Walking down the cobblestone street
today I looked up at Agua Volcano looming in the distance. Over the last couple of weeks I have tried to
check out the volcano at least once a day, but I have to say I have gotten used
to the sight and I almost take it for granted. Agua Volcano still captures my
attention when I think to look at it.
Later, I was standing in line for the ATM and I noticed that the guard
standing outside had his gun pointed at my feet. I did not think much of it as I casually
moved over so I would not be in the line of fire. It struck me as unusual that I have grown
accustomed to seeing guards with guns outside of fast food restaurants,
souvenir shops, and banks. Women pass by
with a huge basket of tortillas balanced perfectly on their head. Three wheeled scooter-propelled taxi’s called
tuk-tuk’s fight to pass business men on scooters. Lines of people waiting to receive cash weave
for a block out of the bank. Vendors
push carts selling ice-cream while women sell textiles and jewlry hanging from their arms, and
boys try to shine shoes (Some boys have offered to shine our sneakers and
flip-flops). A band with pass by and a
procession will follow as part of lent.
All of these sights have slowly woven themselves into my daily life;
they don’t even register in my mind as atypical. It was my goal today to step back and soak up these sights and people of Antigua.
Today was Joy and my final day of
volunteering at the hospital, so Joy prepared cards to give out to the women
saying in Spanish, “You are my special friend.
May God bless you. We love
you.” We passed them out to each of the
women and explained to them that it was our last day. Some of the women stared at the cards and
smiled, some of the women gave no reaction at all, some traced the raised
stickers with their fingers. A few of my
favorite little ladies were sleeping, so I couldn’t say goodbye, but placed the card on their bed. The best reaction and the hardest to handle
was from Nidia. Nidia is our 25 year old
friend that is worried she will never have a boyfriend due to her disability
and wheelchair. We tend to spend more
time with Nidia so we brought a picture of our team to give to her in addition
to the card. Joy explained that it was
our last day and handed over the card. Nidia smiled then turned her head to the side
to hide the tears that filled in her eyes, “Will you come back next year?” What do I say to that question knowing that I
will probably never return? We held her
hand and thanked her for the Spanish lessons.
We told her she is beautiful on the inside and the outside. And then it was time to leave. Nidia handled the goodbye well, but it was
hard to walk out of the hospital as she sat in her wheelchair waving goodbye.
Business was slow today in
Angelica’s store. I tried to help her
make a sale but we were not successful, so we spent most of the time talking
and laughing. Angelica asked for my
phone number and address so that she could keep in tough. I explained to her that I would not be able
to receive mail or phone calls until Nov ember.
“That is a long time,” she counted out the months on her fingers. “What day will you return in November?” I told
her we would arrive in the states around the 20th of November, “Then
I will call you on the 20th of November.” Tears came to Angelica’s eyes many times as
we talked about the future and about the past couple weeks of our
friendship. Angelica came up with her
perfect plan for both of us. I will
return to Antigua after the race, we will stay single for two years, then we
will both get married, then after two years we will have kids, and we will
raise our kids together. I told her it
sounded like a wonderful plan, but I would miss my family if I lived in
Antigua. She agreed and said maybe instead she should visit the States someday. I am
cherishing the last few hours of our friendship, but it is heartbreaking
too. I don’t want to make promises, but
I don’t want her to think our friendship was insignificant to me.
