Today, like most days here, I prepared to go to work. Before I could leave the house, we had another earthquake. As if the one that happened between 4 & 5 this morning that woke me up wasn’t bad enough, we had to have another one. This one wasn’t as strong as the one earlier, but it definitely lasted longer. It seems, I am getting used to the frequency of the earthquakes here. No matter. Off to work I went, happily, listening to my IPod as I made my way through the streets of my town.


I arrived at work just a little pass 9:30, and greeted everyone in Kaqchikel, “Seqer”. Everyone greeted me back, and it was time to work. I pulled out my laptop, and showed the guys the webpage I designed for them to put on ANACAFE’s website. They loved what I did, and asked me to email it off. “Por supuesto” (Of course), I said. I began to email it, when I was posed with a strange question, “Am I ready to go to the funeral?” At this moment, I froze. Did I hear them correctly? Does my Spanish suck that bad that I’m mixing up words? I wasn’t going crazy. They were asking me if I was going to the funeral. “Who died?” They told me it was one of the members of the auditing council. Oh my God! Did I know him? Obviously, I must have at least met him. “I’m not wearing good clothes for a funeral,” I replied. They told me what I was wearing was fine.

          ** Picture this: A light brown t-shirt saying “Cuerpo de Paz Guatemala” (Peace Corps Guatemala),
          dark brown shorts, some dark brown “Dockers”, and my hair in afro puffs.

Definitely not attire for a funeral, or so I thought. They told me, once again, my clothes were fine. I expressed to them that, in the States, we normally wear black or at least better clothing. They told me that here, it didn’t really matter. What mattered is that you come and pay your respects. (Entonces) I told them I would go for fear of insulting them any further than I think I already did. I hopped in the back of the pick-up with the rest of my counterparts and off we went. The entire drive there, I was thinking:

          What am I doing? I don’t even like funerals in the States. Who is this guy? What was his
          name again?  I really hope I don’t stand out any more than I do as an American. Are people
          going to expect me to be sad? Maybe I’ll wear my shades. Today was the perfect day to wear
          my glasses and not my contacts. I can keep my prescription shades on the whole time. How
          long are we going to stay? Oh no, we are here…..

We hopped out of the truck, collected money for the family from everyone, and began our 15 minute hike through a narrow trail way to the house. It was almost strictly uphill, so I pulled out my inhaler, took a puff, and tried to keep up with the guys. This was definitely one of those times where I wished I would have kept up my walking routine I had established in training. Any who! We made it to the house. “Con permiso”, we all proclaimed as we entered into the viewing area. Each of us knelt down on the ground in front of the coffin, said a prayer, made a cross in front of our body like Catholics, rose to our feet, and found a seat. Now seats out in the “aldeas” can be made out of anything. We were lucky (I guess). The family left a long bench-like area made out of pieces of wood available for us because we were members of the cooperative. I sat down, praying, my heavy self wouldn’t break the flimsy wood. Thank God! All was well on the bench as we waited for, what I thought would be, the ceremony to begin.

As we waited, I looked around the room of somber. There were tears in many eyes, but the room was almost completely silent. Then an older man came in bringing a human-size cross made out of wood with him. He knelt in front of the coffin, like so many did before him, holding on to the cross for stability. He rose to his feet, and began to put the cross next to the coffin. I looked at the man along with everyone else as he attempted to adjust the cross. Although, I think I was more concerned with him knocking over the candles that were on the ground in front of the coffin with his highly flammable clothes he was wearing. I just knew he was going to catch fire. I don’t think I could have taken an incident like that very well. In the end, some other guys moved over to help him, and the candles were picked up and put back to where they belonged.

Then silence broke. The president of my cooperative was standing in front of everyone making a speech.

          “Good morning, everyone! Thanks to God! My name is ….. We worked with us at …. …. …. This
          is our (gringa) from (Estados Unidos). Her name is Shani. …. …. ….”

What in the world?! Why was he introducing me? This is a funeral; not a meet & greet! Oh, I am so embarrassed. After his long spiel, I looked up, and realized that almost everyone in my group was crying. These are very macho men. They act as if nothing bothers them, but there they were crying. I don’t mean just a few tears rolling down their cheeks. I mean seriously crying. I was in awe. I really didn’t expect that. I knew the women would cry; but the men too? I don’t have anything against men crying, I was just shocked by it. And just when I thought that was strange enough, a man got up and opened the window-like front of the coffin to see the guy inside. Everyone got up and rushed the coffin to see the dead man. Why are they so intrigued by death? The man was hit by car! Let him rest in peace. Some even touched him. Several of my guys went up as well. I stayed in my seat. There was no way I was going up there. I just couldn’t do it.

Finally, it was time to go the cemetery. The widow came out from the back, and sobbed a little with the guys and then told them to make sure they come back to the house before they leave. We began our 10 minute walk, again uphill, towards the cemetery. The guys walked even faster this time. I could barely keep up. Eventually, I had to stop for another puff of my inhaler. Some of the guys realized I wasn’t right behind them and stopped to wait for me. I caught up with them and apologized for my turtle-like walking abilities. They laughed, and we kept going towards the cemetery.

          Let me just pause right here to say that walking on a wooded trail in shorts …. Not the best
          idea. I was eaten up by mosquitoes, gnats and whatever else was in those woods waiting to
          feast on my meat. Plus, I ran into some bushes that were not so kind to my legs. They left me
          itching for the rest of the day.

We made it to the cemetery, where there were men taking turns digging the grave. I asked them how deep the grave was, and they replied, 3 meters. That’s almost 10 feet! I told them that in the States, it’s only 6 feet for burial. They thought that was a little bit shallow for a grave. Moving on! The son of the dead man began to talk about his father and how much he loved working with guys of the cooperative. Then he proceeded to ask the president of the cooperative if he would say a few words. Of course the president obliged, and again he went on introducing himself, talking about the cooperative, and last, but not least, introduced me. Again with presentation?! The son’s attention immediately focused on me. I felt very uncomfortable. Why is he staring at me so hard? Do I have something on my face? Am I standing in the wrong spot, like on another grave? Oh God, no! I’m not standing on a grave. Then it all became clear after the president finished. The son asked me if I would say a few words. Oh no! This can’t be happening! What do I say? My Spanish is not good enough for this! I’m not only going to embarrass myself, but I’m going to embarrass my guys as well. How could this happen? Ok. Deep breaths! You can do this!

          “Buenos días a todos. Seqer. Yin nubi Shani. (Kaqchikel). I apologize, but my Spanish is not
          that good. I’ve only been studying for the past 6 months. Thanks to God for everyone being here.
          I’m sorry for his death. I didn’t work with your father much, but he was a good man. I hope your life
          will be ok after this.”

I couldn’t believe it. I said all of that with my crappy Spanish. A couple of other guys said some things, and then we made our way back to the house. As I walked down talking to the guys in Spanish, some were trying to talk to me in English and some were trying to teach me more words in Kaqchikel. Wow! A trilingual conversation! How strange, yet fun. We went back to the viewing area, and the widow offered us lunch. It was Puliqui, a corn based soup. My stomach was hurting from taking some medicine earlier. I didn’t want an accident while I was out, so I chose not to eat. I told them I would take some with me. I didn’t want to offend anyone. I ended up giving my soup to a little girl. She was very happy. We finished eating lunch, and then said our despididas (goodbyes). We walked back down the road to the pick-up and made our way back to town. On the ride home I thought:

          This was an interesting day. My first funeral in this country. Two earthquakes this
          morning. Pressing bathroom issues all day. Yet, I made it through. Boy am I tired. Time to
          go home and rest. Yep that’s what I’ll do. I wonder if I have enough food for tonight. We’ll see.

All in all, “ya termino”. (I’m finished.)