On our last day, our group of 16 stood in a large circle while the youth gave us palabras de agradecimiento. They also gave each one of us Estadounidenses little gifts to take home, recuerdos de Guatemala. You could see how proud, how excited they were, to have learned so much in 4 days about how to cut hair. A skill that can help them build a business and make a living: this is not an easy thing to achieve in development work: find a skill that people need and develop it in them. In fact, that is exactly what development work should be, but it’s really hard.
Even though I have been meticulously packing my suitcase since January (see: anticipatory packer) I have been so swept up that I haven’t realized how short, how little time, is left in service. It makes me feel a lot of things, more than I can identify at any given moment, to know that the most challenging and beautiful experience to date is going to end. Two feelings compete for the top: sadness and anxiety.
On Monday night I got to Huehue (the capital) from my adventure to the coffee farm. I knew no one and hardly anything. My boss told me: “You’ll show up on Monday, go to Hotel San Francisco near the terminal on the boulevard, and leave on Friday. They’ll provide you with your hotel room, meals and coffee. You’ll meet a Non-Profit director, the municipality staff of Chiantla, and the Non-profit Coordinator. You will tell them about Peace Corps and Youth in Development. You will be translating for a haircutting workshop. Send us a general report afterwards.”
That is all I knew.
Have I ever translated? No. I love Spanish, but I can’t navigate with the fluency of a bilingual person, especially not technical terms like hairstyling. I can express myself naturally but it won’t come up like roses, maybe daffodils. But what I do know is Guatemala. That came in handy more than once during the week.
I got to the lobby of the hotel with all of the bags and Walter stepped out to greet me. By his name, and email writing style, I thought he was an old dude. But he was 40-something and he seemed nice (and very tall). We walked and talked into the lobby and he introduced me to the rest of the crew: Philip (the stylist) was wearing familiar shorts from Panajachel (where they just came from) and Stacy was sitting next to him. I forgot Stacy’s name and had to ask for a re-up. I was travel weary from buses and needed to step into my room. After an hour of getting settled in my quirky hotel room with three beds (I am one person) and calling my Mom, we went to the hotel restaurant for dinner. Walter and I exchanged notes about our Peace Corps experiences (worlds different, mind you, he served from 1998-2000).
The four of us had a facebook “about” tabs’ worth of knowledge on each other before calling it a night. Walter and I spent 40 minutes chasing down haircut images and printing them. I don’t know how, but even printing takes a long time in Guatemala. Meet time: 8:15am they said. That would be a tough one… I had a hard time getting out of bed in the morning because my emotions gravitate to one side of my body and make everything heavier.
With three weeks left in site, I can’t believe I’m spending one of them in an unknown place to translate hairstyling. Little did I know how important this week would be for my mental health.
The next morning I sat in the truck on the way to McDonalds, wet-haired and ten minutes late, and wondered, how do people function through the pain of break-ups? I am having a helluva time. Walter pulled up to the drive-thru so I could order from the back window: three coffees, no sugar, two with milk. Gracias. Oh the power, the world at my behest! A drive-thru! But, there were so many steps before we would even start the workshop. So it was more like I was along for the ride. Not powerful.
We picked up an energetic lady named Cony waiting for us at a bus stop with flowers in hand. Then we stopped somewhere and we all got out of the truck. That was a bad sign. We might never leave.. We started packing the truck with boxes and walking back and forth from a large house. When we left again, Stylist Philip and I were smooshed against each other until we were too many and he offered to sit in the bed of the truck. I am a weathered Peace Corps volunteer with a lifetime of unwieldy travel moments from camionetas: I did not offer to sit in the bed of the truck, and I didn’t feel bad about it. I’m weary, children.
At 11:30am, we arrived to the site of our workshop and saw a small circle of anxious youth. We unloaded the truck and started pulling plastic heads out of boxes. The mannequin skin color was almost a jaundice yellow, which made me wonder: why are hair models purchased from Guatemala City yellow-skinned, strawberry blonde, blue-eyed and named Lexi? No one looks like that here. But then, I think they were made in China for the USA consumer. It was weird. These kids are used to dolls not looking like them. They weren’t phased. It was me who was bothered, like when the kids I color with ask for the crayon that’s ‘piel.’ The skin-colored crayon. And it looks nothing like their skin. Who first taught them it was piel?
The first order of business was to start the week off with palabras. What’s a Guatemalan event without palabras? I pulled a dinámica out of my hat from training days and we did an ice-breaker/introduction. After which I looked at Walter because I had run out of things to do. I’d already gone above my station. Philip and Stacy had disappeared and I was just supposed to be a translator. I took charge because everyone was tending to other things. Good thing Walter stepped in. His Spanish was challenged, but not as bad as he said. Sometimes his words came out like lost pancakes, but then, my Spanish is no tres leches.
Eventually Philip reappeared: first order of business, introduce all of the tools. Each participant had combs, thinning sheers and texturizing sheers, work aprons, spray bottles and 4 hair clips each. I followed Philip around reenforcing his words in Spanish, and trying to think of the correct ones. I had to pull out my phone often to look up new words. Philip is a soft-spoken, hard-working acclaimed stylist from Indiana who has never taught before. I am an outgoing, weathered two year volunteer and non-native Spanish speaker who cuts her own hair when she gets bored in the pueblo. We made an excellent team.
The students held the comb and scissor in their hand simultaneously, trying not to put them down. Palm your shears said Philip. OKAY palm, the action: what is that in Spanish? It’s hardly a verb in English.
They arranged their mannequins around the table and got started. Our first cut was zero elevation. Do you know what that is? Sounds like a Mt. Everest climb with no survivors. It means you keep the hair close to the body and don’t lift it at an angle when you cut it. Coulda fooled me.
The students struggled with the scissors, and had to be reminded to wet the hair of the mannequin constantly. Sectioning Philip said is the most important part of any haircut. If you don’t have clean sections, you don’t have a clean haircut. I went along processing his words through my brain and hoping they came out right. Some of the students took to the tools quickly, dexterously, while others struggled.
There was 1 boy and 8 girls and the boy wasn’t uncomfortable at all. There are a lot of men who cut hair professionally in this country. I was impressed that he wasn’t self-conscious, but I was impressed by all of them! When we finished the first cut, and Philip cleaned up their mistakes, we had refacción. Funny how commonplace refa is to me, but Philip doesn’t understand the sacred ritual of refa. It’s just snack time, but it’s not optional, it’s built into the rhythm of daily life in Guatemala. 10am? Refaccionamos. 4pm? Refaccionamos. After lunch we moved on to use Stacy as a model. The first time the students watched Philip cut human hair. He went along explaining each step, using texturizing shears and different methods to achieve the right look. He said things like: “You want to see how the hair responds…”
Then we made our way down the mountain as the sun began to set. Walter and I chitchatted more about all range of Peace Corps things while Brenda and Cony spoke in Spanish. I guess they are used to this but I felt uncomfortable talking in front of them in English. Felt inconsiderate. After errands, we made it to the hotel at 7. We walked to the nearby mall and bought snacks: peanut butter and bananas, principally, and we went to bed. It had been a long day (as first days always are).
The next day was no different. First thing in the morning the students took on Stacy’s cut for their mannequins, long layers and bangs, and that was the first time we hit complications. It was a challenging cut and the sectioning was hard. But with Philip’s guidance, they did it!
We went to lunch (I loved the restaurant, the plates were so big! And Meat!) and by the time we returned, we had our final client of the day: a 5-year old who wanted a posh spice hair cut. She was so sweet and patient and looked so precious afterwards. When she got her posh spice haircut, everyone was anxious to learn that cut the next morning. Two students got haircuts from Philip. He was tired but he still did it. He said: “if they learn something, I will do it!” We got hugs from everyone and a kiss on the cheek, and we got back into the truck. Back down the mountain we went. It was so hot in the hotel that I did not sleep well. But there was always the promise of drive-thru coffee in the morning.
That night I asked for a salad from McDonald’s (way out of my volunteer budget, but not Walter’s….) and I was so happy. Leafy Salad. I love you. I miss you. We will be together again soon. (Guatemalan salad is not leafy. It is cucumber and radish slices with lime juice. It’s not that it isn’t tasty, but I love pouring some unhealthy dressing over leafy greens and going to town. I didn’t know how much until it was gone….)
On Thursday, I did my due diligence and met with the municipal staff and three youth representatives. Chiantla would be a great site and made me feel how small Santa Clara is in comparison. I took notes for my report. That night, I troubled Philip to clean-up my curly short hair so I look good for my bell-ringing ceremony in a few weeks. 🙂
By the end of the week, the students learned 4 haircuts and had gotten some of their own (by Philip!). They all got lost in a few styles (namely: the Victoria Beckham) but Philip was able to turn them into learning opportunities. He walked patiently from mannequin to mannequin and each student watched patiently, even if they didn’t totally understand. They picked up their combs, their spray bottles, and tried again. Cony told me that many of them are beekeepers, and they aren’t used to this type of dexterity. This was a new world for them!
On the last day the students performed haircuts on each other (with Philip’s consistent guidance)! They practiced consultations: “What would you like to see done with your hair today?” Then we shared cake for one of the señorita’s birthday (who otherwise might not have celebrated at all) and we ate a huge meal at the end. Guatemalans take food very seriously. I pointed out to Walter that the women were the ones serving the food (like always). And he made the point that his two male staff were helping… he was right. But still, the way women preoccupy over the food is worth note. It’s their job to serve everyone, the men helped more with the grilling of the meat. I said: “Don’t try to convince me that machismo doesn’t exist here! I’ve lived here too long.” And he said: “I am trying to change it!” Silly Walter, you can’t come in as a foreigner and challenge machismo. I had to learn that. All you can do is notice it, point it out when it bothers you, and grieve it. The culture of Guatemala will continue to change micromachismo and macromachismo when they see fit. And it already has changed tremendously in parts. But everything is slower in the campo.
Muchas gracias, buen provecho. We finished out with diplomas, all of the palabras de agradecimiento, despedida hugs and we all piled back into the truck. Brenda has a 20-year relationship with Walter, but she seemed more reserved than anything, until this last drive home. I was tired but she kept on telling me stories and stories about other volunteers they have hosted over the years, how they consentir con ellos lejos de sus casas y país.. How her father passed away 4 years ago but she still feels his absence.. she doesn’t have children but her nephew sleeps in the same bed with her and feels like her own son… I just said: “Aaaa síí que lindo, que triste, que barbaridad…” and reflected back what little I could. We had to go meet Brenda’s whole family but I saw how tired Philip was, and knew anxious I was to leave too, so I facilitated our exit.
I enjoyed the week so much that I didn’t have time to be sad. I had moments, but I walked through and worked through them. In Santa Clara, it’s harder because the days move like molasses. But here I had consistent tasks and the company of 3 interesting English speakers to get to know.
I choked up giving my palabras of agradecimiento, even though this isn’t my site, it was the first moment it dawned on me that I have two weeks left in Santa Clara. This is the beginning of the end of service.
On Saturday morning they dropped me off at Km 148 with all of their amazing leftover snacks and it was just me again. Just me, my bags, and two weeks left in service. I feel like these strangers became friends, and without knowing it, being out of site was extremely helpful.
I got home and set-out for my despedida lunch in Paquip. I wasn’t sad. I was happy to be with such a sweet family who had taken me in over the two years. Travel diarrhea didn’t set in until after lunch. It was a loooooong, sad, feverish Sunday. The rollercoaster and the race to the finish.