It was sunny today in Sololá. I woke up and Abuelita was already weaving purple thread accompanied by Meesh (our cat. His name is Heróe but we all just call him Meesh, which is cat in K’iche’). She laughed at me as I walked by to fill up my water for coffee. I gave her a side hug and said “Saqarik Nu Muxu’x” (Good Morning My Belly Button). 

As the school year is well underway, I hear the loud teenagers getting out of school at 6:20pm and they scurry past me to class just after lunch. 

A sad thing has happened: I, seemingly involuntarily, began putting things into my suitcase. Is it super early to be doing so? Yes. But one thing that you must know about me is that I am an anticipatory packer, anticipatory mover. When it comes to objects, I anticipate. I’ve had a list about what to keep, give to other volunteers and give to Santa Clareños for a year now. 

Why do I do this? Because things, to me, have deep sentimental value. So the thought of what I will take with me from Santa Clara, what I will give back and what I will pass on to remaining volunteers is a spiritual process. The other reason is because I am very sensitive to the presence of stuff. So why keep my Spanish workbooks out when I passed the exam, I’m not probably going to be using them between now and my departure. So mejor stow them away where they don’t take up mental energy every time I look in their direction. 

One thing I also started doing is giving away recuerdos: gifts to remember me by. I’ve developed pictures, bought picture frames en oferta, made earrings, bought earrings with the intention of giving them to specific people, brought stuff back from the US, etc, and this week I involuntary began to give them away. I was planning to wait until my despedida, my goodbye party, but half of the people in Santa Clara seem to think I’ve already left every time I run into them since I’ve been in the office the last two weeks. I had no idea how quickly people could notice my absence until I lived in this pueblo. Everyone seems to think I went back to the USA, but the fact is I was holed up in Hotel El Mirador working on the project framework revision and, before that, investigating the dragon in my uterus (see Hi-Lo 7).

But there it is: I can’t control what people think or wonder about me, my whereabouts or my life. Why does it bother me? Well it’s a little annoying because people have the impression that I have loads of money, and they ask me: “Qué me trajisteis?” when I return (what did you bring me?). It’s not a big deal, but it’s a little frustrating because the reality is I was sitting in an office for 5 days last week in meetings, not traveling. Honestly, it’s low on my list of grievances so I’ll leave it. 

So, I had run my work errands for the day and I had one last task: deliver a picture. A very sweet lady, a complete stranger to me, gave me her güipil back in August (find the full story here). I was floored by her generosity and asked her to take a selfie with me as a recuerdo. I finally got the picture developed and wanted to bring it to her today. 

I walked to her house, hoping I remembered where it was. I asked a man on the street, huffing and puffing as he climbed uphill: “Kin tzukuj esta ixoq” and I pulled out her picture on my phone. He said: “Ooooooh claro le conoazco a ella.” And I said: “oh sí?” and he looked at me and said: “Es mi esposa!” He turned around and led me to their house, walking me to the door and calling for her. I asked him about his job because I remember she told me that her husband worked at a pharmacy. He showed me a medicine that he was actually taking to the pharmacy at the moment we ran into each other. 

He spoke to me in K’iche’ probably to see how much I could understand. I always like when people do that. Even if I can’t understand everything, it feels like they are welcoming me in with their words and accepting my intention to learn. It’s something I wish we did more of in the States: welcomed people to learn English, not criticize them or laugh at their minuscule mistakes. What do we know? How many of us even speak a second language or have even tried? 

So, when she finally came out from the back part of the house, I gave her my picture and said: “Thank you so much for my güipil.” She motioned for me to sit down and pulled out the wooden chair for me and a plastic stool for her herself. She caught me up on how she had been doing, that she had to get a surgery recently but that she can finally walk again without discomfort. I asked about her children and where they were studying, and she told me that they were three girls (which I hadn’t realized) and that they were doing well. One thing I’ve noticed this week is that small talk has finally gotten easier in Spanish. I’ve absorbed enough of the common phrases that guide and cushion a formal or personal interaction to know what words to use. It doesn’t mean it’s always natural, but I finally sit down with confidence when I start a conversation… It only took two years! Knowing a language and knowing how to navigate a culture are linked but not at all the same. 

This woman, Nicolasa, who I hardly know and whose children I don’t teach, says “Let me see if I have another” and my jaw drops. She is going to give me another güipil! And then she appears from her bedroom, in the room just next to us, with TWO GÜIPILES in hand. “Okay, that’s it.” I thought. “I’ll never deserve this place.” And for the most part I really do believe that. The simple and extravagant kindnesses that Santa Clara has shown me are hard to measure, from their warm invitation for me to speak K’iche’ to countless invitations to eat at their homes to their weddings, their birthdays, their graduations and yes even the funerals… I’ve been lucky to be a part of this place. 

I told her, Doña Nicolasa, that I would be happy to help her children with their English homework (which is how I knew I was touched by her generosity because I never offer English help….). I asked: “Are you sure?” And she said: “Yes, for being my friend. I give it to you with my heart.” Are we friends? She asked me in the course of our conversation what my name was. But that wasn’t the point. The astonishing thing was the purity of her generosity. 

So, I folded up these two beautiful new güipiles (woven blouses) that must have run extremely pricey when they were bought, and a heart full of awe and wonder at such a gesture from someone who asked nothing of me and didn’t know my name. 

And my lo from the day? A bee stung my pinky finger. The stinger didn’t even get into my skin, just pinched me, and my finger was almost numb from the sting. It doesn’t hurt anymore. 

Honestly, it’s hard to find Lo’s these days. Probably because the end is nearing and nostalgia has set in, but I feel like everyday has 20 hi’s to 1 lo. And I’m overwhelmed by how much this place has become a part of me. 

🙂