December 23, 2016:
We all rode on a stuffed camioneta home from Xela.
Alysa and I spent the sunny day in Xela, I bought more stuff from Walmart and got more necessities for my apartment.
We were absolutely packed on this camioneta to the point that we almost didn’t make it up the hills. Everyone had their Christmas cargo on top of the bus. I learned later that people were taking home items to sell in their own towns for La Navidad. I assumed everyone brought presents for themselves or family, but it was actually for their ventas/ sales.
At any rate, we sat in traffic on the highway home from Xela. The ride was supposed to be 2 hours, and it only ended up being a little longer than that, but as we were all packed together it felt like 4 hours. The ayudante could not walk down the aisle because there were passengers in the middle of the bus, sitting in between the aisles and resting on the edge of the seats. We were more or less resting on each other because there were so many.
At the beginning of the ride I was stuck in the middle standing. The ayudante called me forward and I wasn’t sure what he wanted. After I squeezed, shimmied and maneuvred my way to the front, I saw that he got a bucket for me to sit on. So there I was, next to the pilot, for the long journey home. In the cockpit.
We kept adding more people but I kept my spot on the bucket. I marveled at the ayudante, climbing from the back to the front by using the ladder on the side of the bus and then climbing in through the front door.
Some Spanish pop came on the radio and I started to lip sync at the front, turning around to look at everyone and make them laugh. I definitely got some smiles from the other folks on the chicken truck. I did it a few times and I got a lot of laughs because, well, it’s obvious that I am not from here. Just a transplant stuck on this long camioneta ride home.
About halfway there we passed an accident in the street. It seemed someone was hit, it looked like a moto accident. As we passed I saw a crowd of people in a wide circle around this man, looking down at him. I think they were praying. He must have been killed on impact. I asked the ayudante later if it was a moto accident, but he said that the man was crossing the street. He learned this because all the ayudantes communicate on their frijolitos and word travels quickly. We heard the story from a young lady who joined our ride and who eventually took my spot on the bucket. She said that she saw it happen, she was very stirred up.
I sat next to the family of four stuffed on one bench. The Mom and Dad had a child in each arm, they wavered in and out of sleep. The little boy had a toy truck in his arms, the daughter slept most of the way. When I moved from my front row bucket seat, I stood for a while. Then someone left the bus and the ayudante directed me to the front to join this family. There was a small space for my hips and my legs kept me seated. Before long the dad asked me where I was from and where I was living, etc. Atlanta, Voluntaria de Cuerpo de Paz, Santa Clara La Laguna, 3 weeks, 2 years. That’s the usual run of things. I tell him it’s really hot in Atlanta, not like here at all. He is very kind and we go back to our silent ride in the night.
And from that point on the ride I felt less cramped. I was grateful for my life and safety. I was grateful for all these other souls squished on the bus, just trying to get home to their families for the holiday que viene.
The bus labored to get us home in one piece. I wondered if we were going to the right Santa Clara, I’ve not taken this particular route before.. and this bus doesn’t terminate in Santa Clara, it goes to San Pedro where we are must indubitably not allowed to go. There are like 10 million San Pedros and Santa Claras but the route begins to finally look familiar. Eventually I see that I am home. The ayudante brings down my stuff, instinctively knowing what is mine.
I hobble a few short feet home. I’m so glad that I had the day with Alysa in Xela because she has since had to return to the US for medical reasons. We were truly lucky to get to know each other and I hate that it ended too soon.
On a much more tragic note, I hate that that man’s life ended 3 days before Christmas. My thoughts are with his family and the quiet friendships I made with the passengers on the bus. The quiet of Navidad descended on me in that moment on the silent, jostled ride home.
