Guatemala Jewelry

Notes from the Prairie: Monday Bonus Post from "A World in a Grain of Sand"

This is the second in a series of eight bonus posts from A World in a Grain of Sand. Last Friday was the first and can be found here. Today’s chapter is from Section 3: “Cross Cultural Moments.” I’m sending this today (and a few more bonus posts )in the coming week because in Pella there is a drawing for two copies of this book at The Work of Our Hands fair-trade story in Pella. The store appears in this chapter and in one other chapter of the book.

Special Announcement for Pella-area Subscribers

Pella’s The Work of Our Hands fair-trade store is having a drawing for two free copies of A World in a Grain of Sand on Monday, February 10. Stop in before that date, mention you saw this drawing online in my column, and register!

All people who register at The Work of Our Hands for the book drawing but do not win a copy will qualify for a 25% discount when purchasing the book from me. (I will email you after the February 10 drawing to check with you.)

Guatemala Jewelry (From A World in a Grain of Sand)

“Look, Mabel, the hat pulls everything together and makes the costume,” a customer says to his wife. I am volunteering at The Work of Our Hands, Pella’s fair-trade store, during Pella’s annual Tulip Time.

I take a deep breath and smile. “The hat is from the village of Volendam,” I tell him. “It is the best-known of the different Netherlands hat styles.”

I do NOT tell him how true his observation is. I have outgrown the rest of my Volendam costume by fifteen pounds. My long black skirt and matching shirt are twenty-first-century North American. My blue tulip earrings, made in Mexico, were purchased at this store yesterday. My scalloped turquoise necklace is from Guatemala.

Mabel admires the stuffed animals nearby. “Feel how soft they are!” I tell her. “It is like touching a cloud. I gave the llama to my granddaughter for Christmas, and it is now her favorite stuffed animal among many.” Mabel picks up a unicorn, rubs its soft fur, and carries it with her as she does further shopping.

I wonder, Is it really my granddaughter’s favorite stuffed animal? I know she really loves sinking her fingers into its cloud of fur, but I don’t truly know it is her favorite. I could have just said, “And she loves it,” which would have been more true. But the moment for truth has passed. I can’t chase Mabel down and correct my statement.

I finger the tiny beads of my scalloped necklace and remember when the tourist role was mine in Guatemala and the merchants were street vendors, hawking their wares.

When the first jewelry vendor approached, I averted my eyes. She was undeterred. She pulled several samples from her bag and showed me.

“Only twenty dollar,” she said.

I shook my head no.

“Fifteen dollar,” she offered.

Again I shook my head. I already had a plethora of jewelry back home in Pella.

After I had declined her third offer, she walked away.

I second-guessed my decision. Was I right to refuse her? Our Guatemalan missionary friend had told us how people from surrounding villages made only a subsistence living selling jewelry to Guatemala City tourists. By comparison I was a wealthy North American. I could afford to buy her wares.

I was eating an ice cream bar from a food vendor when a second jewelry maker approached with intricate beadwork. She showed me a first, second, and third sample. The third caught my attention. It would match the turquoise earrings I had bought on a Navajo reservation in Arizona.

She read my body language and spread out the turquoise necklace on her hand.

“Twenty dollar,” she said.

“Ten,” I responded, to my husband’s chagrin. He hated the bargaining. Knowing their poverty, he thought I should pay full price. I thought I should conform to the local bargaining culture and not appear to be a money-wasting rich foreigner.

“Fifteen,” she said.

“Twelve,” I countered. And she nodded.

“You buy another—just ten dollar,” she offered.

I shook my head and paid her the twelve dollars. Guilt compelled only one purchase, not two.

She pocketed the money and went in search of a new tourist. The first vendor returned. Sad-eyed, she accused, “You buy from her but say no to me.”

A long pause, filled only with my guilt and indecision, followed. She saw her opening. She pulled out a variety of colors and designs. One in black, gold, and brown was especially appealing.

“Only twenty dollar,” she said. I bargained anemically and paid $15 for it. She rewarded me with a huge smile, although I thought her eyes remained a bit accusatory.

Back in Pella, I discovered the second necklace worked perfectly with a black turtleneck, and I wore it often. The turquoise necklace had languished in the jewelry box for five years—until this year’s Tulip Time.

Six months ago, the images of the jewelry vendors still lurking in the back of my conscience, I began volunteering at Pella’s fair-trade store as a long-distance vendor for artisans in the developing world. The work assuaged a little of my wealthy-tourist guilt.

Today, as Mabel and her husband leave the store, stuffed llama in hand, I wish there were an equally productive way to assuage my white-lie vendor guilt.

In Pella, A World in a Grain of Sand is available from Carol (carolvk13@gmail.com) or Pella’s Curiosity Shop. It is also available on Amazon.

Carol Van Klompenburg is a writer living in Pella, Iowa. She has a BA in English and an MA in Theater Arts — and is available for reading performances of her work.

Review of A World in a Grain of Sand

A World in a Grain of Sand is stirring, lovely, and delightful. As I sat at my kitchen table reading it, Carol’s stories and photographs made me look around and consider the artifacts in my own life.
Her stories and images transported me back into the lives of my own parents and grandparents. As I looked around, I saw remnants from their lives, now sprinkled in mine—their china, furniture, paintings, and books—and in the garage, all of my dad's tools.
Now I wonder which of their belongings and my own will survive into my children's and grandchildren's lives and perhaps even further generations.
Inspired, I am now considering which of these artifacts have stories I can share.
Dr. Robert Leonard, Anthropologist