Every morning is a toss up whether I’m going to wake up to the loud, ringing bells of the Catholic church just a block away that seem to lack any tune or rhythm, or to the men who walk up and down the streets of Dueñas with their two goats in tow yelling, “leche de cabra” over and over again in a perfected sing-songy way. Waking up like this keeps me from ever forgetting that I’m in Guatemala. It’s impossible to wake up and, in a sleepy daze, momentarily believe that I’m still tucked in my bed back home in the States. Guatemala has a way of keeping you under her spell from the moment you wake up until the second you fall asleep to the sound of music playing from whatever household happens to be celebrating a birthday that night.
There’s a saying here in Guatemala that perfectly sums up my daily morning struggle to pull myself out of bed: “Me pegaron las chamaras.” The blankets grabbed me. After my sluggish morning routine, I head downstairs to join my host mother and little sister for a feast of a breakfast, usually composed of some combination of coffee, fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, frijoles licuados, pancakes, pan dulce, and cereal served in heated soy milk purchased especially for me. Here in Gaute, breakfast is the biggest meal and dinner the smallest. I suppose this makes sense, every meal proportional to the amount of day that lies ahead, but it has been a difficult thing for me to adjust to (I’m more accustomed to barely remembering to grab a granola bar on my hurried way to work and a three-course dinner). After inhaling my lukewarm cup of Nescafe instant-mix coffee, I’m semi-ready to start my day.
Most days I stay in San Miguel Dueñas for language and culture class. I share a classroom (the transformed kitchen of one of our host families) with two other girls, Gia and Erin, and our amazing profesor Rafael. Gia and Erin are entirely obsessed with Latin American culture and have spent the better part of their young adult lives working, studying, and traveling throughout Central and South America. We are a goofy bunch to say the least and our Spanish can struggle to keep up with the strange and eccentric topics we find ourselves discussing. Profe Rafa, thankfully, seems a bit goofy himself (he loves saying the word squirrel in English, “esquirrrrrel”) and endures our tangents with nothing but patience and good humor.
On Tuesdays, we wake up at the literal crack of dawn, and catch a camioneta, an old U.S. school bus converted into what is basically a party bus with funky paint jobs and loud music that Guatemalans use as their main form of public transportation. Camionetas are magical portals in which over a hundred Guatemalan travelers can disappear into and then reemerge from once they’ve reached their destination. People sit three to a seat and then create a seat out of thin air by balancing on the hips on those seated on either side of the aisle. Sardines in a can. After the camioneta drops us in Antigua, we reunite with the rest of our 14-person bak’tun in the Parque Central where we all take another bus ride to the Peace Corps offices in Santa Lucia Milpas Altas. There we buckle in for an 8am to 4:30pm day of various training sessions punctuated by coffee breaks, which we all use to scramble onto the temperamental Wi-Fi.
After a long day of classes sometimes Gia, Erin, and I muster up the energy to go on a run. Sometimes. Our runs are a great source of entertainment for the community- both for the giggly children who like to chase us and the catcalling men who are too lazy to move anything but their pursed lips. Other days I go straight home after class and join my host brother and sisters at the kitchen table for homework. They too are incredibly patient with me as I bug them relentlessly for help with my language class assignments. Dinner almost every night without fail consists of frijoles licuados served with salsa picante, cream cheese, and pan frances. Afterwards, I gather my shower things as if I were in camp or college again and head downstairs for my increasingly colder and shorter showers. I’m not sure if we have a cockroach problem or a cockroach with a problem, but I swear that every time I enter the shower this one pervy roach comes out of nowhere and watches me bathe, forcing me into the corner farthest from him as possible for the entirety of my 3 minute shower. Clean and sleepy from a long day filled with carbohydrates, Spanish, classes, and bugs, I tuck myself into bed and fall asleep to the words of my Barbara Kingslover novel and the rumbles of the nearby active Volcan del Fuego. Tomorrow waits another full day of unimagined growth.
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