cement blocks, lime, cement and sand, a metal stove top or planchate with three cut-out burners, metal stove door with vent, a flat thin clay piece to sit above it, and a stove pipe for the smoke. Rosa, a local who is half my size, makes neat work of carrying the large bags of sand and lime on her back, strapped to her head. I cannot even lift them. The women here are incredibly strong. There are no men to be seen (they are out working I believe) except for one man who is extremely drunk and hangs around one of the other teams. The ladies and children that live in this house and those surrounding it watch in fascination and help out where they can. I talk to them a little in ropey Spanish: they want to know what our names are and how old we are. Though they quite clearly have nothing, they bring us sprite and a bread roll each during the morning.

They are hesitant at first to have photos taken, but then crowd around to see them. My hand sanitiser is a hit: everyone wants some for their hands after they see me using it.

Slowly the stove comes together and by mid-afternoon we are done and stop for a photo. Before we leave, we give the family a bag full of goodies that the Canadian volunteers have brought - knitted dolls, a ball, hair ribbons, nappies, toothbrushes and toothpaste. I feel bad that I haven't got anything to contribute so throw in the hand sanitiser for good measure. The other volunteers tell me they make sure they only give this bag at the end of the day, and directly to the family whose stove they have just built. This is one of the poorest places I have ever seen, and they tell me that here people are not too proud to beg. It's true. As we walk away, people are asking for "something for me", "something for her", "something for the baby". The drunk man returns and is a bit lechy, but I'm not going to let it spoil the memories of today.
   

As I get on the bus to return to Xela I'm absolutely filthy, and my nails are chipped, but I really don't care. This has been one special day. I am so very grateful to my new Canadian friends for inviting me to come along today.

Las dos Catarinas (they can't quite get the "th" over here). Catarina is 80 years old. She is blind in one eye.
 
Some other memories of the project can be found at the following:

http://www.guatemalaboundwithkaren.blogspot.com/
http://unravelingsarah.blogspot.com/2011/01/how-to-build-stove-101.html
http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/jandjinguatemala

Karen is in fact a proper writer, not like my amateur drivel, so I'm particularly enjoying reading her stories. Thanks guys, it was great to meet you all. I hope this is just the beginning - I will be in touch.