T-Minus Guatemala (Peace Corps Ending): The First Goodbye Lunch

Upon returning from the Master Stylist workshop excursion in Huehue, the nice Indianans dropped me off at my highway stop. I waited for buses while I called my sister to catch up. I was so busy in Huehue that there wasn’t much time to talk. When I got on the bus, I was home in 30 minutes and I quickly unpacked my bags and left for Paquip. I didn’t even walk (though I meant to) I got on a tuk-tuk sin pena. In 15 minutes I was jumping off the rickshaw and walking up to the house. The kids greeted me with big, warm hugs like they always have. This family had me over for tamales for Christmas. We played games outside after we ate.

This time, I was bringing coloring book pages and nail polish to give away. But first, we would eat lunch. I walked into the kitchen and saw my two favorite ladies from the family: Lidia and Elena. I think both of their spouses left them with children to raise, alone. They immediately pulled a chair for me (or told Diego to) as their hands were full. They were patting out the tortilla dough and rounding them into circles in their hands, the two of them in tandem by the hearth of the fireplace in the dimly lit kitchen.

I suggested that I color with the kids and we accommodated a table outside. I brought two coloring books because the power was out in Santa Clara. How do you print coloring pages without power? So I paid a pretty penny for these nice coloring books. We all chose our princesses, or our objects, they brought out their markers and crayons, and we began.

I knew, as I sat, that I was in a transition back into the slow pace of site. Last weekend I went to Huehuetenango, Mexico for lunch, and then spent 5 nights in Los Cuchamatanes translating for a hairstyling workshop. I was wondering how the sadness would edge it’s way to my consciousness again. Granted, it hasn’t left my consciousness, but I wonder when it wants to hold up bunny ears in my periphery or just plop right down in front of me and not budge.

But I was with adoring, sweet children and a precious family. How could I be sad? As we sat for our meal, they put my plate of food in front of me first. Fried chicken, rice, and salad of cucumber and raddish (like always). It’s predictable but it’s hearty and it’s always good.

Little 8 year-old Nataly is the slowest eater. Actually she takes her sweet little time on everything. When she is coloring, she shows me every new update “Seño!” she calls out for my attention. “Oh look! Another blue stripe…. It looks great!” I respond.

“Come Seño” they say.. “Hay más tortillas si quiere más.” And it continues on with everything else on my plate: “Hay más arroz, quiere más?” “Hay más pollo, quiere más?” “Hay tortillas, agarralos.” They put soda in front of me. I ate to my heart’s content as little Nataly chipped away at her rice but couldn’t be bothered to consider the chicken.

As the children finished their meals, they singled out each person at the table and thanked them for lunch: “Muchas gracias, Clarita.. Muchas gracias, Mama. Muchas gracias, Natalia. Muchas gracias, Tía” until the whole room was covered. “Provecho” you say in response. After 30 minutes, I had finished my plate and projected: “Muchas gracias!” to the remainers at the table.

We continued to color our various coloring pages until the kids suggested we run down to the pozo. There’s a ditch down below the house where coffee grows and where they used to bathe, apparently. “Now the water doesn’t come in, but before this area was all filled up and you came down here to bathe.” A small trickle came out from a tube, I didn’t know the source. It was a beautiful day… we got some wonderful pictures and the girls looked cute in every pose.

Nan Elena asked me take pictures of them. She likes the developed photos and asked me if I could bring her more. I don’t know if I will have the chance, but I know how much they appreciate printed, quality photos.

When we finished at ‘the ditch’ we made our way back up the steep hill and me and the kids continued to color. After we finished our drawings, more kids showed up and we gave them theirs. It appears this family lives in a row, one house after the other, sibling after sibling. I painted the girls nails with the nail polish I was giving up for adoption.

Lidia, Nataly’s mom, saw that I was about to leave or getting there, so she gave me her palabras de despedida along with their blessing from the family. It truly meant a lot, them having me over for a goodbye lunch. I never worked with any of these people, the kids just got to know me because I used to walk back and forth to Paquip and pass their series of houses.

Then we did a photo shoot! I was wearing a güipil but did not have my skirt on. They jumped into action, finding a skirt and woven belt for me and tying it around my waste. “Somos mujeres” Lidia said when I wasn’t sure if I should change in front of her. They also brought me sandals to match and we take a montón of pictures.

The kids walked me as far as they’re allowed and I set-off on my own. Me and Paquip, one of my last walks.. I planned to make the walk all the way when someone rolled up next to me and rolled the window down. My neighbor and host family member, Adrian, drove by in his hatchback and was offering me a ride. We took a right instead of turning left. “We are going to pick up Tío Kulax” he said. We drove out to a field but there was no Tío. A world where cell phones aren’t used to track a person down…. what a precious, rare thing. As we retraced our drive on the bumpy, dirt road, he asked me the usual questions about my departure, what I will do for work, if I will be with my parents, why I don’t look for a Guatemalan partner…. etc. And before you know it, we had passed the cornfields between Paquip and Santa Clara and he dropped me off at my house. “Mil gracias, Adrian!”

And with that, I got home, started sorting through my poster paper that had fallen from my contrived hammock, until I had to run to the bathroom for emergency poop (that’s not poop in an emergency, that’s an emergency because of poop). Which continued as I developed a fever and more uncontrollable bathroom behavior throughout the night. The next morning, I couldn’t get out of bed. At 1:34, Clara brought me a banana and beans. I wanted to get up, do things, but I was completely wiped out by some sort of stomach upset. I retraced my culinary steps and checked in with the Indianans. Were they sick? “Not really,” they replied… I couldn’t distinguish if my physical or emotional health was the deciding factor that kept me in bed all day, but let’s say, they were in cahoots. But when you can’t lift your head off the pillow to shovel rice into your mouth, you probably shouldn’t go to Zumba.

I was supposed to go to another despedida lunch that day but I couldn’t get in contact with anyone from that family. So I laid on my bed, in between more blankets and less blankets depending on the dictates of my fever, imagining the five faces of their disappointed children as I never showed up and they deemed me a flake. By early afternoon I was texting with my friend from home and explaining the state I was in. I didn’t want to complain, but I really needed some support. And talking to her was comforting, as fat tears rolled down my cheeks while we texted back and forth. When my (real) Mom checked in on me, all I could do was cry.

I wasn’t sure what was sadness, what was virus, what was heartbreak and what was Peace Corps departure. I tried explaining this to my Mom. I was just having a moment and needed to cry. I watched Master Chef and tried not to feel much of anything. I enjoyed the British accents of “The Professionals” season to try to distract me. It mostly worked, but it made me miss food as I was ‘a puro pato’ like a duck Clara always says. And that is what diarrhea is like. You’re just steady walking back and forth to the toilet with a duck posture so everything behaves until you get to your destination.

How could a Saturday so lovely collide into a Sunday so rotten? The rollercoaster of Peace Corps, that’s how. And Close of Service is only that more mercurial.

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