A Day in the Life

At some points in this blog I would like to provide you, the blog-reader, the experience of actually walking in my shoes and seeing the sights I see.  Here I will take you through to highlights of leaving a city and entering rural Mayan territory!

It is 8:00am and I sit on the cold steps of El Calvario with a scarf around my nose and mouth as plumes of dust and smoke encompass my body and make breathing increasingly difficult.  Motorbikes, motorcycles, bicycles, cars, and mainly buses whizz by honking their horns hoping to get their next client from one of many just like me.

To stop a bus, I hold up my hand and ask if the bus is going to La Cuchilla del Pinal, Sector Doce.  I then find a seat on the old imported yellow school bus.  As I look around, I see many decals signifying the strong Catholicism of the bus owner, I hear the sounds of women chattering, children giggling, and the radio playing Celin Dion.
Surrounding me are colors.  Every bright color is incorporated into these Mayan womens' garments creating a stunning tapestry of art against their sun-browned, naturally bronzed skin.  These women are works of art and are speaking of how their day might go with their goods at the market.  Once off the bus, they wait for their goods to be dropped down from the top of the bus, then hoist the packages onto their heads and begin walking; using no hands to steady the goods on their heads.  What strength.
We have passed two markets and now there are only 4 people as opposed to 40 on the bus to La Cuchilla.  The ride out of Xela begins and my heart leaps as I catch my first glimpse of Volcano Santa Maria in the distance.  She churns with power, fire, and danger, and yet today she is a tranquil mountain of peace, calm, and glory in the morning sun.  As we continue, the streets are no longer pavement, but volcanic ash, remnants of the last explosion 100 years ago.
Bump, bump, bump, it is difficult to think on the bus in La Cuchilla due to major erosion of dirt/ash roads.  I see a sadness in the eyes of those I pass, yet so much joy in the eyes of children I see.  What hardens a Mayan throughout their lifespan?
I get off the bus to a dirt path.  I feel at home.  The volcanoes are to my left, I pull up my scarf, and begin walking.  Soon I see the tall white-washed building with its swept dirt yard, outdoor toilet, and giant rusting doors, and I know on the other side of those doors are children who need me.  I knock, the doors open, and 40 voices yell "Mary, Mary, Mary" in an almost chant-like fashion.

Being pulled here isn't coincidence.  I am needed here, and I too need their love and joy and I learn countless lessons from the children and the señoras every day.  There may just be some magic in that old volcano, seeping through its pores and into my heart.

Hogar Comunitario