Dear friends,
I rose early in the morning to begin my journey.
I had been back in the highlands of Guatemala for
only a short while, having returned after a year
of studying permaculture in the United States.
Memories of the people living in these mountains
and the work they are doing kept me going while I
was away. It had taken a couple of weeks to get
readjusted to a new community of friends and pace
of life, but it felt great to be back.
I was starting from the town of Itzapa, in the
district of Chimaltenango, to visit several of
the surrounding villages. It was a journey I had
looked forward to for what seemed a very long
time.
Trees for Life was invited to support local
projects here in the late 1980s. I began my work
in 1991, and this was my first visit in nearly
two years to the area. I had worked with the
villagers on tree nurseries and fuel-efficient
stoves. That was a time full of challenges and
problems to be overcome, as well as many small
successes.
In this type of work it is easy to wonder whether
one is doing more harm than good, but I felt a
growing excitement and curiosity about what lay
in store for this day. What impact had our
efforts created? Today I would find answers to
this question that had been in the back of my
mind.
After a filling breakfast, I began the climb
upwards to Itzapa’s first mountain village
— Xepalquiy (pronounced
“Shep-al-kwee”) — nestled among
the cloud forests that mist the landscape,
leaving the fields wet and brilliant green. As I
walked around the first bend in the mountain
road, I came upon Dona Petrona. She was standing
at the front of her home, her face filled with
gentle folds and her white hair wrapped in a
colorful bandana. As in the past, she invited me
to come into her small, simple hut for coffee and
sweet bread. We talked of family and how she
loves her little village with its plants and its
quietness.
After our visit I said good-bye and continued on
my way. Within a half hour I reached the village
of Panimaquim. Here I paid a visit to the home of
Adelberto, and came upon a typical scene. There
was Adelberto in his straw hat and cowboy boots,
one strong, wiry arm swinging his machete. As
always, his son Roman was working closely with
him — absorbing the knowledge and wisdom
passed down for generations.
This was where a fruit tree grafting workshop had
been held nearly three years ago. I remembered
well our struggles due to a lack of tools,
attempting the necessary fine cutting with bulky
machetes. Now I almost didn’t recognize
Adelberto’s place for the dense tree cover
dominating the yard. Nearly every open space was
filled with apple, peach and plum trees, a
testament to the villagers’ skillfulness and
attentive care.
Roman took me to see the grafted peach trees we
had worked on together. Soon he was filling my
hands and my bag with ripe fruit. In the distance
I could see mountain slopes that were once barren
and lifeless. They now supported young cypress
saplings more than six feet high, reaching
skyward, protecting the soil below and supplying
wood for the future.
After taking my leave from Adelberto and Roman, I
continued on to the village of San Bernabe. Once
again I was overwhelmed with what I found. The
villagers offered me large juicy peaches as a
welcome. Their fruit trees stood intermixed with
the corn fields in all directions. Along the
roadsides, they showed me rows of ilamo trees
growing strong and fast, offering nitrogen to the
soil and fire-wood for future generations.
Then I was off to the village of Chinjuyu, where
I found the villagers at market, laughing and
joking with me as they always did. But I was
surprised to see that they were selling gravilea
fruit trees — descendants of the trees they
had grown with help from Trees for Life. Some
villagers had joined together several years ago
to begin their own tree nursery. As we went to
see it, they explained that they plant trees in
their fields and sell the extras to their
village. Their faces beamed with pride as they
showed me the nursery and offered me gravilea
seedlings.
Another hike brought me at last to Calderas,
Itzapa’s most distant village, at the base
of a large volcano. I came upon Pedro Lopez, a
good friend and co-worker. As in the past, his
family quickly welcomed me into their home. Its
simple dirt floor and cornstalk and block walls
were graced with their energetic children,
barefoot and smiling with excitement. Almost
before speaking a word they were feeding me
lunch. Out of the corner of my eye I could see
their son climbing up a tree to pick peaches as a
gift.
Pedro told me that he is now promoting the
fuel-efficient stoves throughout his region. By
foot, horse and bus he travels to surrounding
communities, organizing and teaching small groups
how to build them. These cookstoves benefit
families by decreasing the amount of firewood by
62%, taking smoke out of the kitchen with a
chimney, and protecting children from open fires.
Pedro volunteers to train others in addition to
working his farm and caring for his family.
Sitting with Pedro’s family at the end of
the day, I felt a new vitality. Any doubts had
been completely washed away. Rarely does one have
such a dramatic opportunity to see and taste the
fruits of so many people’s efforts. Trees
for Life had simply provided initial support
through workshops and simple materials, and then
the villagers took on the work themselves. Today
I saw the impact of their generosity and
perseverance.
In these villagers I discovered what Trees for
Life recognizes and encourages in each person. We
all have the capacity to share of ourselves and
our lives. And in so doing, even in remote
villages like those in Guatemala, we can begin to
find empowerment and hope.
Take care,
Tom |
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The “chefina” is a
Guatemalan fuel-efficient wood cookstove.
Made of local materials, it decreases the
wood used by 62%. It costs $45, and lasts
many years. Recipients pay1/3 of the
cost, build their chefina, and then teach
others how to do the same.
Margarito Cua teaches his
son to grow fruit and fuel trees in their
family tree nursery in the village of San
Bernabe.
Tom
Benevento
Margarito
Cua’s son is on his way to plant a
tree that he and his father grew from a
seed in their own tree nursery.
Eucalyptus
seedling ready
for transplanting.
Tree seedlings coming up
at the nursery.
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