I ran past the place where I fell and I didn’t fall. There was no chucha to scare me off the road and onto the sidewalk which is why the whole thing happened. To be clear: the chucha was simply running next to me, she did not lash out or do anything to imply that she might bite me but chuchas in Guatemala are taught to fear for their lives. So we fear each other. 

On the 12th day, God made the internet. Of July, that is. I walked to a neighbor’s house where the signal always shows up on my screen and asked to strike a deal. For Q75 a month, I get limited, spotty, miraculous internet. 3 months in and not only do I get out of the house less which means less steps which means less calories which means more weight (not that! says the USA), what makes me sadder is that people say: “Where have you been? I thought you left..” It makes me feel shame, disappointed. I am still here so I need to be here. Long story short, I have re embraced running on days when I have been too sedentary. Keep in mind, I still go to school every afternoon and run my errands in the morning, but I am not out and about making a fool of myself like before. To be honest, the internet may be the reason that I survived the inexorable months of July, August and September, but nevertheless: too much of a good thing… 

As I was jogging, el trote they call it, and watching my step at every moment, I came to an open field where little kids were playing. I saw a bubble butt of a little girl with a bandana tied around her head, running with the soccer ball. It was so cute and it was so girl power! that I stopped to observe her plight. The older, bigger kids stopped to stare back at me. She caught wind that something was happening behind her and turned around, ball still in hand. She looked at me, I looked at her, smiling, proud, and what happened next was a small cry of panic that crescendoed into a full on scream and then tears. I made the baby cry (too much girl power?) by simply standing in place, more than 10 feet away, smiling. Her older siblings laughed and ran to her rescue, cushioning her against their ribs as she held on to the plastic ball. That was my lo (even though it was funny). 

I kept jogging because intervening is not the answer in this situation. 

As I ran away I felt bad and self-conscious, poor kid. How is it that mere babies can recognize that there is something unusual about me? This is evidenced in the length and intransigence of their stares. For a long time I thought it was my height and my color (pale as they come), but it wasn’t until another volunteer suggested that it might be a question of energy that I realized the impact of that, too. I can pass by a baby tied to her mom’s back, or ride on a bus next to a child or pass by as they sit on the sidewalk and the little being stares at me like a volunteer stares at a slice of Authentic New York Cheesecake and artisanal cheese plate. The wonder, the awe, the confusion, the stare. 

I continued jogging, past my house and started down the hill to the plaza. One more lap. I look at my steps on my phone, I’m at 4 miles for the day (I think I walked two in the course of the morning). Not bad because the day before I only got 2 miles. As I passed the green house with the fake stones painted onto the side, I saw Little Man. I can’t remember his name but when I got to site his beautiful mother was 7 months pregnant with him. Weeks later I saw her with a little bundle in arms. He is the most beautiful child. She tells me she only wants one, and in the name of girl power!, I respect any decision she wants to make about her womb. But in the name of vanity and selfishness, I want her to bake up more babies so I can look at all of them (just the same way they look at me). I am hesitant given the scream heard ’round Santa Clara that I was at the root of, but the man with him said: “Hola decile” Little Man stood up and waved at me. This little angel was IN THE WOMB when I got to Santa Clara and now he is old enough to stand-up and wave at me. My service has legs, teeth and can follow instructions. I got my phone out to take a picture and he did it for us again. He isn’t even camera shy! My, my. The wonders of the world. That was my Hi. 

One moment at the end of the day was Hi-Lo combo. Abuelita, sweet and wondrous and mighty, was laughing at something silly I was saying in K’ich’e and Spanish, Sp’iche’? “Ay Dios Tylia” she said (she cannot pronounce Natalia). She said she will ‘quedar llorando cuando se vaya’ which Clara had to translate for me from K’iche’: she is going to cry when you leave. And then Abuelita did not wait for me to leave and lifted up her delantal (apron) to address the leaks. And then Clara’s eyes watered up and then my heart was immediately a pin cushion. I am not telling you this story to tell you how special I am. To be honest, I have my moments but I am learning just like the rest of us. Rather, I want to reflect how special our connection has been, the three ladies and I. I know that this relationship we have developed is unique, for host families and volunteers and for life. 

So I made a 2 year-old and a 92 year-old cry that day. But I will be the one somewhere in the middle, 32 years old, crying when I go. But, as they say in Santa Clara, “que podemos hacer? No podemos hacer nada.”