I cannot even begin to count the number of interesting things that take place on camionetas. When a U.S. school bus is sent to Latin America, decked out in brilliant colors and decals (outlines of voluptuous naked women, cartoon characters, the face of Jesus), and turned into public transportation, well, all sorts of ridiculous things occur. Every PCV has dozens of strange stories. Mat and I have our fair share: Mat has had his butt soaked by vomit when he was puked on by a car-sick kid, who was then smacked around by another stranger that had received some of the projected fluid in his bag; while trying to store my giant camping backpack filled with food in the rack above the seats, the bus driver came to an abrupt stop, sending my pack onto the heads of two unsuspecting indigenous women and me to the floor – to add to my humiliation someone we know from our town and happen to work with witnessed the whole thing; we have experienced being squished into compromising positions against strangers or being used as pillows by the person sitting next to us; we have seen all sorts of animals – cats, chickens, turkeys, ducks; we have been ripped off by ayudantes trying to make an extra buck from the gringos. The thing is that the camioneta experience is completely normal to us now. I’m hardly ever surprised by what happens anymore.
Last Wednesday was an exception. Mat and I were asked to go to the office to participate in a panel for the newest PCVs in our program. Wednesday morning Mat had a doctor’s appointment in Guatemala City. We jumped on a bus headed for the pharmacy where Mat was to pick up his meds. Peddlers of all sorts of wears and foods can be found on camionetas. Watches, candy, local foods like chile rellenos, pop, shark oil and many other apparently curative agents, Q-tips, the newspaper, really just about anything you can think of is probably sold on the bus. You can also make donations to preachers that bless the bus or are just spreading the word or to people who are disabled or ill. This time we were serenaded – TWICE! That was a first for us. The first musical encounter was with two guys from the southern coast. One strummed the guitar while they enchanted us with their harmonies. It was pretty good so we definitely had to give them something for their talent. The next group was not as gifted: a bongo player without rhythm and an off-pitch duet. Even so, Mat and I were excited.
After visiting the pharmacy, we climbed into a crowded camioneta headed for Quiché. Now when I say crowded, I mean six seated to a row, in every row, with people standing in between peoples legs in the aisle. So in buses that are made to seat two children or, at most, two teenagers per seat or four per row, six adults are practically sitting on top of each other per row. The two people who are unlucky enough to be on the aisle usually have to hold on tightly to the bar on the back of the seat in front of them while the driver takes the curves at the highest speed possible without actually flipping the bus. That was the situation in which we found ourselves. That was normal but I thought maybe you all might enjoy the description.
We did have another first on that bus though. A woman getting off the bus had slung around her chest what appeared to be a young child of maybe 5 or 6 years that was making some very odd noises. Then the little creature poked its head out and it was in fact not a child but a baby goat. The weird part was not seeing a goat on the bus but that the woman had it attached to her in the same way that babies and young children are carried. We were not the only ones who thought it was a sight to see because everyone watched her get off the bus with a smile.
We got on our last bus for the day on our way back to site. The bus was filling up and just before leaving, a man squeezed into the third “seat” on the aisle next to Mat, pinning me to the window. His young son sat next to his dad in the third seat of on the other side of the aisle. Mat and I were holding books. The man caught site of the book Mat was holding and asked if it was the Bible (it was Parable of the Talents by Octavia Butler). Even though Mat said “no”, he was still interested in examining it. Mat handed the book to the man who with great care turned the pages and showed it to his son. He gave the book back to Mat and thanked him. By this point the bus had begun its journey. Eventually everyone settled into the ride, many falling asleep (this in itself is a hilarious site in which we are also frequently guilty of committing), heads bobbing, people jolting awake, heads banging into windows after falling into a deep sleep). The man sitting next to Mat was overcome by sleep himself and made himself very comfortable against Mat’s shoulder. That would not be a big deal but Mat was getting a bit of a hat burn; the large bill of the cowboy hat was rubbing Mat’s neck raw. Eventually the bus cleared out slightly, freeing up a seat directly behind us. Even though his son and the ayudante tried to point this out to the man, he stayed where he was snuggled up with Mat. We kept exchanging glances with fellow passengers who were obviously amused by the situation. Finally their stop came and they collected their things, readying themselves to get off of the bus. But before leaving, he turned and extended his hand first to Mat and then myself.
Really none of those little moments were anything very out of the ordinary but they were just novel enough to make us take notice.
Another quick story is one to which perhaps for those you who are also exceptionally clumsy, like myself, can relate. It is festival time again. That’s right – November means party time in our town. The feast day of the patron saint of the town is at the end of the month but our municipality likes to stretch the celebration out for the entire month. There are many activities planned, including a women’s basketball tournament. Last week, I was asked to join a basketball team by a teacher we worked with this past year. She called me on Friday to let me know that we were having a game that day at 3:30 but that we would meet at the basketball court at 3:00. Being the punctual gringa that I am, I showed up at 3:00 and, of course, no other members of the team had arrived.
The basketball court, located in the main town square, is made of concrete but has been worn down with time and suffers from many cracks, making the court a danger zone for the uncoordinated. There were a couple of kids shooting around and they invited me to join. Eventually, the woman who asked me to play arrived and she joined me on the court to warm-up. One of her shots hit the edge of the rim, propelling the ball toward the street and consequently into the sun. I went running for the ball. After grabbing it, my body was heading back toward the basket, while my foot had found one of those cracks, rolling my ankle into the ground. Then I fell to my knees, scraping them in the process. I knew I had sprained my ankle; there was no doubt about it because it was painful and had already started to swell. English expletives were flying out of my mouth but I was trying to conceal them by attempting to keep my tone from sounding too hysterical. The teacher helped me home where I quickly popped ibuprofen, elevated my foot, and iced my ankle. So before I had even played a single second in a single game, I hurt myself. I just got a call from the teacher asking if I could play today and I had to break the sad news that I would probably not be playing in any game of the tournament.
More than being embarrassed, I feel inconvenienced. We have to finish up our SPA project and my inability to walk any distance is going to make getting to the community very difficult. I had to call Jose from El Limón to let the people know we couldn’t make it on Saturday due to my being injured and Mat having to help me. ARGGGGGG! Así es la vida.
3 Comments →