Fiesta time!

September was the month of fiestas.  Guatemala celebrated its independence day, and the country bled blue and white.  School came second to party preparations, dance practice, parades, bursts of pride "Viva Guatemala!" and listening to the 7 minute long national anthem ringing through the air.  I absolutely love watching people when they are passionate about something, and this whole month I have gotten to soak up and basque in the joy of seeing bone-deep passion.  Students competed in gymnastics and dance competitions, celebrated their heritage through indigenous dance, and recited patriotic poetry. 

To finish off the month of celebration, today - October 1st - was Dia Del Niño!  I think they are on to something here.  A day dedicated to the soul purpose of celebrating the heck out of kiddos?  I definitely want that in my childhood. When I told my dad about this brilliant day, he said, "That's basically what life is.  Birthdays and Easter and Christmas and the Tooth Fairy. .. it's always about the kids!"  Point taken.  But, as someone who has still yet to grow up, I vote for more party days! 

Today was totally loco, and full of laughter.  Kids were running and screaming everywhere, hyped up on sugar and ice cream and toys.  We all dressed up as mini mouse, and played and danced like fun was going out of style.  It's back to a heavy load of work tomorrow.  I already miss the month of crazy nonsensical partying.  Maybe I'll just keep my mini mouse ears on while I work. . . .

 Puro Guatemalteco

I got my gymnastics on during the teacher performance

Kindergarten gymnasts

 Kids waiting their turn during a dance competition

Our roof cat, Luna Lovegood, birthed kittens!  That was definitely a party to watch. 

 Dia Del Niño!

The Guest House

The Guest House: By Rumi

This BEING human is a guest house, every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, 

Some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!  

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows, 

Who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, 

Still, treat each guest honorably. 

He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice, 

Meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes, 

Because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.

The house-wrecking sorrows and the paralyzing depressions. . . those house guests are very loud and very persistent down here in La Esperanza.  They stand on your doorstep, screaming and banging until you let them in.  When I was here 8 weeks ago, every day was a struggle.  I cried often, swore always, and lived under Eyeore’s rain cloud.  In preparing to come back, I worked my ponpones off to be in a centered, zen state.  And I’m so amazed at how much a little perspective and a few deep breaths has kept my feet planted firmly on the ground.  There is still the same tornado happening around me – kids are malnourished, gunshots ring out (in fact, a gunshot came through the school building during one night, and went through two walls), all of the kids and teachers and volunteers demand nearly every minute of my every day, and the program has a continually growing to-do list.  But, within all that, I still have carved out a few minutes of sacred time, where I meditate and sing and dance and practice a little gratitude.  Of course I still get sad, and frustrated, and soul achy.  My stomach hurts when I see the gunshot hole in the wall. But I know that those fear emotions won’t consume me.  I know that I can let them in to my guest house, feel the emotion deep in my bones, and then I take a deep breath and then do a silly dance.  Or I run outside and play jump rope, or find a hug, or ask my brother for a joke. 

My English team right now consists of 1 teacher who has been here for a year, 2 that have been here for 3 months, and 2 that are brand new.  I was planning on jumping back in with both feet to work on curriculum and behavior management tips and tricks and other teachery stuff I assumed the teachers needed (this is all their first time teaching).  But what I found, was an INTENSE need for connection, creativity, and vulnerability.  One of my new teachers is terrified being here – of the community and the classroom. Another teacher is angry and exhausted.  One teacher has not connected well with the others, and another was feeling so many emotions she was crumbling inside. There was no feeling of community among my group of teachers, but lots of feelings of frustration, confusion, anxiety, depression and discontent.  So, I threw my plans out the window, and have been knee deep in creative facilitation research. 

In the last two weeks, we have become poets, artists and actors.  We have played and laughed and danced and cried together.  We have pushed through the fear of judgment and comparison, and shared incredibly vulnerable things about ourselves and our experiences here.  We have found new respect for each other through the sharing process of our creativity.  We have connected with each other, through understanding that we each experience the intense emotional dichotomy of life here - “It’s not just me!” is such a liberating realization. We still have a long way to go.  Every week I have planned a different creative workshop – each one asking us to step out of our comfort zones, be creative, and be vulnerable.  We will practice self-compassion, meditation, gratitude and a drum circle. 

I have absolutely fallen in love with this process!  I am so grateful that I have the honest empathy to facilitate this for these women.  I have been in each of their shoes before.  I have experienced the unbearable rage at the injustices here, the deep depression that kept me glued to the couch, the soul aches of missing home, the heart wrenching sorrow of hearing and seeing death, the confusion, disbelief, horror and despair.   This time around, thanks to my conscious decision to stay grounded, and the open doors of my guest house, I am able to help them in the middle of their tornado.  We’ve only had three workshops so far, but they have blown me away.  When people are courageous enough to be vulnerable, it gives me piel de gallina and tears in my eyes.  It gives me such respect for that person, makes me notice their radiating beauty, and reminds me of our shared humanity.  

My collage from one of our workshops, showing the dichotomy of emotions

Back to Guate with some love in my back pocket

I have a self-diagnosed "savior-complex."  It's this urgent, incessant, nagging need to help people.  I always think I can fix people, their problems, their stress. I rarely focus on my own life, and put all my energy toward others - in sometimes helpful ways, and sometimes "Hey, you don't know my life better than me and I don't need fixing" kind of ways. I'm working on finding a balance, while simultaneously fighting the need to fly around the world with my super-heroine jet-pack, sprinkling joy, education and safety on the masses.  I'm trying to teach that naggy fix-it all chica in my brain to chill and meditate more.  And sometimes I give her a cerveza to calm down. 

When I went to Guatemala, I was fulfilling one of my decade long needs of getting out there and trying on my dream job for size. Turns out - it doesn't fit all that well.  This realization has slowly been sinking in for 5 months, over the course of myriad emotions and experiences.  And it hasn't been the easiest of realizations. 

I have been madly in love with my experience there and the amazing kiddos and women I get to spend time with. I also have been incredibly depressed and paralyzed by the intense emotional roller coaster, doing nothing but sitting immobile on the couch.  I have had anxiety attacks over the responsibility of holding a child's future in my hands and from hearing the nightly chorus of gunshots that ring out.  

When I came back for my few week stay back home, I realized I probably have a mild form of PTSD.  I have seen one too many dead bodies.  Heard 1,000 too many gunshots.  Held way too many crying women and children.  In addition to all that trauma I'm trying to process, I also am understanding that I can't save the world.  I never ACTUALLY thought I would save the whole world, or even Guatemala.  But there is that part of me that thought I could surely make some kinda difference.  When I wrote my last blog post, I was feeling on edge from some of the truths I was wrestling with.  People asked me what difference I was making, what things I was doing to change the broken systems, and what I was accomplishing.  I was feeling very raw about the thought that I wasn't making ANY difference, and those questions were pushing the exact button I was trying to ignore.  It's definitely my default to just say "You wouldn't understand!" rather than figure out what is triggering me.  

Someone asked me recently why I choose to do my humanitarian work overseas, and not in my backyard.  There is equal need, no doubt.  Usually, I get defensive to this question - not wanting to seem like I was ignorant or uncaring to the problems we have here.  But, in a moment of clarity, I answered truthfully.  I choose to work abroad because I have a love affair with Latino culture.  The language is challenging and fun.  I love the way Latinos wear their emotions on their sleeve - they are all in.  The passionate crying and anger and laughter gives me (with my emotions tightly bottled up in) the permission to be honest and open with my feelings.  Human contact is NORMAL and expected - hugs and kisses all around!  Strangers will take care of me at the drop of the hat.  Family is priority number one, and members fiercely protect each other.  I love waking up to the sound of roosters and hearing the accordion music blasting at top volume.  The tortillas and community and love are what draws me overseas.  I know that I'll come back and do work here, but for now - over the border is where my heart is being pulled.  

Here's the thing.  It has been really hard in Guatemala.  It has been a tough experience full of so much learning and love and heartache.  I've been working hard these last few weeks to come to a space of peace with heading back.  I am so excited to see my friends and family again.  I can't wait to hear all the street noises and laughter and music.  I'm excited to see my rascal students and be swarmed with hugs and kisses. At the same time, I got very emotional boarding the plane last night.  I started to cry unexpectedly, as I felt the fear of returning to the death and pain and malnutrition and gangs.  But, I also feel prepared.  I know what I'm getting myself into this time.  And I am realistic about my role there.  As one of the dad's in La Esperanza told me "Courtney, even if you don't see it, you are making a difference.  The time you spend with my sons means so much to them and to us. You show them so much love."  

I can't change the flawed school system.  I can't fix the number of young boys flowing into the gangs at age 13.  I can't even convince the women of my co-op to find trustworthy men to serve as mentors to the boys (one of my original goals 7 months ago).  I can't stop the cycle of violence in this community that I adore.  Surprise, surprise.  I can't fix. . . I can just love.  I am headed back to Guatemala knowing that I will still do my work and plant the seeds of hope and change and consciousness that get me fired up.. .  .knowing that no matter the result, the biggest thing I am doing for this community is loving them. As a white person, and an outsider, it's not my place to come in to fix and change.  It's my place to listen, learn and share.  And when the sky is dark, and my super jet-pack runs out of fuel, and when the gunshots are too loud for me to hear my own heart beat. . . I will rely on that love to keep me centered and grounded.  

The Sacred Moments

I've been back stateside for nearly 2 weeks now, and I'm still struggling to feel comfortable in the rhythm of life here.  Don't get me wrong.  I greatly appreciate the peaceful sunny days, the awesome love from all the people I've missed, the freedom to sleep in and the ability to flush my toilet paper.  But I'm just feeling a little out of step.

The reason I've always kept a blog of my travels is to mediate the coming home process. I write a blog because I want to share with you what I'm up to, but I also write it because it's too huge of a task for me to come back and describe 7 months of life in one conversation.   It's always overwhelming for me to come home from a trip and have dozens of different people asking me questions about my experience.

I come from a family of story tellers.  Our family gatherings are characterized by sitting around and popcorn story telling.  One person's story reminds somebody else of a story and so on down the line for hours.  I love this about my family.  I have stories for days, and if I can grab your attention long enough, you're bound to hear a handful of them.  I am a total story teller.   

But there's something sacred about travel for me.  There's something un-tell-able about my experiences in other countries.  It's not the sight seeing or tourist attractions or the exotic crystal blue water I might have swam in that mean anything to me.  Those stories are easy to tell.  "I went to this town, ate this food, saw this building, got the t-shirt."  It's the stories that are hard to tell, the moments that are impossible to capture in words or pictures that make my travel experiences important.  The stories people share with me, the hugs, the laughter, the tears. Those are the memories that I hold sacred in my heart, those are the memories I want to share with you, and those are the memories that are precisely impossible to describe. 

In telling you my stories, I also run the risk of digging deep and sharing one of those sacred moments, and have you twist it and turn it and steal it. This happens often.  Never intentionally, and always out of love and interest. But it still happens just the same. 

I might have a beautiful moment to share about a sweet child I've fallen in love with.  And then you ask me about the parents and the poverty and the immigration crisis and "What are you going to do to change what's happening?"  All good questions.  All important questions.  But all I wanted to do, was bring you into that moment to see if you could catch a glimpse of its joy and love - and now I am racking my brain for answers and reliving hurtful, hateful realities of life in my slum.  I don't have many answers.  Mostly I just have moments.  

Don't let that stop you from wondering and asking.  Just know that if I retreat, or stop you, it's not because I think any less of you or your interrogation skills.  It's because I'm probably experiencing stimulus overload, and we're getting too close to those sacred memories that I want to keep just for me.  And if I'm at a loss for words, just know that it's because I can't quite figure out how to describe the healing power of my house mom's smile or the soothing pat-pat rhythm of tortillas being made up and down the street or the exhaustion of feeling powerless to change the story of violence or the intense heartache of looking straight into a mother's eyes after she has lost a child.  

In coming back, I've found I'm a lot quieter than I was 7 months ago.  Life in La Esperanza is very hectic.  It's nearly impossible to catch a minute alone.  Sometimes I'm able to find an abandoned stairwell to hide in, but it only lasts a few precious minutes before a volunteer needs my help or a cat yells at me for attention.  I learned recently that being introverted means that you draw your energy from within yourself, not from being around others.  That's definitely me. I need time to myself to recharge my batteries, and I haven't been alone in 7 months.  So, my batteries have basically exploded.  Right now, I'm finding more peace in listening to stories than sharing them.  When social ettiqutte threatens to demand that I share my un-tell-able moments, I get emotional and my brain starts short circuiting.  

I really do want to tell you everything.  But how can I explain certain things when our frames of reference are so different?  How can I say that I feel overwhelmed by this overly full fridge with food that is rotting when my fridge back in Esperanza has only 1 tomato in it?  How can I tell you that this drama you've wrapped yourself in over your sister not understanding you seems pointless when I've heard the screams of someone standing over their murdered sister?  How can I tell you that I feel uncomfortable with the comments you make about immigration from the safety of your home, when I live in the middle of the gang violence that is driving kids north?  I don't want to offend you or make your reality seem less important.  Because it's not.  I'm just jumping from one extreme to the other, and I haven't acclimated yet.  Jet lag, if you will. My frame of reference has been shaken up and spit out in a very different place from where I started. 

Life changes you.  This experience has changed me.  I can feel the DNA shift in my blood.  I know that I'll bounce back.  Not to where I was - but to wherever my new normal will land me. 

That was the very long, story-telly way of letting you know that one day - maybe tomorrow over coffee or maybe in 3 months at Thanksgiving - I will tell you about my time in Guatemala.  But until then, I appreciate your patience.  I am grateful for you allowing me the silence, for not pummeling me with questions when I tear up randomly at dinner, and for respecting the moments that I choose to keep sacred.  

Here's a few pictures from the last 7 months.  No big stories attached, just little moments that made me smile. 

A little bit o' history

So now that I am home for a few weeks - I finally have the chance to take a deep breath. . . and write more blog posts!  I've had a stock pile of things I've wanted to talk about, but between all the curriculum that needed writing and the women with stories to tell and the kids to be played with and the tortillas to be eaten, I just didn't have time.

First on the list. . . . the very uplifting topic of genocide.  Did you know that there was a genocide in Guatemala in the 80s and 90s?  I didn't until a friend handed me a book that I read on my way down, and was surprised and horrified by the things the country I was about to call home had been through.

I have been known, a time or two, to blindly jump into things.  This has driven everyone in my life crazy.  I hear a good idea, and I'm in.  Once in the Dominican Republic, a bus driver told me I should come stay at his house for 3 nights.  I thought approximately 5 seconds and decided it was a good idea - clearly. That turned out to be my favorite travel memory ever!  Rocking chair mornings on the porch with his wife, swimming hole afternoons with his daughter, and late evening strolls through pig farms to chomp on sugar cane and hack down coconuts with my "body guard" - the 75 year old neighbor.

When I found the job in Guatemala, I saw "Women's Co-op" and "Teacher" and said "Si!"  Sign me up.  On my way to Guatemala, I realized I didn't actually know much about where I was going.  I had blind faith that it was the organization I hoped it was, but told some friends it might be possible that I was headed straight into the sex trade.  They were on the lookout for SOS messages from me.  But, my disregard for common sense safety measures aside, learning the history about a place is actually super important.  I tend to do it upon arrival.  Had I learned more about Guatemala before arriving, I would have been a little quicker in understanding the power and significance of the community I live in.

On my flight home last week, I sat next to a pleasantly chatty guy who filled up 4 hours of flying with conversation.  At one point he asked me what the reasoning was for the genocide in Guatemala.  I responded, "What is ever the driving force behind genocide? Hate."  He told me that was the easy response, and proceeded to tell me the history of genocide in the bible, and we together relived the holocaust.  So, while I still believe that hate and fear are the underlying reasons for any killing, I will opt for the more winded task of telling you a bit more.

Civil war in Guatemala had been present since the 60s, with people protesting the usual political, social and economic injustices.  In the 70s, indigenous Mayan groups became louder with their protests, wanting equality and language and cultural inclusion in educational and governmental institutions.  As guerilla groups banded and fought the fights that guerillas tend to do, the government feared a communist coup.  Because guerilla groups were generally made up of the indigenous Mayan people fighting for their rights, the government began going after any and all indigenous Mayans.  The repression and killings began first in the highlands of Guatemala, in the beautiful, green-rich highlands that are prime for guerilla base camps.  The killing spree led people to flee to other parts of the country, and up into Mexico. A 1999 UN report of the civil war said, 'The Army's perception of Mayan communities as natural allies of the guerrillas contributed to increasing and aggravating the human rights violations perpetrated against them, demonstrating an aggressive racist component of extreme cruelty that led to extermination en masse of defenceless Mayan communities, including children, women and the elderly, through methods whose cruelty has outraged the moral conscience of the civilised world.'

Over the course of the many years the government was enacting these fear based atrocities, some horrible statistics racked up.

-626 villages were attacked
-Over 200,000 people were killed or disappeared
-150,000 people sought refuge in Mexico
-1.5 million people were displaced

My community of La Esperanza is a community that grew out of those displaced souls.  It started as a squatter community where people came to hide, survive, and wait.  Esperanza is one of my favorite words, and I love that this community is named "Hope."  Every women has amazing and heartbreaking stories about their journey to live in hope.  Cristi's parents were both murdered after neighbors ratted on them for potentially corresponding with the guerillas.  Angela's family lived out of a box for their first few months in the community.  Genocide is a horrible, hateful, fearful tragedy.  But an important history to know about the lives of the people I am living with.  Note to self: be a little less ignorant, and a little more researchy before jumping headfirst somewhere in the world.

My family and friends in La Esperanza never cease to amaze me.  Their fight, their grit, their ability to stand after the waves of heartache that have knocked them down.  Their love and hope inspire and humble me on the daily.

Courtney Bailon-Perez

My last weekend in Guatemala has been my favorite in the last 7 months.  My good friend Deborah and I decided to treat our family to a peaceful weekend getaway.  Our family has been through a lot in the last month.  Between losing 3 family members to gang violence, having a son go missing in the states, financial trouble at work and gang extortion making its way into our neighborhood. . . . it's been 3 too many visits to the cemetery and far too many tears shed.  Living in our house, it's impossible to escape the nightly reminders of pain - with the gunshots and screams and staring at the empty bed where someone should be sleeping.  

Friday after work, we packed 10 of us up and headed out on an adventure that took us up into the mountains above a town called Antigua.  The drive up alone filled my heart with so much joy that our time could have ended then and I would have been happy.  Many of the family members had never even been out of Guatemala City, so our 4 hour journey was huge.  It was dark when we were headed up the mountain, an amazing lightening storm lit up the sky, and we could see the whole town below.  We stopped 3 times for everyone to take pictures, and as I taught them about making wishes on stars, Sara said, "This is a vacation we will never forget."  

We arrived to a delicious dinner waiting for us, and Angela said such a beautiful prayer, thanking God for bringing her 2 daughters to help heal her heart, that Deborah and I were full of tears. We had 3 cabins all to ourselves, with hammocks that looked over the side of the mountain. The only snafu of the whole weekend was when I accidentally walked up to the wrong cabin, and surprised a couple having sex.  I unfortunately made dead on eye contact with the guy and screamed, and then avoided him like the plague for the next 2 days (unfortunately he was the cabin next to ours, so there were MANY opportunities for us to see each other).

We spent all day Saturday playing corn hole, soccer and badminton.  We ran and laughed, and took naps in hammocks and enjoyed the beautiful volcanoes.  I taught the kids how to build a fire, and we used the sauna.  Half of our group were so terrified that they would get cooked in the sauna, that they just stood outside while we went in, ready to save us . . .  just in case.  It was so refreshing to have the kids away from the TV, out of the sadness of our routine life in the slum - and seeing them play their hearts out for 2 days straight.  The adults breathed deep sighs of peace for the first time in a month.  

On our last night, just before dinner, they had a surprise for me.  Everyone had made me cards, and while we sat around drinking mango cocktails, everyone made a speech about me. I love this family so much, that my heart hurts and my eyes get teary and I wonder how on earth I will ever leave them. They called me their daughter and sister, and little Steven who I love most of all, told me "Now you are Courtney Bailon-Perez."  Officially part of the family. 

We headed down to Antigua the next day for mass at the cathedral, and time hanging out in the park to see all the fun touristy things.  Silver robot statues that terrified 2 year old Layser, hair beading, hoards of white people, live music and a book fair.  Everyone had the best time, and it makes me so happy that we could give them those beautiful, smiley moments together with the gift of space from their sadness.  

Continuing the Roller Coaster

The last two weeks have felt like an eternity!  Probably the longest two weeks of my life. 

Catholic tradition following a death here in Guatemala is as follows:
-Having the body in the house for 2 full days, with people coming in and out to mourn and pray and share food
-On the 3rd day, there is a funeral for the burial
-Each evening on the following 10 days is spent doing a rosary prayer service
-On the 11th day, everyone heads to the cemetery to give flowers and last prayers.

It is a long grieving process.  I sway between thinking it's beautiful to be honoring the dead for so many days, and feeling exhausted of being sad.  Every prayer service is full of tears and tight hugs and a heavy sense of loss.  The hardest part for me is free prayer time at the end, where everyone stands up and shouts their prayers to the world.  The sound of all that sadness and hope being cried into the air reverberates in my lungs and makes me feel as if all the woes of the world are inside my chest, ready to explode. Seeing my little buddy Steven's 7 year-old eyes full of tears and anger every day during these services is an image I know will stay with me forever.   I am there every day, for all the tears and cups of coffee and prayers to support my family - but the gigantic achy hole in my heart is just so exhausted of being sad.  

The day that the shooting tragedy happened, my new teachers arrived.  So between the rosaries and flower buying and funeral attending, I also ran a training all week.  I felt like a newscaster.  One minute experiencing an intensely sorrowful, heart wrenching pain . ..  and the next, plastering on a smile to inject passion and inspiration into the new blood of UPAVIM.

My birthday quietly passed during that week as well.  We were invited to an Indigenous Mayan village where we learned a Mayan religious ceremony, ran around with chickens, and tasted incredibly potent homemade wine. The journey there and back took 7 hours. It was actually a lovely day, but I found myself just wanting to be back in La Esperanza - where I could play with kids and chisme with my favorite women and get my fill of birthday hugs.  When we returned at 9 pm - even though it was past our curfew of when it's safe to be outside - I stomped through the community and knocked on doors, asking for birthday hugs.  When I knocked on Dona Dina's house and told her I needed a birthday hug, she yelled into the house and immediately 11 people came filing out of the house to give me hugs.   Probably the silliest, selfish birthday thing I've done - but I just needed it.

What else has happened here in my new 29th year?  School started back up and I got my fill of hugs and kisses and love.  I found that I even missed their shouting and climbing over the tables and throwing their food, which tells me I'm getting used to life here.  Sadly this week, my house mom lost another family member to gang vioence, and the community lost 2 more boys that night. In the span of 2 weeks, Angela lost 2 nephews and a cousin, and the week continued with more wakes and rosaries and funerals - today another 2 men were killed, and I unfortunately saw one of the dead bodies as it was carried away. So many life changing images on the reel of my experience here.

One of the most precious women had her baby!  And she is a beautiful bundle of joy and hope.  One of my teachers was bit by a dog, and has had to get a series of injections to prevent rabies (News caster face - and happy, and sad, and happy and sad).  I got my first round of head lice.  And by round, I mean infestation.  Two rounds of medicine, three sessions of people picking at my head like monkeys, and a week of lice shampoo still hasn't killed it all.  Nothing like a week long fight with head lice to keep you real good and humble. In the last two weeks I have become obsessed - for the first time in my life! - with a televised sport.  El Mundial. . . me encanta!  I have craned my neck to peer through windows to watch games, screamed and hugged random strangers over goals, pretended to be Messi from Argentina as I'm playing in the street, and during one game yesterday when I couldn't find a TV- I even went online to read the minute by minute play-by-play. I did a world flag unit with my kiddos and we made really cool soccer ball art.

Today I visited the cemetery with my family, and it was the first day in two weeks that felt light on the heart. With the sun shining and wind blowing, we put flowers on the graves and sat around laughing and taking deep breaths - the first sound of laughter in 14 days, and it has been the best sound of my life.  Back home, my bestest friend here had her birthday - and I channeled my dad's party planning magic to throw her a themed party around her favorite movie. . . Frozen. Snowflakes, crowns and capes and snowman building contests.  It was a really wonderful day at the end of a really hard 2 weeks, refreshingly full of laughter and WAY too much candy.  Just what el doctor ordered.

La Esperanza

I have been very blessed in my life to never lose someone I am close to.  I'm not afraid of dying myself - much to the frustration of my family - but I am terrified of losing someone I love.  This weekend, my heart broke to pieces watching my favorite family grieve the loss of someone. On Sunday, there was a gang shootout that sent 6 boys to the hospital, and killed one.  Giovani, the young 24 year old man who died, was the nephew of my house mom, Angela.  I can't even begin to express the love I have for Angela and her family. Angela's 19 year old son Danny has taken it upon himself to be my protector. Her sister Meri is the best part of my every morning - she's a sassy, leapoard print wearing lady who greets me with sarcasm and laughter every day.  Meri's daughter Sara calls me her big sister, and we stay up at night talking fashion and boys (even though I'm terrible with both).  And Meri's 7 year-old grandson Steven has completely stolen my heart, my hermanito lindo.  We spend every evening together, laughing and playing.  He's always waiting for me in the street, he runs and tackles me and smothers me with kisses.  It was his older brother who died.

This whole week has been devestatingly hard.  It began of course, with the horrifying shooting.  It happened in the middle of the day, with poor innocent kiddos playing in the street, bearing witness to a violence that their sweet minds should never see.  I was not in town that day, but I have been told the stories.  I won't retell them to you here, because I've found they just cause you out there (whoever you are) to worry about me.  But the story of that day is something from a movie full of sangre and sadness.  Little Steven was inside the house and heard everything.  He told me he made a cup of sugar water for himself and hid in the corner to stay calm.  The heartbreak of this week is real for everyone - but I feel it most through Steven.  His childhood innocence and care free spirit has been stolen from him - I've seen the change in his eyes.

I spent all week mourning with the family.  It's a tradition here to have the coffin in the house for a Velorio - a wake - for two full days.  Nobody sleeps.  It's two full days of praying and crying and singing and sharing coffee and stories. It's impossible to describe the depth of emotion that ebbed and flowed throughout my body and that house in those two days.  I would leave for moments, to shower, finish some work, or check on my 2 new volunteers.  When I came back, I always found Steven standing in a corner by himself crying and terrified.

One of the things about Latin American culture I've found, is that emotions are strong and loud.  It's not the conservative, keep what your feeling to yourself kind of expressive life style that I'm accustomed to. Emotion here is loud and in your face and real. I find this to be beautiful and freeing and also scary.  Steven's mom and sister and Grandma were often crying with a crazed intensity, and using him to cry on.  He's the only boy left in that family, and he wavered between trying to be strong for them, and falling apart himself.  I found lots of opportunities to snag him and hold him, to let him cry into my shoulder.  He and I talked about his brother, we drew him pictures, we watched Care Bears and made up stories about his uncle and him having magical powers and we found opportunities to escape the sadness.  Monday night of the wake however, was one of the most terrifying nights I've ever had.

At 11 pm when everyone was recharging with coffee and telling stories of Giovani, a call came from the hospital that Angela's other nephew (15 years-old) had just passed.  The kid's dad lost it, and was out in the street screaming and yelling.  A fight broke out, then he ran to the house of the parents of the boy who killed his son and was banging on the door and telling them to come out in the street so he could kill them.  Everyone was out in the street crying and screaming (out of anger or sadness) and trying to get him to calm down.  I ran outside and scooped Steven up and brought him back inside his house.  It was only he and I left inside, but the screaming and threats and sounds of the dad beating the door were so loud it echoed in our chests.  Steven's body was shaking with terror, and I just hugged him and told him stories and sang to drown out the terrifying scene outside.  Once Steven calmed down, he wanted to show me his brother.  He opened the coffin and showed me Giovanni - the first dead person I've ever seen.  It is so crazy to know someone, see their live and vibrant face, and then see them in a coffin.  It felt like he wasn't really gone, how could he be? He had just been alive the day before.  Steven put my hand on his heart and told me "He's with me forever now.  Here, in my heart."  I put Steven to bed that night with worry dolls to catch his bad dreams, my "magical" blankie to keep him safe, and I found myself singing him to sleep with Adel Vice - the song my mom used to sing me.

The sadness of the the week continued with the burial for Giovani, and the wake and funeral for Alexander - Angela's other nephew.  I cannot begin to express the feeling of sadness deep in my chest at so many different moments this week - Meri's painful cries as she threw herself ontop of her son's coffin, the reverberating sound of 100 people's loud and passionate praying all at once, Angela gripping me and breaking down as she re-lived the death of her daughter (who was shot by the gang 5 years ago), seeing Steven's beautiful eyes full of tears he should never have to know.

When I sat in that room alone with Steven and Giovani, I understood the urge to feel my emotions like my Guatemalan family around me.  I felt the urge to cry and scream and hit the wall.  I felt the ache in my arms to rage at the injustices of gang violence and poverty.  I was so angry that this beautiful community, these luchador women and these sweet children live with this every day.  When I looked at Giovani, I told him his family deserves better than this.  And instead of this tough week making me want to run away from here, I got the fire in my belly to stay.  I can't fight the gangs.  I can't change the fact that this is the reality of life here.  But I can love these kids with my whole heart, and do my best to give them a safe space in my arms and at school to learn, and share and be kids.  I believe with my whole being in the word "Esperanza - Hope."  I remember feeling a buzz whisper from the universe when I found out La Esperanza was the name of my community.  It's what I'm holding onto now, and what I will stay just a little longer to fight for.

Here's me and Steven, a week before all of this happened.

   

Imagine a World Without Education

In gearing up for our teacher training next week, I have partnered with a program coordinator in Antigua (a town an hour away) for guidance and support.  A few weeks ago when I was planning with Hyelim, I told her about this awesome 6th grader at our school who won a speech competition in the city for the theme of "Education and Society."  I was planning to have her kick off my teacher training, when Hyelim asked if she would like to come speak to her whole school.

So - on Friday, I got to take Mishell, her dad and grandmother, and our school director to Proyecto Esperanza outside of Antigua.  This was Mishell's first trip outside the city, and the whole day gave me piel de gallina (goosebumps).  I was blown away by her courage to speak in front of the whole school, and she inspired the pants off all the kids and teachers.  Listening to her passion and consciousness gives me hope about this community and the world.  After her speech, the 6th graders invited her to come to their class to talk to her about our school, her speech, and "What do you do for your free time and do you like having to wear a uniform?" kind of kid stuff.  She was nervous and giggly and amazed that so many people were interested in her.  

Proyecto Esperanza is also lucky enough to be connected to a Finca - a beautiful area of land below the volcanoes, full of horses and greenery.  Mishell had never seen horses before, and she was mesmorized.  As we visited the horses, listened to stories from her grandmother about growing up in the country, drove past new buildings and fountains and people. . . I watched Mishell's big eyes soaking in every ounce of the day with curiosity and amazement.  This is why I love my job.  

Here is Mishell's speech.  It's in Spanish.  If you don't understand it, trust me!  It's amazing.  My favorite line is "Imagine a world without education, a society without a history, a book without words." Watch out world.  This tiny little, courageous 12 year old could be president one day. (also, ignore the fact that I'm the worst with technology). 

  

Busy Boss Lady

Ay Dios Mio!

When I came back to UPAVIM a month ago, I hit the ground running.  In addition to still teaching Kindergarten and First Grade, I am now also the English Program Coordinator (for the whole program) and the new Volunteer Program Coordinator (in charge of ALL volunteers).  I have been saddled with the very SMALL task of creating a vision and writing curriculum for the whole future of the English program.  I am training and guiding our current teachers, and developing a teacher training for our new team that will arrive in 3 weeks.  I am the liaison between parents/community/board members/UPAVIMas and the English program, conducting interviews, writing assessments, and building partnerships with other schools. I am also in charge of behavior management and support during our English program hours . . . which is no small task with our behaviorally-outbursty kiddos.  I have added classes to my community English plate, and teach adults for 2 hours every day after school.

My Volunteer Coordinator hat has me being the sounding board for every problem within UPAVIM.  The women come to me to tell me all of their stress and preocupaciones about everything from the pain in their feet and their son's delinquent behavior, to problems at work and offensive tattoos of the volunteers.  The volunteers (who while individually can be interesting and smart. . . collectively have the maturity level of my 1st graders) come to me with their monton of annoyances at each other.  I have to solve cleaning issues, work issues, "she said this" issues, and "the water hasn't worked for 4 days and we smell like the slum" issues.   We also have a college group that's here for 6 weeks, and they are travel virgins.  They need hand holding for everything - and so I also spend my mornings teaching them how to work with kids, and my evenings teaching them how to cook beans and hydrate themselves.  A la gran PUCHICA!!!  I swear it never stops.  I go to bed at night and my mind still races 100 miles per hour, long after my body has surrendered.  I dream about sending important e-mails, and then in real life I am late in sending the actual e-mails because it feels like I have already done it.

But, with all of that chaos and running around like a chicken with my head cut off . .. here's a secret that all of my siblings will tell you - I really LOVE being in charge.  I think it's an oldest sibling kind of thing. . .but bossing people comes naturally :-) I used to plan elaborate school lessons, teach them to my siblings on our playroom chalkboard, and make them do their homework.  I would play church and plan homoly's with fruit juice and circles of bread, making them sit through the whole mass.  I remember forcing Elizabeth to plan every detail of her future - from her first-date outfit to the layout of her future house - that she OF COURSE was going to be sharing with me.

This is definitely the busiest I've ever been, and the most I've ever been in charge of.  But I accept and enjoy the challenge right now.  I have some really close and wonderful chicas here that I lean on for support, I jump on the opportunity to go out and laugh with the women, and of course I still make time to play with the kiddos because those moments of jump rope races and slobbery cheek kisses and chalk drawings are the things that hug my soul.  

A Violent Upswing

Disclaimer: If you are a person prone to worrying about me, don't keep reading this post.

Sometimes the ups and downs of life here are so intense it can feel like a bag of bricks comes out of nowhere and knocks the wind out of you.

After such a love-filled weekend Mother's Day weekend, the last 2 weeks have been full of tough news and soul aches.  The Monday following Mother's Day began with devastating news.  One of my little old language students lost her grandson to gang violence. She is the sweetest ol' thing, and comes up just past my waist.  Every time I see her I wrap her in a hug, and it's so hard to see someone I adore looking so broken. The same weekend, our head chef was extorted by the gangs and escaped in the middle of the night. After 30 years with UPAVIM, she uprooted and left.  The women were really shaken up by these events, and their fear was pretty palpable.  That same week, rival gangs were heating up for a war of some kind, and we were on lockdown for 2 days. By the end of our lockdown, the volunteers had all successfully driven each other crazy.

We have started hearing gunshots several times each night, and 3 people have been killed on our block in the last week.  The most horrible, heart wrenching thing I have ever heard in my life, is the sound of someone bemoaning the sudden and violent death of their loved one.  On one of our lockdown nights, when someone died just past our building, I heard a man crying for his brother for hours.  It was impossible to escape his crying - no matter how much noise we made on the roof, his grief was louder.  My heart hurt a lot that night.

My sanity here is living in the community.  The kids can be hard to teach, the volunteers can get exhausting, my health is always teetering between parasite and cold (this week I came down with STREP throat). . . but living in the community makes all the rest worth it.  I love walking through the streets and saying hi to all my friends.  I love stopping at my favorite corner tiendas to buy food and chat about life.  I love having a barrage of kids smother me with kisses and hugs and questions.  I love when the women invite me in for coffee and chisme.  I haven't been able to go home every night because of the violence, and I've been stuck up on the roof many times, sleeping on a floor or couch. When the violence takes away my ability to leave this building and go home to my family here - my sanity starts to leave me.  I already hate the gangs for the hurt they cause this beautiful community, but on those nights, I have a personal grudge against them and I start counting the days till I leave.  On those days, it's easy to forget what I love here.

Luckily the past few nights have been safer and I have been able to sleep in my own bed.  I spent a wonderful evening with one of my favorite families - sharing dinner, music, and tons of laughter. And meat!  I live with a bunch of vegetarians, and I am always excited at the opportunity to eat some carne.  Tonight was hamburgers. . . que delicioso!  And my favorite surprise of my whole 5 months living here. . . . this family got a washing machine and gave me the gift of doing my laundry!  I was geared up for 2 hours of handwashing, but Marisol (the mother) said "You are one of my best friends here," and then she took all my laundry straight upstairs.

For all you worriers. . . I am being safe.  I stay in when I need to and escape when I can.  And my sanity is restored and my soul gets filled up with love on nights like tonight. . . and I feel like I can keep at this for another week.

Happy Mother's Day

Feliz dia de las Madres!!

Mother's week here in Guatemala was a crazy, festive, tear, love-filled time.  The week leading up to Mother's day was mostly a party during school  kids running around the hallways, classes canceled to make newspaper baskets and paper plate teddy bears and cards.  Cheesy love songs and Bob Marley melodies floated through the air, and occasionally they were understandable.

Friday was a day of performances - cowboy dances, a Jerry Springer re-enactment (horrifying to us volunteers, a laughter filled riot for the community), a Snow White and the Seven Dwarves performance and a clown.  The funny thing about Mother's Day, is that the kids don't hang out with their mom's.  They come to perform, but then head straight back upstairs.  It was the funniest for me that the clown performed for 2 hours - just for the moms.

My kiddos were adorable, and of course - my favorite performance.  The 6th graders made everyone cry.  They pulled their mom's up and sang to them, and every one of them were balling and bursting with love for their mamas. . . . not a dry eye in the building for those 10 minutes.

My kiddos and their dance.


Singing You are my Sunshine

Some adorable dwarves

On Saturday, I took my house mom, Angela, and her family to the movie theater.  It was so much fun!  We saw Rio 2 - which was adorable.  And while Angela's 19 year old son was a little bored, her 7 year old nephew laughed so hard he was in tears.  It was Steven's first time to the cinema, and hearing his loud bursts of incontrollable laughter was my favorite part.

On Sunday, I went with Angela and her family to the cemetery to visit Angela's daughter.  Six years ago, Astryd was shot and killed by the gang, and every 2 weeks for the last 6 years, Angela has made the long trek to visit her.  I have heard so many stories about Astryd, her picture is the center piece in our living room, and I feel as though I know her. It was time for me to visit her.

The cemeteries here are much different - there are humongous above ground walls/tombs and each wall holds probably 300 people. Astryd's grave was at the top of this wall, and to give her flowers we had to climb a huge ladder.  I was prepared for a sad day.  But I can't describe the intense sadness I felt watching Angela climb the ladder with her 3 yellow roses.  I was overcome with so much emotion thinking about a mother losing her child, and seeing the love that Angela has for her - to climb that ladder twice a month to see her daughter.  When Angela came back down she gave me the longest hug, and as we were weeping on each other's shoulders, she told me "I knew today would be sad.  But it is also happy.  I lost one daughter, but God has given me another one."

So much love, I think sometimes my heart just might burst wide open.

Closing a chapter

This last week, as I was in Texas doing some things for my certification, I found this picture on a friend's facebook page

And it hit me like a brick to the stomach.  I found myself living in the wrong story.  Not the part of my story where I travel the world, and am teaching in Guatemala.  That part is definitely mine.  But I started thinking about the parts of my life that I was trying to force to be right, the parts that I found myself living for someone else.

In Texas this week, I found myself saying goodbye - to people, to things, to a life I have lived and fought for, and that is no longer mine.  It is so heartbreaking to close a chapter of your life that you have loved so much.
Between my soul aches I had at the beginning of the week for Guatemala, and the soul aches I ended with for Texas - my week-long break in the states has been much more emotional than expected.  My soul has definitely been tired and sad, but it is also hopeful.  I am looking forward to being more present in MY story.

I had a really lovely last 2 days in Texas.  My good friend Jessica scooped me up and I spent a day in my old stomping grounds - Seguin, Texas.  I got to see old friends, get some big hugs, and see the beautiful recital put on by Teatro De Artes, an organization I used to spend so much time in.  It warmed my heart to see the kids I used to know all grown up, up and stage and amazing.  My last day was the perfect balance of nostalgia and rest.  Jess and I went running, played cribbage, ate Thai food (which I have been craving for 4 months!), watched 2 disney pixar movies AND Karate Kid - I totally still have a crush on Ralph Maccio. Thank you Jess!!

Here's talented little Nathan making the crowd go wild!

When I saw an old friend, Tim, yesterday, I was explaining to him my out of body experience this week of feeling such intense soul aches for my home and family in Guatemala, and not feeling fully connected with being present here in Texas.  Tim told me about something a friend once told him - about life after working with indigenous cultures.  He said it can feel like you are split - your body is in one place, but your soul is still left behind.  It can feel disconnected for awhile before your soul catches up.

My soul is still back in Guatemala, and I fly back tomorrow to catch up with it.  Adios Tejas!  I will miss you mucho.  I'll visit sometime in the future, when I have my own story to share with you.

Soul Aches

In a whirl wind of quick decisions, I flew back to the states for a week.  Back at UPAVIM, I am becoming the new English Program Coordinator, and I need to stay through mid-July to facilitate new teacher trainings and transitions.  Y por eso, I had to come back for a week to get all my teacher certification testing done so I don't miss the boat on applying for teaching jobs next year.

Being back in the states, I've found that I'm out of rhythm here.  I feel out of place in this buzzing, fast, social world.  I know it's only been 4 months, and I know it takes time to re-acclimate.  But one day in, and I'm ready to head back to my street with the honking horns and fireworks and dog fights.  I already miss the cheek kisses, corn tortillas and kids begging me to play with them.  As a life-long nomad, I'm always searching for (and lacking at the same time) that sense of belonging.  I know that my time in Guatemala isn't forever.  But I fit there right now.  As crazy and intense and heartbreaking as life can be there, I also feel so loved.  And that brings a sense of belonging so loud that my heart wants to burst.

If you know me, you know that I am far too empathetic for my own good.  I deeply feel the emotions of others, and I sincerely hurt when others are hurting.  I think that it's up to me to fix everyone's problems.  And my soul is always aching to help everyone in the world.  This has gotten me into trouble with every job I've ever had, because I put so much of myself into helping others that I forget to leave some of myself for me. My friend Kelly once told me that my greatest strength and biggest fault are the same: that I care too much.  And she's right.  Being here in the states, my soul has been aching big time for my Guatemalan family.

Last night, I went to a friend's kick-off concert for his band's tour.  You know that scene in movies where the loudness of wherever the character is slowly drowns out, the camera pans around the person as they are looking around, feeling lost realizing they don't fit in. . . right before they either breakdown or leave?  That's what happened to me.  The screaming music that was blasting my ears slowly drowned out, and it was like I couldn't hear voices, but just saw all these people moving around me - drinking, dancing, flirting, arguing. . . .and I felt so out of place. I began to have a soul ache so huge that it turned into an anxiety attack and I had to leave.  Turns out, I have some hidden post-traumatic stress (or is it current traumatic stress if it's something ongoing?) from the violence of my neighborhood. People die a lot where I live, and the gang violence has increased in the last few weeks. There have been nightly gunshots, and my heart always hurts wondering who just lost someone they loved.  Every woman I meet continues to blow my mind with their stories of heartbreak.  My little Angel who can't come to school because he can't find shoes, my little Dulce who cries over terror of her mother beating her, my teaching partner who had to move in the middle of the night because the gang has put a target on her husband's head. . . .all of these things add up to some mega soul aching for me.As we were listening to that screaming music, I became overwhelmed by the thought that in my Guatemala home - someone at that same moment was screaming because the love of their life had been shot.

To you out there reading this, you might be thinking why in the hell would I be missing a place like that?  But, it's too hard to explain in words. It's the hugs and kisses and gratitude and laughter you'd have to feel to understand.  So just trust me when I say it's where I want to be.  And I know that I can't save or fix everyone.  And I know that me and my soul aches don't actually help anyone, they just keep me acutely aware of the world's pain. I will recover from last night, and will find ways to channel my soul aches - I always do. There is something so sobering about living where I have lived.  To hear and see how quickly life can be taken from you - it has made me feel deep in my bones the preciousness of life and the people in it.

Hey! You! You and your life are so precious! I hope you take a second right now to realize what an amazing gift of life you have, and take another second to tell someone precious to you that you love them.

A little bit a love and a lot bit of faith

It has been so wonderful spending this week leading up to Easter in my La Esperanza community.  The devotion this community has to their religion is beautiful and inspiring to me. While I was playing basketball with two of my favorite kiddos, they invited me to church Thursday night.  These two brothers are terrors during the day at school.  They rarely listen, cause havoc, leave class, and every day the teachers end with headaches from these two.  But outside of school?  They are respectful, playful, sweet caring and kind.  This will be the thing I will miss most when I teach back in the states.  If I struggle with a kiddo inside school here, I just go hang out with them in the community - playing soccer, eating cookies, swimming in the ocean - and it makes me love and appreciate my kids, and it makes my struggles with them more bearable in the classroom.  But back home, it's taboo to just walk up to a student's house and ask if they can come out and play.  

Mass Thursday night surrounded the theme of washing your neighbors feet.  The gesture of washing someone's feet is supposed to be an act of kindness, forgiveness, care and love.  When the Padre invited the congregation to wash someone's feet - little 5th grade Daniel took my hand and walked me up.  As he was washing my feet, I was touched and a little teary eyed over the tenderness of the gesture of this 10 year old boy.  

Yesterday I headed outside at sunrise to help build an alfombra (rug) with everyone.  On Good Friday, the church has a procession for the stations of the cross, and each community builds a beautiful alfombra for the procession to stop at and pray.  Ours was made out of colored sawdust - and it was super fun building together.  Later in the day, I joined the church processional, and was asked to carry the processional alter with 3 other women. 

The stations of the cross ended with  a captivating and rather gruesome crucifixion of Jesus.  The end was gory, but seemed like an appropriate portrayal for a community that lives with violence every day.  It was a great, faith and family filled few days, and I feel blessed that the community embraced me during this week of their biggest traditions. 

My buddies! Daniel on the left is the kiddo that washed my feet. 

Building the Alfombra!

Me carrying the processional alter