Exhumation of mass graves of the Verbena

I have kept busy familiarizing myself with the new work regime for the next months and the troubled history of this country. A few days ago I had the opportunity to check out the exhumation of mass burial sites in the city where unidentified bodies from the civil war were dumped. I didn't know what to think. It was so interesting yet so horrifying at the same time thinking that thousands upon thousands of bodies had been simply thrown into circular wells dug deep into the ground. There were three wells, a large one 10m across and 30m deep and two smaller ones about half the size of the first. All together an estimate of 14,000 bodies. Fourteen thousand bodies rotting away in black plastics bags in a sealed concrete container. The forensic anthropologists were half way through the second (the big one) and none of the bodies had been identified yet. Not one positive DNA match to people declared to be missing since the 70s.

And yet a morbid curiosity was awakened. The scientific mind wanted to examine those fragile putrid bones and feel the effects of decomposition. After 30 years of lying in sealed concrete holes with thousands of other decomposing bodies, bones start to resemble in texture, colour and consistency of rotting twigs. The leader of the expedition bent a rib in half as easily as if he were bending the stem of a daisy.

The smell wasn't horribly unpleasant, mostly earthy with a hint of methane but no where near as unpleasant as the stench of month old corpses in the process of exhumation. Rolling down the window to ask for directions was bad enough. Watching the policeman hesitate as he contemplated the answer in a putrid haze was worse. Still it was fascinating seeing first hand the effects that foreign bodies can have on our skeletal body identifying stabbings, gunshots, machete slices and post mortem breakages.

It was the unique cases that really stick. The six month old fetus placed in a jar within the body bag of an old man. Logic would dictate the the other body would be its mother not an anciano. Then were the remains of a young lady buried with her white heels and blue skirt whose skull still had 5 bullets rattling around in it even after having undergone the full process of embalming. The coroner simply did not think to take out the bullets.

It was horrifying but somehow undescribable getting the chance to see the true effects of this country's history first hand. It puts the fear into you knowing that most of these peoples' killers are still alive and kicking, most likely in positions of power. It's the not knowing who but seeing the results of their horrible actions. Just the other day, Thursday in fact, 6 tortured bodies were found downtown, open for display for all morning commuters entering the city. This isn't a very pretty culture.

More info: http://alienatedleft.blogspot.com/2010/10/exhumations-at-la-verbena-time-has-come.html

Guatemala City

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Home sweet home.

Back in the family pod, the tunes of a melancholy piano echoing through the house, clutter of ethnic knick knacks and pillows, cat hair, and an assortment of unconventional objects making up pieces of furniture. Wheels, doors and windows used as tables, an ox yolk as a shelf, a camel saddle bag doubling as a kitty bed and a scratching post. It became official as soon as I finished moving furniture in my room around, rearranging, assimilating, hiding – managed to hide a whole bed in the closet. Then came the overwhelming urge to sweep, dust and hoover, and before I knew it the whole house was clean. Then I ate a mango. A juicy, sweet, bright orange mango.

Hadn't been been back an hour and had already been coaxed into the candle pose, spinal cord realigned (never heard so much cracking in my life) and informed that we'd be making a trip to El Salvador in a couple days. That never happened though since the next day both parents fell ill to a particularly nasty strain of the flu and were rendered immovable for a week.

Life in Guatemala City is strangely domestic after exploring the cultural wonders of the world. Family dinners, cat hair, early morning rush to get to work/school/indigenous tribes, packed lunches varying in size depending on who packs them, weekend trips to see the grandparents, dealing with teenage emotional dilemmas. Everyone here is so emotional. A certain knowledge of etique is definitely lacking on my part.

You can´t say life isn´t rich and exciting though. This morning´s drive to work down that horribly congested Carretera El Salvador into the valley was made less tedious by occasional glimpses of the  Agua, Fuego and Acatenango volcanoes, the morning´s cool temperatures keeping visibility clear. Just like the view of the Himalayas, I can´t get enough of the volcanoes here.