So eight months have passed, and according to my original plane ticket, I should be home by now.
But I'm still here.
Why am I still here? Well, as I talked about earlier this year, I was asked to stay on and hold down the fort for the summer. There is a three or so month gap between when Chris and Madeline left and the new coordinator plans to come, and if there isn't anyone here managing the program, it could all fall apart very easily.
Not that I'm that important. Or at least that is how I can feel on days like today, the tough days. On days like today, everyone else is the most important, and it is my job to make sure they get what they want. Like responding to an angry email from a group that applied too late, after we were already full, apologizing and suggesting next year, only to get a reply with 20 names and plane tickets. They are close to Fr. Greg, very important, and will be coming anyway.
Like finally sitting down to a now-cold breakfast to be pulled away by the leader of a group who is mad because they have to wash dishes, and the people who did it last night didn't finish. Petty problems become big ones, and people who I assumed were adults seem incapable of following instructions.
This is not why I am here in San Lucas. Sure, this is humbling enough, but I realize that over the past week, the amount of time I spent with visitors more than doubled the time I spent with Guatemalans. I am speaking far more English than Spanish, and even though I am surrounded by people that look and talk like me, I am so lonely for someone to feel close to, someone who isn't going to leave in a week. At the end of the day, I am so exhausted, sometimes I fall asleep at 8:30, only to get up again at five to make sure there is breakfast for groups that are leaving.
All of this caught up to me on Tuesday. I walked into the Parish, tired and wanting to make a quick dinner and head home, only to walk into a birthday celebration that Chona is throwing for a woman who will be here for one week, complete with flowers, a three-tier cake, and gifts. My own birthday had been overlooked, even though I had been here for three months at the time.
I couldn't help it. I cried. Sometimes serving people can be so hard, and on days like that, I feel pretty forgotten here. The groups see me as a person necessary to interpret and help them accomplish their goals, and they (rightfully) see the Guatemalans as the ones to be respected and admired. The Guatemalans who work at the Parish need me to translate and coordinate the groups, but they see the groups as deserving of praise and thanks for sacrificing so much time and money. I can't help but feel sometimes that the time I put into working here will never be revered as much as the money that groups donate. I feel a little used sometimes.
So I cried in the kitchen. But the next morning my phone rang. Chiky, a girl about my age who works at the Parish, was calling. She wanted me to go to the market with her. I figured she needed help carrying food or something, but it became clear pretty quickly that that was not the case. As we walked, she pointed to huipiles that she liked, and live crabs for sale. After a while we found a place to sit and talked. We talked about the upcoming election, who she is voting for and why, her boyfriend, gossip around the Parish... and when it was time to get ready for lunch she thanked me for hanging out. I was so touched. That is why I'm here-to build relationships, to learn- and maybe I sort of took the morning off of work. Some people may have to wait another day to get an email response, and they might be mad. But that's okay, because I returned to work refreshed and happy.
There are rewarding aspects to the gringo-related part of my job, but i certainly will never be able to appreciate them if I don't build my foundation here in the community and take care of myself too. Better days to come.
