The End...Yet the Beginning

As my weeks waned in Xela, it became increasingly evident that my health was waning as well.  Therefore, after much discussion, it was decided that I would leave 10 days earlier than my originally planned departure date, April 17th, and rather on April 7th.  Now that I have been home, I feel that my health is slowly returning, but that is not what matters to me.

What matters is this experience; Guatemala, the Mayans, the children, Hogar Comunitario, the volcanoes, my friends, my new family, the expansion of my mind into unimaginable new places, and the opening of my heart unto a new world.  I am changed, never to be the woman I was before this journey, and I am wonderfully whole because of that change.

Gracias y como siempre, mucho amor.

...If you have enjoyed the blogging experience here, continue following me on my new blog: www.marybethobserves.blogspot.com

Hasta pronto!

Tears and Touch

For the final weeks of my journey in Xela, I work with teen girls at one of Xela's many orphanages.  This particular orphanage has 200 children at the moment.  I was originally planning on working with the infants and toddlers, but when I entered on my day of introduction and saw the faces of the teens, I felt immediately drawn to be by their sides, hear their stories, and support them however they need.  Here is just one example of an experience at the project one day...

...As in any room filled with young women, there are bubbling conversations constantly filling the room.  Giggling is common, as well as cat-fights among the nearly 25 girls who spend their mornings in their confined living space vying for a spot on one of the two couches.  The hum of the television in the background distracts many, but others have secret conversations, practice handshakes, or try out new hair-dos.
I typically circulate around the room spending time with the little groups, making jokes, tickling the younger girls, offering plenty of hugs, and lending a listening ear when needed.  On this particular circulation, I noticed one of the girls with whom I have become particularly close taking a nap on a lower bunk.  I was about to silently slip by her when I noticed her shoulders shaking...and then the faintest sound of a stifled sob.
Her story is one that she both shocked and honored me by sharing.  It is one of such horror, that I was amazed at her immediate trust in me and we have become quite close in my short time at the orphanage.
Death, abuse, and neglect have been a constant in her life for many years now.  I have sat with her before as tears have streamed down her face, but today was different.  She seemed utterly depleted, deflated, and at a loss.  I asked her if there was something in particular that was making her upset and she shook her head "no," so I said "is it just everything?", and her body shook violently as new waves of silent sobs wracked through her and she furiously nodded her head "yes."  At that moment, no words would suffice.  She needed what has so long been deprived of her: to feel safe and cared for.  So I held her to me in the gentlest way possible until her sobbing subsided.

So many of our world's children are not listened to, but also are not simply touched in safe, comforting, and secure ways.  Words are not always necessary because pain cannot always be verbally expressed.  I am learning to hold my tongue and look for the nonverbal needs of others, so that I can more fully understand the needs of humanity and the pain that we universally experience.

Adventure to Lago Atitlan

Lago Atitlan

Lago Atitlan is surrounded by three volcanoes, but its history I soon found out, connects these volcanoes in a woven story of Mayan culture, beauty, and wonder.

It's like a dream as you descend into the valley of Lago Atitlan.  The yellow school bus (brought from the US) that we call a "chicken-bus" leaned forward down the steep slopes of the valley dropping us further and further toward the coast of Atitlan as my spirits rose higher and higher...

My friend Sarah (a fellow volunteer) and I leave Xela on the bus for Panajachel at Lago Atitlan on the morning of Saturday, March 15th.  We stock up on packages of deliciously sweet bread and drinks for the 2.5 hour ride through the surrounding highlands with views of pueblos and ciudads, thick and green foliage, steep mountainsides, and volcanoes.  When we arrive in the bustling town of Panajachel, we walk to the docks, knowing that our destination of the town of San Pedro La Laguna is only reachable by una lancha (a small, covered power boat).  Little did we know, we are the final passengers to board this particular lancha and end up sitting on tiny ledges jutting out of the bow of the boat...and so our adventures begin.

...The wind whips through my hair and spray from the lake smacks into my face, eyes, and mouth as I wear a permanent smile.  The lancha picks up speed and Sarah and I, at the bow of the boat, are hoisted into the air almost as if we are flying across the lake.  My head snaps in every direction trying to take in the absolute wonder of the beauty surrounding me...it's as if an artist's vision has come to life looking at the steep mountainsides and volcanoes falling straight into the water's depths.  We hit choppy waters as the wind whips across the lake's surface and Sarah and I are thrown into the air, only to land with harsh thuds back on our tiny perches.  We laugh through the first of these many jolts, secretly hoping not to get thrown overboard.  I reach my hand down and feel the spray of water drench my hand.  Within about 20 minutes, we are slowing and approaching a town that crawls up a hillside, is filled with color, and has the backdrop of the looming volcano San Pedro.

On la lancha!

Pulling into San Pedro's dock

San Pedro La Laguna, we quickly learn as we jump off our bumpy lancha ride (wind-blasted, and slightly wobbly!) is a Mayan town with a large population of "hippies."  A walk up a steep cobblestone street leads us to the "main street" of the town and Sarah and I are struck by the many jewelry makers working their crafts on the streets, the vibrant colors of the Mayan outfits (I notice their differences to those of the Mayans in Xela), and we turn around to see the beauty of Lago Atitlan with a promise to each other that before we leave, we will swim in its waters.
After a check-in at our hostel, we go exploring through San Pedro.  We keep walking upwards and eventually find a giant Baptist church with spiraling stairs to an outlook over Atitlan.  Our breath is taken away.  From the top, we have a 360 degree view of San Pedro, the mountain known as Indian Nose (it looks like a Mayan chief's profile as if he were lying on his back), and the immense size of the lake.

Indian Nose Mountain (See the profile?)

We journey further and cover the whole town within about 30 minutes and wiggle our way back to the main street near our hostel.  Over delicious nachos and fresh avocado we decide that the next morning we will go horse-back riding, and after speaking with a guide, Sarah and I agree upon large horses on which we can gallop...and so the adventure continues.
Sunday morning at 8am, we meet our trail guide, Francisco, and three horses, Canela (Cinnamon) for Sarah, Chocolate for me, and Tequila for Francisco, and begin our journey.  We ride through the streets of San Pedro, then into the wilderness for 3 hours stopping at miradors (lookouts), a finca (coffee plantation, and a playa (beach) where Francisco gives me and Sarah each pieces of volcanic pumice rock.

Volcanic pumice stone on the shores of Atitlan

Sarah and me on Canela y Chocolate!

On our return we let our horses start into a trot, and then into full on gallops.  Sarah and I are grinning ear to ear as we first gallop down dirt paths, then into the streets of San Pedro, our guide laughing in awe behind us!  Several times we look at each other and kick Canela and Chocolate back up into full gear feeling the exhilaration of the roaring wind and the power of the massive animals.  When we finally return to our starting point, Sarah and I are dusty, sweaty, and pumped with adrenaline.  Now it is time to swim in Atitlan.
We return to our hostel, throw on our bathing suits, and walk down to several rocks at the water's edge (in our bare feet).  We find a sheer cliff of rock, and I ask a local rowing a nearby boat if it is safe to jump in...he responds "si!"  We strip down to our suits, psych ourselves up and suddenly we're in the air free-falling towards the lake when a surging splash of water engulfs us.  Sarah and I rise to the surface laughing and elated.  We climb out and go again; this time swimming out further to get a view of the lake.  Such beauty...
A quick shower, change of clothes, an extremely choppy boat ride and two buses later, we were back in Xela, exhausted, but marveling at our adventure.

The coolest thing I learned about Atitlan?  In 1996, archeologists found an ancient Mayan city on the bottom of the middle of the lake about 32 meters below the surface.  This seems to prove the geological theory that this area had once been a gargantuan volcano (with a Mayan city on it's mountainside) that collapsed in on itself.  Following this collapse, it is told, were 6-months of rain, filling the giant hole that had been created.  As every year passes, a new rainy season arrives, and Lago Atitlan rises.  So, the three surrounding volcanoes were actually once part of this enormous collapsed volcano?  Guatemala never ceases to make me wonder, mind, body, and soul.

A Mayan Wedding

When I first met 17-year old Marina, she impressed me as a mature and slightly rebellious Mayan seeping with genuine sweetness and smiles.  She would appear around lunch time at Hogar Comunitario in her jeans and t-shirt quite unlike the many other young women her age in the community of Llanos del Pinal who had begun wearing their Mayan traje (traditional garb) at around age 10.
Marina and I quickly became friends and she and her sister Brenda would sit with me as I waited for the bus in the afternoons after work and we would talk about all sorts of things, including Marina's 20-year old boyfriend Fluvio.  Soon, I would find out that my playful, spirited, and wonderfully innocent new friend was engaged to be married to Fluvio in less than a month.  I also found out that she was the daughter of Felipa's sister.
Marina or "Mari" as we both call ourselves joined the Hogar Comunitario crew when I took them on a day of relaxation to the volcanic hot springs.  It was on this day that it was decided by Felipa, that I was invited to the Mayan wedding ceremony.  Marina was thrilled, as was I!
As the wedding approached, Marina became noticeably more nervous and excited, as would any bride-to-be.  Nearly ever day we spoke about the wedding plans and she would get calls from Fluvio and speak in the sweetest of voices with a huge grin on her face to the delight of everyone in the room.  There also began talk of what I was to wear to the wedding...Mayan traje of course...which I just so happen NOT to own...and is rather expensive.  So, Felipa took it upon herself during work one day to take me into her room and dress me in one of her own outfits!  I went out into the play area and the children were laughing and giggling.  Of course, being 5'11'', the skirt wasn't exactly long enough, but Felipa made an executive decision that I would wear her traje to the wedding and she would lower the hem before the ceremony!  How exciting!!
----
The Day of the Wedding

Marina and Fluvio in front of El Calvario

On the morning of the wedding, I awoke at 4:45am, caught a bus to Hogar Comunitario, arrived there at 6:00am, was dressed in my traje by Felipa, and hopped on a bus back to Xela for the ceremony occurring one minute from my house at iglesia El Calvario!  I met my friend Frank (another volunteer, from Holland) whom I had invited to the wedding and I just caught the couple exiting the church.  Marina caught my eye a few minutes later as she was standing in a greeting line and ran over to hug me.  She was a vision in silver-threaded traje, her dark hair platted and pulled up into a white veil that flowed down her back.  She said "I thought you wouldn't come!!."  I gave her a huge hug and of course complimented her stunning beauty and then asked how she was doing.  Her only response being "I'm so nervous" before her new husband Fluvio was ushered over for photos.

With Marina and Fluvio at El Calvario

After the ceremony at El Calvario, a hired bus took the wedding-goers on the bumpy ride back out to Llanos del Pinal to Marina's family's home.  We followed a pine-needle covered path into a large pine-needle covered dirt-floored room in their home used for special occasions, and the true Mayan traditions began.
Marina and Fluvio knelt as they were blessed by their family and friends in front of an altar.  Then came Guatemala's version of tequila, "Quetzalteca," plate-fulls of banana-leaf wrapped tomales, Mayan traditional dancing, a presentation of gifts to the couple, and many cakes.

Felipa blessing Marina and Fluvio in front of the altar

My huge plate of tomales!

What an honor to be invited to such an intimate day in a culture that was completely foreign to me only several weeks before.  When observed with a keen eye, culture and all of its intricacies is infinitely stunning and that is clearly evident in Mayan culture.  I am humbled to have taken part in such a day of color, celebration, joy, blessings, and love.

The couple's first dance

The Pain of a Child

Yesterday, I experienced one of the hardest moments yet, and it was a rare, quiet, and unforgettable moment that will live with me forever.  Although I have changed the setting for my own reasons, the setting is not important to the depth of this story which is very real,  and that I will share in English.

After a few minutes with his head buried in his pulled-up knees, I approached a solitary little boy on a park bench.  I had been watching as he sat alone.  As someone who works with children on a daily basis, I decided to take the chance to speak with him.  So I sat near him and asked him if he was alright.  He simply shifted further away from me on the concrete bench.  We sat in silence.  After a bit, he looked up at me and I saw tears brimming in his sweet brown eyes.  I gave him a smile, told him my name, and asked him how old he was.  He responded with 5 fingers...wow...just 5-years-old...and seemingly so alone.  I asked if something was upsetting him, and he buried his head back into its hiding place with no response.  Again, we sat in silence.  Finally, I asked if something had happened at his house...and he shook his head "yes."  My heart dropped into my stomach.  I began to have a sinking feeling that there was something this little 5-year-old boy did not want to share with me; possibly something dark, secretive, and hurtful.

I turned towards him, and he shifted further away.  So, I asked the question that tickled the back of my mind and worried me the most: "are you hurt?"  He shook his head "no", but his next words stunned me.  He looked into my eyes and said "me duele mi corazon."..."My heart hurts." 

Suddenly, the boy of so few words shocked me with his most honest secret...he continued to look up at me with tears in his eyes and said that "I don't want to be around people, I just want to go somewhere else, far, far away, where no one will yell at me, and I can't get in trouble, and where I'm not a bad boy."

Echoing in my head "bad boy, bad boy, bad boy, niño malo, niño malo, niño malo."

My heart shattered for him.  At that moment, no matter the fact that I was twenty years older than he, I told him the following: "I feel the same way sometimes, and I cry too.  I just want to have wings like a bird so I can fly away to a place where everything is beautiful and happy and all of my problems are gone.  No one can yell at me, the sun shines every day, and my crying turns into smiles...and there is a lot of candy!"

He giggled.  The most beautiful sound I could have heard and as his sad face turned into a smile, a single tear broke free and rolled down his cheek.

A Life of Wonder and Imagination...Antigua Style

I’m beginning to believe that some of us have lost our senses of wonder.  As I have reached the one-month point in my journey in Guatemala, I find it fantastic that everyday I am still made to wonder by something or someone.  It isn’t necessarily that my breath is suddenly taken away, I grow teary-eyed, or I have to run and share the moment with another person; these moments just surprise me, and I do believe it is because I have only recently opened my eyes.

For me, any experience with relics, archeology, or any object of antiquity excites a sense of wonder in me like no other, yet it also tends to stimulate my imagination.  I recently traveled to Antigua, where I did not know what to expect, so I was joyously surprised throughout my entire experience...


...It is still early in Antigua as I begin my day of adventure.  I walk down the center of a cobblestone street to get the feel of the uneven stones below my feet, imagining all of the souls who have walked and worn smooth these stones beneath me.  Slowly, I veer to my left toward the crooked stone-slab sidewalk.  The wall beside me seems around 100 feet tall and though I don’t know its purpose, I choose to take a leap of imagination.  I simply close my eyes and block out the noise of the city, then slowly run my fingers over the crumbling brick and mortar wondering who molded this brick, whose hands laid each brick and layered it with mortar, then covered it with plaster and finally, when did this giant piece of architecture begin to crumble, becoming merely an eerie remnant of times past?

I was made to wonder.

Later, a friend and I stepped into what still stands of the original cathedral of Antigua.  The blue sky shines through missing domes hundreds of feet above us and archways sweep across the sky seeming like optical illusions.  I look up, and imagine those who worked to build the massive cathedral that was shattered by earthquakes and abandoned only 100 years after it’s construction.  The grandeur of such artistic talent, strength, detail, sculpture work, script work, tile work, masonry, etc., broken into rubble, left for those of us today to merely piece together in our minds.  We walk through what seems like every inch of the gargantuan property that is overgrown with vines and grass, and I hear the laughter of children on a field trip.  I am curious, on a market day hundreds of years ago, would there have been the same sounds of laughter as a mother and father visited the cathedral market, their children scurrying around their feet?  Would this grass be clipped short, be worn dirt paths, or stone walkways?  Were monks, priests, nuns, and other clergy about the cathedral practicing their duties?  These pieces of stone are not ruins; these are pieces of a story that will never fully be told...

Again, I was made to wonder.

So much wonder is around us.  Yes, I am fortunate enough to travel to such beautiful places while in Guatemala, but the location is not important, for that which we tend to miss is that which is right in front of our eyes; that which we can still run our fingers over and about which we can still pose questions.  Working with children every day, I am relearning to open my eyes to the wonder around me, and see how a spark of imagination creates an entire world of adventure.  However, let me clarify: it is NOT childish or whimsical to let your imagination soar.  Wonder and imagination are gifts that were given to the human mind, you simply must open your eyes.

Original Cathedral, Antigua, Guatemala

To Say Something is Difficult...

It is a challenge for me to blog about my own difficulties in Guatemala as I am surrounded here by the universally experienced pain and suffering of humanity, but for this post, I will share my own struggles over the last few weeks.

How can one really define "difficult" as it is quite subjective to each person's definition of the term.  For me, "difficult," is a woman in labor, a single mother who works grueling hours just to feed her children, women and men who have fought in battle, those who struggle with loss, emotional strife, depression, self-loathing, and my list goes on.  So, for me to describe my experience here and use the word "difficult" is quite something.

Volunteering in Xela is possibly the most difficult thing I have ever done.  Both emotionally and physically.

Emotionally: Mainly because of the pain of others.  For those who know me, I tend to take on the pain of the world and have for many years.  I don't often watch news programs for that exact reason.  Therefore, as I approach my 1-month point here, my heart has become heavy with all that I have seen and experienced.  This heaviness has turned to exhaustion, and sometimes a sobbing international phone call home to mom and dad. For me, the best way to describe this heaviness is in the eyes of those I have observed.

Much can be understood simply from looking into a person's eyes.  I am constantly in awe of the strength of the impoverished persons I encounter daily, yet, the sadness in their eyes keeps a secret of years of hurt and that hurt slips into the crack in my heart leaving it with more and more pain each day.  At work, my kids have many behavioral issues.  There are four adults working with the 31 children, ages 2-7, and I adore my project, yet can't help but see the need in the eyes of these children.  Their eyes tell a story of literal hunger, and also a hunger for attention, hugs, and someone to simply affirm them.  There are those persons whose smiles never meet their eyes when they greet you as they carry their goods to market, and you can only wonder why or when their smile stopped creasing the corners of their beautiful brown eyes.  Or, the young 16-year-old Mayan mother and wife with a baby on her back and a toddler at her side who climbs on the bus, eyes glazed with tears, and I can only wonder, and wonder, and wonder how I could possibly assist her, so I simply put my hand on her shoulder and she begins to sob.  No words were needed.

THIS is difficulty, and not my own, yet I am experiencing its heaviness in my own heart.  I am here to help, and yet I realize how tiny my impact is in the scheme of the world's issues.  I can only hope that by being here, and providing hugs, smiles, and a touch on a young Mayan woman's shoulder, I can provide a ripple effect that maybe, just maybe takes the hurt out of someone's day.

Physically:  I am a human toy.  Being 5'11...to kids, I am a jungle gym solely there for their enjoyment. 5 days a week for 7 hours straight I run, jump, hop, get trampled, punched, strangled, pinched, smacked, and even peed on!!  Haha, my days are exciting to say the least.  I also have a sprained ankle that is too swollen for my shoe!  However, physically, nothing compares to the difficulty of exhaustion.  I'm certainly pushing my body to its limits with this volunteer work, but for me, nothing has ever been more worth the difficulty.