found in translaton

Sometimes the most enjoyable things about being a Peace Corps volunteer have nothing to do with service.

When I feel most in demand and capable to help people, and also when people seem the most grateful for my assistance are the times when I can provide an accurate and immediate translation for someone in need.

Once a man came into the health center looking for me. He heard there was a bilingual American working there. He had recently come from the United States and needed to fax his old job an authorization for his brother to pick up his last paycheck. He dictated, I wrote and he signed the document. In that moment, I knew that I was better able to help him than anyone else in the whole village.

My old host mother from training is an orderly who takes care of a sick American living in Guatemala (Don’t ask me why). She would occasionally ask me to write down things to help her communicate with her patient. In our last “lesson” she asked me, “¿Como se dice ‘trague’ en ingles?”

“Swallow,” I told her, and wrote out sua-lo.

“¿Y para decir, ‘tome”?”

“Drink.”

“¿Y, ‘haga popó’?

I paused for a minute. My host mother was asking me how to ask someone to have a bowel movement. Defecate? That didn’t seem right. Too formal. Take a poo? Too casual. Slowly, I wrote down “Poop.” I looked at it again and erased it. In its place I wrote “Please poop.”

A group of medical missionaries (the non-aggressive, Presbyterian type) has been in a town called Jacaltenango for two weeks. Since none of the doctors speak English, PCVs in Jacal recruited their peers to translate for the doctors.

I spent all day Monday in dentistry room, where locals with an acute need for extraction came to see an American dentist.

“Tell her it’s normal to feel shaky after having four teeth pulled.”

"Tell him this will prick a little."

"Tell her she'll feel pressure, but she shouldn't feel pain."

"Tell him I love Jesus."

In doing so, I realized that I was really no less of a tool than the syringe, mirror or gloves that the dentist used to do her job. What’s more, I discovered that I loved it. For the first time in a long time I felt in demand, useful, and like I was providing a real service to people in need (things I hoped I would feel on a regular basis as a Peace Corps volunteer).

on the board

Yesterday I went to a neighboring larger town, Ixtahuacán, to buy three long wooden boards to make shelves. The "Peace Corps shelves" are made by stacking wooden boards over cinderblocks. Having already procured enough cinderblocks for three levels, I was in need of the wood, which is unfortunately not sold in my village or anywhere immediately accessible.

Going out of town to other little towns always makes me a little nervous. In the larger cities there is some tolerance for outsiders--they have at least seen or been exposed to gringos before. But when you are just going to a neighboring town you stick out like a sore thumb without the saving grace of living in the village on a benevolent mission from the US government. I asked around and found a carpenter and got a good price on the wood. A young man carried the three boards outside of his shop and leaned them against the wall.

The next challenge was to carry the three boards to the center of town where pickup trucks left all day. I realized there was no way I could carry the three boards all by myself. I pondered the situation for a minute and was about to start awkwardly lugging them the 100 yards to the town center one at a time when a woman approached me. It was she who had earlier pointed me in the direction of the carpintero.

"Do you need a hand with that?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. together, we were able to carry all three boards without too much trouble.

About half way there, she asked to take a rest for a minute. She went into a tienda for about 15 minutes. I was half expecting her to be rounding up an ambush. But after a long while she came out and helped me carry the boards the rest of the way into town.

I turned around and was about to offer her some quetzales for her trouble, but she was gone.

I have since spent a lot of time thinking about this interaction. With all due respect to those who have been so kind and generous to me, unsolicited acts of kindness like that are rare (although less so all the time). Some people have a karmic attitude about helping Americans. If they have children there, they believe that helping an American here might bring good karma to their kids in el Norte, and maybe an American family will help them in their hour of need. Maybe she was related to the carpenter, and wanted him to have another loyal customer. Or possibly, my guardian angel is a middle-aged indigenous woman from San Ildefonso Ixtahuacán. I don't know.

Little lady from Ixtahuacán, thank you, where ever you area, whatever your motivation.