This is Mama Gladys. I´ve been challenged, doubted, damn near insulted after I called her the sweetest woman in the world. I´ve weathered that storm, stood by my guns, and still hold firmly that this woman could make the Tin Man´s heart melt (Chiasson).
She´s unbelievable. After spending the first two nights of training in a hotel in San Vicente we were shipped to our host families around the district. I was so air headed that I didn´t even think to be nervous until after we drove the 45 minutes, got off the bus, walked all the way through Molineros, and walked up to the first house where Tyler was to be living. When I saw his family emerge from their house, all 3 million of them, I damn near swallowed my whole elbow in an attempt to relieve the discomfort I felt. ¨Hay-zeus Kreestow, I can´t speak Spanish,¨ I realized. Looking around I saw absolutely no way out; no bathrooms, no cell phone to pretend to have a call on, and no taxis to manejar me back to Fitchburg, MA. I was so nervous and inept at Spanish that I couldn´t say even a word. Imagine that, though...Greg Cormier, yours truly, full of more hot air than your local brothel, once accused of actually talking a doorknob off a door...I couldn´t speak. Listen. When I say I couldn´t speak, I mean it. There were 36 of us new volunteers that arrived in the beginning of February from all around the United States. When I arrived and took my placement test I tested so poorly that by the second week the upper management had pulled me in to explain that they were so concerned with my Spanish level that if I had any problems in my host community I could tell them and they could work it out because they were afraid I couldn´t do it myself .
(Like what? Having a hard time explaining to someone that you don´t want to eat crema? All you gotta do it wag your finger at them and pretend to vomit, right? Doesn´t that essentially get the point across without language? Who needs Spanish anyway?)
Then we stepped up to the next house, my house, and a woman no taller than a Chia Pet with the face of a really tan angel walked up to us with a smile that made me blush. Instantaneously this beautiful woman put me at ease with her infectious laugh; both eyes closed, using her left hand to pretend to hold herself up as she doubles over in laughter and her right to grasp at what I assume to be a splitting gut. ¨Ayeee, Gregorio!¨ became her usual response to my absurd stories and awful miscommunications in Spanish. All was right in the world and I knew that she would be my anchor for the next two months.
This is a photo of Don Orlando, my host father, with his granddaughter, Katia. She is 8 he is not. She has hair, he is without. He is the former Mayor of Verapaz. Ya, you´re telling me, I couldn´t effin believe it either. He´s a funny guy in the same way that trying to share a house with a total stranger is funny. A total stranger with a really, really, really strong accent to a language you do not know. That´s what kind of funny he is. For the first month and a half I understood less than 6% of the words that fought valiently through his dentures to escape his mouth.
He was my gauge of how far along Spanish is coming. Upon returning to Molineros for Capacitacción dos I had hours of fluid conversation with the campesino. He really opened up a lot to me once he realized I could understand him.
He really is a great guy, though. He is 16 years sober, a former abusive alcoholic, and attends Alcoholics Anonymous 7 days a week for 2 hours every single day, and twice a day every other Sunday. That is a lot of hours dedicated to AA, and a serious commitment. I could not be more impressed by a man living in a society where men can do no wrong to pull himself up by the bootstraps, put his machismo pride in his back pocket, and walk down dirt roads every day for two hours to show to himself, his family, and his friends that he no longer wants a part of that life.
Que chivo.
A brief glimps of Mama Gladys laughter. I don´t know what it is about her but within 29 minutes of knowing her I naturally started calling her Mama Gladys instead of Niña Gladys. She took great care of me and never spared me how much she adored that I eat everything in front of me because she has hosten vegetarians and voluntarios delicados in the past. I´ve never been so immediately comfortable in front of someone, making me feel like I could do no wrong despite my shortcomings in language and culture. And how could you not fall head over high heels for a smile and laugh like this...
This is Esteben. Pronounced Est-EEEE-ben.
Nine year old rocketship, I swear to god. Kid is always moving a million miles an hour. He was always with Tyler and I for some soccer or softball during the first training session. Although too busy to hang out much in Molineros during our second training, we did to get our ´queondas?´ in passing every once in a while.
I took this photo as I sat at the bus stuff with my three week bag packed waiting for the 178 to pass. Esteben, living right next to the bus stop, walked up to be and asked through the fence: ¨ya sale?¨ ¨Sí, hombre. estoy yendo por sitio mio, pero my voy a regresar otro rato.¨ I didn´t realize anything was wrong until midway through my answer he couldn´t look up at me anymore and was hiding behind his red cachucha. The next time he looked up he was crying...
There have been a lot of volunteers in Molineros, I was the 14th at my house with Mama Gladys, and Tyler was the 15th at his house. I don´t know the general coming and going of volunteers but when I looked back at his mother relaxing in the hammock she gave me the look like she knew exactly what we were talking about with her eyebrows slightly raised and lips in a pout. I guess I never thought about it but we spent almost 5 days a week running around with Esteben and his sisters. The 9 year olds got a way with words... so I kidnapped him and brought him to La Peña.
No, really, I told him I´d be back in August, he could play short stop, I´d play first, and we´d put his sisters to shame, and we played marbles until the bus came.
15 minutes late.
I wouldn´t have wanted it any other way.
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