It is 5:53 in the morning. I am sitting in bed under a mountain of blankets. I’m wearing three shirts, long underwear, and wool socks. It is cozy. I want to go make my coffee, but I’m afraid the harsh kitchen light will wake the children, so I’ll wait a little. The kids need their sleep.

We traveled out to our house on Wednesday afternoon. Yesterday was our first day of work. Today is Sunday. We should be going to church, but instead we are skipping. We need a day off. I am going to make pancakes, and then we’re going to head into the neighboring city in search of some hard to find items, like floor mats.

We are living about 5 hours north of Guatemala City in the department of Alta Verapaz. The capital of Alta Verapaz is Cobán, a fairly large city with a McDonalds and Walmart. We live in Carchá, another fairly large city-town, about fifteen minutes from Cobán. Bezaleel is about 10-20 minutes from our house, out towards Chamelco, another town that we have yet to visit. The name of our neighborhood where we are living is Chajsaquil (Chak-sa-keel).

The transition has been very hard on our younger daughter. The older kids are mostly going with the flow, and the youngest is acting out by having superhuman amounts of energy, but our younger daughter is the one who is struggling the most, at least for now. You know how when you’re maxed out with stress and frustration and then you drop a plate on the floor, it breaks, and you burst into tears because you just can’t take it any more? That’s how she is feeling. She has no buffer for frustration, and let me tell you, there is certainly a lot to be frustrated about!

It wasn’t until we got here that I realized that my children have never been uncomfortable. They have never been away from the support of friends and family. They have never moved to a new town. They have never ridden in taxis with bullet holes in the windows or ridden buses while standing up. They have never seen mountainsides covered in steaming trash. They have never seen legless beggars. They have never not understood the dominant language. They have never had house help. They have never been locked into a house that they can’t see out of.

The bickering level are through the roof. They are loud. They scream when they are mad or hurt. Because we have no privacy—the front half of the house is against the road and the back half (the house is two long rows of rooms with one central hall) is joined to the neighbor’s house and a construction site—all their loudness makes me and my husband tense up and stress out.

A couple nights ago when my husband was out running errands, I completely lost it. The kids were fighting and interrupting and running in circles, and I broke down and cried. Then I called a meeting. We sat in the girls’ room and I explained how hard this is for me. I explained that I didn’t like it that we weren’t out in the country like I had hoped. I said I didn’t like it that they had no place to play. I told them that when we first went to Nicaragua, I hated the place. But over time, I grew to appreciate it, even love it in some cases.

My younger daughter sobbed, begging and pleading to go home…and for me to buy her an American doll. My younger son started sobbing, too, because he doesn’t want to have to leave Wilmer when we go back to the States. We talked about ways we can make the house more cozy (we pretend we are the Boxcar children).

What helps, I said, is figuring out one or two things that we can do when we’re feeling really bad. For me, it’s lighting some candles or stringing up some twinkle lights. Maybe, I suggested to the kids, for you it’s alone time? Maybe it’s having a snack? Maybe it’s writing an email to a friend? I promised them that we would make the house cozy, but it will take time. Everything will take time.

Our Situation: Pros and Cons

Con: There is no yard/place to play outside.
Pro: There are many little rooms in this house, so everybody can have some alone time.

Con: The house is a concrete with tile floors. It echoes something fierce.
Pro: As we get furniture, the hollow, tomb-like feeling will lessen dramatically.

Con: We have almost no furniture. Let me clarify: we have beds (comfy ones), two bed stands, a table, six chairs, a sink, a stove, a small refrigerator, a hutch, a desk, a dresser, a book shelf, and one four-legged stool.
Pro: We have money to buy furniture. The stove is large—six burners!—but…

Con: It delivers a wallop of an electric shock when using the ignitor, but…
Pro: It lights easily with matches.

Con: Our house has no natural light. The windows in the back of the house open directly into the neighbor’s house (and you can see through the cracks), so we are covering them up with curtains. The windows in the front of the house are made of opaque glass. We aren’t supposed to keep the front doors open (the best source of natural light) because of security issues.
Pro: There are a few translucent sheets of roofing so some light filters through. Also, you can prop open a few of the opaque pieces of glass so you can see out as far as the road.

Important Pro: A bunch of people worked long hours to fix up our house for us. At the outset, there wasn’t even a sink in the kitchen—we would’ve had to walk out the front door and around the side of the house to the pila (concrete sink and water holder) for our water. We are extremely grateful for all they did to improve this place. And for all the cons, I actually really like the house. It’s the lack of outdoor space, privacy, and natural light that bothers me, but these are more location and situation than actual living space.

Con: We haven’t seen the sun since we got to Carchá.
Pro: They say it will come out sooner or later.
Con: I don’t believe them.

Con: The roof leaks and water runs down the walls and puddles on the floor and there is lots of mold which means that my husband is having trouble with allergies and asthma. The youngest is having lots of stuffiness, too.
Pro: Laying a rag on the floor where the water runs in helps to absorb a lot of the wetness and minimize the slippery floors.

Con: Our washing machine doesn’t work and the clothes take days to dry so they mold in the process. Also, we have a week’s worth of very dirty laundry and we’re running out of underwear.
Pro: There is another North American couple in town and they gave us the key to their house and said we can use their washer and dryer.

Con: They are in Honduras now and we don’t know their address.
Pro: I have their cell number.

Con: We only have internet access in one room of the house—the one that we’re using to store our mountain of dirty laundry and that has a river of water running through it.
Pro: At least we have internet!

Con: There are cockroaches.
Pro: There isn’t one.
Pro Take Two: At least there aren’t many cockroaches.

Con: It is freezing cold. In the morning you can see your breath! And there is no, I repeat, NO, heat.
Pro: Yesterday we bought a queen-sized comforter for our bed and for the first time I was warm at night.

Con: There are so many basic items we don’t have.
Pro: I am deeply grateful for every single item we brought from the States.

Con: We feel isolated, lost, and disoriented.
Pro: Wilmer! He comes in during the day to help us run errands, play with the kids, take us to the school, etc.
Pro: Luvia! She is our house help and I adore her. She comes at 8 in the morning, about three times a week, and gets right to work washing dishes, scrubbing clothes (that don’t dry), mopping floors, washing the bathroom. She takes me to the market. She links arms with my daughter when they are walking down the street. She takes time to teach the kids Spanish. She braids the girls’ hair. She gives me hugs and makes me coffee.
Pro: other North Americans! There is one couple and one single guy, all of which work through Eastern Mennonite Missions. They know a lot more than we do and are very willing to help out and show us around.
Pro: all your sweet comments and emails! We savor them all. Thank you.

Yesterday was in-country orientation.

My husband and I met with one of the country reps (the other one is out in our town, getting our work and housing situation straightened out) while the children went to the zoo with two absolutely amazing childcare workers.

Julie is a university student and phys ed teacher, and Wilmer is a K’ekchi’ who has come into the city to watch the kids and accompany us out to our town. Julie doesn’t speak English at all, and Wilmer speaks some English and loves to joke and tease.

I warned them that the kids were buggy. They’ve been strapped in and locked up for the last two days and without a normal schedule for the last couple weeks. It’s been driving the younger two absolutely bonkers to be stuck in a walled and gated house with no yard. I told Wilmer and Julie that they had a lot of energy to burn…and would there be any places they could run around for awhile? They said yes.

I needn’t have worried. They ran those kids ragged. After the zoo and lunch at a pizza place (the littlest is stymied by the fact that there is no pepperoni here), they brought them back to the MCC offices where we were having our orientation, and for the next couple hours, they played games that involved constant running. It was a beautiful sight to behold.

In the evening we headed over to the Mennonite Seminary (Semilla)/guesthouse/language learning program (CASAS)—i.e. The Garden of Eden. Trimmed lawns, flowers everywhere, coffee bushes, sprawling flowering vines—after our (only) few hours living in the concrete, locked-up, crime-ridden city, it was pure paradise. We had supper with our Virginian neighbors (who are here for several months leading and EMU cross cultural), and they graciously accommodated our exhausted, grumpy, and (still! after all that running!) bouncing-off-the-walls children.

Today we have a few more hours of orientation before we jump on the Monja Blanca (i.e. “the white nun,” the name of a bus line) and head up to Alta Verapaz and our new home.

So. That’s what’s been going on. Now for the deeper stuff.

We knew that Guatemala is considered dangerous and has huge security issues, so I was prepared mentally. But being here and actually seeing all the armed guards is unnerving. They say that there are SIX private guards for each policeman. This means that stores have men standing guard. This means that delivery trucks travel with armed guards. This means that some houses have their own round-the-clock guards. This means that entire streets are gated off, with a guard at the gate.

The last part, gated streets, is new to me. When I was here thirteen years ago, all houses were walled (with barbed wire and broken glass on top) and locked. There were guards, too. But where the gated streets were only for the wealthier areas, now they’re everywhere.

It’s a challenge to keep myself emotionally grounded with all these guns and gates. I vacillate between flashes of Oh-My-Word panic and pretending I’m invincible. I hope the stress lessens, but from what I hear from others, living with these security issues is always a bit stressful.

The younger two children, however, have absolutely no fear. (Questions of the day: how do you teach children to be afraid/cautious without making them scared?) At CASAS, I let
them run up and down the street (it was gated) and before I knew it, my
younger daughter was the whole way at the other end chatting with the
guard. She reported that he spoke a little English and was very
friendly.

Hasta luego…

Yesterday we drove from upstate NY to DC. Mapquest said it was supposed to be a five and a half hour drive, but it lasted over eight hours, thanks to fog, inept map-reading (or map note-taking) skills, and a confusingly built road. When we pulled into our Super Eight hotel, it was after nine. The youngest one walked through the lobby door and promptly collapsed on the floor, fast asleep.

We woke up at 2:30, drug the children from their beds and headed to the airport. Everything, the whole day, really, went as smooth as could be. Sure, my older son had a little battle with his chocolate milk (and ended up wearing some of it) and my younger son’s backpack ripped (a little) and my younger daughter came fairly close to having a panic attack, but we did our deep breathing and soldiered on.

Despite her extreme anxiety, at the point of departure my youngest daughter was nearly shouting with excitement. She didn’t even seem to notice when the plane got tossed around for a bit. The sun came up and the kids ate their bagels and drank their juice and ate the candy and gum their cousin had packed up for them.

For the second flight, our seats were spread out all over the plane. My husband talked to the people at the desk and made arrangements so that we could each sit with one of the younger children. We gave the older kids their boarding passes and told them they’d have to sit by themselves. (And then a kind gentleman swapped seats with my daughter so she wouldn’t have to sit between strangers, bless his heart.)

I sat with my youngest. He talked the entire time. About the wings, about crash landings, about soda, about his seat, about his candy, about Guatemala—it was intense. He’d alternate between studiously peering out the window and then suddenly panicking at the height and slamming the window blind shut. “It freaks me out, Mom!” he’d squeal, burrowing his head into my arm and squeezing his eyes tight. 

And then we were flying over Guatemala’s distinctive, patchwork mountains. My son was enthralled. “There are gardens down there!” and, “It’s like a pattern!”

We whipped through customs (once we filled out all the paper work)—they didn’t even check our bags—and then we were outside in the warm air, greeting our country reps, getting (mildly) harangued by vendors (my younger daughter was smitten with the constant opportunity to buy, buy, buy, oh dear) and piling into the van.

We ended up at a guest house. The hospitable owners—one speaks English but the others don’t—fixed us a fabulous lunch of soup, tacos, rice, and fresh papaya and then worried when some of the children didn’t eat too well.

We crashed on our beds for a couple hours (some slept harder than others), and then some of the kids and I went on a little walk around the block (and through the grocery store). We had a brief meeting with one of our reps and a future non-English speaking childcare helper (for these next couple days when we’re in the city), and now it’s almost time for supper.

Right now, my older son is playing chess with a Guatemalan boy. Neither speaks the other’s language and both seem happy as larks.

We’re here! Can you believe it? WE ARE IN GUATEMALA!!!