June Visit to Wuqu' Kawoq projects

This morning we convened at 6:30 a.m. and drove to Tecpán, where we listened to a brief presentation on some of the work that Wuqu’ Kawoq does in the region. From there we boarded a bus that took us up into the mountains to view Wuqu’ Kawoq in action.

The bus snaked up narrow, unpaved roads that had us leaning away from the cliffs in an effort to keep the bus on the road. There was a collective gasp when we rounded a curve and caught our first glimpse of blue mountains rolling out into the distance. The clouds above them were active and playful, changing shape by the second, revealing and hiding every new formation of earth.

           

My ears popped as we ascended. The scenery was simultaneously dazzling and puzzling, with greens and blues softening the tops of the ridges, a seemingly impossible sight at such high altitude. Most mountains I’ve been on have had a tree line somewhere before 6000 feet, and here we were at 7000 feet surrounded by greenery.

           

I sat in the window seat I had strategically chosen, struggling with the dilemma common to all beautiful places—to photograph it so as not to forget it, or to sit back and soak it in, all the while knowing that you’ll never again be able to conjure up those exact images in your mind.

           

We arrived at our destination and split into two groups. My group set off on a ten-minute walk to visit a family and observe Wuqu’ Kawoq’s nutrition program. The walk had us sweating and panting from a combination of the hot sun and the effects of altitude, although I think the latter may have been due more to the power of suggestion than any true physiological response to the thin air. It turns out we were actually lower than Patzún, but I was under the impression that we had climbed over 2000 feet and was convinced that I could feel my head being compressed.

             

When we reached the house, we sat down in chairs along an outside wall and watched as the Wuqu’ Kawok staff weighed and measured the youngest child before sitting down with the mother and discussing the family’s eating habits.

From the distance came the sound of an ice cream truck, or at least the same song that the ice cream truck plays back home. I don’t know if they have ice cream trucks here.

           

I looked out at the picturesque mountains rising up behind this scene of a mother with her undernourished baby, too self-conscious to make eye contact with anyone.

           

The groups then switched, and my group set off toward another house to learn about Wuqu’ Kawoq’s mobile health program.

          

We were ushered into a small, cramped bedroom. Eight of us stood around the bed as the patient, a pregnant woman, received an ultrasound. Wuqu’ Kawoq uses a mobile app to record information about women’s pregnancies in their own homes and in their own language, and we got to see how the process works. After asking the patient some questions and taking pictures of her, the nurse set up the ultrasound, hooking it up to the app on her cell phone.

The thick, wet sound of the baby’s heartbeat reverberated around the room, amplified by the recording device. From where I was standing I could see the screen of the cell phone, which was counting down from ten minutes. I assumed that the nurse would stop it after a minute or so, but the timer kept going, the sloshing sound of the tiny heartbeat pounding in my ears.

After ten minutes the nurse stopped the timer, and we all rushed outside to get some fresh air.

Back on the bus, I lay across several seats to relax while we picked up the other group and began our descent back to Tecpán in the rain.

The rain gave me an excuse to sit back and enjoy the scenery, as there was no use taking pictures through the droplets on the windows. And besides, looking dramatically out of a bus window when it’s raining is one of life’s great pleasures.