Transition, Day 312 (Guatemala story)

Then we feasted. The ladies made us a lunch even grander than what we were accustomed to back home. We stuffed ourselves with delicious food and feelings of satisfaction. How delectable the mangos were. How delightful it had been handing out the toys to each child with those huge brown eyes at the school. The baked chicken and black beans were heavenly. The smiles on the children’s dusty faces had been priceless. We each had a favorite morsel. We had each found one child to momentarily befriend. This was a day to revel in, and it was only just lunch time.

After stuffing ourselves we bombarded Ron with questions. We learned that the parents in Guatemala have to pay for their children to attend school. The poorest children are unable to attend. Ron told us that most of the children go just long enough to learn basic Spanish. The Mayans who live in the tiny shacks in the mountains speak their native languages. The Mayans in the Chichicastenango area speak Quiche (Key-Chay). Learning even bits of the Spanish language enables them to find better work and helps them to sell their goods in the marketplace. He told us we’d be returning to the school again that evening as there was a feeding program operating there. The Xepocol feeding program was very new so the people who came were still skeptical and nervous. Ron told us that there aren’t generally any men that attend the feeding programs. Most of the men work long hours in the fields and any that are around during the feeding programs are too prideful to accept free food. He said that the people weren’t as friendly at Xepocol as at the other feeding programs that had been operating longer. He wanted us to make them feel comfortable. Our mission was to be kind, friendly, and inviting. We couldn’t wait to return. We had handed out a few toys at the school. That evening we would be feeding people.

The drive through the mountains was so much more exciting that afternoon. My heart still raced with anticipation. I felt the tension from fear all throughout my body. The assailment of the dust rushing at us from beneath the tires of the truck was becoming unbearable. My hair was beginning to feel like hay. My skin resembled sand paper. My clothing had become monochrome. But we were still high from our first encounter with the children that morning. Dust covered and dingy; we waved and shouted “HOLA” to each person we passed. Everyone looked upon us with reserve. Most glances we received were grim and condemning, questioning and even slightly fearful. Some of us stood just behind the cab like cowboys riding the metal monsters; waving energetically, tirelessly as we’d resumed our rodeo parade. (We even had clowns) Many people reluctantly chuckled as we passed by. Some in our group threw out candy as a friendly gesture. The often cold response of the individuals we were greeting didn’t faze us. We waved and laughed and waved some more. Scrawny dogs scurried away at the coming of our parade. The healthy ones chased us barking ferociously. Everywhere, people turned to watch our energetic foolishness. The mountains were even more grand, even more radiant that afternoon despite the raging persistent cloud of dust. Turns we’d taken that morning had already become recognizable. Little shops we’d passed by had become familiar. I hadn’t been here a whole day but I was completely captivated.