Rubber and Running On the Bank

Last weekend, it was my privilege to get to visit one of the rubber farms owned by the Director of our school, Martin Brodbeck. We spend Saturday riding in the back of a tow wagon turned tour wagon (complete with benches for sitting) as Marty showed us all about the process of growing rubber. It was incredible to be able to see every step of the process starting with the little tree seed and finishing with watching the men "tap" the trees. First they pick, germinate, and grow seeds of the plant they use for the roots of their cloned rubber stock. Once to a certain height, they plant these seedlings in bags and "graft" a new seed to the trunk of the seedling. Grafting involves cutting the bark of the seedling and TAPING the seed inside the cut. Over time, the seed grows into the seedling's bark and root system, eventually taking over the tree. The trunk of the seedling is cut off, leaving the original roots and the new tree. This clone (with the roots of one tree and the above ground part of another tree) is planted in a field and left to grow to maturity. Once reaching maturity, the tree is tapped to collect the precious rubber. Tapping involves cutting the bark of the tree in a chute that allows the rubber to seep out (much like blood runs out of your skin when you are cut). The rubber is collected in bins that are attached the bottom of the chute on every tree. The rubber is then dried, collected, and shipped to a buyer.

My thought leaving the rubber farm was, "Who came up with this? I imagine someone practicing knife throwing against trees, and one day he hits a tree that seeps white stuff. And he says to himself, hmmm, I can melt this, purify it, and mold it to create products that fulfill numerous needs and wants of the human race." That guy is now a millionaire.

The second major event of the week makes me feel like a character in Mary Poppins or It's a Wonderful Life. Never in the States have I felt insecure in putting all of my money in the bank. In fact, some people even use online "banks" that do not even have an actual building; they only exist virtually. It does not even cross our minds that one day our money may be unavailable or that the bank will close down and you could lose everything you have saved. I know in the times of my grandparents that kind of thing happened, but never have I feared the security of that system...until last week, living here.

As told on several occasions by several friends who were here last year, several major banks went bankrupt in Xela last year and many people lost all of their money. Even at our school, several students were personally affected. With this in memory, I was sitting at our bible study last Wednesday when Tiffany (one of my roommates) received a call from a Guatemalan friend saying our bank was rumored to be closing that night at 8pm, and not opening the next morning or any day after. The time was 7:45pm. We jumped up immediately and ran out of the restaurant, heading toward downtown to the closest ATM. Most of us are first year staff and therefore don't have much Quetzales (the currency) saved in the bank, however a select few have been here many years and have been able to save a significant amount of money (considering how much we get paid). When we reach central park, the ATMs are locked, our bank has closed 15 minutes early, and Tiffany's friend has called again to say the lines outside another branch of the bank are huge, and they just locked half the people outside without giving them their money. None of these actions inspire confidence in the stability of the bank.

On the edge of panic, and somewhat driven by adrenaline, we run (spring more like it) to a less popular ATM we know of a few blocks away. Lucky for us it is open. Even more fortunate, there is cash inside and it is working. Much to our chagrin, however, there is apparently a limit on our accounts as to the number of Q that can be withdrawn in one day's time. Q2000, is all we can take out. All of us take the most we can and quickly run the machine out of cash. All the other ATMs are out of order or empty. My only thought is, what if we all get stuck with no money in Guatemala? The school is completely run through that bank, and many of our adult teachers who live in Xela conduct all their finances through the bank as well. Most of the stability that we know would be erased by the crashing of our bank. What would happen to us?

Sadly, a better question that came to mind later is, what happens to the Guatemalans who are completely vested in that bank? They have no friends and family in the States to support them, much less bank accounts in the States that are secure and stable that they could draw support from. As we all arrived back at the house and had a good laugh at ourselves for panicking and running around the town (some in pajamas, some in heels, some with slippers on) taking our money out, my heart went out to those who do not enjoy the security that I do. I knew several people who waited outside in the lines outside the bank to withdraw their entire family's savings from the bank. That is their entire livelihood, without it, they are stuck with nothing.

In the end, we learned that the bank is actually very stable (or so their representatives say) and that the police are pursuing the people starting these rumors. However, my perspective on banking has changed as a result of this. I now understand why many of the indigenous in this country do not use banks. They keep all the money they own in cash hidden either under their mattresses or in their bras. I know what it's like to run on the bank, because that's essentially what we tried to do.

God also used this instance to teach my friends and I the meaning of "storing your treasures in heaven." I may have all my money in a bank that goes down, but that's not where my treasure lies in the first place. I want to store my treasures in heaven where nothing can soil or take them away. Now I understand this in a more personal way than ever before. And it's a choice that I can consciously make, to store my treasures in heaven and not here on earth, be it in a bank, a mattress, or hidden on my person.

Paper Cutters are Dangerous Machines

January has flown by. I arrived back in Guatemala with smiles and a sense of homecoming after spending a wonderful Christmas vacation with friends and family in the States. Second semester of school started back without problems and has passed more quickly than I could have imagined, especially considering I haven't done anything extraordinary on the weekends or during the week. This weekend (from Friday to today) however, has provided many interesting stories. And it is actually those events that have prompted me to finally write a new post on my blog.

Friday, about 12:30pm, there I was in the new media center of our school, supervising some research by my Chemistry class for a project I had just assigned them, when I remembered I hadn't yet finished cutting out some game pieces for an activity in my last class of the day. My chemistry class is fairly well behaved and stay on task well, so I left them to their independent research and went to cut some paper for my game. Well, if you haven't already put together the last sentence and this post's title, I had some technical difficulties with the paper cutter. In order to save you gruesome details, I'll just leave it at this: during my last swipe with the blade, I accidentally put a finger in the wrong place and effectively "circumcised my thumb" (as one student later put it). Fortunately, many other teachers were in the staff lounge, eating lunch and were able to assist me in cleaning and bandaging my wound, saving the piece of thumb (skin and fingernail) I cut off, and showing the entire rest of the school my detached piece of thumb in a plastic bag.

Well, as interesting as that must have been for all the elementary and high school classes (to see my piece of thumb in a plastic sandwich bag, leaving the rest to imagination), it must have been even better to see the actual person who is so good at cutting with the paper cutter. I know this because soon after the incident I went outside to serve my lunch duty, and at once the first and second grade teachers told their students, "there she is, Ms. Johnson, the science teacher." I was swarmed(they literally RAN over to me) by 20 little 1st and 2nd graders who wanted to see for themselves. Being the responsible teacher that I am, I took the opportunity to remind our impressionable young students the importance of safety when handling sharp objects:

me--"And what can we learn from this?"
young girl (yelling)--"Don't run with scissors in your hand, and carry them like this!"
me--"Exactly, now go back to class, show and tell is over."

When finished healing, I have a feeling my poor thumb will never again have the same shape as the other hand's thumb. At least the defective thumb is on the same hand that already has a deformed finger!