Living Freely and Whole-heartedly in Guatemala by Chelsea Jaeger

I am delighted to share the following essay by Chelsea Jaeger, who studied with me in the spring 2010 semester in a Spirituality of Service class.

Sometimes there are experiences so wonderful and pure that you swear you’ll never forget a single detail of the perfection. We want to preserve these rare events in our minds to treasure within our hearts and share with the people around us who truly care. But a human mind is wont to forget even the most important things in our lives far faster than we would want. Still it startles and scares me at times when I forget one of the villager’s names or the new Spanish construction words I learned. It’s been a month since I was there, but with everything that’s happened and all the things I’ve done since then, it may as well have been years. Sometimes it feels infinitely far away; the people, places, emotions I so longed to hold close seem merely to be dreams. Other times the floodgates of my memory open and everything is real again. I can hear, see, smell, and taste as if I were still there. The memories are boiled down to their simplest and most pure recollections, unaffected by the pressures of American culture and by my own faulty memory. I smile when I experience this, lost in the recalled perfection of that week abroad. Maybe it wasn’t the typical way for a college freshman to spend her first spring break, but I will surely never regret traveling to Guatemala and giving of myself to the people so desperately in need. And while I gave of myself in my time, my talents, and my treasures, I received far more in return from my Guatemalan Sisters and Brothers in Christ than I ever could have imagined. But maybe I should start at the beginning.

I arrived in Guatemala on Saturday March 6, 2010 at about 9:00pm local time. Our flights had gone smoothly, but it was still hard to believe I was there. My group, Lutheran Campus Ministry, had been planning this trip since December, and even though I could feel and smell the tropical air, it was not real to me. We had done presentations about different aspects of Guatemalan society, had talked about preparing ourselves emotionally and mentally, and had raised all of the money. Even with all of that, I still had no idea what to expect. But there I was, in the middle of a foreign country, a million experiences waiting to be had.

We drove from the airport in Guatemala City to Antigua, where our group of 14 people would be staying in two host homes. The hour-long ride in the dark was filled with nervous excitement and broken Spanish. But we made it to Antigua and were dropped off at our respective houses. I was the intrepid translator for our household, and managed to communicate effectively with our Host Mama, Anabella, through my vocabulary and descriptive hand motions when all else failed. That first night we realized that we had no purified water to brush our teeth or drink in the morning; we asked Anabella where we could get some. She took us outside her house and outside the courtyard to the street. There she pointed to the tienda where we could make that purchase. Right next door we saw three soldiers armed with guns (big ones!) escorting adolescents into the building. Anabella explained that this was a juvenile detention center. We decided to wait until morning to buy the water.

Sunday was a day to allow ourselves to fully enjoy Guatemala without worrying about working or getting things done. We started out the morning by driving back to Guatemala City to participate in a worship service at the headquarters of la Iglesia Luterana de Agustana en Guatemala or ILAG. Besides sharing in worship and fellowship with wonderful people in Guatemala, we were able to learn more about the recent history and troubles of Guatemala City and the country in general. The pastors told us about the many violent gangs that were continuously roaming the streets, explaining the armed guard located outside the gate of the church. We heard about some of the stray bullets that had ended up in some of the ILAG churches located around the country and some more direct attacks against the church. Some of the jovenes were there on a scholarship, and they shared with us how it was helping their education and their future prospects. After we left la iglesia, we were able to immerse ourselves in the ancient history of Guatemala by visiting some beautiful Mayan ruins an hour and a half away. Originally we were disappointed because we had arrived 30 minutes after the park was closed for the day; but our driver explained the situation to the owner, and he let us in for a little bit. The ruins were beautiful and a lot of fun to climb on—though I had never expected to be exploring Mayan ruins in a dress and flip-flops! The owner letting us into the ruins despite the park being closed was one of many Guatemala gestures of hospitality we would see on our cultural voyage.

But our adventure had only begun. And the following week would mark a time of constant labor as we stretched ourselves out to our full potentials—physically, mentally, and emotionally. I made sure to get a good night’s sleep that Sunday night. On Monday we were introduced to San Mateo de Milpas Altas, the aldea in which we would be working in three separate work groups. Team Azul dove right in, making ourselves friendly with the foreman, Tomás, and his two assistants César and Pantoleón. There were five people from our group on my team, and we had a lot of fun and worked really well together. The father of the house was Jacinto, and he worked with us diligently and earnestly every day. We met him and his wife, María, on the first day, but it wasn’t until Wednesday that his three children—Selma, Eskarne, and Erickson—were home from school when we were there.

All three of our work groups were excited to build. ConstruCasa was the organization we worked through, and they assigned each to a different family. The floorplans of the $3500 homes were basically identical. We were creating three-room structures with a window in each room and two doors to the outside. The walls would be made of cinder blocks and the floors would be concrete. There was a smaller room attached on the outside that would be the bathroom with plumbing for a toilet and a shower. And the roof would be made of corrugated tin. Two groups, mine included, started with a house half-built; we were hoping to finish the job by the end of the week. The other group was starting the entire process, beginning with a foundation and working their ways skyward. The houses we built would be able to endure almost anything; they were earthquake-resistant, with both vertical and horizontal rebar support.

Monday was fantastic! We discovered the secrets of San Mateo, like the 1 Quetzal (8 Quetzals = 1 US Dollar) popsicles sold ice-cold at the tiendas and how to shoo the stray dogs that were a little too curious about our lunches for comfort. We got started on the building project right away. That first day, Tómas mostly told me what he wanted us to be doing, and then I would translate for the other women at my worksite. Two girls, Brooke and Kate, literally chipped holes in the U-blocks for the horizontal support all day long; their only breaks from the grueling task was lunch and the various 15-minute pausas scattered throughout the workday. The other three of us had more varied assignments. Sometimes we carried bricks to the inside of the three-room structure, forming an assembly line to speed up the process. Other times we handed the blocks (con agujero o sin agujero depending on whether it was part of the vertical support) to the workers on the precarious scaffolding. There was also the need to mix mortar (by hand!) to fill in between each of the cement blocks.

All three groups had an hour-long lunch break from noon until 1:00pm, so our group of 14 gringos marched back to the small plaza in the middle of the town to enjoy our lunch. Three meals each day were included in the cost of staying with a host family, so our mama, Anabella, packed us each a lunch in plastic containers. The group of eight people staying in the other house had a similar situation, although I personally felt that the food from our house tasted better. We ate hungrily and quickly, and then half of the group passed out from physical exhaustion on the cobblestone platform. Others of us re-applied sunscreen to our fair skin or just tried to cool off in the shade. By the time our break was over, we realized that between all 14 of us, we had quite a bit of food leftover. This became a further problem when we couldn’t find a trashcan in the near vicinity (in Guatemala they burn their trash). Pastor Rebecca had the great idea to bring our food back for our puerco. While I had previously mentioned the people who would live in the house we were building, I forgot to mention the animals that would inhabit the vicinity. There was a small menagerie at our house: two cows, a pig (our puerco!), a rooster, two turkeys—one more territorial than the next—a couple of mean dogs, and countless chickens running around with their broods following them. When we arrived at our house for the afternoon of work, we asked Jacinto if we could feed his pig our food scraps. He readily agreed, and we called over a couple of the neighborhood children to watch as we dumped all of it into his bowl. Now when I say pig, he was no porker. This was a 20 pound pink animal kept in a small four foot square wooden pen. But he enjoyed all of our food, with his tail wagging excitedly as he ate. When we checked on him after we had started our afternoon of work, he had cleaned his plate.

By the end of the day, we were all worn-out and exhausted. Our block chippers had hands that were incredibly sore from gripping in the same position all day. The rest of us were sore all-over, and I wasn’t looking forward to the protests of pain my body would have for me the next morning. But I had done it! I had made it through a day of physical labor in a hot sun, working for the benefit of others. And I had never felt so dirty in my entire life. That’s the main thing I remember about my evening; I felt disgusting, as if no amount scrubbing could take the dirt, cinder block particles, and mortar out of my hair and off of my skin. A shower—even the five-minute cold shower we were allowed to have—had never felt so good.

The work days progressed in a similar manner. We left Antigua by 8:00am every morning and came back a little after 5:00pm. But every day we were down there was completely unique in its experiences and its richness. The second day we began talking with the women and the children. Maria seemed to be one of the important matriarchs in the family and the community; there were always women and children around, pausing in the middle of their busy days for conversation. So we met a lot of the people in San Mateo. I loved that we were able to communicate with them; the women were very encouraging as we did our best with our limited and grammatically incorrect Spanish skills. But the children adored us. I busted out my box of goodies when I saw several children sitting on one of the stoops nearby. I sat down next to them and asked them if they wanted some stickers or paper animals. They smiled and nodded eagerly. They each selected a few stickers, putting them on their hands, faces, and shirts. And they loved the Valentine’s Day animals I had. It’s amazing what joy you can get from a Dollar Tree purchase, but these kids loved punching out the lions, tigers, and panda bears from the paper. And I felt so much joy in giving to these children. I knew that stickers and paper animals weren’t significant in the end. But to me, the smiles of those children were of unquestionable importance. And I gave from the depths of my Spanish-speaking soul, indulging one of the abuelas when she jokingly asked where her stickers were and finding more children on the street to give to.

Even after so short an acquaintance, by lunchtime the women of the village had opened their hearts—and their kitchens!—to us. When they told us about how they make tortillas every day to feed the family, we asked if we could watch or help them someday. They enthusiastically invited us to help them that day! Team Azul trooped into one of the community kitchen buildings for our noon lunch break and followed the example of one of the women (whose name I have—horribly!—forgotten, so I will call her Carla). She was already heating up the griddle, a circular iron slab that sat directly on top of a wood fire on a concrete work surface. When we came in, Carla pulled out the ground maiz and showed us what to do. All you need to do is get the dough a little wet, keep your fingers moist so the dough doesn’t stick, and roll a small amount into a sphere between your palms. You then slap the dough back and forth between first your palms and then your finger tips so it forms a perfect circle—at least that was the idea! We had countless tortillas on the dirt floor, plenty that were far too lumpy and ovular, and some that we simply threw back in the dough bowl to try again. We were all laughing, even Carla, who was also carrying a baby on her back in a sling as she cooked. If we ever made any passable tortillas, we passed them to her, and she put them onto the griddle with her bare hands. After they were ready, she would flip them, again with her bare hands. By the end of a half-hour, we had filled a basket with tortillas that were delicious, if not perfectly round. Carla pulled out a pan of the best black beans any of us had ever tasted to be eaten with the warm tortillas. We thanked her again and again; from her genuine smiles in return I knew she sensed that we were truly grateful to share in her culture. Eating homemade tortillas with not-from-the-can black beans gave me a true sense of belonging; I had never felt such community anywhere I had ever been.

On the third day we saw further insight into the domestic workings of the Guatemalan culture. Brooke—who spoke no Spanish, only Italian, prior to the trip—was creating phenomenal relationships with the women. She was communicating with them, and they loved her. One of the local mothers asked if Brooke would teach her 12 year-old son English the next morning. Brooke agreed, but she stopped the woman when the woman insisted that she would pay Brooke for teaching. Instead, Brooke suggested that if the women taught her, she would teach the son. For the next hour, Brooke became one with Guatemalan culture. She learned how to wear a baby sling on her back, with little Anthony enjoying the ride; I have never seem someone wear the sling so comfortably and with so much poise. While she was carrying around Anthony in this manner, she helped one of the women do laundry, learning about the proper way to wash, scrub, rinse, and dry clothing. Later, she sat with one of the abuelas and removed the dried kernels from the maiz that was hanging from the porch. This was what would later be ground to be used in tortillas. All through this, the rest of us were still working on the house, watching the final layers of brick be laid on top. And I realized that Brooke had the right idea about mission trips. While it is important to build the expected casas and complete the assigned tasks, an even more important aspect is to build relationships, share love, and grow with others. Brooke was able to do this even across the daunting and seemingly impermeable barriers of lingual and cultural differences. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful as Brooke opening her heart fully and completely to receive all that Guatemala could give.

It felt great to be ahead of schedule in our construction. The workers were impressed that we had mixed enough concrete to complete the entire floor by Wednesday afternoon; all we had left for Thursday and Friday was installing the roof and digging the trench to the street for the plumbing. It was exciting that this structure that had started as an orderly pile of bricks was now taking the shape of a house; more than that, I saw this as a future home for an incredibly loving and deserving family.

The morning of the fourth day, we were able to take a break by doing a standing-room-only, back-of-the-pick-up truck tour of San Mateo. It was a lot of fun, and sometimes a little scary, to be bumping up the hills and waving to all of the local people. I just remember hoping that the side rails and the bodies of the 14 people around me would keep me from flying out of the truck! We took a scenic route to the school run by Semillas de Esperanza y Amor, a local organization that gave children afternoon lessons and activities. The woman who ran the organization, Liz, was the woman who worked closely with ConstruCasa to choose which families would receive new homes. The children sang a song for us, the poignant words bringing me straight to tears. They sang in beautiful Spanish about how we were giving them hope and giving them futures and how they loved us. We then interacted with the children as they finished their lunches and started their playtime. The children were very impressed with my long-forgotten jump rope skills as two of the younger children twirled the rope for me. I took over the role of twirler and called out encouragement to each child, finding renewed pleasure in this simple childhood game.

At one point during Thursday, we had asked Stephan, the Swedish volunteer coordinator for ConstruCasa, how the plumbing worked. He said that there was a main sewage system that ran under the road for the whole community. But each person who used the plumbing needed to pay an initial installation fee of over $100 US dollars. We asked Stephan when our families would actually be able to use the toilets and showers we were providing with such a high price. He replied that because the fathers had lost two weeks’ worth of already low wages and due to the continuous need of buying food and necessities, it would take at least two months for each of them to save enough money. This was an injustice! We had worked so hard to help them have a completed home, and they would still be unable to use plumbing for at least two months! At that moment, we committed to raising enough money from our personal cash supply to provide for 2/3 of the cost for each family. Stephan was grateful and impressed by our generosity, but we felt as if it was the obvious and only decision to make.

Friday was an emotional day. Writing out the experiences of my week in a reflection paper like this makes everything seem very condensed and quick. But while we were there, every day felt like three days. In the course of that short week, we had developed some deep, lasting relationships with the people of San Mateo. And that day was our final day, our day to say goodbye to those we loved and wish them luck with their new homes and their new futures. But first we needed to finish cleaning up our worksite and beautifying the new house. Jacinto took care of moving some of the hanging plants from a tree to his new roof, and the children all helped us to gather the excess building materials in one area. We were all looking forward to the fiesta they were throwing in honor of all three families in San Mateo who were the proud owners of brand-new homes. It would be at Jacinto’s house, so the women were busy cooking tamales, making a juice drink, and doing final preparations. The party itself was wonderful. Everyone was crying from the deep emotions in the air. All three of the families were so grateful for the houses; the fathers could not get through their speeches of gratitude without choking up. And each of us was asked to share a story or memory about our time in San Mateo that would stay with us forever; so many of those were about the relationships we had formed, and they left us all teary-eyed. ConstruCasa presented each volunteer with a certificate with a picture of us working on the house, and then we were allowed to enjoy some truly phenomenal tamales. It was a dinner that tasted of some sadness, but mostly of hope and happiness for the future these families had in store.

The hardest part was saying goodbye to the families and the children. Jacinto had carved a special slingshot for me (wood carving was one of his hobbies)—he and I had really connected through Spanish conversation as we worked side-by-side. Maria gave us each a very strong hug and very few words because she was so close to tears of happiness. The children didn’t want to let us go. They would run up to one of us to give us a hug and a kiss and to be held in our arms. When we put them down, they would run straight for the next available set of arms. Lindsey, one of the girls on my team, had an especially hard time leaving the children. But by 5:00pm our ride to Antigua had arrived and it was time for our final farewells. All of us made it to the van, but many were already missing San Mateo. Waving for a final time, I was able to look back on the week in amazement of all the good we had done and all that we had received in return.

Our pastor and intern from Lutheran Campus Ministry had provided us with a guided reflection book that had a quote, a Bible verse, and a prompt for each day of our trip. I reflected on these in my notebook. One of the reflections I recall distinctly asked what I missed most about the United States. I had to think about that one for a long time. In the end, the only thing I could put down was “hot showers that actually leave you feeling clean.” I really didn’t miss anything while I was over there. I didn’t think about my family, my friends, or SLU. I had no notion of any domestic or international news. I reveled in the freedom of being away from a computer and all of the bonds of slavery it brings. While I was in Guatemala, it felt as if the rest of the world must be standing still. I couldn’t conceive of anything else going on while we were in that moment, helping others and living freely and whole-heartedly. But the world was still spinning, and plenty of things were still happening. The first time I called home after my trip from Guatemala, the Monday morning before my 8:00am class, I was told that my Grandpa had suffered a hemorrhagic stroke the previous Tuesday. The news took the wind out of me. I had come back on an all-around high from Guatemala, and suddenly there was a deep sadness and pain trying to pull me back down.

But even as my Grandpa may never fully recover from his stoke, I hope to never fully recover from Guatemala. It impacted my life in unforeseen and incredible ways. I have a new perspective on almost every aspect of my life; sometimes I forget it, but most of the time the little things remind me. I love having the small mementos from Guatemala surrounding me—pens that say “Antigua,” small bracelets, and pictures. When these physical reminders stimulate my memory, I am instantly and temporarily transported back to that beloved country. It was my first international experience, but after this one trip, I don’t think I will ever be able to get enough of the world.

I learned a lot from Guatemala. The people there are truly happy and contented; they are quick to smile, especially when you greet them with a cheery “¡Buenos dias!” in the morning. I never heard one complaint from them; they instead talked about todos los bendiciones del Díos. No matter how I feel at a particular moment in time, I really should have nothing to complain about ever; I hope I can remember that the next time I feel like my professors are being unreasonable. The biggest lesson I learned while there was how to live in the moment. This was a commitment I had made for myself before I embarked on this adventure. I dropped off all my American baggage as we boarded the plane for Miami, refusing to touch it until we touched back down in the United States. And it made the trip so much better. I really lived. I was 100 percent present for every conversation and personal interaction I had. And I didn’t try to multitask; I lived in the absolute present, with all of my focus directed on one action. This is a skill which I have found hard to translate back to my United States living. So often I’m accustomed to doing two or three things at the same time, maximizing productivity, but truly missing out on life. I need to recall the message I learned in Guatemala: live life in the moment and live it with all you’ve got. Only by applying this message to my everyday life can I truly remember Guatemala and all it taught me.