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Dec 14, 2021 (posted viaProZ.com): I recently finished a 6,000 word feature by Salvadoran journalist Carlos Dada, director of acclaimed Central American news and opinion outlet El Faro. Dada reports from post-election Honduras and interviews outgoing Honduran congressman Óscar Nájera. https://elfaro.net/en/202112/centroamerica/25897/In-Honduras-a-Friend-of-Drug-Lords-Loses-His-Seat-in-Congress.htm...more »
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Spanish to English: "Online Classes, Offline Students — A Pandemic of Inequality in Panama," by Daniel Molina Alarco | El Faro General field: Other Detailed field: Journalism
Source text - Spanish Cuando el 20 de julio el gobierno dispuso el inicio de la educación a distancia tras cuatro meses sin clases, Yaribeth supo que su hija perdería el año. La madre entró en desesperación porque en el pueblo de Katuma donde viven no tienen luz ni teléfono para participar de las clases. Era injusto que tras cuatro meses desde que su hija empezara el prekinder en una comunidad al borde de la ciudad capital pero en medio de la nada, le exigieran conectarse todos los días de 8 a 12 o le pondrían falta.
«Ahorita mismo mi hija no está estudiando porque no hay cómo comunicarnos con la profesora. Acá no tenemos para comprar celular, le faltan los útiles y todo lo demás», dice Yaribeth una mañana de julio desde el teléfono de un vecino.
Katuma es una comunidad indígena situada en el bosque lluvioso a orillas del río Chagres, en la cuenca del Canal de Panamá. Junto a las comunidades vecinas de San Antonio Wounaan y Ella Puru, aquí habitan unas 30 familias que viven en gran parte del ecoturismo, como Yaribeth. Los turistas llegan en lanchas y contemplan tradiciones emberá-wounaan o caminan por los senderos para respirar la espesa selva tropical que brota del sitio. Pero desde que explotó la pandemia todo este negocio quedó suspendido. Por eso Yaribeth no tiene dinero para comprar un teléfono que le permita a su hija, Cristal, conectarse a clases. Hoy, al igual que ella, más de 219 mil estudiantes oficiales en todo el país no reciben educación a distancia: tres de cada diez. La mayoría de alumnos offline —dice el gobierno como absolviendo toda culpa— vive en áreas «de difícil acceso». Como Katuma.
El celular que necesita Cristal para estudiar a distancia es una pieza clave en este nuevo año lectivo. Pero nunca estuvo al alcance de todos. Según el gobierno, en Panamá, el 96 por ciento de la población tiene acceso a un celular, pero la conexión se da sólo en un 38 por ciento del territorio nacional. De estos, solo 16.6 por ciento son de contrato y solo un 11 por ciento tiene acceso a banda ancha fija. «En otras palabras, los panameños conectados podrían describirse como citadinos que usan el móvil bajo la modalidad de prepago», explica el Centro Internacional de Estudios Políticos y Sociales AIP-Panamá.
El infierno de Cristal había empezado cuatro meses antes, una mañana húmeda y tropical en la escuela Omar Torrijos, en el área de Paraíso. A solo metros del Canal, ese puente del mundo que solo el año pasado facturó 3,365 millones de dólares, ella escuchaba con emoción sus primeras clases de prekinder sin imaginar que serían las últimas.
Ese día había salido de Katuma en una lancha que cruzó el río Chagres y en Gamboa tomó un bus para luego caminar hasta su colegio. Es el viaje con el que crecen todos los niños de Katuma que quieren estudiar. Y aunque la escuela es conocida por ser la primera fundada en áreas revertidas, también fue noticia por las aguas servidas que desembocan cerca del plantel y afectan a más de 600 estudiantes. Pero esa mañana nada parecía opacar el entusiasmo de Cristal hasta que, de pronto, la profesora se despidió como dictando una sentencia: «No vengan más porque llegó el covid-19».
La pandemia congeló el turismo, la principal fuente de ingresos para las comunidades Katuma, Ella Puru y San Antonio Wounaan. | Manglar Films
Fue la noticia que recibieron más de 905 mil alumnos que integran el total de la población escolar en Panamá. De ese total, un 82 por ciento está matriculado en alguna escuela pública, como Cristal. Y mientras esto ocurría en el istmo, en toda la región según la Unesco se veían afectados 156 millones de estudiantes. La estadística para finales de marzo en el mundo era la siguiente: 9 de cada 10 estudiantes de 190 países interrumpieron su educación debido al cierre de planteles.
Con el mundo paralizado y las fronteras del hub cerradas, el gobierno tuvo que mirar hacia adentro para enfrentar una profunda desigualdad que arrastra desde hace siglos y un reto que lo encontró poco preparado: la educación a distancia. «Panamá no cuenta con el diseño y la infraestructura tecnológica y de recursos humanos capacitados en modalidades de educación a distancia que puedan garantizar la continuidad educativa de todos los estudiantes», admitió el Ministerio de Educación. En este escenario los alumnos offline, como Cristal en Katuma, tuvieron que resignarse al abandono.
Antes de julio, muchos profesores tampoco tuvieron conexión. «Todos estos meses estaba incomunicado», dice el profesor Mendizama desde Ella Puru. Cuando empieza a oscurecerse sobre la cuenca del Canal, el profesor recuerda que en mayo el gobierno inició el proyecto Conéctate con La Estrella, que transmite clases por radio y TV, pero pocos colegios lograron usar estos y otros medios para guiar a sus alumnos. Entre mayo y julio, según el Meduca, solo 831 escuelas de las 3,179 existentes lograron algún tipo de educación remota. Cansado de la oscuridad y la desconexión, el profesor Mendizama tuvo que molestar a un vecino que tiene televisión para repasar algunas clases. Le frustraba la impotencia de no poder comunicarse con sus alumnos de segundo grado de la escuela Nuevo Progreso, cuya realidad no es tan distinta a la de los alumnos offline en Ella Puru, San Antonio Wounaan o Katuma.
Un estudio de Unicef arrojó que en Panamá poco más de la mitad de los hogares encuestados (53 por ciento) reportó que los niños, niñas o adolescentes recibieron algún tipo de educación a distancia entre mayo y junio. El tipo de educación a distancia varía según el nivel socioeconómico del hogar y la escuela. Por ejemplo, los hogares con niños que asisten a escuelas particulares usan más plataformas virtuales que permiten interacción con el docente, descarga y envío de materiales desde casa. Los hogares con ingresos mensuales inferiores a $1,000, así como aquellos con niños que asisten a una escuela pública, hacen uso de tecnologías menos interactivas como la radio y la TV. Los hogares de Darién y las comarcas —donde cerca de 100 mil familias panameñas no tienen ni acceso a energía eléctrica— fueron excluidos de este sondeo.
«Yo veo a los niños de Ella Puru, San Antonio Wounaan y Katuma, pero sé que es algo que pasa en todo el país. Es muy difícil la situación para los padres sin trabajo», dice el profesor Mendizama. En esta nueva normalidad con viejos problemas, las casas son las aulas de clase; pero muchas familias lo perdieron todo. En el último mes, tres de cada cuatro hogares en Panamá han sufrido pérdidas parciales o totales de sus ingresos, según Unicef. En Katuma, Ella Puru o San Antonio Wounaan, los alumnos offline como Cristal no tendrán luz ni un panel solar. Mucho menos una radio o una TV para escuchar clases. Y las guías que promete el gobierno llegarán, con suerte, más de un mes después de iniciado el año lectivo.
Cristal logró comunicarse con su maestra recién al tercer día de reiniciado el calendario escolar. Ahora lo hace solo una vez por semana. Su madre, Yaribeth, caminó hasta San Antonio Wounaan en medio de la angustia y se vio forzada a pedirle ayuda a una vecina que tiene celular y un hijo en el mismo salón de Cristal. «Él está más avanzado que mi hija porque su familia se puede comunicar todos los días con la maestra por teléfono y hacer tarea. Pero nosotras no», dice Yaribeth.
Cuando iniciaron las clases a distancia, lo primero que hizo el profesor Mendizama fue comprar una tarjeta prepago para meterle datos a su celular. «No hay ningún apoyo —lamenta—, como docente va en uno hacerlo. De todas maneras, uno tiene que invertir». Mendizama tiene estudiantes que se desconectan por tres o cuatro días, y los entiende porque también lo vivió. «Este año lo veo muy difícil. Sin trabajo, ¿cómo vas a comprar data? Hay papás que recargan tres dolita, pero eso no alcanza nada. Imagínate las familias que tienen un solo teléfono para tres o cuatro hijos. Quisiera apoyarlos», dice, en una llamada a su celular. Hace diez años lo hizo. Cuando enseñaba en la comunidad Emberá Drua, consiguió 10 mil dólares de una embajada para instalar un panel solar y conexión a internet. Ahora sueña con replicar la hazaña en Ella Puru.
«Con la crisis sanitaria se evidencia la brecha de desigualdad y debe considerarse que muchos de nuestros alumnos se enfrentan a situaciones complejas de carácter familiar, directa e indirectamente relacionadas a la pandemia. Las mismas repercuten en su rendimiento y seguimiento al proceso educativo», reconoce el Meduca en el documento que norma la educación remota.
Entre la cuarta y la quinta semana de clases la cifra de alumnos offline no varió: unos 219 mil estudiantes desconectados. | Meduca
La desigualdad en el acceso a la educación es un tipo de violencia que el país ejerce hace décadas. El año pasado —precoronavirus— había 136,584 niñas, niños y adolescentes en edad escolar fuera del colegio. Ese año se sumaron 14 mil que abandonaron sus estudios. Y ese año también se publicaron los resultados de la Evaluación Internacional de los Alumnos (PISA), donde Panamá ocupó el puesto 71 de 79. Hay dos cifras insignia de la educación en el sexto país más desigual del mundo. En Panamá, solo el 47 por ciento de las escuelas públicas tiene internet y un 52 por ciento agua potable, eso que se necesita para lavarse las manos y matar al virus que ahora amenaza al mundo. La propia ministra de Educación, Maruja Gorday, confirmó que hay más de 200 escuelas en estado crítico. Y algunos profesores caminan dos o tres días para llegar a clases.
La desconexión de Cristal o el profesor Mendizama, como la de miles de alumnos offline y profesores de escuelas públicas, no empezó con la pandemia. Es una enfermedad crónica del sistema panameño.
Translation - English On June 20, when the Panamanian government ordered all schools to institute distance education after four months of suspended classes, Yaribeth knew her daughter Cristal would lose the whole year. The situation felt hopeless: In their small town of Katuma, Yaribeth and Cristal don’t even have electric lights, much less the cell phone or Internet access required to participate in online classes. It felt unfair that after four months since her daughter started pre-school, in a community on the outskirts of the capital city, but still in the middle of nowhere, Cristal was suddenly expected to go online every day from 8:00 am to noon, or she would miss class.
“Right now my daughter isn’t in school because there’s no way for us to connect with the teacher. We can’t afford to buy a cell phone, and she doesn’t have the right tools and all the other supplies,” she said.
Katuma is a small Indigenous community nestled in the rainforest on the banks of the Chagres River, in the Panama Canal basin. Together with the neighboring villages of San Antonio Wounaan and Ella Puru, the roughly 30 families who live in the area, including Yaribeth’s, survive primarily on the community’s small ecotourism economy. Tourists arrive by small boat to observe local Emberá-Wounaan traditions, hike the trails that wind through the rainforest, and breathe the thick jungle air. But since the beginning of the pandemic, tourism here has been suspended, which is why Yaribeth doesn’t have any money to buy a cell phone for her daughter to connect to classes. Their situation is far from uncommon: three out of every ten students in the country, or more than 219,000 children and teenagers, are currently unable to connect to distance learning resources.
Cell phones are essential tools for Panama’s students this school year, but there was never a time when they were accessible to everyone. According to the government, 96% of residents have access to phones, but cell service is only available in 38% of the country. Of the phones that exist, only 16.6% are under contract and only 11% can access fixed broadband. “In other words,” according to the Centro Internacional de Estudios Políticos y Sociales AIP-Panamá, a public policy research institute, “those Panamanians who do have reliable cell phone and Internet access are mostly people who live in cities and use prepaid services.”
Cristal’s hell actually began four months earlier, one muggy tropical morning as she attended her first classes at the Omar Torrijos school in a town called Paraíso. Only a few meters from the Panama Canal—that bridge between worlds, which just last year recorded US$ 3,365 million in revenue—Cristal sat excitedly through her first days of class, not knowing they might be her last.
That morning, Cristal had left Katuma by boat, crossing the Chagres River and then catching a bus in Gamboa and eventually walking the rest of the way to school—a journey that every child from Katuma who wants to attend classes must grow up making. And although Omar Torrijos is famous for being the first school founded in “las areas revertidas”—sections of former U.S. territory reclaimed by Panama in 1999—it is also known for the profusion of sewage that flows past the school’s campus, impacting more than 600 students. But that morning, nothing could dampen Cristal's enthusiasm—until, suddenly, the teacher ended class with a farewell that, to Cristal, felt more like a sentence: “You won’t be coming back to school anymore. Covid-19 has arrived.”
This was the same news that more than 905,000 students across the country received this June. Of that total population of students, 82% are enrolled, like Cristal, in Panama’s public education system. As this news spread across the isthmus, region-wide, according to UNESCO, the pandemic had already impacted roughly 156 million school-aged children and teens. Global statistics from the end of March were as follows: nine out every ten students, across 190 countries, have experienced interruptions in their education due to school closures.
With the world paralyzed and the borders of “the hub” shut down, the Panamanian government has had to look inward as it confronts deep and centuries-old inequalities compounded by the unforeseen challenge of distance education. “Panama doesn’t have the necessary programs, technological infrastructure, or professionals trained in remote learning modalities to guarantee the educational continuity of all students,” the country’s Ministry of Education (Meduca) confessed. Given this reality, students like Cristal have had to resign themselves to being left behind.
Before July, even many teachers lacked the ability to connect with students. “All those months, I was disconnected,” says Mr. Mendizama, a teacher from Ella Puru. As the sun sets over the Panama Canal basin, Mendizama tells me how, in May, the government launched the Conéctate con la Estrella project, which broadcasts clases over the radio and on TV. But only a few schools were able to use these or other media to conduct classes, and between May and July, according to Meduca, only 831 out of the country’s 3,179 schools had successfully implemented some form of remote learning. Tired of the darkness and disconnection, Professor Mendizama resorted to asking a neighbor who owned a television to let him use it to review his lessons. But he felt frustrated and incapacitated by his inability to communicate with his second graders at the Nuevo Progreso School, who faced a similar reality to that of the “offline” students of Ella Puru, San Antonio Wounaan, and Katuma.
A recent UNICEF study found that in Panama, 53% of all households surveyed reported children and adolescents who had received some form of distance education between May and June. According to the study, the form this distance education took corresponded to the socioeconomic status of the household and school. For example, households with children that attend private schools use more virtual platforms that allow for interacting with teachers, as well as downloading and sending materials from home. Households with a monthly income of less than US$ 1,000, or whose children attend public school, use less interactive technologies like radio and TV. Homes in Darién Province and the semi-autonomous Indigenous territories known as the “comarcas”—where nearly 100,000 Panamanian families do not even have access to electric power—were not included in the survey.
“I see the children of Ella Puru, San Antonio Wounaan, and Katuma, but I know it's something that happens all over the country,” Mr. Mendizama tells me. “The situation is especially hard for unemployed parents.” In this new normality plagued by old problems, houses have been turned into classrooms. But many families have lost everything. In the last month, three out of every four households in the country have suffered a partial or total loss of income, according to UNICEF. In Katuma, Ella Puru, or San Antonio Wounaan, offline students like Cristal don’t have lights or solar panels, much less a radio or TV to listen to or watch classes. The government is promising to send help, but it won’t be arriving until at least one month after the start of the school year.
Cristal first managed to connect with her teacher three days after the start of the new school year. Now she is only able to connect once a week. Frustrated by the situation, her mother, Yaribeth, walked to the nearby village of San Antonio Wounaan to ask for help from a neighbour, who has a cell phone and whose son is in the same class as Cristal. “He’s more advanced than my daughter now, because his family has phone access and can communicate every day with the teacher and do the homework. But we can't,” she says.
When remote learning was first instituted, the first thing Mr. Mendizama did was purchase a prepaid card to add data to his phone. “There’s zero support,” he says, “as a schoolteacher, it’s up to you to figure it out. One way or another, you have to invest in your students.” Mendizama has students that are disconnected for three or four days a week. Having lived under similar circumstances, he understands their situation. “This year has been really hard. If there’s no work, how can you buy cell phone data? Some parents are able to buy three dollars worth here or there, but that's not enough. Think about the families that have only one phone for three or four children. I do what I can to help,” he told me in an interview over the phone. Ten years ago, he did just that. When Mendizama was teaching at a school in the Emberá Drua community, he received a grant of US$ 10,000 to install solar panels and Internet service. Now he dreams of reproducing a similar success in Ella Puru.
“The health crisis has highlighted the inequality gap,” Meduca explains in their guidebook for remote education, “and we should also remember that many of our students face complicated situations at home, which are directly or indirectly affected by the pandemic. These factors have an impact on their level of performance and their ability to follow along with the educational process.”
Inequality in education access is a form of violence that has plagued Panama for decades. Last year—pre-coronavirus—there were 136,584 school-age children and teenagers who did not attend classes. That same year, 14,000 students dropped out of school, and results from the OECD’s Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA) ranked Panama 71st out of 79 participating countries. Two striking statistics offer insight into the state of education in Panama, the sixth most unequal country in the world: Nationwide, only 47% of schools have Internet access, and only 52% have potable water—a resource critical for washing hands and combating a virus that continues to menace the world. The Panamanian Minister of Education herself, Maruja Gorday, has confirmed that more than 200 schools across the country are in critical condition, and says there are some teachers who walk two or three days to get to classes.
The disconnection faced by Cristal and Mr. Mendizama, like that faced by thousands of “offline” students and public school teachers across the country, did not begin with the pandemic. It is a chronic condition of the Panamanian system.
Spanish to English: Power of Attorney form – Colombia General field: Law/Patents Detailed field: Law (general)
Source text - Spanish DOCTORA
[nombre redactado]
NOTARIA [nombre redactado] DEL CIRCULO DE BOGOTA D.C.
E.S.D.
[nombre redactado], mayor de edad, con domicilio y residencia en la ciudad de Tucson Arizona, Estados Unidos de Norte América, identificada como aparece consignado al pie de mi respectiva firma, de estado civil casada con sociedad conyugal vigente, hija legítima y por ende heredera de la causante que se menciona a continuación, de la manera mas atenta me permito manifestar que otorgo poder especial amplio y suficiente a [nombre redactado], mayor de edad, domiciliado y residente en Bogotá D.C., identificado con la cédula de ciudadanía número [redactado] de Bogotá, para que firme en mi nombre y representación la escritura pública de cesión de los derechos herenciales que a título universal me corresponden o me llegaren a corresponder dentro de la liquidación de herencia de mi madre [nombre redactado], quien en vida se identificó con la cédula de ciudadanía número [redactado], fallecida en la ciudad de Bogotá el día [XX] de marzo del año 2018, siendo este su último domicilio y asiento principal de sus negocios.
Mi madre falleció en su estado civil viuda, fue casada con mi padre el señor [nombre redactado], identificado con la cédula de extranjería número [redactado], ya fallecido y de quien se adelantó en debida forma su liquidación de herencia y sociedad conyugal.
Queda el apoderado facultado para firmar la correspondiente escritura pública de cesión de derechos herenciales y su aclaración de ser el caso, así mismo para adquirir estos derechos para sí mismo y hacer las declaraciones a que haya lugar con relación a la ley de crecimiento económico. Manifiesto que conozco y acepto que este acto conlleva a que no se efectúe adjudicación alguna a mi favor dentro de este trámite liquidatorio.
De la Señora Notaria,
[nombre redactado]
C.C. No. [redactado] de Bogotá D.C.
Acepto,
[nombre redactado]
C.C. No. [redactado] de Bogotá
Translation - English [Name redacted], J.D.
NOTARY PUBLIC [Redacted] (33), DISTRICT OF BOGOTA, D.C., COLOMBIA
DELIVERED IN HAND
I, [name redacted], of legal age, with domicile and residence in the city of Tucson, Arizona, United States of America, duly identified below by my signature herein, legally married and in an active marital partnership, legitimate daughter and thereby heir of the deceased mentioned below, hereby grant broad and sufficient special power of attorney to [nombre redactado], a legal adult and current resident of Bogotá, D.C., Colombia, identified by Bogotá citizenship card (“C.C.”) number [redacted], to sign in my name and as my representative the public deed of assignment for the inheritance rights that correspond to me by universal succession, or may correspond to me in the future, within the scope of the liquidation of the inheritance of my mother, [name redacted], identified when alive by C.C. number [redacted], deceased as of March 21, 2018, whose last domicile and primary place of business was the city of Bogotá, D.C., Colombia.
My mother was a widow when she died. She was married to my father, Mr. [redacted], foreigner identification card number [redacted], who is now deceased and whose inheritance and marital property liquidation has already been duly executed.
The attorney-in-fact is hereby authorized to sign the corresponding public deed of assignment for inheritance rights and, if applicable, to authorize any clarifications or corrections thereof, and to acquire these rights for himself and make any necessary declarations required by the Economic Growth Law (Ley de Crecimiento Económico). I hereby declare that I know and accept that this authorization implies that no adjudication will be made in my favor within this process of liquidation.
Max Granger is a freelance writer and Spanish-to-English translator published in The Guardian, The Intercept, Latin American Literature Today, The Baffler, High Country News, Guernica, Columbia Journal, Longreads, and elsewhere. He is a regular translator for El País—the world’s most widely read Spanish-language daily and Spain’s newspaper of record—and for acclaimed Central American investigative and narrative journalism outlet El Faro. Max has co-translated several major publications for the Observatory of the Spanish Language and Hispanic Cultures in the United States, a research center of Harvard University’s Cervantes Institute, and works with legal documents and a wide range of other copy, both technical and creative. For over a decade, Max has volunteered with the borderland humanitarian aid organization No More Deaths, including as a translator and interpreter. He is the coauthor of Disappeared: How U.S. Border Enforcement Agencies are Fueling a Missing Persons Crisis.
Notable Translations
“Trepanation of Ash” by Emiliano Monge | Latin American Literature Today, March 2022 (originally published in Revista de la Universidad de México)
Multidisciplinary Reflections on Spanglish by Ángel López García-Molins | Instituto Cervantes, Harvard University, 2022 (co-translation).
“Alejandro G. Iñárritu: ‘To migrate is to die a little’,” an interview by Luis Pablo Beauregard | El País, October 2022.
“The Survivors of Cayos Cochinos,” an investigative feature by Carlos Martínez | El Faro, July 2022.
“‘A united nations of crime’: how Marbella became a magnet for gangsters” by Nacho Carretero and Arturo Lezcano | The Guardian, May 2021 (originally published in El País)
“‘The real crisis has only begun’: Surviving the Virus in New York’s Migrant Neighborhoods,” by Óscar Martínez | El Faro, August 2021(editor’s pick at Longreads)
“The Fall of Óscar Nájera, Cacique of Colón” by Carlos Dada | El Faro, December 2021
“Three Borders Between Violence and Oblivion” by Eileen Truax | El Faro, July 2020
“The Virus of Time Claims Another Victim of El Mozote” by Nelson Rauda | El Faro, April 2020
“‘If They Don’t Behave, They Disappear’: Alison Renderos and the Disappeared Teen Girls of El Salvador” by Gabriela Cáceres and Valeria Guzmán | El Faro, October 2020
Professional Experience
Translator – El Faro / El Faro English; regularly translate longform features, opinion pieces, interviews with major political figures, and short-deadline breaking news for one of Central America’s most prestigious and well-respected news and opinion outlets, and the first online news publication in Latin America; 2019-present.
Translator – El País / El País English; regularly translate interviews, longform features, opinion pieces, and a wide range of published texts for the world’s most widely read Spanish-language daily and Spain’s newspaper of record; 2021-present.
Freelance writer – Wrote and published numerous articles, essays, and reviews in major U.S. and international outlets, including The Guardian, The Intercept, The Baffler, High Country News, Guernica, and The Columbia Journal; 2018–present
Freelance translator– Translated over 70 published short stories, essays, profiles, investigative exposés, breaking news stories, and longform narrative features by acclaimed Latin American and Spanish authors and journalists, including Emiliano Monge, Gioconda Belli, Óscar Martínez, Carlos Dada, Eillen Traux, Nacho Carretera, and Nelson Rauda; 2019-present.
Interpreter – Proyecto de Reforestación Chico Mendes (Chico Mendes Reforestation Project), an Indigenous environmental and educational reforestation project staffed by Mayan youth in the highlands of Guatemala. Provided consecutive Spanish-to-English interpretation for large audiences, as well as simultaneous English-to-Spanish interpretation, for the organization’s 2016 promotional tour of the United States.
Humanitarian aid worker & translator/interpreter – Over a decade working with No More Deaths/No Más Muertes, a nonprofit organization that provides life-saving aid to migrants crossing the U.S./Mexico borderlands. Served in numerous capacities, including: Spanish-to-English interpreter; media liaison and social media content creator; abuse documentation researcher, translator, and report author, field patrol leader; volunteer coordinator; fleet mechanic; search and rescue responder; desert aid field program facilitator; 2011–present.
Education
Bachelor of Arts in History; Minor in Spanish, Minor in Latin American Studies; College of Humanities & Sciences, University of Montana; Summa Cum Laude.
......
RATES
Translation: US$ .10-.15 per source word, negotiable based on the complexity and length of the text. Proofreading and revisions: US$ .04-.05 cents per source word. Hourly: US$45-$75. I do not post-edit machine translations.
Keywords: Spanish to English translator, literature, journalism, news, academic, social sciences, Latin America, Central America, literary, legal. See more.Spanish to English translator, literature, journalism, news, academic, social sciences, Latin America, Central America, literary, legal, technical, medical, poetry, fiction, nonfiction, narrative, borderlands, border issues, migration, immigration, Spanish translation. See less.
Expertise