Practicum ended (week 7) and we all ran for the hills. Not really.

What I actually did was enjoy a Saturday in Antigua and torteared on Sunday and then returned to life as I knew it on Monday. Two days of freedom (this doesn’t really happen here) was paramount to my resurge from desuetude. Sitting. Listening. Breaking up into groups. Markers. Paper. Present. Sit Again. Death by Rotafolio.

On Antigua-Saturday, Alysa and I attempted to meet Amanda at the finish line after a wild medi-marathon (half) scaling and descaling a mountain, Cristina in tow. Instead we gave up and went to Dunkin Donuts. Afterwards we found a tucked away restaurant in Antigua, Chermol, and shot the shit: us 5 ladies. Un poco chisme (gossip), un poco chistes (jokes), and the rest historias from our far-away lives. Where will our sites be? How are our projects different from each other (YID vs. Healthy Schools). How did you meet your husband?

Then Leslie and I had a bonified coffee date at a cool hipster spot called: Y Tú Piña Mama and I sorta forgot where I was. A retro radio played Ella Fitzgerald and we sat across from each other at a shabby chic blue dining table: everything was borrowed from another time (the music and the vibe) so we weren’t in Guatemala or the US, we were in a small pocket of undefined space.

I was glad for the one-on-one time which I have to fight for tooth and nail during training. The most quality time I get is with my host mom because she eats breakfast and lunch with me. The other quality time I get is by myself, in my room, watching The Americans or most recently Gilmore Girls. Everything else happens under a sardine can inside a petri dish, all of us breathing the same air in the microbus.

It’s an unusual process: making friends with other PCTs. We don’t actually know each other by anything that came before September 27, 2016. We know each other from whatever we’ve said, worn or done in a foreign country over the last 2 months of non-stop camionetas, micros and chicken-truck rides. They have small snapshots of our former identities by what we share in our identity sessions, discussions of privilege and questions of contribution in our technical sessions. They’ve only seen a small handful of clothes from our closets back home and when Tanya says “my mom” to me, I have to clarify if we are talking about host moms or our actual moms. We don’t actually know each other, but they know “Peace Corps Me” better than anyone else. And right now, that’s the only me I am. All the me’s, sigh.

After Leslie and I finished our visit (I ordered a day beverage, some type of tequila sunrise, and for her a hot chocolate) I caught the camioneta home with my two Ciudad Vieja Amigas #ciu-squad. Their words and expressions were loopy with booze so the syllables swirled together like sugar on Cinnamon Toast Crunch. We laughed, shared the events of the afternoon, got deep as the ride got bumpy and walked to our separate homes. One more week. Site placement. Then the rest is gravy.

After practicum ended, the tone of everything changed. Training eased into a plateau without me realizing it, it was like my body finally adjusted to the new altitude (and I don’t mean the climate of Guatemala, I mean being a volunteer). The air is thinner but the views a new kind of stunning. But all around a lot more dizzying.

During the week I attempted 20-30 minutes of youtube yoga on my gray mat over my grayish tiles. Carpet isn’t a thing here and as nominal as it is, I miss it: not in hotels, upscale houses or our sterling office, not anywhere except on my legs because cold showers have rendered leg-shaving extracurricular. All is tile.

By week 8 our mini-groups within our pledge class are not only evident, they are implied and often defined. Everyone has their people, except for a few neutral members, we all lean to our various folks a few shoulders more comfortable to lean on according to our own arbitrary rubric. Lunch groups are usually the same when we are in the office, after you manage to nab a microwave you find the usual suspects sitting at the wooden picnic tables in the courtyard. It’s still so cute to see everyone unpack their lunch boxes prepared by host moms. How cute are host moms? RoMa (Rosa Maria) wraps everything in paper towels. The banana, the utensil, the bread, all wrapped in paper towels. I was half-surprised a love note wasn’t scribbled on a napkin too. 

Monday was language class. Boring. Tuesday was a normal day in the office. Boring.

Except at the end of the day we did an unwieldy but informative session on Microaggressions and Privilege. It was very helpful, eye-opening, uncomfortable, painful and real. It brought up a deeper enlightenment to what is an already deeply impressioned reality: I am a White American. I am globally privileged for a variety of reasons. Will write about this more under separate cover. For now, that is what I will say. It left me feeling rocky, introspective, apathetic, #woke, ashamed and moved. Part of the journey.

Wednesday was our day-trip to Guatemala City and Thursday was Thanksgiving. In Guaté, we were confined to a shopping mall. Peace Corps Guatemala is super anxious about letting us roam free because of high crime rates in the city. I understand it, but it is nonetheless frustrating. We were allowed to go simply so that we could learn how to use the taxi system, see the US embassy, and find the hospital. The highlight was buying a drop-hem, flapper inspired dress in a coco color for 35 q (the equivalent of $5) at Forever 21. I wore it for swear-in the next week.

On Thanksgiving we received our sites in manila folders, our names and sites printed on labels on the bottom right corner. This was much appreciated over breaking a piñata to find our site names inside. Who do you think you are? We’re already exhausted. Don’t reduce us to elementary school children scrambling to find our site placements for the next 2 years. So yes, moving on, manila folders.

I spent the rest of the day decorating as several trainees cooked in the office kitchen. I used rotafolio paper (craft paper) to cut circles and hang funky decorations. Leslie, Tanya, Clint and Galen popped in to help. By the end, the room looked festive (albeit resourcefully so) and ready for the feast.

The food was delicious.. An L-shaped table set-up supporting several rectangles of aluminum weighted with carbohydratic goodness: a turkey embellished with greens and grapes. We even had pumpkin pies and doughy m-m cookies which delighted me trip after trip to the dessert table.

On Friday morning, we woke up at a convent (the spot for our sleepover mini-retreat) and hiked Volcán Pacaya. Before breakfast, my stupid key disappeared from where I left it in Room 8. I spent all morning searching for it to the tune of 100 quetzales if it wasn’t found. It turned up on Tuesday, but it was annoying when I couldn’t find it. On Thursday night we went to a quaint campfire and Ryan awarded us all Trainee Superlatives. We made s’mores laughed and left. Then Amanda dyed my hair as Eunice finally relented from the tile floor and answered questions about her life before Peace Corps. I had sleep on the first truly comfortable mattress to my US American standards. I miss veiling soft comforters over my face but the woolen blankets, you know the kind at your grandma’s?, do the trick over the 90s style comforters.

Hiked a volcano: check. Roasted marshmallows in the heat vortex from the earth and brought a pumice stone with me. I whirled home in a cloud of ash and gave a pumice stone to my friend Andrea (she’s our 15-year old house cleaner/helper).

The highlight and excitement of the week was indubitably Site Placement. I got the site I prayed I would get, except I didn’t know the name of the site specifically going into it. You know how you don’t how to describe your Soul Mate, but when you see it, you know? I wasn’t thinking “It has to be Santa Clara,” instead I thought it would be a dream to work with Anthony (PCV in Healthy Schools, another project) and I hoped to be in Sololá.
Truly, I didn’t care where they placed me. I thought it would also be cool to be in the sticks, more of a challenge, far from the madding crowd.

I had an inkling that I’d end up in Sololá for medical reasons (Sololá is the department, ‘state’ you could say), surrounding Lago Atitlan. I’d say that site placement has many interesting factors that don’t actually involve your site:

• Your house/accommodations and your host family in site
• Your sitemate(s) (if you have any)*
• Your proximity to other volunteers
• If your site has hosted a PCV before
• Your proximity to a town with shopping options
• If your site is close to any tourist attractions (makes it simpler to host friends/family)
• Your proximity to an internet cafe

*They only assign you to sites with sitemates of other projects, so as not to make you redundant. For example, I work for Youth in Development/Juventud en Desarrollo, Anthony works for Healthy Schools/Escuelas Saludables and Jose (who I know nothing about) works in Maternal and Child Health (I don’t know the project title in Spanish). We all live in this site but we will be working at different schools, too.

Our fates were held in manila envelopes. I was immediately concerned to know Amanda’s site and Tanya’s site (the ladies in my language group during training). After, I wanted to know where everyone else in YID was stationed. Tanya was worried: she thought she was the volunteer going out in the middle of nowhere from pre-site placement chisme. “There’s one volunteer from your group going to Hue-Hue, way way in the Hue Hue.” Tanya was dismayed: Where are they sending me? The middle of nowhere? I told her: the best things come in odd packages, more or less, because I do truly believe that no matter how cliché. Amanda seemed neutral. I was happy, relieved, but a little concerned that I was getting a “cush” site and wouldn’t have a challenge ahead. I want to work, I want to push myself, to actively combat the part of me that just wants to sleep for half of 2017.

Amanda came up to me at lunch and said “Are you happy? I can tell that you are happy” with knowing happiness in her eyes on my account. In her statement was a tinge of disappointment for herself. I wasn’t sure what exactly the sadness was. Did I get the “winner winner chicken dinner” site and did she want it? Or was she worried about her site? There could be so many reasons that I couldn’t know in that moment.

But each of us checked in with Rocío, our manager, to learn more about our projects and placements. Amanda talked to Rocío and so did Tanya, and they were both encouraged, assured and more in-the-loop after their individual chats.

My dear friends, Tanya and Amanda, are going to be excellent volunteers. I’ve seen enough of their smarts, their work ethics and their warm personas to know that their work will contribute tremendously to their sites.

On Friday night, Amanda came over and ate dinner with my family. It was really fun! The little lady, Monse, was at the house charming everyone. Dawdling around in her 18 month old style and lighting up the room with that smile. Truly a highlight, that cutie patoot. I don’t always feel like I fit in with  my family, but having Amanda there makes it easier. She is really easy to talk to so my family talks with us both more when she is there. They are great and so is she.

On Saturday night, Tanya and Amanda came over and we watched Stranger Things on Netflix lined three in a row on my twin bed and attempted to make strawberry cupcakes from scratch. I was officially too tired of my sardine can life to superar the disappointment of the finished product ending in funny soup bread and not knowing why. Was it because the butter was margarine or because the baking soda was old or because we ended up not using the correct amount of butter or because we’re in Guatemala and the ingredients are both hard to find and not the same. My host mom asked me to turn off the light because the electricity bill here is expensive. I am usually good about turning off the lights but she caught me. I felt bad. Then of course we used the power of the stove to cook the cupcakes, also costly. And it came to a head when I slept in until 1:30pm on Sunday.

On to week 9 and to swear-in. And onto the beginning of a 2-year service in Guatemala.

On to goodbyes and hellos. On to the new.