The one I didn’t want to write

I didn’t want to write this post.  I don’t want people to fear Guatemala or get a negative view of such a beautiful country.  99% of my experience here has been wonderful.  The people are fantastic, the food is delicious, and the culture is rich.  So take this post, which is about that other 1%, for what it is worth.

I’ve seen death in a way that I’ve never seen before in America.  Yesterday, on my way home from Spanish class, I saw a man covered with a burlap seed bag on the side of the road.  All I could see were his feet – no shoes, just navy blue work socks.  I don’t know what happened to him.  I just heard whispers of “muerto,” or “dead.”

On the news, I’ve seen rescue workers pulling bodies from accidents and police officers stumbling after being shot.  They also died.

Last week, my host mother called to me from downstairs.  “Hurry,” she said.  “You have to see this.”  I ran down the stairs and into the dining room where she, my host sister, and my 12-year-old host brother were watching the news.  I sat down and covered my mouth.

Four men, who were tied together at the waist and bleeding, were being pushed into the center of an open field.  People took turns hitting them before dousing them with a liquid.  Then they were lit on fire.  As they struggled to free themselves from the rope, they screamed and begged for water.  One freed himself and ran a few feet before falling and being lit on fire again.

I looked over at my host family, whose faces ranged from intent gazing to horror, and I wondered how often they had seen something like this on the news.  I wondered how my host brother, who looked up from his math homework every time he heard a scream, was processing the event.

I was told that the men died but I couldn’t continue to watch.  For me, it was something I just couldn’t witness.  My mom told me they were “mareros” (gang members) and that they had done some horrible things.  She said the police hadn’t done something about it fast enough and the people took the law into their own hands.  She shook her head when she said it but her voice was as calm as if she had told me she was going to buy more tortillas.

I can’t judge the people, their actions.  I can’t judge my family or the news for showing the lynching.  I’ve lived in this country for two months and I realize there is so much that I don’t know.  What I have learned is that death is much more visible here.  In some ways, it is comforting that people can talk about death without the fear and apprehension that many have in the United States.  In other ways, for me, it is horrifying to see it in such a gruesome way.

I guess every rose has its thorn.  It doesn’t make the rose any less beautiful.  It just teaches you to know where the thorns are and how to avoid them.

Note: This post is not a comment about my safety in Guatemala.  I have never felt unsafe in any of the places I have been in Guatemala.  The incident that I mentioned was not in a location that I will ever be and I have complete faith in the safety and security coordinator in Peace Corps Guatemala.