A Day of Sheer Culture Shock

              It was the second day I promised my mother I would skype with her, something I had anticipated for quite some time. The electricity was completely out in the city the day prior (yet no one seemed to know why) so I did not get to talk to her. And today was the first day of introduction to my students in Momostenango (Momos), a town 1 ½ hours away from my home in Quetzaltenango (Xela). The director of the school came all the way to Xela to escort Pedro and I to Momos. Being the first volunteer to teach at their school, I had no idea how technical this route would be to make teaching English possible. The three of us took off walking toward our bus stop. We covered our faces as best we could as poisonous fumes from the traffic sprang toward us. The first bus finally approached after 25 minutes of waiting by the side of the road. The three of us pushed our way onto the bus and tried to cram ourselves into the already overstocked bus. We stood until we reached San Francisco el Alto, where we walked up a tall hill to find our next bus. That bus decided to wait another 15 or so minutes to leave, the driver casually smoking his cigarette outside. This time we took a comfortable seat.  I then watched an ignorant man throw his trash out of the window in front of me (something that is illegal where I come from). I’m quite passionate about taking care of the Earth, but being where I am, I have learned to be accustomed to this appalling behavior in Latin America.

As we climbed the mountainous roads I saw the trees come to life, a forest of some sort, something I had not quite seen before in Guatemala. The climate got cooler and I put on my jacket for warmth. By the time we reached Momos it was obvious the school was a far distance away so we decided to take a tuk-tuk, which is a small taxi-like automobile. I had lost track of time by then but I suspect we were on the road for a total of 2 hours before reaching the school on top of the hill. My stomach was already grossly hurting from the fumes, something I had not experienced since my time in Guayaquil, Ecuador.

The terribly disheveled school overlooked Momos, the words “Instituto K’amawanik” painted on the front. The director lead us up the stairs leading to the first classroom were twelve students sat making what looked like Chinese origami out of small pieces of paper. They stared at me...probably wondering who this outsider was. Yet, they were friendly, some trying very hard to say “hello” and giggling among themselves at their attempts to communicate in English. The director introduced us and she thanked me heavily in Spanish for coming to the school. A man standing in the back of the room said that it was “a gift” to the students and the school to have me come and teach them English, something they felt was very much needed in their country and for their youth. I explained a little of my background, told them about the donated money my loved ones back home had raised for them as well as my hopes for them to learn a lot during our time together. I then passed out the notebooks and pens I had bought earlier that day for them to each have. One student asked me to sing a song so I sang the alphabet…the first time by myself, the second and third time together. It became quite clear that their English was very limited and that basic vocabulary was needed.

We left the school with the promise that I would return the following day, alone, to start teaching them. They thanked me, some in Spanish and some in English. The director escorted us to where a school supply store was located and asked me to wait outside while they negotiated prices for two blackboards. If the cashier saw a “gringo”, the price would go up for the blackboards. From what was described to me it sounds like we received a decent price for them. And we are fortunate not to have to find transportation to take the boards from Xela to Momos, something that would have deeply cut into the donation funding. I plan to buy the blackboards tomorrow and deliver them to the school.

Pedro and I headed back toward the buses and onward to Xela (I paid for the majority of bus-fairs for everyone both ways, something that made me feel like I had the words “open bank” across my gringo forehead). The bus rides back were not as torturous, but non-the-less my stomach was in pain and my body did not feel right after inhaling all the fumes for the past few hours. By that time, I eagerly awaited to get home because it was already two hours past the time I expected to skype with my Mom. I got to my house and tried to get my little brother to find the router so I could get a wifi connection. He asked permission from his mother while I ran upstairs to grab my computer. I had a feeling that he was scolded for my impatience. I felt bad after sitting downstairs with the family and saw the router was nowhere to be seen. I looked at my little brother, he looked at his mom who was cooking in the kitchen and I knew I had overstepped my boundaries. If only they understood how important it was for me to stay in contact with my family because it is what keeps me sane during these times of stress. I grabbed my computer and headed toward the school where I knew a wifi connection awaited me. I ran up to the balcony so I could have some privacy, looked at skype and tried to call my mom’s phone – no answer. No one else was online. I sat there and cried because I felt so alone and wondering how on Earth I would find my strength to go back to Momos the next afternoon, something I could already see was going to be a chore rather than a happy experience. I, of course, want to be the best teacher I can and help my students, but the exhausting trip, health concerns, human ignorance and sheer alienation keeps me from feeling enjoyment.

I walked back toward my house and stopped at the nearest store to seek out chocolate, something that is necessary in times of culture shock. I did not see anyone behind the register so I peered down at the rows of cookies and candies but could not find the chocolate that I really liked. I thought to myself, “what another slap in the face..all I want is a damn piece of chocolate to calm my nerves”. I stood up and saw young woman, beautiful as can be, seated behind the glass-case of goodness. I quickly asked if she had any chocolate and she reached her hand inside the glass, fumbled through the rows and found the bite-size Granada chocolates that I learned to love (they remind me of Crunch and Hershey Bars back home). I said “me gustaria dos, por favor” and handed her my money. And then the most interesting thing happened to me. The girl across the counter asked “como te llama?” (what is your name?). I was so shocked by her question because it’s rare for a woman to openly communicate with another woman in Latin America (unless of course they are being introduced). Men have no trouble talking to women, but a woman to another woman is a unique story (I think It might be a territorial thing, but not positive). I looked at her, held back my tears and said “mi llama es Sarah, y tu?”….”Gabriella”…”Mucho gusto, Gabriella”. I was so taken aback by her friendliness and her smile (which lit up the room) that I didn’t know what else to say except “gracias” and I took off toward home.

Once I got to my room it dawned on me that I felt a sense of comfort for the first time all day. It was like this girl knew I was hurting inside (or maybe she was just curious of whom this foreigner was in her shop). Either way, Gabriella gave me hope for my time here. She gave me back my strength to proceed that I felt I had lost. It just goes to show that even the kindest, most simplistic gestures toward another human being can turn their day around.  

Thank you, Gabriella.  I hope we can be friends.