This is the stuff culture shock is made of.

If you’re from a country where church and state have designated playgrounds, this continent’s roots may hit you like a brick wall. It’s not bad, it’s just foreign. It only gets deeper the further in you go to your experience and the country. I’m not accustomed to hearing phrases like “Thanks to God” to frame small talk (sub-culturally, but never cross-culturally). How was your day? Gracias a Dios, everything was fine. How did you sleep? Gracias a Dios, we always sleep well. How was your Christmas? Gracias a Dios, we had a fine Christmas. Tuk-tuks zoom past with stickers like “Dios Es Amor” “Solamente Dios” and my favorite: “No Me Siga, Siga JesuCristo” in 180 size font, bolded, italicized. There are pictures of Jesus on every corner and in every business, whether it is owned by a family, church or state. It still surprises me to see a sticker of Jesus’ face, with a suffering expression, zoom past me on four wheels.

I don’t think I can really explain it, I think you have to experience it. When you’re sitting in the Mayor’s office lobby and you’re listening to hymns, you sit on camionetas that seem like shrines to Jesus at the front with AT LEAST one rosary, a picture of Jesus’ face, maybe the crucifix, and “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” plastered somewhere. These are privately owned buses that are used by the general public. Truett Cathy would surely bless this bus, and Tim Tebow would too.

As my host mom chopped pascuas, she said “Primeramente Dios”: “But First, God.” For example: I will come back to cut flowers tomorrow, But first: God.” I never in my life had heard of such. Then I considered that the phrase is like “God-willing.” God-willing I’ll make it to the bus at 5am tomorrow. But… Primeramente, Dios? We are going to El Monte tomorrow, Primeramente Dios. We are going to harvest hella-aguacates this Spring, Primeramente Dios. (I may have added the ‘hella’). “Are you going to sell these flowers in the market?” She responds: Primeramente, Dios. A reminder: Natalia, it is not in my hands.

The fabric of this culture is saturated in faith phrases like french toast in egg batter.

In December I went to my first Guatemalan mass with my host mom and heard the priest rhythmically say “Nuestro Salvador” in his address to the congregation. Through the cloud of incense, it dawned on me like the chime of a church bell: Salvador is Savior, which only makes sense, but nonetheless it is the name of a country. “Here in Central America, we claim our faith so much we are gonna name a country ‘The Savior.’ “ Where’d you get those shoes? Savior. Where are pupusas from? Savior. See ya guys, I’m going to Savior this weekend.” Those shirts are Salvadorian. Yep, Savorian.

Imagine a land where the internet cafes have Biblical names like “Cafe Ebenezer,” “Cafe Bethel” and so do the corner stores “Tienda Divine Conception” “Tienda Saint John” you get it.

At the beginning of class, a teacher prayed. They did not in my high school but I was in a religious high school, this is a public school. At the end of the prayer, we gave “calida applausa” for God. Christianity is absolutely the national religion here, at least that is how it feels.

“You’re in the hands of Dios now, solamente Dios” called Clara up to the shoeless ‘Muchacho’ in the tree.
I snapped a few pictures of the guy, 40 feet up, reaching for ripe avocados with a looooong sugar cane stick on the end of which is a small net. He aims the stick at the fruit, sets the net around it, sharply pulls the stick to break the stem and the avocado falls into the net. The net has room for 4 or 5 avocados before he has to reel in the palo, pull out each tough-skinned fruit and toss each one into a big sack hanging from the tree. This sack bulges with avocados grandísimos like they’re trying to fight their way out. The avocados that don’t make it plummet to the ground with an anticipated thud. I see that the Muchacho is tied to the tree at his waist so that he doesn’t fall. He adjusts this tie as he needs to change location. But Clara’s words struck me: “you’re in the hands of God now!” Not for a laugh or even to encourage the muchacho, but as chitchat. Your work is in the hands of God way high up in that tree. That’s not something it would occur to me to say to someone.

I feel like in the US it’s typical to be loosely or directly tied to a religion, even if your parents “don’t really go to church anymore.” The implication is that they used to, or that your family historically is Christian or something else. Agnosticism and omitting church attendance is a wave of my generation, I must say, but prior to that your parents were either Catholic or Protestant, Jewish or Muslim or Mormon or Latter Day Saint’s or take your pick. My parents were influenced by the evangelical Protestant wave of the 80s, and there they remain.

How ever the streams of religion cascade through my country of origin, it’s rare to be in towns named after saints (Santa Barbara?). It happens, but here it’s like someone took saints names in a shaker and doused them over the map like parmesan on a pizza. Me? I live in Santa Clara la Laguna, neighbor to Santa María Visitación. And the saints repeat themselves in city names but with different surnames: San Pedro La Laguna, San Pedro Jocopilas, San Paedro Sacatepequez, Santa Lucía Utatlán, Santa Lucía Milpas Altas (tall milpas- plant), Santa Lucía Cotzumalguapa. Don’t get me going on Santa Catarinas. The religion runneth deep, saint names runneth wide.

I’m going to start putting drops of bleach in my water to purify my vegetables so I stop having diarrhea. Primeramente, Dios.