When I woke in the morning, Nebaj seemed just as exhausted as I was. I found a hearty hiking hangover breakfast of fried bananas, black beans, eggs, queso fresco and tortillas at a comedor and set out to meet my guide.He, however, was nowhere to be found. I had made a reservation, but the office was closed and none of the neighbors knew anything of it. I stood outside, frustrated and flustered, unsure of what to do next. The snafu set me back about four hours, but eventually I found another service, albiet a little more expensive.
My guide Paco and I set out from the parque central. As we walked towards the outskirts of town the street turned to dirt road, and then to a stony, muddy track, as we wound through the farms. The path was impossibly steep, straight up the side of a mountain. As I was huffing and puffing my way up I was passed by quite a few campesinos, carrying quarter-chords of firewood on their heads, or herding their cows up the hill at a run. After about three hours of hiking we reached a pass, where we could look out over the countryside. There was nothing but forest and a few scattered cornfields, for as far as the eye could see.
In the valley on the other side of the pass was Acul. Acul is significantly larger than the other aldeas in the Ixil region because it was a model community. During the Civil War, in the early eighties, the army created what they called model communities, or development poles. In the Ixil region, where I was hiking, the army pursued a scorched earth policy. They sought to starve out the guerillas by stomping out their support, essentially squelching entire communities. As Efrain Rios Montt once said, they had to "Drain the pond to find the fish." To that end, the army would raze entire villages. They would burn and loot farms, often massacring residents and forcing others to flee as refugees. Those who remained were rounded up and relocated to model communities, making one larger town where there were once many distinct towns. There, the army could control the population and conscript the men and boys, as well as securing strategic regions. My guide, who lived in Acul, told me a little bit about life there.
Life was highly regimented. Wake at 4am, for flag raising and a patriotic speech. Breakfast at 5am, two tortillas and beans. Work at 5:15. Educational hour at 12, military exercises for men, cooking and health classes for women. Lunch at 1pm, two tortillas and beans. Work at 1:15. Political reeducation at 6pm, singing of patriotic songs. Dinner at 8pm, two tortillas and beans. Family time at 8:15. Bed at 9. Repeat. It all seems very pinko for a political regime premised on fighting communism to me.
Another big part of life in Acul were civil patrols and conscription. All adult men were forced to spend one day a week in a civil patrol. Those who didn't were branded guerrillas, often forced to flee, kidnapped and tortured, or killed. Because the army didn't trust the residents of Acul, who might have guerilla tendencies, they under trained and equipped them. The men were forced to patrol and scout for the army and to act as decoys for guerillas ambushes, armed with only machetes. The army encouraged patrollers to be particularly brutal, to prove their allegiance with the army. They would often force patrollers to kidnap, torture, rape or kill community members suspected of being communists, who were generally just more educated, organized, or assertive citizens. These events were public spectacles, designed to ensure obedience to the army. More often than not, the victims of the victims were friends or family members.
Boys were conscripted into the army for two year terms at the age of twelve. The army would arrive, unannounced, in schools, to collect the children in pick-up trucks. In other communities, families would hide their sons, or send them away. In Acul, this was impossible, because the army knew who everyone was, and where they were at all times.
After Acul, we hiked an hour to Xexecoup, and another hour to Xexecoum, beyond that. (Correct spellings unknown. My guide was completely illiterate.) Xexecoup and Xexecoum were both more typical highland towns, a dozen or so tiny tin-roofed houses scattered around corn fields and cattle enclosures. As a result of their experiences with the military and their scorched earth policy, they were very suspicious of outsiders, and especially me. None of the villagers wanted to sell us food, or give us a place to stay. Eventually, we convinced them to sell us dinner. After rice, beans and tortillas, seeing that I spoke Spanish and ate my tortillas with salt and chile, they decided that we were trustworthy and let us stay in the schoolhouse pictured above. (Granted, that was on the floor, with a single blanket, no electricity and extra bats!)
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