This April marked my second visit to Guatemala with Mir Pace. When I first signed up for the trip last year, I never expected to go twice. But the village of Tamahú is such a special place that I was slowly and inexorably drawn back.

 

It is the people of Guatemala that make the trip so worthwhile. Every day when we walked down the street from our temporary home, the same three little girls would run out of their house and hug us, spontaneously, overjoyed that we were simply there. I remember my discomfort with this adulation last year. We were there for humanitarian purposes, but I still felt this sense of guilt, this feeling that all this love for us was underserved. We weren't directly helping many of the people who greeted us so freely. During this trip, I reaffirmed that the work we were doing was valuable, and that the greatest gift I could provide was myself - meaning simply that human interaction has more power than anyone can ever imagine. Strangers caring for strangers creates a compelling bond. It is my memories of the kind and generous Guatemalan people that move me so much more than any other part of the experience.

One day on our lunch break up at the work site, some little boys hung around us. They spoke only an indigenous Mayan language, which made communication of anything other than our names difficult, yet we wanted to do something more with them. Someone had the idea of teaching them duck-duck-goose. We demonstrated the game and then managed to communicate that they should join in. Despite having no idea of the significance of the strange sounding words, they picked it up pretty fast. Come to think of it, "duck-duck-goose" is pretty nonsensical in terms of the game in English too. As Allie was chased by one of the little boys, loud laughter filled the air. A group of fifteen or so Guatemalans had arrived and were smiling and staring at the funny sight. They had never seen anything like it.

Another morning we visited a pre-school. When we arrived, every single one of them ran outside in their little red uniforms and gave each of us a hug and a kiss. They then proceeded to eagerly display their knowledge, shouting out chant after Spanish chant with movements to match. I was touched by their pride and enthusiasm.

 

On another day, we took the winding mountain road up to visit the family whose house Allie and I had worked on last year. To be there again, on that breathtakingly beautiful mountain path, was overwhelming. My anticipation mounted as we approached the house. I had never seen it completed, and then suddenly it was right in front of me, a solid, white, cinderblock structure with a concrete floor, roomy by Guatemalan standards. Off to the side stood their old house, a bamboo structure with a dirt floor, which is now used only for cooking so their new home can remain free of smoke.

 

I had taken pictures of the family last year, and now I was able to give these photos to the family. Although they spoke an indigenous Mayan language, their reaction to those pictures was something that transcends speech. They kept on looking at them and smiling, and one woman looked teary-eyed. It was heartening to also see how much healthier they had become. Last year the children had been covered in dirt, with bugs crawling in their hair. Now they seemed cleaner and stronger. I'm sure the house had played a part in the change.

The Mir Pace group worked on two main projects this year: a house and a water project. I participated in the water project. The goal was to dig a well of sorts, into which water would be piped from a source further up the mountain. From the well, water would disperse through more piping to twelve houses. To reach the site of the well involved a steep and beautiful climb up one of the amazingly tall mountains rising above Tamahú.

It was around a forty-minute hike to reach the site for us out-of-shape Americans. Guatemalans could probably make it up in half the time. They often traipsed easily by us, often with heavy packs full of goods strapped to their backs, as we stopped for breathers panting and dripping with sweat.

 

The first two days at the site consisted mostly of carrying bags of gravel from a deposit further up the mountain down to the site, to be made into concrete to shape the sides of the well. As in last year, the labor was physically demanding, but once again extremely satisfying.

 

On our final work day, we actually got a start on the piping, digging a trench up the mountain to the water source located about a kilometer further up the mountain. It was pretty slow going. Most of the time people had to hack through the jungle with machetes before others could come in with pickaxes to dig up the deeply entrenched roots. Then others would come in with shovels to carve out the pipeline. Before we left the work site, I asked one of the paid Guatemalan contractors who worked on the project when he expected to finish. He said fifteen days. If all is going according to plan, right about now the people of Nueva Esperanza (New Hope) should be drinking fresh, clean water. It will be the first time their water is clear instead of brown.

 

There is so much more that could be said about Guatemala. The hardest part about writing this article was limiting myself when all I want to do is pour out pages and pages full of rambling stories and reflections about the people and their lives. I will have to content myself for now with thinking about next year.

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