We stepped off the plane, shocked by the diverse culture we were introduced to. Spanish signs directed us to the exit, and I stared at the rusted escalator. We were in Guatemala.
In a country where 75% of the population is living below the poverty line, dumbfounded doesn’t even come close to what I was feeling. “Stay close to me.” Mom whispered, looking around. “Our pickup should be here soon. No matter what, you and Sara MUST stick together.” I nodded quickly, shaking at the sight of police with loaded guns trying to push back the roaring crowd. Mom led us outside where a van labeled “Cross Cultural Solutions” was waiting- engine on. When he saw us coming in our Cross Cultural T shirts, he unlocked the door. We hurried in, and strapped in tightly. The driver floored it and we sped out of the dark garage. On our way to “Home Base”, Mom started talking to the driver in the favored language- Spanish. He laughed, and they continued conversing. I stared out the window.
The roads were horribly paved with cracks and holes everywhere. Bumping along, a town came into sight. I gasped, and covered my mouth with a shaking hand. This was no town. Pressing my face to the tinted window, I strained my eyes to see the horrific sight. Below us was a valley swarming with tiny figures. Trucks drove by the hundreds into the area. A terrible stench wafted into the van. I gagged, plugging my nose to the scent of garbage. People were living in a dumpster.

Kids were sorting through garbage, determining whether or not they could sell anything thrown away. This was how they made their living. We continued driving. “This is the poorest district.” Mom translated. The van jerked to a stop. A scowling man ran in front of us, hefting a huge white bag of garbage over his shoulder. The people here looked animalistic- hardly human. Dogs roamed the street- howling in hunger with swollen bellies and disfigured bodies. The sight was scarring. I turned away in shock. Mom looked back. “This is a lot to take in, girls. In Guatemala, we have to stick together and not trust anybody who we don’t know.” At this point, I felt at a complete disadvantage. Both Mom and Sara were almost fluent in Spanish, and here I was- hardly knowing a phrase or two. I sighed and continued looking out the window at the broken country. We passed some graffiti announcing: “Mujeres en Resistencia!”, women are resisting. After the Guatemalan Civil war, there is still tons of political unrest. Soon, we arrived at a doorway with flowers blooming on the sides. “This is Home Base.” Mom translated for our driver. He honked the horn, and the gate slowly opened. Pulling in, I saw that Home Base was a completely different world.

Flowers bloomed everywhere. I immediately noticed that there was a small outside area with a couple cushioned couches surrounded by English books. Relief! The Base was in the shape of a square- the couches right in front of the parking area, and a path surrounding it. On the edge of the path, there was a shared bathroom, and beyond that was the kitchen. A lady I now know to be Don?a Julieta was occupying it- chopping mangos and dipping bananas in chocolate. The scent wafted over to me, and I inhaled deeply, relishing in the sensual wonder. “Hola!” A stout and friendly looking woman hurried out. “You must be the Williams’. Let me show you to your room.” She grinned and led us up a flight of stairs to the end of the hallway. Opening an old wooden door, she bustled in.

I examined the room carefully, noting the window and bunk beds. There were three beds, one bunk and one small twin. “This is where you will be staying.” the lady announced. “Come down when you hear the bell for your meeting.” With that, she left the room. Mom looked over at Sara and me. “This isn’t so bad, now is it?” she asked. “No, Mom.” we replied, just to make her happy. We went over to the shutters and opened them. Below was a guard holding a large gun. I gasped. “Every store has a guard here.” Mom explained. “With a crime rate so high, it must be worth it.” The guard caught us looking. His eyes were locked on Mom, and he whistled teasingly. I slammed the shutters closed.

“I have a feeling things are going to be different here.”

At dinner, we were introduced to the glorious black bean paste. Guatemalan food was vastly different than the American food we were used to. I examined my fellow volunteers. All in college, I was by far the youngest one. Tomorrow, we were to start teaching at Esperanza Juvanil. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry any more.

The morning came quickly. “UP UP UP UP UP UP UP UP UP!” screamed the alarm. I was awake in an instant. Today, we were supposed to start teaching. I ran downstairs, shoveled food into my mouth, and ran back up. Dressing quickly, I barely made it to the van on time. The drive was nerve racking. We were dropped off without a word.

When we got inside, the first thing I noticed was how different the facilities were. There was no place for the students to go outside, so the kids run rampid inside, throwing marbles and playing tag. They also have no cleaning staff, so the kids had to do everything from mopping to cleaning toilets. The school was tiny, having only 98 students from the ages of 4-18 years old. We were all separated from each other, and my first class of the day was 3rd grade. I was assigned to take 3 little boys into the “library”, a tiny opening with only 100 books. It started off pretty smoothly- I would point to the parts of the body and tell them what it meant in English. But things never go that well. After about 2 minutes, the kids started whispering, milking my inability to speak Spanish for all it was worth. Next thing I knew, they were underneath the table, undoing the pegs. With a CRASH!, the table was knocked over- separated neatly in half. The noise provoked several unwelcome dirty looks, and as I ran over to get Mom, hot tears threatened to escape my eyes. I had never been so glad that Mom was fluent in Spanish. For the rest of the day, I worked with first grade, but I never got into the groove of it.

All days weren’t as difficult. After two days, I was working like a pro, keeping the discipline in check, but also having tons of fun. It all clicked. I started to love my new job. After school, we would go on excursions to different places, such as a coffee plantation, chocolate factory, museum, and Ixchinche (a Mayan town). I fell in love with a student named Evelyn, and promised her I would return. On our last day, Evelyn attended the fiesta they threw for us. Right when I was about to leave, Evelyn grabbed my hand. Silently, she dropped something into my palm. I looked at the small artifact she had put in my hand. Pink plastic earrings- the kind Americans would discard without a second thought. A tear slipped down my face. People with nothing to give were still giving. I hugged her and sobbed silently. By the time our last day had come to an end, tears were rushing down my face as we left the school for the last time. That day, I promised myself that I would never take hot showers and breathable air for granted. Whenever I think I have it bad, I just remember the look on Evelyn’s face and the kids sorting through the trash. I swore I would return, and I plan to keep that promise.

Today, I take Spanish classes- never again will I be so helpless. I think about Guatemala night and day. Evelyn. The other volunteers I had become so closed to. The trash. Eperanza Juvanil. In English, that translation is, “Youthful Hope.” On the plane ride home, a sudden realization struck. I had found Hope.