Wow.

Today was a powerful one. Instead of teaching, Carlos the owner and director of Spanish Academy Sevilla arranged for us to tour where the children lived. It was a brilliant and powerful idea. The community is called Colony Hermano Pedro (Brother Peter). Carlos explained that Peter is the patron Saint of Antigua or Guatemala. A group of ninos were waiting for us as we arrived.

The village has one dirt road that runs to it. It is situated in the valley of two steep mountains. Most of the houses are perched in the hills. They are made of unpainted concrete blocks and all are in the unfinished stage. The paths are dirt and climb steeply- a twenty pitch at least. Carlos told me they only received running water within the last five years. Previously, the ladies walked probably a mile each way to carry the water for the day during the dry season.

Almost all of the houses had dogs, early detection alarms. The houses we visited were small, with open doorways (no actual doors to protect from the elements). Most of the kitchens were outside. Chickens and turkeys, lemons oranges, and bananas in their yard are their 7-11's.

We visited about eight homes. All of the people were warm, welcoming and happy to see us. They proudly showed us their spaces. One man was a musician who played the xylophone in a marimba band. I can't imagine how he could carry this equipment up and down the slopes. I was too preoccupied talking (through Carlos translating) to get pictures.

We traipsed up and down the hillside, sometimes sliding on the dusty trail. Each home we'd visit a familiar face would appear- one of the children who is in our classes.

Claudia, Kaleigh, Diego and Jonathan had kids constantly at their sides, often their arms intertwined. The children were happy, laughing, joking, longing for the attention of one of us gringos to show us something, to practice their English, to steal our baseball caps, to poke us from behind and then hide their faces. We saw puppies and chickens. Bananas and papayas. At one house, the woman sold frozen fruit juice provided in plastic bags. Diego, quietly, bought everyone-probably 30 or 40 children and adults in all- our own delicious treat. His generosity humbled me. ( I had run into him earlier at the market in town. We both were with our professors. I was buying sunblock and he was buying a soccer ball for the kids).

By the end we were all spent. The girls would not let my students leave. We had to pry them away and into the van. The ride back to town was quiet. We were all shell shocked. It was the gauntlet of emotions, like the path we traversed, high and low. The pure joy of children and the crushing reality of poverty. After we were dropped off, we stood there talking a bit. I sensed we knew this afternoon our lives were altered by what we had experienced.