So it’s the New Year and I haven’t heard from Socio #1. I get up the nerve to call. I leave a message: “Can I come visit the school sometime to familiarizandome? Gracias.” I still don’t know how to say goodbye on the phone in Spanish. They don’t want to seem to hang up. They just keep saying “Vaya” “Está bien pues.” “Voy a esperarle” “Gracias” Where in the world is Carmen SanDiGottaGO?

He calls right back, I hear music in the background: “Natalie we’re at the parque para una publicacion.” Well, I’m glad I called! Were they gonna tell me? (The answer is no). I’m delightfully surprised and terrified that he called me back. But… what are they publicizing? I say I’ll come I’ll just be there in a minute. (In truth I’m painting something. I finish up, he calls again) “Natalie we’re in front of the Catholic Church come on down.” I come on down to see four gentleman by a mic, including my Socio. I am introduced to everyone. I don’t see a single lady. I shake their hands. They talk fast. They’re not used to second-language speakers, or they aren’t concerned with helpin’ a sister out. At any rate they say they will leave a moment for me to talk on the mic.

Wait ya what hurts? Talk on the mic? Let

me elucidate: it is market day, which means everyone is milling about the plaza in between booths buying beans, bananos, cualquier cosa. I’d say there are 100 people there. I don’t know what I am publicizing and I still don’t know how to say lounge chair or golf course in Spanish but I agree all smiles. I joke “Yes I should sing a song!” “Oh you sing?” They say and the next thing I hear, they are saying: We at Barrio [Name of School] are advertising la inscripción para el año escolar dos mil dieciseis. So come on down padres de familia and sign your kids up for class. Now, we have the honor to present you to Licenciada Natalia, she is from the organization Cuerpo de Paz and she is here to work with the youth. She is going to sing a song in English because she is here too..”

Wait ya what hurts? Song in English. Okay. I did sign myself up for this.

“Ahem. Hello. I’m Licenciada Natalia (this sounds pretentious and unnecessary but it is the climate of this culture to need to mention your licenciatura. It carries weight and it makes a difference. The school directors I work with do not have their licenciaturas, for example). “I’m going to sing because I will be working with the youth on autoestíma, la confianza, and how to make healthy life decisions. I’m going to sing a song in English because todavía me cuesta el Español. Y tambien poco a poco estoy aprendiendo el Español. Saqiriq!”

And I’ve got the song in my head. It’s gotta be Barbra.

“Don’t Tell Me Not To Live, Just Sit and Putter.

Life’s Candy and the Sun’s a Ball a’ Butter.

Don’t Bring Around a Cloud to Rain On My Parade!”

And the market sort of stops. Sure people keep moving, walking, but not without stopping to look at the gringa with braza singing in the middle of the plaza on the microphone in.. English.

Some smiles widen to flash shiny capped teeth at me, others simply stare. I finish the song and stand awkwardly with the microphone at my side. So what just happened?

One of the docentes hops on the mic, ready to say more about the publication. I’m wondering, how long have these guys been out here, saying the same things on this microphone? “Padres de familia…” Profesor Miguel continues. And before you know it, I hear again: “And up next Natalie from the States is going to sing for us in English!” I think to myself: I better get hella-points on the integration scavenger hunt for singing to the market.” And I go in: Taylor the Latte Boy, my back pocket song numero dos.

Now I am must say, in context, doing anything on a microphone for any reason is widely embraced. And by embraced I mean that it’s not weird. In the empty streets of Santa Clara I have passed the same two dudes blaring tunes and publicizing their tile business on the corner. Why? I ask. It’s always something. Noise is not discouraged, not late into the night, not on weeknights, not for four hours from the same tone-deaf lady from the Evangelical church next door every. night. of. the. week. In fact, it’s January 11th now and the Christmas carols on that one blinking light set have just been taken down.

But this is not my context. My context is Florida/Atlanta/Birmingham with a side of Seattle and Alaska and a sprinkle of European salt. But my background is another volume altogether. The current chapter checks in at Guatemala, CentroAmerica, where I stand out like a tall gringa tends to do and that’s before they hand me a microphone.

I try to remind myself of what I know: English is a huge plus, having your Licenciatura also a huge plus, being from the States: intriguing, and it’s important to say your first and last name even though mine sounds real strange in Spanish, and where you come from and what organization you represent. If you don’t tell them where your family lives, it’s kind of like you’re saying you have no family. In a collectivist society such as this one, it doesn’t read.

Before you know it I’ve introduced myself thrice, sung three tunes and on the last set I dive into “Come Thou Fount” hoping there’s a Spanish equivalent (ya never know) and just when I come to the verse I don’t know, I see Gringos passing and wonder: “What the heck are they doing here?” followed immediately by “What the heck am I doing here?” and thirdly “What the heck are we ALL doing here?” “Teach me soooome melodious sonnet sung by flaming courts aboooove.” And then we come to the part of the song where I start making up words because I don’t remember them, but between Spanish, K’iche’ and English, no actual words come out at all. Instead gibberish. “So sign up for school, kids. Licenciada will teach you to sing right out of your butt.”

After I was spared from the mic and the mic was spared from me, I left to eat lunch at my house (food is always a reasonable excuse here) hoping for a reprieve. I told my host family that I sang in the market: “De Veras?!” the same way they say “Usted cortó café?!” and then I went back to the school. Actually, I found the school for the first time. Never been there and didn’t really know how to get there but with the help of a few street kids I found it. Believe you me when I say singing in the market is easier than finding places for me. Period. I helped the teachers move around furniture for 2 hours and felt more or less like an extranjera wallflower. I read the paperwork tacked to the wall from the previous school year and took pictures of the posted (albeit outdated) info (I need them for my report).

After me and the staff chatted for a while, the first questions out of their mouth is “What do you think about Troomp?”, I managed to sputter out a few sentences about my project and explained I’d be coming back with more information at the beginning of February. They encouraged me that my Spanish would get better, which only made me feel worse.

I don’t have wise words about my experience that day, about ‘la publicacion.’ All I know is I was publicizing myself to this staff of six teachers more than I was publicizing to a crowded market. And I felt like I didn’t know how. And I realized that so much of how I ‘publicize’ myself has to do with culture and context, neither of which I have a grasp on. I felt like I was publicizing a blank billboard, advertising who-knows-what with pieced-together verses of Amazing Grace strung together with gibberish.

Some days trying is enough? This too shall pass? Dream the impossible dream? I’m not sure. But the only way to start is to start.