La Communidad de Santa Maria

Santiago and Doreen escorted us on a tour of Santa Maria de Jesus today to see where our students live. In six weeks it was the first time we had seen the town, aside from the street our school and the photocopy shop is on. The sight of five gringos walking down the street in the Mayan town is not an everyday occurrence, and unfortunately white people are now regarded with a certain degree of suspicion in the community. There is a history of child kidnapping within the more remote areas of Guatemala for their organs. And as such, we cannot take photos outside of the school walls in Santa Maria. And while I understand and respect the residents, it is sad that we will not have any photos of the community we worked in everyday.

It is one thing to hear that your students are hungry, to visibly see that they are sick, and for them to tell you they didn't sleep a wink because they were too cold. I hear their stories daily, and I listen to their excuses for why they miss school because they are too embarrassed to tell me they have to work.
My tiny seven year old tells me:
-Seño, no voy a venir mañana.
-Porque no?
-Porque tengo un tos.
(Teacher, Im not going to come tomorrow because I have a cough).
Yet you have a cough today, I tell her. Do you have to work tomorrow, I ask.
She tells me no. Then when she thinks no one is listening or watching anymore she nods her head in my direction. I whisper in her ear that I hope she comes anyway, because she is muy intelligente.

It is one thing to hear these remarks. Yet the walk today drove them home. The kids live in houses constructed by cane and corrugated tin panels. With a crude bathroom separate. The sinks are outside; they are large concrete basins surrounded by buckets of water carried from the pump in the center of town. The cane walls of the kitchen are stained black from the smoke. Often two to four families live in one house with three or more people per bed.

It is no wonder that I sent one of my girls home crying with a fever yesterday. Yet, it is a wonder how she managed to run, sobbing because she is coughing so hard, the mile or more home alone. The children here are independent and brave. Braver in their seven years than I probably will ever be.