When I first stepped onto the plane that
would take us down to Guatemala, I did not know what to expect. Of course I was
excited to have the opportunity to go to Guatemala, but I’ve heard all sorts of
stories about pickpockets (my mom was very apprehensive about the placement of
my wallet and passport within my backpack) and other disheartening things; none
of these tales helped to sooth my anxiety. But, the ticket had already been
paid for and there was no backing out this far into the process: my fate for
the next month was already set. I put my headphones on for the remainder of the
flight and next thing I knew, we had already landed.
As we exited the airport, we were confronted
by a peculiar figure… well, peculiar in comparison to the crowd around him. Of
course, the most obvious distinction between him and the rest of the crowd was the fact that
he was Caucasian while everyone else was Latino, but that wasn’t the only
indicator. He wore a cowboy hat and was a good six inches taller than everyone
else (we were all a good six inches taller than everyone else). We later
learned that he was a much more unusual man than his physical appearance made
him out to be. He is a veteran and had a prestigious position in the army; he
is a grandmaster of the freemasons; he was a prominent air traffic control man;
he had a huge influence in the jade trade of Guatemala; he lived several years
on a small boat off the Western Coast of Central America; he even claims to
have been proclaimed dead six times. Do I believe in all his tales? Though the
death claims seemed like a bit of a stretch to me, I do believe in all his
other tales and I’ve only mentioned a few of them. His name is John D. Mann and
he truly is an extraordinary and inspirational man. Did I mention he was to be
our host for the next month?
We were greeted by a family of four when we
arrived at Mr. Mann’s house in a small town called Ciudad Vieja. They were
servants he hired but he treated them as if they were family. The eldest is the
mother, Espy, though I believe that was only a nickname. Her children are Karla
(18), Mayra (16), and Bayron (14). They treated us all like family the moment
we stepped through those doors, and I am grateful to them all. I especially appreciate
the food and freshly brewed drinks they prepared each day. Mr. Mann also kept
a dog named Doby, which was a proper name for her: she looked just like the
house elf from Harry Potter (although
now I’m thinking it was just because she was a Doberman). Doby is a well-behaved dog, and cute, too; whenever I stopped scratching her behind her ears,
she would simply force her face into my hands, and of course I scratched her
some more. The house wasn’t bad either. It’s a sturdy two- story white building with
a large front yard and a wall to enclose it all: a mansion compared to some of
the scrap-metal shelters surrounding it. All in all, it was a very pleasant
abode.
The first day of teaching, I was slightly
nervous. As we sorted through flashcards and folders, I wondered to myself,
“How in the world am I going to teach these people?” I remember when I first began my piano
lessons back in the fifth grade: I went through these same flashcards
and other folders then and it all looked like a foreign language to me. Teaching
music would have been hard enough alone, but the language barrier between my
students and me just made it all the more difficult. I did take a couple of
Spanish classes, but I wasn’t at the top of my class; in fact, I was probably
at the lower end of it. My friend Jeremy was worse off than I was: he had taken
French classes and had no previous training in Spanish. However, he used the
similarity in grammatical structure between the two languages to his advantage
and he carried on with his teaching fairly well. Karthik, my other fellow volunteer,
was much more proficient than I. He devised various methods to help the
students remember the many things about music, including an original game to
keep the kids focused and interested. In addition, he knew how to play the
theme song from “Pink Panther,” which was a great crowd pleaser.
Mondays through Thursdays, Jeremy would
wake up at 6:30 a.m. while Karthik and I would set our alarms for 7:00 (though
more often than not, we had to rely on Jeremy to drag us out of bed). Espy and
her family would have an amazing breakfast ready for us at around 8:00. Mrs.
Hadfield and we three volunteers would depart for the church at around 8:50 and
arrive there at 9:00, though classes didn’t start until an hour after that. We taught
two one-hour classes until noon when we would head back to Mr. Mann’s house in
time for another excellent meal. We then made our way back to the church by
3:00 to teach three more classes. And then we would be done for the day.
The first day we rode in Mr. Mann’s car because we had many things to
transport. However, the remainder of the month, we would have to walk. The
beginning part of our route to the church was comprised of a dirt road
scattered with rocks that made it difficult to see where one was stepping. What
I failed to mention earlier was that there were many strays wandering around on
the streets, and they tend to leave behind many small “gifts.” They were quite
generous with them, too. My shoes were the only ones to be blessed with such
gifts throughout the trip. After that, my eyes barely left the dirt and
cobblestone roads.
The success of our instructing varied from
student to student. Some were very bright and picked things up quickly, while
others needed a bit more coaxing. One of Jeremy’s younger students, Rita, didn’t
even know her letters! After the first week with my students, I started to grow
attached to them; not anything special, just a typical student-teacher
relationship. I grew proud of the things my students would accomplish; however,
with the language barrier, I was unable to properly convey my appreciation for
their attention and diligence. I rewarded them with phrases such as excelente and muy bien, which probably got old and unrewarding after a while
since I used them at least thirty times per session. In the end, a majority of
them were able to complete the basic training book. By doing so, they received a
keyboard to practice on until next summer when Mrs. Hadfield will return with a
new set of volunteers. I wonder if my students will miss me because I sure will
miss them.
We were not given a break during the
weekends. As soon as we were finished with our working week, we were off to a tourist attraction. The first weekend, we visited Antigua, a city that
was within fifteen minutes of Ciudad Vieja by car. There we took a walking tour
through various points of interest, including a crumbling cathedral, a jade museum,
and a chocolate museum. It was a nice place to visit, but nowhere near as
interesting as the other two sites we visited.
The next weekend, we went to Lake Atitlan: a
beautiful lake wedged between many dormant volcanoes. All afternoon long, we
toured two of the twenty-eight villages sprinkled along the shore of the lake. It
seemed that almost every street vendor there was selling the same things: the
textiles all had the same pattern and the knick-knacks from store to store all
seemed to come from the same producer. Window shopping became old fast;
however, there was one small textiles shop that did catch our attention. There
were tablecloths hanging from a clothesline from wall to wall and a lady on the
front porch was in the middle of weaving another one. After Mrs. Hadfield made
a purchase of four of these intricate cloths, the lady offered to take us to
her house where they produced them; it was very interesting to see how they
were made, especially considering that not everyone gets the opportunity to see
it.
The weekend after that was our last major
excursion: Tikal. Tikal was located in the middle of a jungle though the tour
guide said it wasn’t always like that. After Tikal had been abandoned by the
Mayans, the jungle was able to creep in. Even with the humidity, lack of air
conditioning, and various insects that were as large as my palm, Tikal was a
fantastic excursion. While there, we learned many things about ancient Mayan
culture and saw many ancient pyramids they had built. We were able to climb to
the top of most of the pyramids; however, they only permitted the use of wooden
stairs to the top because of an incident involving a woman falling to her death
a few years earlier. In Yaxha, another site of ancient Mayan pyramids, we were
able to climb the pyramids on their original stone stairs. It was much easier to
climb up then it was to get back down. When ascending, you only focus on where
to place your foot next. However, when you reach the top, you realize just how high
the pyramid is and just how steep the stairs are. Karthik and I (Jeremy
wouldn’t climb the pyramid with us) had to crab-walk back down the stairs out
of fear. But it was all worth it. The view was remarkable from the top of the
pyramid. We could see over the top of the canopy and view a lake about a quarter-mile away.
Guatemala was an amazing trip and I don’t regret it one bit. For those
students who are prospective Guatemala-goers, I highly recommend it. This is a
once-in-a-lifetime opportunity you should not miss!
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