Dios Mío. There aren’t other words.
But this is a blog, so there are.
On my second-to-last Monday in site (the 18th) I got myself out of bed, showered, coffee-powered and out the door to knock on the classroom door at 8:41 (one minute behind). The weather was sunny, pleasant, progress.
Profe Miguel started the final two charlas on drugs and alcohol abuse. The students were loud, unwieldy, while I still felt like I was ungluing my eyelids and trying not to pick at my fingernails. The coffee took time to cool. I gave a quick word to the students at the end: “Don’t Do Drugs” basically, and gave Profe Miguel his last observation sheet.
The teachers, in order to complete my diplomado and receive their diploma, have to assess their pre- and post-tests. I am not holding my breath on all of them doing the assessment, but nevertheless, next week I give them their diplomas and THAT IS THAT. I have so little fight left in me for these types of things, nor should I. It’s goodbye season.

Next I brought goodbye party invitations to the two people in the health center who have worked with me the most. I wanted to also give another one, so I dove into my purse and I when I came out, she was gone. She went to the internet to print. She went to the internet shop furthest away. And I chased her all the way down to that shop, passing what felt like a million other internet shops along the way, until I walked in and handed it to her. All that over a piece of paper, who knows if she will come. I am friends with the pharmacy owner, and she invited me over for lunch in K’iche’. I heard the word kamik. “Hoy?” I asked. “Hoy” she said. Dios Mío, what would she be serving? I have been having runny poops since Saturday.
I had to walk back to the school to give Profe Roberto a form. On the way over, I was dying of hunger (exaggeration) and a woman offered me elote for Q3. Why not? I thought. Live large. And the woman gave me the corn and said: “I thought you were the girl who died!” Backstory: a British tourist, 23 years old, blonde, nose ring, died on the hike just outside of Santa Clara. It got publicized on BBC, international news…
There are different stories and assumptions about what happened to her. But ultimately, like with everything except my love of peanut butter, no one knows (that sentence doesn’t make sense, but I still like it so I’m keeping it). I was so tickled to think that folks around town confused me and a British tourist because, due to the fact that I am leaving next week, some folks will just go on thinking that I died, naked, meditating, in the woods. It’s just so classic.
I finished a few internet errands on my computer at home and got to my lunch invitation at 12:35pm where a muchacha (that’s hired help) who I didn’t know looked out the window. She wasn’t the same muchacha as the last time I came over, which either means that I don’t come over much or that my friend Emily Gilmore’s through hired help. Eventually she let me in, when the younger girl/helper came home and recognized me. By all appearances, she is an orphan who got ‘adopted’ by the family but works as hired help for a space in the house. It’s not a real childhood, but she’s still luckier than most. I am relieved the younger girl gets to study, and I noticed that she had traje on. Traje is expensive, so I was comforted to see her in it.
The little cat I saw last time I was here is fully grown and fluffy. While we ate, “coma Natalia, Sírvase Natalia” they tell me as I am eating, Nan Elena walks in. Nan and I went to a training together back in early 2018. It was so cold we had to go to the PACA and buy extra pajamas and sleep hats. She said: “you should come meet my nena” as she apparently just had her first grandbaby. We made arrangements for her to come find me at school at 4pm. De acuerdo.
The family wished me well, asked me if I will ever come back, etc., gave me a woven napkin of Santa Clara pattern, took pictures, and sent me home. I ordered two cakes from them for Sunday, my despedida. She said she couldn’t come but that she would drop the cakes off at 3 menos diez. This despedida is going to cost me a pretty quetzal, my friends.

At home I finished my projects, clicked “Accept Admission” for my place in grad school. I video-recorded the screen as I was “accepting admission” because I felt sad doing it in my apartment alone. Next I had some errands to run: confirm the analysis of the pre- and post-tests with my teachers, scratch that three things, if I am going to lunch tomorrow in Panyebar, and if I am having a goodbye lunch with the Sobens on Saturday. All of these things were accomplished and at 4pm I went to meet the little baby.

Nan Elena didn’t come to the school, but I knew how to ask around and find the house. I love this about pueblos. You walk up to one person and ask: “Do you know where Elena lives, the one with 4 sons?” and if they are confident, you take their directions seriously. As you keep going, you ask someone else when you come to a fork in the road or seem doubtful. Then if they confirm what the first person said, you trust the first person more. And you keep going until you think you’re almost there but you don’t know which house, and you ask anyone standing around where Nan Elena lives. And then you ask them to call the chucho over so it doesn’t bite you on the way in. That’s directions. Try that method in Chicago.

And next thing I knew I held a little baby in my hands: 20 days old. I asked: “Does she have a name?” and the mother sitting on the bed, who looked very young, said: “todavía no.” And I said: “Well she looks like a Natalie….” 🙂 And this little baby was such a little tiny, precious thing, and all she wanted was to find a boob. Her eyes still had the wide, wobbly quality of babies. You know what I mean? But I had no useful boob to offer her. So eventually she went back to her Mom. Then as I went to leave, Nan Elena was bringing down bread and coffee. Sigh. More sugary coffee. I accepted my fate and sat back down with the Baby, Mom, two kids sitting on a mattress on the floor, while we all watched a Telenovela (el corazón manda or something like that).
There was a small Bible opened to Psalms on the top of the bed. I asked if I could read it. Reading the Bible in Spanish is a lot more comfortable for me. I am interested in understanding the words, not whether or not I agree with them. And there were many words I didn’t understand: “perecerse” for example (which means to perish). But for the most part, I understand the verses because I remember the gist of them in English. Psalms are very recognizable.. I thought “Maybe I will ask my Parents for a Bible in Spanish. That will make them happy to have.” And I finished my pan y café, thanked Nan Elena, and left.

I thought maybe I would exercise (I thought). Instead, I finished a load of típico laundry, did some more packing, and worked on my reporte técnico for my Wednesday meeting. For dinner, I picked up my favorite beans from the comedor down the street and ate them with a fresh, delicious avocado. My host family was all chit-chat in K’iche’ about something I didn’t understand. Eventually I asked: “What’s going on?” My host mom’s gestures were so animated and painted a story I needed to hear.

I immediately regretted asking. Some land dispute that was caused by passing through hands without formal documentation and the people getting upset over favoritism and paying lawyers (which is expensive and uncommon in the campo). Eventually they got to the age-old story (haven’t they told me before?) about how neighbors used to tell them, when I first moved in, “You need to be charging her for things. She has money!” (referring to me). This is a story that always makes me uncomfortable. So eventually I steered the conversation elsewhere. Without being too harsh I said: “Don’t you all think I know what people think? I live here, as myself, every day. People ask for me to loan them money, or just give them money, or take them with me in my suitcases or write letters of recommendation to help with visas… Don’t you think I know what people think of me?” And then I told them about the British girl confusion. I regretted intervening.

I went upstairs to watch Master Chef on youtube until sleep came. Suddenly my short time left in service is upon me… It doesn’t feel like there is enough time to do everything right.

Tuesday was another early morning and a session observation. I had my coffee in hand, ready to enjoy, when I sat to observe 3/5 teacher’s sessions. When will we finish the other two? Heaven knows since I’ll be out of site from Wednesday on. And the next Wednesday? Kin ek. I leave that day, forever. The kids divided up in groups and discussed the effects of different drugs. By the end of the session, the teacher and I scheduled the next one (you know, within the 5 days in site I have left) and I got ready to go.
The students acted funny. They said: “Seño, which do you like more, el amanecer o el atardecer? Atardecer I responded. Why is squinting so normal here? So many of my teachers squint…. I know the answer to this, but I wonder why they don’t just get glasses.

We quickly got pictures outside, with Profe Roberto and the group from segundo básico, and I had to run to the next thing.

Going to Panyebar at 10am. I walked through the busy market and down to the buses. It’s about 30 minutes away… and the bus doesn’t leave but every once in a while. So we all sat, in the warm van, waiting for it to fill up. I talked to the little baby in the seat ahead of me who wanted to cry. All the passengers were surprised and laughed as I spoke in K’iche’. It never gets old… When I arrived past the bumpy gravel roads to Panyebar, I went to an internet shop to print off coloring book pages. I knocked on the shop door. An older woman came out and helped me find the attendant. Her house was so beautiful, so many flowers. I arrived to Seño’s house with the hunger of all hunger. And having to wait. One of my students was invited to spend the night with her, and help her prep the food for today. I was so confused. I saw Seño’s family and brought out my coloring pages: we colored. Anderson, Glindy and I, until food was ready. I had to shovel it down and leave. I had another session to observe at 2:10 and buses always take forever to fill-up and leave. As I got up to go, all of the teachers from Barrio San Antonio were arriving. I asked them when their classes started and they said 2pm. Which means they delayed classes for an hour for the entire student body so they could eat lunch. Some things I’m used to, but they still surprise me.
I left with Seño Juana, moving much slower than me because a huge baby was strapped to her hips, until we got to the bus. In 10 minutes, the driver promised me we would leave, and in 10 minutes (miracle of miracles) we left.

As we rattled along on the bus, I leaned my head against the window and observed the gray day of cloud cover. My típico laundry would never dry without sun… Seño Juana said: “Son sus paísanos… les conoce?” And I looked over at a bunch of white people in an assembly line working. I said: “I don’t know if they are from the States. They just look like it.” until their accents confirmed it. They saw me and probably wondered what I was doing here.

I was immediately turned off by the sight of them. “They’re building a house” Juana said. And I thought to myself: “You know who is really good at building houses? Guatemalans.” In fact, (many) Guatemalans are so much more hardworking and experienced in construction work that 15 middle-aged white men are going to take 4 times as long and know nothing about how to do it. You know what? Guatemalans don’t need your help building their house, they need money or access to a good job. The men were smiling with the heart of mission trip love as they passed buckets up and down the hill leading to what is supposed to be a house. “How predictable.” I thought. I thought about how I hate being predictable. And living in a pueblo for over 2 years is pretty low on the predictable list. I leaned my head against the window. “That’s what I get for being unpredictable. Heartbreak and grief as I have to say goodbye to this pueblo that’s given me so much. Building a house and leaving wouldn’t have broken my heart at all.”

I got to Seño Mary’s class. She gave me a place to speak: I got emotional during my words of despedida, and I told the 25 students how sad I am to go back to the USA. I hope that one of them is mayor someday, I said. “Mejor, alcaldesa.” And I hope they appreciate what they have in Guatemala, because the same sense of community, support and friendliness doesn’t exist in the States. They said: “Let’s have a convivio! Come back at 3:15.” they instructed me.

Evelin, a special student and friend, directed and some gave palabras to me. About three students. It was thrown together last minute but still special. I know the kids pulled from their own pockets to buy the cups, soda and Elotitos. Then we drank the off-brand soda and ate the corn chips. None of this was planned, which made me feel a little sad honestly, but I still appreciated the gesture. At the end I requested a group picture.
As I walked home from school, some students invited me to hike the Mayan nose from my morning school. I told them how few days I had left which only made it more difficult to plan.

As I got home I called a grad school student in the Teach Arizona program, and I asked him questions about his experience in the program. I thought of when I was working in Alaska, totally wrapped up in my life there, and attending conference calls on Peace Corps as I looked over the Pacific Ocean. This felt the same, one totally alien environment from the other, back to back to back.

I ran to order the cakes for Sunday. No one RSVPS here so I have no idea how many I need. Afterwards I walked up to the market and Nan Michaela gifted me two avocados. She was in her usual spot. I will miss her. I came back down just to bring her and my bread shop friend their paper invitations. Even if they don’t come, the page will be a memory of me.
I passed out more invitations.

As the sunset, I felt the relief of nighttime setting in. During these sad days, nightfall feels like a major accomplishment and sunshine an assault, shaking me into consciousness and begging of me that I work. I brought Rachel and Rafi (my site mates) some items I am getting rid of. We chatted for about 45 minutes and like usual everything came out of me like a spout. All of my feelings, fears and doubts.

I had missed dinner with the host family but I still had items to attend to. I stepped across the street to order the chairs and tables for my going-away party. The price was going to be staggering, but what alternative did I have? If I didn’t throw this party, maybe all my students and counterparts would think I died a naked, British girl. María Sac opened the door. The distinguished, smart, celebrated María Sac. She is the only woman on the municipal council. She is a big deal.

As I walked in, she offered me a seat which I knew meant it would be at least 20 minutes of talking. I felt honored because I know how important she is, but I also wanted to eat dinner. She asked me, in K’iche’, when I will leave for “my pueblo” and I explained to her the same thing I explain to everyone: I am going back, but I am not going home. I am going to Arizona. In fact, Guatemala might be just as far as Arizona from Atlanta. I am going to study… etc etc. Then she told me: “You really embraced our culture and our language here in Santa Clara. We have had various volunteers here throughout the years, but you were the only one who learned K’iche’ like you did.” Wow, was María Sac really saying this to me? I knew these weren’t empty compliments, that her compliments were special and real and I ought to cherish them. And be proud of myself.
“I am a trained teacher by Peace Corps to teach K’iche'” she said. “But many would study a little bit and get overwhelmed and give up.” Then, of course, the death of the British girl came up and we had to discuss what she had heard, and what happened to her. She said that she was invited by a commission to Guatemala City to speak on tourism in (some Spanish word I can’t recall). She encouraged me to come to the Muni tomorrow, that everyone would be there from the municipal council including the mayor.

It occurred to me that: Oh yes. I should probably say goodbye to them. Good thing she said so!

Someone knocked on the door we used that as a segue from pleasure to business. I ordered 8 10-foot tables and 60 chairs to the tune of Q140. She realized that she forgot to include the delivery fee. She put her hand on my upper arm and said: “Solo por usted, no cobramos para entregar las cosas.” I thought: You could spit from your bedroom window and it would land on my corner but okay, thank you for the kindness. I thanked María for her words and said: Sunday at 1pm? Sunday at 1. She said. But I am doubtful. I know it will be 2. They will be at church or eating lunch and they’ll be late. Party planning in the campo requires more flexibility than I know I have.
As I walked down to the comedor for chicken (necessary), there was a very drunk man, a bolo, walking his way in a zig-zag confusion from one side of the street to the other. It was as if he was flapping in the breeze like a lost kite. I might be sober, but I felt as sturdy as this guy.

I bought fried chicken from the same bean ladies and ate them upstairs. I don’t eat alone unless I am not on the same eating schedule as my host family. I brought my hot sauce and ketchup up for good measure. I tried to find something on the internet to accompany me. But it just ended up being me, the meat and the hot sauce.

After I devoured my incredible chicken dinner, I went, twice, to an internet shop to print my final report for my work partners tomorrow. The document did not show up in my USB either time. I think there is a virus on my USB. I wanted to print it tonight because some pages are color and some are black and white and printing takes so much longer than it should. But after two visits, I gave up when the document wouldn’t show and spiraled into a packing frenzy because tomorrow I go to the Peace Corps office… How am I going to feel there? I am anticipating…. murky. At best. The first time I will be free to drink alcohol out of site, and I am not drinking right now. Also the last time I saw my post-caballero was during all of my stays near the Peace Corps office. Now it will be crickets chirping on both counts, combined with my eminent departure. No man and no beer. Just time and my thoughts to pass the time.

I pooped the first solid poop in 4 days. Peace Corps.

In the dark of nighttime, I brought my heavy bags downstairs and prepared for the rollercoaster of tomorrow. Then I looked around at everything and wondered when to pack it. So few days left… Nothing is immune from purging or packing. Tomorrow I have to find a place for my toilet paper and trash. I will burn my used toilet paper if I have time. Yes, I said that. And I’ll dump by trash in the muni… It’s not that much, and they don’t pay me, so they can do me the favor of taking care of it…. Right?

Tomorrow would just have to go piece by piece, poco a poco. I set my alarm and waited for sleep.