The courtyard was vibrant with mid-morning sun. The hydrangeas/hortensias were calm, but every other living thing was excited, nervous, on edge. Maybe even scared.

Our group entered the courtyard of Peace Corps Headquarters, anxiously scanning the Guatemaltecos in front of us. We all lined up in a circle, facing our soon-to-be host families for training. 

Some wore indigenous ropa, others wore “normal clothes.” 

I stood next to my friend who says “Me llamo es [and her name]” AKA her Spanish needs some serious trabajo. She has a smile as fabulous as a homemade tamale and I want her to succeed, but I know she’s nervous. I’m nervous with her. We stand together. I translate the instructions to her as best I can. 

They hand us our cards as we walk out. Actually I have no idea when they handed them to us because I was so anxious absorbing the faces in front of me, like an adoption ceremony for grown-ass adults. 

Actually, I remember. Our Spanish ‘profes’ handed out our pictures to their students (so Eduardo gave me mine). My card said “Rural Guatemala” and had a photo of the countryside. I was looking for the host mom (or dad, but probably mom) who had the same picture. We got instructions and then we were released to find our person. We milled through the crowd to find our new significant others, holding up our pictures to see if they matched. It was like online dating: you know who you are trying to find but you don’t know what they look like. The only difference being that I knew without a doubt that someone held the other half, the matching picture.

But I started to wonder if maybe there was a mistake and no one had my card: everyone around me paired up like a middle school dance at the start of a slow song. Volunteers and hosts were chatting in slow tempo Spanish and I was walking by the couples, looking. Some of the pairs looked downright hilarious. Super short indigenous women wrapped in colorful textiles next to tall, familiar (to me) white dudes, smiling and chatting. It was like peanut butter with and spaghetti. 

And then, I saw her. In a coral shirt, 5 feet tall, and we are hugging!

She said: “Como te llamas?” I said “Natalia” And I said “Y Tú?” (I should have said usted) She put her hand on her chest: “Rosa Maria” she said emphatically. She said “Y de dónde eres?” “Mi familia estan en Atlanta.” She asked me a few more questions. Then she told me that she only has sons, and that I will be her new daughter. I told her that she will be my new mom. Our Language Instructor walked up to me and said “Tú tienes suerte.” I say “Porque?” and before I can answer I say “Porque ella está mi Mama Nueva!” and the Instructor says “Exacto!” I ask Rosa Maria the color of her shirt and she says “naranja.” I wanted to ask if there was a different name for “coral” but we got interrupted.

We were told to go around and introduce our partners to the group. I smiled at her friendly/nervously throughout the intros. We laughed together if we both understood a joke. Then we went into a classroom to get a short lecture on how to disinfect vegetables. It was so make it clear to us that the host families knew about the proper way to disinfect vegetables. Then we went to a quick presentation on insects and our mosquiteros (mosquito nets).

Mosquitos aquí en Guatemala are just fruit flies. But, there is another word for mosquito (starts with a z) and those are the insectos who contain dengue, zika, malaria and one other. They hung a mosquito net from the ceiling and demonstrated how to tuck it in under the bed. Everything was in Spanish. Folks read little note cards with different bug facts. I stood next to Rosa Maria, we laughed and made faces.

We’re off to lunch. She’s already asked me if there is anything I don’t eat. I tell her I eat everything! She says: Sí? Bien! I’m sure it’s a relief to her since she is responsible for cooking for me for the 10 weeks. We eat during lunch, with her friends and mine. I tell her about my family in Atlanta but I know that my Spanish is only getting me so far. It’s very helpful to talk to her because she corrects me and provides the words I don’t remember or know.

Then we are on microbuses and on our way to Cuidad Vieja. I imagine the house will be very nice because it is not a rural area and because Rosa Maria looks like a classy lady. We talk about all sorts of things on the way to her house. First we drop off Clint and his new host mom, then I leave and say goodbye to Amanda! I’m not sure how close they will be to me.

Rosa Maria shows me my room and takes me on a tour of the house. I see that there are crucifixes everywhere so I know is Catholic (not evangelico, they have a reputation of being pretty strict- phew). I see that she has a helper in her kitchen, a young girl with an “Atlanta Falcons” shirt on. I couldn’t believe how weird that was.. My hometown. There were also some fix-it guys in the backyard, working on the house. So I knew that this had to be at least a middle class house if she had helpers. It was a very strange thing to me, to see a woman bring a helper to the grocery store. I wonder if she also cleans the house or something. I unpacked my bags, slowly, in my very cute room that is a beautiful vibrant green with blue letters “Bienvenida” up above my bed. There is a closet unit to unpack my bags, two small desks and a twin bed. There is no lamp but there is an overhead florescent light. Plus I have my flashlights to utilize!

Eventually I’ve unearthed my things and arranged them, but I still have to get the things I don’t need back into my bag. I don’t like a cluttered space.. But first, Claudia invites me to Mass. I politely decline but ask to go another time. Then she invites me to go to the grocery store, so she, Claudia and I walk to the store. We aren’t there long. I use my quetzales to buy snickers.

She asked me to leave my bedroom so her son and a house helper could install my mosquito net. I asked if I could help but she said no. I found it interesting that she asked me to go to the “comedor” instead of staying in the room to help. As if being in the room with her sons at the same time would be inappropriate. So I sat at the dining table and caught up on letters and watched Fernando and Carolina eat weird shaped ice cream treats.

I felt out of place, but not so much so that I couldn’t handle it. It just felt strange, mostly the interactions with the men. They didn’t really speak to me, ask me questions or get to know me. The idiosyncracies of the machisto don’t feel idiosyncratic at all: it’s overwhelmingly, strikingly different than the world I know.

Then, there was dinner.

I sat at a table with five focused Guatemalans, watching Tarzan with Spanish subtitles.

We drank juice and ate omelets with cheese and veggies, bread, and probably some type of vegetable but I can’t remember. We spread this gorgeous salsa over the eggs.

As I sat there, the tap tap of utensils on plates, I thought: well this is going to be interesting. None of the men really spoke to me. It’s like it’s Rosa Maria’s job to introduce me to the house and I must go through her for all communication. At the end of the meal, you say “Buen Provecho.” And then I helped with dishes, los trastes. I explained that I am not good at cooking but I like to help clean. I’m not required to do either because they pay them to cook for us and do our laundry (during training only) but I like to help with the dishes.

Even though this is a very nice house by Guatemalan standard, they have a large sink, la pila, where you wash dishes and do laundry (and brush your teeth and wash your face). It’s in the center of the house, where the utility items are. There is a light over Mother Mary looking down on la pila and the water comes out of the faucet, la cascada, below the statue. Then you use one of two plastic bowls to dip it into the clean water below Mother Mary and pour over the clean dishes or your hands or your toothbrush.

I facetimed with my parents before dinner, and then I went to sleep.