Somewhere in Between

Maximón is a Mayan saint influenced by Spanish Catholicism that is both revered and despised. Legend goes that one day in pre-Colombian Mesoamerica while the village men were off tending their fields of corn, Maximón slept with all of their wives. When the men returned, they became so enraged that they cut off his arms and legs. Somehow this turned Maximón into a divine being with an assiduous taste for expensive cigars and fine liquors. During Spanish colonialism, Maximón’s character was hybridized with that of Judas, and nowadays figures of the Mayan god are featured in 18 th century Spanish garb, usually with mysteriously dark sunglasses. It seems that people view him in either one of two ways. Some praise him as a saint and religiously bring him offerings, generally sweets, tobacco, or rum, in return for good health, pay raises, and many many sons. Others view Maximón in a much darker light, and try to harness his powers to curse hated coworkers or cast wicked love spells. Many hate Maximón and believe that he represents a division within their culture. They view him as confusing, disruptive, and bothersome. He’s hated because there is no set way of thinking about him, and this ambiguity can be difficult to swallow.

My home for the next two years is known worldwide for its colorfully and busily adorned shrine of Maximón. In my site-assignment folder, it was characterized as a primarily indigenous town in the midst of rapid modernization. The new has a knack for pushing out the old, and many of the traditional Kaqchikel traits are slowly fading away. As a Peace Corps volunteer, I am myself an agent of the new, and like Maximón, many people may either hate or love me for it. Many in the community may view me as a neo-colonist American come to Guatemala to spread my personal ideologies and beliefs, while others might see me as a social-minded, enthusiastic worker who has come to Guatemala to help provide care to the under-served. The truth is I am not perfect, and due to years of growing up with a privilege and a subconscious uptake of American paternalism, I fall somewhere in between the two. I understand completely how people can view some international aid and health workers as unwanted and detrimental because many are. Our program director here shared with us a story about a non-profit that donated some medications to a rural health post without providing any training on how the medications should be prescribed and failed to even translate the labels from English to Spanish. Because of this lapse in judgment, children with schistosomiasis (a GI parasite) were unknowingly being given schizophrenia meds. Stories like this provide a potent context to the anti-Western sentiment prevalent in many areas around the world.

My studies, previous work abroad, and most importantly Peace Corps training have helped nudge me toward the socially minded end of the spectrum, but I will never be able to leave the spectrum entirely. No matter what I do, there will always be those that view my presence in their country with disdain, and not entirely unjustly. At the same time, there will be those that welcome me with open arms and offer nothing but partnership in our paralleled ambition. And so I am doomed to live the life of Maximón, both hated and loved everywhere I go. Luckily, Peace Corps has been in Guatemala for over fifty years and has a very close relationship with the country. My site in particular has hosted two Maternal and Child Health volunteers before me. Peace Corps teaches us that the main focus of every volunteer’s service should be cultural integration, sustainability, and capacity building. This model serves as a constant reminder that I am here to help empower my community to take health care into its own hands in the most effective and efficient way possible. My work is successful when I am no longer needed.

I cannot convince the entire world that I am good-natured and well intentioned, but I can do everything in my power to continue trying. And to me the best way to do that is to continue learning public health in the field, especially in a real-time context of cultural and linguistic confusion. During the last two months I have grown and learned so much more than over the last six years of my top-dollar education, and have not had to add a single cent to my student loan balance. The majority of my lessons came from on-the-ground experiences and some slightly embarrassing blunders. Peace Corps training has taught me that the next two years of my life are going to be a continual process of challenging my own biases and remaining open-minded, of planning out every detail of a project, and of remaining tenaciously flexible when none of those details matter because the box containing all of your materials got left behind on the camioneta.

 

Public health is a confusing field wrought with contradictions, and I often find myself a bit lost in the fold. There will always be aspects of my work that reflect public health’s history of paternalism and interventionism, just like Maximón will never be able to shake his sketchy reputation. But more often than not there are those willing to bring me sweet offerings of peace and partnership because they believe my presence represents a powerful alliance. So somewhere in between the misguided international aid worker and the socially minded work partner I’ll be; but my place on the spectrum will never be fixed.