Remembering Guatemala - The van cautiously made its way down the winding roads. My fellow group members and I lay sprawled out in the back, overcome with a sticky heat, exhaustion, and lack of space for an abundance of arms, legs and feet. Yet as we finally pulled into the village, we pulled ourselves out of our somnolent slumber and opened our eyes to the place we had heard so much about...Tamahú. We pulled up next to the church, and it seemed as if the entire town was waiting there for our arrival. As we all piled out of the van, I suddenly felt shy. Kind of timid. Why had we been chosen to come here? Why were we, out of the billions of people born in the world, chosen to win the genetic lottery, thus being born in America? I definitely didn't figure it out then, and maybe it is something that neither I, nor any of us will ever be able to comprehend. Standing there in that churchyard, I'll never forget seeing a father and his baby daughter standing watching us. He was smiling and pointing in our direction. I think it made everyone feel a little relieved to know that everyone was grateful for our coming. Generosity and kindness was one of the many qualities we would discover in the people of Tamahú.

 

Although we had seen the pictures, our group was awestruck by the majestic and stately beauty of the village. If you woke up in the house the girls stayed in and walked right out onto the balcony, you could see the most gorgeous view of the mountains and rain forest. One night, some of us even decided to sleep out there. I remember it as the most peaceful sleep I've ever had. Even more of a welcome sight in the mornings were the villagers. They were all so friendly and hospitable. Our first weekend there we were able to get to interact with them a lot-by playing soccer at a local school, going to the market, or just going up and saying hello. Their generosity was incomparable, and something we often don't see here in the United States anymore. How can it be that people who have so little be so gracious, yet we who have so much are not?

 

When the time finally came to work on our houses, we were a crew that was ready to go! We divided up into three separate groups, aptly named Groups One, Two, and Three. Group One and Two's houses were in the mountains, while Group Three got started on tearing down a house just outside the center of the village. One interesting and eye-opening experience was seeing farmers use the "slash-and-burn" methods on the land. It's often taught in schools, but it's a different thing to see it practiced up close. It's a little sad knowing so much of Guatemala's beautiful landscape can be destroyed like that,

for the benefit of the wealthy land owners, while the workers are allotted only a tiny plot near their huts to grow their own food, which is not nearly enough to feed their families, especially during the off-harvest season. It was one of the true experiences on this trip that made you realize what a different life we have here in America. We don't worry about having basic things-things that are so necessary to live, like clean water, food, and shelter. We just know that it will always be there.

One of the other experiences I'll never forget in the house-building process was the group of kids that helped us. They were the ones to live in the house. One little boy in particular, he was probably about 6 years old, kept bringing cinderblocks and bags of cement down the mountain, and he did it while smiling the entire time. He was so proud that he was helping to build his house, and so grateful for our help that he wanted to aid us in whatever way he could. To think of him is such a refreshing and beautiful sight, and reminds me of a quote by R.H. Delaney. "Love builds bridges where there are none."

 

The week continued to fly by and on Thursday, Eileen dropped a bomb on us: We were to leave that night (there was a state-wide protest of the farmers and the roads would only be open that evening). The thought of leaving the place that had come to be almost a second home was a lot to bear. In the midst of packing and finding lost items, many of us walked around the village a last time in an attempt to say goodbye to the place that had been so wonderful to us. And when it came time to leave, there was no shortage of tears. I'll never forget when our host "mother"-the woman who rented one of the houses to Mir Pace-gave me a flower. I felt like she, like many of the villagers, had given us so much, and really acted as a "mother" type figure throughout the trip. Those were the moments when saying goodbye became incredibly difficult. Everyone wanted to stay just a little longer; leaving today would have been too soon. Many of the children were crowding around the van saying goodbye. It's so impossible to forget them and I don't think we ever will.

One of the most culturally shocking experiences for me was eating dinner the night I got back home. My dad said "I'll bet a lot of the people in Tamahú would be grateful for this meal right now." Suddenly, I was on the verge of tears. What he said was so true. It is then that you realize something very important. For the villagers of Tamahú, there will not be any jet plane whisking them to America. For the villagers of Tamahú, the opportunities we are so fortunate to have will probably never be the same for them. But the villagers of Tamahú also possess something more real and more complete than anything any of us have ever known: the true power of love and kindness.

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