Six of us 20-somethings and one trip leader participated in Orthodox Christian Fellowship Real Break 2009.  Our particular trip was to the Hogar Rafael Ayau Orphanage in Guatemala City, Guatemala.

Aerial view of Guatemala City

Like much of Central America, Guatemala is still struggling to recover from long standing dictatorships, coups, invasions, and a 36-year civil war resulting in the deaths of 200,000 innocent civilians. 

Guatemala is rife with violent crimes, narcotics, gangs, poverty, legalization of prostitution, and a corrupt government and law enforcement.  

In the 2007 elections, 50 of the 52 candidates were shot and killed.  Of the two remaining candidates, Alvaro Colom, a drug lord, was chosen to lead the country.  Under this new leadership, adoptions in the country have nearly ceased.  The entire per capita GDP of Guatemala is approximately $4,700 USD (compared to $48,000 in the US).

Fr. Apostolos Hill: aka “Padrecito” (little Father en Espanol): Trip leader, parish priest of Holy Assumption Cathedral in Denver, Colorado.

Gina: UCLA graduate, pursuing a Master’s in education from San Jose State.

Scott: senior in journalism at Ohio State, recent convert to Orthodoxy

Olivia: freshman in elementary education at Kent State

Mariam: Pursuing a Master’s in education, Lives in Knoxville, Tennessee.

Paul: Stanford graduate, Software engineer for Google

Melissa: KU graduate in humanities and microbiology.  Lives and works at a homeless shelter in San Francisco, CA

Colleen: unofficial Real Break member, 1st year law student, making 7th trip to Hogar

Isabel: child at the Hogar being adopted by Colleen’s family

Mother Ines: degree in architecture, abbess of the Lavra Mambre monastery, directing the construction of the new Orphanage

Mother Ivonne: degree in microbiology, lives full-time at the Hogar, conducts research on the medicinal uses of mushrooms

Jorge: Mother Ivonne’s brother.  Does “everything.”  protector of the Americans, body guard to the Hogar children, chauffer, facebooker, picture taker, web site keeper-uper, computer guru, maintenance man.  And oh, he’s also a firefighter and paramedic.

Posts about “psycho birds” slapped right next to posts containing the words “shot” and “murder”.  That’s how this blog is written.

Happiness next to sadness.

Awkward as it is, that’s what characterizes not only this blog, but life itself.  

At some point or another, we are all confronted with life’s sufferings.  We cannot escape it.  But instead of turning our backs, we should take the opportunity to really experience our suffering, feel it, hold  it, and learn from its lessons. 

But in order to confront the tragedies of life, we also have to relish in the simple humor of our everyday experiences.  We have to constantly laugh, joke, and smile…..at everything possible.

Some things in life are no joke.  In those moments, it’s okay to cry and be sad.  But after we’ve wiped our tears and blown our snot noses, then we should find something to smile about.  And then we should move on.

So, like this blog, in life, we laugh, we cry,

and then we carry on.

To me coming here is a “test” meant to see if I can not only survive, but also thrive in work of this nature.

In both the immediate, and the distance future, I don’t necessarily see myself living the typical “American Dream.”  Rather, I see “something else.”

What that “something else” exactly is, I’ve been trying to figure out for the past 7.5 years, ever since I went to Project Mexico.  In that time, intentionally or not, at every fork in the road, I always seem to wind up on the road less traveled. 

Nothing more, nothing less, I’m trying to blaze a new trail in life. 

That’s why I’m here.

Packing list:

• –infant formula 
• –baby diapers
• –little boy’s underwear
• –little girls socks
• –toothbrushes, toothpaste, and other items  people have donated.

• –fleece blankets and balloons brother Steven and I have donated.
• –work clothes, church clothes, shoes, towel set, toiletries and everything else I need for the week all crammed into my bookbag.
• –3 jackets layered over my t-shirt to keep warm (important lesson learned from the homeless : )   

After dinner and dish team at Raphael House, I was dropped off at the airport at 9:30pm, where I sit eating peanut butter & jelly sandwich #1.

Fourteen hours later it’s already been a long day,

but the day, and the trip, are just beginning.

By afternoon we arrived at the Hogar.  It’s on a compound covering one city block.  The Orphanage is completely surrounded by high brick walls, and from the outside it is completely unmarked.  There is an armed guard on duty 24/7.

Entrance to the Orphanage. The green gate to the right is always kept closed except when people need in or out of the building. After that there is a second gate that has to opened. The rest of the orphanage is completely surrounded with high brick walls. No one can see in, none of us could see out.

That truck is filled with all of our luggage--mostly items to be donated to the Hogar

Our only glimpse of the outside world

After settling in, we had orientation and gave our donated items to Mother Ivonne.  Then played with some of the girls for awhile.

One of the first things I’ve noticed here are the sounds.  There are loud booms quite often.  Mother Ivonne says they are “firecrackers” (Firecrackers seems sorely inadequate a word.  The noise these things make sounds like it would come from the likes of a cannon ball).  

We also hear small planes flying overhead rather frequently.  All of them are drug planes–headed for Mexico, and eventually, the United States.   

At 7pm we had vigil, but I was so exhausted from being up so long I kept nodding off and seeing double.

9pm– thirty-eight lonnnng hours later, I am finally going to bed. 

Buenos noches.

The rest of the day was spent playing tag and soccer with the kids and eating.

Gettin’ some good soccer action:

For lunch we had tortillas with sauteed mushrooms and salsa, rice, tomatoes & onions flavored with lemon, cooked carrots, a slice of lime, mango for dessert, Kool-Aid, coffee, and tea to drink.

After that we had Vespers, and attended a party that some local people were throwing for the kids.

The boys with their soccer balls

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The little ones

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Me, Mariam, & Olivia at the party

After that we had a dinner of black beans, bread, some kind of unidentifiable (but good!) veggie, watermelon and oranges.

Then off to play more soccer.

At 9pm us missionaries ended our day with a long discussion.

Little worker bees

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Olivia painting away

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Scott

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Padrecito workin' hard

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The boys not workin' so hard

The cleaning process...very complicated

After dinner we played activities with the kids. 

In the middle of the night there was another gun shot, followed by a woman’s screams.

It is a sound that you might never hear in real life before, but the instant you do, a searing chill runs down your spine, because somehow, you know exactly what it is.

It is a sound that punches a hole in your gut, dripping with the realities of what the world is really like.

It is a sound that you will never forget.

Guatemala has “psycho birds” as Padrecito calls them.  Indeed, where I come from the birds either chirp, quack, or gawk.  But the birds here, they SCREAM the most awfully piercing noise you have ever heard.  Not only do they SCREAM, but they particularly love doing so between the hours of 3-6am.

A side of ear plugs please:

I thought the Tenderloin in San Fran was loud, well, this place is much worse.  Imagine 10 semis, 6 garbage trucks, hundreds of men in brothels, 50 honking cars, a disco party, and a Carnival cruise ship all parading right outside your bedroom door.  That’s how this place sounds well into the wee hours of the night.  Thanks to my time in the Tenderloin though, I’m the only member of my group who has been able to survive the nights without using earplugs. 

Make that a double on the Benadryl: 

Poor Padrecito has been plagued with allergies, a half swollen eye, and nursing funky lookin’ and hopefully not poisonous bug bites

I’m okay….really:

Oh Lord have mercy, I am so sore.  Between playing soccer for a couple hours last night, running around the Hogar playing tag with the kids, picking up babies, painting walls, and making an average of 100 prostrations during the 3hrs we spend in church everyday, I am so sore.  But I’m okay…..really.

I just can’t seem to put my finger on it…

There is a sign in the bathroom that reads: “Please do not use the electric shower for more than 3 minutes.”  For some reason, there is just something about the words “electric” and ”shower” that makes me a little nervous.  Hmm…I wonder what it could be?