No hay tal cosa como “una via” (lo siento Johnny Luke)

Philosophically “one way” has never meant much to me, but when it pertains to traffic and streets, I have always thought it was a pretty easy, and necessary, rule to follow.  That is, until now.  I have never seen such a blatant disregard for una via before.  Not even in Italy.  Or Indonesia.  Last week while driving me home after our farewell Carol dinner, Michelle announced that we were going in the opposite direction, of course she mentioned this to me as we were actually driving the wrong way on a one way street to mi casa, which is also on a two-way, one-way calle.  Almost every day, I see a bright, puffing camioneta backing up on 15 avenida, confronted by una cola of honking motorists going the right way. 

Ahhhhh, Xela.  I love all these little things so much that I’m forcing myself to stay a little longer.  There are a couple of reasons I am not coming home on Sunday. 

1. I don’t want to lose momentum with my crappy Spanish just as I’m going into the subjunctive and
2. Stef’s 10-day trip to Honduras this week would have made it close to impossible for me to complete the project I started here. I could conceivably finish in NYC, but it would probably take longer and it is hard enough to pin Stef down even when he is here. 
3. Oh yeah, and I thought of a third reason, I really want to be here for día de los muertos—a holiday I have always been really interested in but have never actually spent in a Latin American country. And wouldn’t it be a shame for me to return home just three weeks before?  So I changed my ticket.

Well back to catching up.  One of the school activities last week was for us Spanish students to entertain children from a nearby orphanage. So a few of us went to Hogar Temporal to pick up about 15 children at to bring back to Celas Maya for some games, hot dogs and arts and crafts. Some of the children were developmentally challenged, one child was blind and one was in a wheelchair. They were all so young and I felt a helplessness and sadness I wasn’t expecting.

We were all piled into the pickup truck and for some reason unbeknownst to me (and I would also think Chris and Rory), we just HAD to drive up THE steepest hill in Xela to get to the school. Didn’t the driver know that there is no such thing as one way in this town. So after we rolled backwards down the hill (yes, I was in the back of the pickup, at the back as well), I thought for sure the driver would just go another, less steep way.  Claro que no.  He just gunned it up the hill while I endured the longest squat of my life.  And instead of thinking about the more likely possibility of death or dismemberment, I just couldn’t stop thinking of a time I went skiing, coming off the lift of the bunny hill, when a toddler on skis was kinda in my way and I really couldn’t move out of the kid’s way because, well, I’m really an uncoordinated doof, so I sort of ran into him/her to stop and then proceeded to use him/her to pull myself up. Not my proudest moment. I was just hoping I didn’t have to use one of these poor kids as leverage.

The whole afternoon was pretty intense and I’m just hoping those kids at least had some fun. They seemed to be having fun.  Especially little, adorable Mario, who went to town on an empty piñata.  When we first got back to the school, after milling around aimlessly for a bit, we were about to all get in line to take a group photo.  The plan was to make picture frames with each child to hold their copy of the photo.  As we were getting in line, two little girls, around 8 or 9, just instantly came over to me and wrapped their arms around my waist and wouldn’t let go. My cheeks were in so much pain trying to suppress the sob that was right at the base of my throat and fighting with my eyelids to burst out, that it took every ounce of countercry in me not to get all Three-Wishes-of-Billy-Grier on these poor children.  I actually had to begin thinking what would happen if I just started bawling in the middle of all this and that hypothetical spectacle actually made me laugh enough in my head not to cry.

One of my tasks was to apply MOUNDS, and I mean MOUNDS, of ketchup and mayonnaise to hot dog buns. Anyone who knows how I feel about mayonnaise should know how difficult this was for me, first of all, to apply MOUNDS of mayonnaise to anything let alone a Bimbo hot dog bun and then mixing it with ketchup and then actually having to serve them to adorable little innocent children.

We played “pato, pato, ganso” so they got to run around a bit. I personally could have done without watching the desperate scramble for hard candy on a cement floor and the ensuing sugar overload, but I doubt the children were anywhere near as worried as I was about how much soda they were drinking.

I’m trying really hard not to think about some of the things that bothered me about this particular school activity because I think all-in-all the children had a great time, so I am consciously toning down my Tricianess. Although the afternoon was really sweet in so many ways, it was equally sad and heartbreaking and I honestly had to look away or walk away several times for fear of breaking down and just crying. Special thanks to Rory for making me laugh a few times which kept our minds off the gravity of the situation. They were all so cheery and affectionate, but my stomach still hurts a little when I think about it. 

So when I get a little sad thinking about those beautiful children, the lives they lead, the affection and love they crave and deserve, and how helpless I felt that afternoon, I just think about how much fun one little boy had kicking the papier maché crap out of a piñata and I smile a little instead of crying.