I have to be truthful–the closer a teacher gets to retirement, the harder it can become to get the energy up for the start of a school year. Last year was a lot easier because I couldn’t wait to see students and share all of the pictures and stories from their hometowns with them. This year has been a little more of a struggle.

But today helped. I had five newcomers (and one returning student who is still learning) come in to school for English proficiency screening. (Yes, I’m that teacher that asks students to come to school before the year even starts!) As they were testing I was looking at the flags and the collage on the wall from my fellowship and remembering those students (some of whom graduated) and their families. Then I looked at the students in the room and thought, they all come from places like that as well and all have their own stories to tell. I’ve met all their families and heard where they were from, comparing it to places that I went on my fellowship. But this doesn’t mean I know where they’re from.

That will come. Last year students made beautiful posters to share where they’re from, with images, sights, sounds, and smells. Those new to my class with use those posters as models as they design their own, those returning to my class will take this one step further–deeper writing and an audio component. They’ll have some options as to what that will look and sound like, but it will definitely be publishable through QR codes on flyers they’ll make to promote their work. (Or at least that’s what is percolating in my brain at the moment.) So today helped in that I’m excited to find out where these students are from, what memories of home they carry with them, probably with an ache in their hearts. And I’m excited for my returning students to voice where they’re from, speak with confidence, and with pride.

After my newcomers left, two former students came in with their 7-month-old., at whom I couldn’t stop smiling. The father is from Guatemala (I met his sister, nephew, and grandparents there) and had a heartfelt thank you to me for all that I do; he noted that he always felt at home when he was in our class. That reminded me of the student I received last year, who graduated in May. He ended the year with a thank you note to me in which he said he felt at home from day one. When I read that note back in May and heard that same sentiment echoed today, I knew that if I get nothing else right about teaching (hopefully I do), I’m at least getting that part right. These students who come to me from all over the world, or even just come from the small town where our school is, know that they are loved fiercely.

This picture from graduation 2024 is a big group of Latino students for whom I provided a safe haven for anywhere from one year to ten. I hope they know I’ll miss seeing them in school when we start next week.

This blog is far out of date and now that the new 2024 Fund for Teachers Fellows have been announced, I feel like I need to update everything that has happened since October.

I presented to all of the 9th grade social studies classes about my fellowship to share with them the artifacts I returned with. I bought some fruits and vegetables with which they weren’t familiar and some coffee beans since most had never seen them. There was a lot of interest and lots of questions, and it was fun to share my experience with them.

My students also completed their Where I’m From posters and they’ve been hanging in our school for months now for students, staff, and visitors to admire and learn from. So much work went into these, and I’m glad that they wanted to share a little bit of their hometowns. We’ve received several new students since then, and we continue to do a welcome circle with each student saying their name, their town, their state, and their country along with one other piece of information. The most recent controversy was whether or not chocolate counts as a favorite “food.” Since it’s mine, I say, “yes,” but some of them felt like a favorite “food” had to be something that wasn’t sweet.

Last month I had the pleasure of presenting to the Carroll County Community Development Corporation, which is a group of business people in our community, everything from small business owners to VPs at industries to university partners. It also includes our school district’s superintendent who was my connection to the group; when I had asked back in October 2022 if I could present to the school district if I was lucky enough to be awarded the fellowship, he had indicated he would also get me in front of the CCCDC. I modified the presentation I had done for the district because I wanted to tailor the information to people who may not have daily contact with our immigrant families. I was warmly welcomed and the information was well-received. I offered ways that we might be able to be more inclusive of the immigrants in our community such as making our flyers for events bilingual and I was told that they have been working on that. And that a Hispanic Fiesta is in the works for May! (When the event was published about a week later on Facebook, my families were overjoyed. We’re hopeful that there will be a large turnout and that the entire community can celebrate with Latin food, music, and dancing.)

After the presentation several of us stood around talking and I was able to share even more information about the struggles that our immigrant families face as they come here and the struggles to acclimate. All of them were eager to learn more and help in this process. I later received an email from one of the members who said that I opened his eyes; that has formed a new partnership that I’ll write about in a few weeks.

As the new 2024 FFT Fellows are processing the news that they have been selected and are busily planning to implement their fellowships, I am excited for them. Participating in the application review process a couple of months ago was interesting–being on the other side of the table, so to speak. I anxiously awaited the announcements to see if the fellowship ideas I had been so impressed with (and envious of) would come to fruition. At least one of them is. I’ve already been in communication with another 2024 Fellow who will be traveling to Guatemala to offer up any assistance I can. Teachers’ lives will be impacted this summer and it will ripple outward to their students, their schools, their communities–just like it has with mine.

I’m excited about the work that my newcomers have been doing in English. After interviewing staff members in our school community, they created videos to introduce those people, and we sent those to all of the staff in our building. I’m still looking for another way to publish those. They learned how to interview, practicing both their speaking and listening skills, and they learned new technology as we used Adobe Spark to create the videos. I’m a firm believer that students need to be content creators, not just content consumers. They really impressed me with their dedication to the project.

We’ve now moved on to the second and final project in our Home & Community unit. In one lesson I had prepared hidden items to smell and feel as well as some sound files to listen to. All of them were designed to be reminders of home–like lots of horns honking in traffic, the feel of rice, or the smell of cilantro–and it was an activity that hit the mark as students were very active in sharing with each other their memories of home. Just as we started the year by sharing where we’re from: town, state, and country, I wanted to reemphasize that where we’re from isn’t just a place on a map. So we also watched part of Juan Delgado’s spoken word “I Am From” poem.

I gave them five slides to complete, one for each of the five senses and challenged them to put short phrases of home that fit into the categories. We had roosters crowing, water flooding into homes, stray dogs in the street, and so much more. While students were working, I noticed that one was on an unexpected Internet page, and it turns out he was utilizing a multilingual keyboard, so I asked to take this picture of him to capture for others how technology can be used to meet a student’s needs.

And when we had brainstormed, using our senses, all the places from I home, I challenged them over fall break to request pictures from home from their family and friends still there. This past Monday students began working on their Where I’m From posters, which we will hang in the school. They are once again learning new technology while using Canva to embed photos and text to capture the essence of where they’re from. In addition to hanging these in the school, we’ll be presenting them in class. (And it just dawned on me that these would be a lovely addition to the hallways when the art show occurs in the spring–I’ll need to make sure we have these up because I want to celebrate who they are and the work that has gone into making these.) I also noticed that as students started receiving pictures from family, there were lots of smiles and a desire to share these. I learned that one of my students marched and played the bass drum in the Independence Day parade in his town.

One student has completed his, and it’s everything I hoped for when I designed this unit. This student just moved here from Mexico this summer! I can’t wait for the rest of them to be finished so we can celebrate where they’re from.

One other outcome I wanted from my fellowship, and that was included in my application, was to be able to share with our social studies classes when they are studying Latin America and Mayan cultures. The 9th grade social studies teacher and I sat down on Monday to see how we could incorporate what I had learned and really interest students in these topics.

Next week, I’ll be spending 20 minutes at the beginning of every period in her classroom (with around 160 students total) presenting about my fellowship and the cultures that I learned about. We’re going to have some fruits common to Latin America like mangoes, papayas, and dragon fruit, and I bought a bag of coffee beans at our local coffee shops–they’re from Huehuetenango, Guatemala where I visited. We have many students in our school who have probably never tasted these fruits or touched actual coffee beans. Meanwhile, we have our new student in one of those classes who likely has and even worked in harvesting coffee where he lived in Guatemala.

I’ll also have all of the souvenirs I bought–lots of handmade items–as well as Guatemalan, Honduran, and Mexican currency. I already have a video of some Q’uiche speakers dressed in traditional huipiles, and I have reached out to other folks in Guatemala to get some short videos of people speaking two other indigenous languages. I’ll be sharing lots of pictures and talking about the different aspects of culture that are different from American culture.

Then the social studies teacher will be introducing their project, which will be to choose one aspect of the culture I’ve talked about (food, clothing, economy, etc.) as well as one Latin American country and to prepare a presentation for the class. We’re hoping that there will be at least one thing I share that will really spark their desire to learn more.

I couldn’t be more excited about the projects that students are working on and will start working on. My fellowship was an amazing experience, but being able to come back to the school and the community and have it impact so many people makes it so much more rewarding.

Next up: presentation to ELL teachers in our region; presentation to other teachers in our region interesting in applying for a fellowship, presentation to the Rotary Club, presentation to the Carroll County Development Corporation.

We have two new students starting tomorrow, and one of them hails from a town I visited on my fellowship at the end of June in Chiapas, Mexico. When I texted a woman last week about a registration, I asked where in Mexico the family was from (she was helping them register), and she said Chiapas. I told her I had been there, she asked my name and then recognized who I was. Today she shared that the woman I met was her grandmother! Which means she’s related to a student in my class. The student I registered was just a little guy going into elementary school, but his eyes got real wide when I told him I had walked through his town a couple of months ago.

The other student starting tomorrow is from Guatemala and comes from a state I didn’t visit, Chiqimula. I had wanted to, but the only student I had from there was graduating and I needed to focus on current students. Of course, now I wish I had been able to squeeze it in. The region is mountainous and rainy year round, a good climate for growing coffee, which my new student has worked in. So at least I knew questions to ask that would elicit this kind of information.

It feels good to be able to welcome these students by at least showing them I have some familiarity with their countries and that I have an interest in learning more. It’s a neat connection to have had even before their first day arrives.

We’ve now been back to school for three days, and I’ve had to say goodbye via texts to some of my students who couldn’t return to our school for one reason or another. I’ve also welcomed two new students: one from Oaxaca, Mexico and another from Gujurat, India (my first student ever from India!). My returning students and I are folding these two new students as well as two freshmen I received (who I already knew from middle school) into our multi-cultural family.

One of the ways that we did that was to share where we’re from, but in a different way than past years. This year I gave them the sentence frames: My name is ________. I am from (city/town) in (state/departamento) in the country of ______. We also put Google Maps on the screen and students were able to take us to where they lived and, if there is a street view there (sometimes there isn’t, unfortunately), then we get to see the roads that lead to their homes and/or their homes where they lived. The bigger picture shows us how close or how far apart they are within a country or region, and we discovered that two of our students are from the same city in Mexico.

After finishing up that activity, the students wanted to see pictures of my fellowship travels this summer. I had saved most of my pictures and videos in Google Drive, so it was easy enough to start showing them places that I had been. When one student saw a picture of a market in San Ildefonso Ixtahuacan, Guatemala, he exclaimed that it looked like the market where he was from in Mexico. I love they’re finding more things in common but also recognizing that being from Latin America doesn’t mean that they all grew up in the same way.

The other thing I’m really proud of this year is making a more welcoming space. The first thing they noticed was that I had painted the walls; the second thing they noticed: “Where are the flags?” I hadn’t yet finished decorating, so the country flags from last year hadn’t been hung up yet–and I still needed to buy an Indian flag for our new student. I assured them I would get them hung up soon and they made the decision on where they would go–above the poster that I had printed of all of the families I met this summer. Here’s the in progress version of the wall celebrating where we’re from.

This is just the beginning. It’s looking like it will be a good year, even though I will miss the ones who didn’t return.

It’s been really cool enrolling new immigrant students this year and meeting new families. Last week I enrolled the children of a man who had already been living here with his young son. The father and I didn’t know each other well, so when we started talking about where his wife and children had moved from (Guatemala) and I told him that I had recently returned from there, he was wide-eyed. I hadn’t been through the town where they lived, but I had traveled through that state. I utilized our new immigrant questionnaire I developed to obtain more details about where they went to school, who they lived with before, how long they had been separated from dad, etc.

Then last night another woman showed up who had been texting me from an unknown number earlier in the day. When I saw the woman’s name on her daughter’s birth certificate, I asked if she was related to the other family. Yes, she said, the man is her father. And when she heard I had traveled through San Marcos, Guatemala, she smiled and had the widest eyes, just like her father had last week. I have to think that she felt just a little bit more comfortable knowing that someone else was familiar with her homeland. Because I knew that Mam is a common indigenous language in that region, I asked if they spoke it, and they do. I also looked down the hallway to see her mother coming in with her young children we had just enrolled last week; she was dressed in traditional Guatemalan clothing and my heart skipped a beat as I reveled in the fact that our school district is just a little more diverse now than it was a few days ago.

It will be even more diverse next week as I learned that I have a student from India enrolling. This takes me outside my comfort zone of being able to converse in a family’s native language since I don’t speak Hindi. Before calling the family with an interpreter on the line, I taught myself to say, “Good afternoon,” using Google Translate; I hope I didn’t say something offensive when I called if I mispronounced it or if the translation wasn’t good! I’m already thinking about how to make this new student comfortable in a classroom of Hispanic students, and I’m excited that my first unit centers on home so that he’ll be able to share with us through images and descriptive language where he is from.

Finally, I’ve been reaching out to people in Guatemala I met during my fellowship–a teacher in order to ask some additional questions, a grandmother to get permission to use her granddaughter’s photo, and a mom to share some pictures of her son I took today. Today was senior start-up–the day when seniors take care of paperwork, pick up computers, order senior shirts, etc. One of the tasks is to take a senior photo using a suit or drape the photographer provides. K’s dad was working, and his mom is in Guatemala; thus, I got to be the one to help him put on the shirt, tie, and coat (over his t-shirt). When I arrived home and was scrolling Facebook, I realized that our PR person had captured photos of me helping him. I screenshotted them and forwarded them to his mother so she could see how handsome he looked. She sent me a virtual hug and thanked me for caring for him. I reminded her that I had promised I would help take care of him. It makes me sad that she can’t be here to do this for him, but I was glad that I was able to stand in that role and treat him like a son if just for a few moments. And that I’ve met her and can share these special photos with her.

I’ve been back from my fellowship for 17 days and have been enjoying the comforts of home. I’ve looked through every picture (not all the videos yet) and saved them to a Google Drive folder because I want multiple backups. I’ve tried working on the two presentations I’m preparing: one for the whole school district for opening day on August 14 and another for the Hispanic community on a date I haven’t set because I can’t get the presentation done. Why? Because I’m struggling to figure out how to organize what I’ve brought back. And by “brought back” I mean all of the experiences, emotions, and insights.

Chronologically doesn’t make sense because referring to a school in Honduras means comparing it to other schools I visited. Thematically (home, school, cultural) somewhat works but then the insights seem to get lost. By the epiphanies I’ve had? But then I can’t even seem to pin those down into words that make sense. I can’t distill everything down into a few platitudes because that waters down the vivid experiences that remain in my mind.

And what will people want to hear about? It was such a profound experience for me, but it’s impossible to present it in such a way that it has that impact on others. I hope that I’m not disappointed by others’ reactions.

I ran into a colleague today at lunch who told me that people had been following my journey, that she had been told about it by someone who lived in another county. I told her that it’s nice to know that my words are being read but that even if they weren’t, the act of writing what I was feeling during those days was important to processing my experience. (I’ve found that memories come back to me now and again that I had forgotten about–that family from the U.S. who were originally from Mexico who had something like seven hours to kill in La Ceiba, Honduras, the woman at the migrant shelter who approached me and showed me photos of her daughter in the hospital after she had had to have surgery due to an eye injury, and so many more.)

And several others on my first day back at work today commented that it looked like my trip was amazing. The first thing I always say is how much I learned. For example, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to say where you’re from. Every time my class receives a new student, we do an opening circle and everyone says their name and where they are from. But I’ve realized that simply saying “Guatemala,” or “Mexico,” or any other country is insufficient because these countries are so diverse. I mean, if someone asked you where you’re from, saying the U.S. would mean very little other than the fact you speak English. So now we’ll have a map on the screen and students will have to say both the state and the country as well as showing everyone on the map–we could all stand to learn some more geography anyway.

Our first project of the year in the newcomer class will be preparing videos to share with the class and all of the school personnel about where we are from. They can use pictures I took, they can use their own pictures, ask their families to take pictures, etc. But they have to show us where they’re from through images and descriptions. How big is their town? Is the road paved to get there? What months does it rain? Can you drink the water there? How far is the nearest store? What is a traditional food your family prepares? What fruits can you pick from trees near your house? Because the answers to these questions tell us where we’re from, not simply a place name on a map. And for our school personnel to embrace these students, we really need to understand where they’re from.

And on that note, I leave you to watch this short 20-second clip of San Ildefonso, Ixtahuacan, Guatemala and the market that I walked through with K’s mom and sister. Because this helps show the essence of where he is from.

On Monday, my driver Ismael once again picked me up for the last leg of my fellowship. It would be about a 4-hour drive to a small village called Canton Potero Grande in the state of Jutiapa, Guatemala. I had made plans to stay a bit longer in this location because in the past few years I’ve received 11 students to our district from there plus an additional two who have family there (grandmother, aunt). There is also a lovely family living there who returned to Guatemala six years ago from our district, and they had offered to let me stay with them. 

The drive was uneventful for much of the trip. Ismael was using Google Maps. And then it seemed that from the city of Jutiapa to the village was an additional 90 minutes. It seemed odd to me, but we followed the map. We ended up at a place where the turn we needed was a hairpin turn. Ismael got out and looked at the road and then asked someone if it was the correct road. It wasn’t. And we needed to drive the 30 minutes back to Jutiapa to get to the correct road. 

I began communicating with Sandra with whom I would be staying. She told us to ask in Jutiapa for the road to Chilpete and then ask again in Chilpete because the roads were too small to be picked up by Google Maps. 

We ended up finding the road to Chilpete without incident after seeing a sign pointing us in the right direction. In Chilpete Ismael was using Google Maps and unbeknownst to us, we were once again in the wrong road. And a terrible road at that. It was a bumpy ride, we crossed water twice, the hills were rutted out. We finally reached a point where Google Maps was just blank—there was no road. I spied someone outside a home so he went to ask. I began messaging Sandra again but at this point there was no signal. We headed back the way we came over the bumpy, rutted out dirt road. 

We made it back to Chilpete and Sandra had agreed to pick me up. Sitting alongside the road, I saw an SUV pull up and immediately spied my former student Lesli (who now goes by Vanessa). A familiar face is such a relief to see in a foreign country. 

We switched my bags to their car and off we went—on the right road, which turned out to be a much easier ride. The dirt road led us into the village and we pulled through the large gate at the entrance to a big beautiful home. 

They led me into the house where I saw a long hallway; I commented it was like being in a government building, the hallway was so long with large wooden doors on each side. Vanessa grabbed a bouquet of flowers from the dresser and presented them to me and they gave me a bottle of cold water. 

On Tuesday, I visited the primary school, which goes through sixth grade. One of the teachers walked me from class to class, introducing me and having the students greet me. Only fifth grade wasn’t present; there are no substitute teachers when a teacher is absent. The other classes were all of varying sizes, from a small third grade to a huge 38 students in fourth grade. The third grade was studying an extinct indigenous language, Xinka. One of the students read some of the phrases for me, and I snapped pictures of the whiteboard to look at later. 

When I spoke to each of the teachers, I spoke of the students who had sat in this very school who were now studying in the US—they remembered all of them fondly, and I found that P had a niece in the second grade class. 

I took a break back at the house for a little while and then Vanessa’s dad and I hopped in the car to head to Jutiapa to pick her up from her school. On the way I had him stop so I could admire the view and take pictures. 

He asked me where I wanted to eat, and I said take me somewhere you would normally eat. So we went to McDonalds! He said Vanessa is a big fan of “la comida Gringa” or American food. While we ate burgers and fries, we chatted about Guatemala, US politics, immigration, the changes in my hometown of New Castle, which he was familiar with, and awaited Vanessa’s arrival. 

After a little bit of grocery shopping, we went o Vanessa’s school so that I could talk to one of her teachers and receive a tour. While we waited for her teacher to arrive, we sat in chairs in the hallway and I noticed what has been super common here. Almost everyone greets almost everyone. Buenas tardes, we said, over and over again as people walked past and greeted us. 

The teacher led us into an office and I explained that I was trying to better understand where my students come from and the education they received. Vanessa had already told me that of the 30 kids in her last year of basico (equivalent to our 9th grade), only four continued on with their studies. The school she is in has various programs for careers (she’s in the secretario pathway) and bachillerato (three years of classes focused on particular themes that prepare them for university study, such as biological sciences that prepares those who want to study medicine. Despite the fact that Vanessa is in a secretarial pathway, she can still choose to go to university and study for any career she wishes. But she will also be prepared to go straight into the workforce if she chooses. 

The teacher explained that teachers there get paid based on how many classes they teach rather than a set salary. (In government schools, they have a set salary.). Because of this teachers might teach some morning classes at this school and afternoon classes at a different school. 

As we walked through this four-story school, the classrooms looked familiar with individual desks for each student. But what was different was that the classrooms didn’t have doors, they did have open spaces that formed windows, and the noise carried easily from one classroom to the next. Vanessa said she is used to the noise and it doesn’t distract her, but I noted that I would have a hard time teaching and maintaining my own concentration while hearing the class next door. 

It was obvious why many students don’t continue studying past basico, 9th grade. Vanessa boards a bus (not just for students) at 6 am and arrives around 6:30 am. She studies until 11:30 and then has to wait until 1 pm for her bus home. She does this four days a week; the fifth day, which this week was Wednesday, is for students to work on assignments at home. This was a change they made after the pandemic. Even for students who continue their studies, they’ll have to look outside of this small village for jobs. The town has two small stores, one of which is run by Vanessa’s family. Working in an office, like her school is preparing her for, will require living in the city or commuting daily. 

It’s easy enough here at least for students to finish basico. They report to the same building where they finished sixth grade, but they report in the afternoons. Even still, some of the students who have come to me from this town had only finished sixth grade, even though the walk is short and there is no cost other than uniforms and school supplies. In contrast, to continue studying in the city can cost 400 quetzales (~$51) a month for 9 months, mid-January through mid-October. 

When we returned to the house, I made contact with the various families I wanted to visit and then walked over to meet one of them. A former student of mine recently married and had said he would love for me to meet his grandparents. His little brother is still in our school district also, so it would help me make a better connection with him. 

It would’ve been a short walk, but Sandra drove me over. I assured her I wouldn’t get lost in the way back. I was greeted by A’s sister, nephew (who is too young to know either of his uncles who’ve been my students), and his grandparents. As it turns out I had to many photos to show because the grandmother was also grandmother to E, W, and G, all of whom have graduated, as well as E and L who I received this past school year. We chatted what felt like hours about them while I showed them pictures and videos. A’s sister assured me that the next time I come (remember how they all say that?), I was welcome to stay with them. 

When it was time to leave, she and her young son walked me back to the house, even though I assured her I wouldn’t get lost. It’s a small town and there was only one turn to make. I commented on a large, two-story house being build, and she said what I expected—the owner is in the U.S. 

Back at the house, we had another wonderful meal before it was time for a shower and bedtime. I have no problem going to bed early here. The sun is down by 6:30 and when darkness sets in, the body automatically winds down. I also rise slightly earlier than I normally would at home because the sun is up and the chickens are clucking. (Ear plugs have been a great help in allowing me to sleep as long as I do.)

Wednesday started with a walk over to E’s mom’s house (also W and E’s sister as well as L’s aunt). She lives next to the church, which I found easily on Google Maps, and it took me past the house I had visited the day before. She was waiting for me by the road, and I immediately saw the resemblance to her brother and son. We sat outside on the covered porch (which virtually everyone has) and chatted about how well her family members are doing in school. 

She told me that her son E was also at the top of his class. This is good information to know because I’ve noted from the beginning that he is smart but that he lacks confidence. I know that hearing this about his former studies will help me connect with him. I also took a picture of the cornfield behind the house because he talked about working in the fields, corn and beans, and I wanted to show his agriculture teacher where he used to labor. When I left, she gave me some cookies and offered me a Coke to take with me. I’ve been offered Coca-Cola several times and have almost always declined because I don’t drink it, but I appreciate what it means that they offer it to me. (And once I drank it because it was in a glass with ice and it seemed rude to decline.)

I had a short rest back at the house before needing to make my way for my next “family appointment” at the home of M’s mom. Sandra called someone and asked them to walk me. I figured I could make it on my own with some directions, but in this case I was wrong. The girl led me down a narrow path and then I squeezed through a fence to get into the yard (took the easier way out when I left!). 

M’s mom, sister, and nephew were waiting for me when I got there and pulled up a chair for me to sit. As usual I started out with showing photos of our class and school; unfortunately, I didn’t have many photos of M to share because she doesn’t like them. But we enjoyed talking about her and both have a dream for her to continue with school and graduate. 

While I was there, M’s sister was making tortillas completely by hand. Others I’ve seen roll the dough into a ball and then use a metal contraption to flatten it quickly, but this was patting out completely by hand. As in other homes, they were cooking over firewood in an outdoor kitchen just off the porch where we sat. 

We simply relaxed and enjoyed each other’s company, at one point getting a rabbit back into its pen. One of the things I’ve commonly seen here are animals. Walking down the road, I took a picture of a goat in the road, a pig tied up in a yard, and everyone has chickens. I always have to explain that where I’m from it would be very strange if someone had chickens in their yard right in the middle of town. You’d have to live in a farm to have them. Which makes you wonder what kids think when they move to the U.S. and there aren’t roosters crowing at all hours. 

They fed me a delicious vegetable soup with roasted chicken on the side, and though I’m not eating tortillas at every meal like the locals, I did want eat one. It was even thicker than other Guatemalan tortillas I’ve had, and it was tasty dunked in the broth of the soup. 

Eventually it was time to make my way to the next house. Since everyone here knows everyone, M’s mom accompanied to P’s grandmother. There were lots of kids running around and when I asked how many grandkids she had, she said she doesn’t count. But eventually she told me 22. I was astonished because she’s not much older than me. 

I had actually met her the day before when she had stopped by the house after dropping her great-granddaughter at school so she had already seen the pictures and some videos of P playing in the band. We talked about her family and what it was like when her kids went North (four of her seven children have gone to the States). 

I mentioned that P had said she had some things she had hoped I could take back. She was embarrassed that P had asked me, but I told her I was already taking some clothing for three other people, things that they had had to leave behind when they emigrated. So she pulled out two hand-embroidered and crocheted cloths she had made. I shared photos with her of things I had knitted and crocheted, and then she pulled out a piece she was working in and began crocheting. 

And then again it was time to say goodbye. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was in town or how to get back to the house, so she and her young grandson walked me back to the house. Even when I knew where I was, she continued walking with me, just as others have. And I said the same thing I always say, I promise to do my best to take care of these kids and ensure that they graduate. 

I chilled out again on the porch, cooling down from the walk back in the hot sun. I had called A’s grandfather and had agreed to meet him at his house at 3:30, but he showed up on the porch a little before that. I told him I was glad he had come because I hadn’t gotten sick when I returned earlier. 

A’s grandfather is one I’ve heard a lot about. His grandson A has been with me longer than the other students whose families I visited in this town. And the man told him that they speak almost daily and that they talk more like friends. I told him I was really thankful to meet him because I need his help keeping A in school. We talked about the need for an education and how it opens doors (that’s been a constant theme of conversations), and we agreed to work as a team in encouraging A to do the right thing. 

That’s one thing I’m really thankful for, is that now I have phone numbers for other family members so when I want to brag, I have multiple people to brag to. And sometimes the person that’s farthest away is the person most influential in the student’s life. I’ve also realized that one thing I would like to start doing with new students is request phone numbers for people they were living with in their home countries because sometimes they know them better than the people they live with in the States. This could provide great insight to me about what kind of student they used to be. For example, one family told me about their student’s struggles as early as first grade; this helps to explain why the student has seemed to struggle more than other students with completing assignments. 

We chatted like old friends for over an hour before it started to rain and he had to bid farewell. I promised to keep in touch, and he promised to influence A to stay in school. They have a very strong relationship, and I’m hoping that could make the difference for this student. 

So today was the final day. I lazed around the house and worked on this blog before getting picked up at 12:00. My personal taxista drove me to Jicaro Grande, about 20-30 minutes from Potrero Grande. I had one more family to visit, L’s mom (and dad and sister) who is also E’s and W’s sister. 

We drove down a dirt road, past the gate to the school where L used to attend, and pulled up to a large gate at the entrance to the property. I hadn’t realized until this morning that his mom knew my taxi driver, so he knew right where to go. 

When I saw L’s mom, I saw again how strong the family resemblance. We had passed L’s little sister who has been walking on the road; with her hands  full from the store, she still opened the doors to the gate wide for the car to pull through. 

I sat down on the porch with L’s mom and we began to chat about him. I wasn’t surprised to hear that he had always been a good student. I shared pictures and was glad to see that he was smiling in all the pictures I had of him. (One regret is that I didn’t take more pictures during the school year.) I also shared pictures of her brother W at his graduation and told her how he speaks in a very fatherly way about his nephews, his dreams that they’ll finish school like he did and maybe even go to college. 

We talked about L’s school and I was surprised to hear how large it is: 500 students. There are 22 teachers in grades 1-6. Compare that to the school that has one teacher for six grades, and it’s clear that to know one part of Guatemala is not to know all of it. I’ve already begun thinking of questions that need to be asked to incoming students—questions I’ve never thought to ask. His school has even had 20 laptops donated, where other students don’t see one I’m even in basico/secundaria (grades 7-9). 

She shared with me some food she wanted me to take with me, quesadillas. My mind went first to the fact that I couldn’t take food through security. (Had I known how many hours I would have before getting to walk through security—at this moment it seems like probably four—I would’ve taken more than one.) My second thought was, That’s an odd-looking quesadilla. What I ate in the car on the way tastes like sweet cornbread and I described to the driver the Southern staple of beans and cornbread. What must my Guatemalan students think when they order Mexican food and a Mexican quesadilla shows up on their plate? The same thing my Mexican student thought when he ordered enchiladas at a Honduran restaurant and what showed up was what he called tostones. 

We visited for a bit more and I met his uncle (W’s brother) and dad. It was nice to brag on L and how hard he has worked and also make the commitment to ensure he finishes school. 

The drive to Guatemala City was leisurely and my driver and I talked nonstop about the US, Guatemala, what it’s like to have a big heart (my reference) or to love all people (his reference), US policy toward immigrants (have you seen the giant floaters with nets attached they’re putting the Rio Grande in Texas that will literally kill migrants who get trapped in them?), the food here, immigrants he has known, etc. 

We got mired in traffic in Guatemala City, just inching along and I noted the difference in traffic laws. If you’ve not traveled in Central America, you don’t that motorcyclists basically go where they want, when they want. 

I opened up the quesadilla for us to share, which turned our thoughts to food. I said I had been surprised I hadn’t been served more rice here and that when I had it was yellow not white. He notes that beans are much more common here than rice. I asked about whole beans versus mashed beans, and he educated me on the taste and texture of beans on day one versus day two and the two methods of mashing the beans. The blender provides a smoother, finer texture, but mashing them by hand preserves more flavor. 

I asked what he typically eats for breakfast and he said it depended. Sometimes it’s coffee and bread, other times it’s scrambled eggs, beans, cheese, and tortillas. That jived with what I’ve been served several times. And we discussed the cheese. I have found it to be different from Costa Rican cheese, which I like, and the cheese here, which I’ve only been able to eat once as the other times it had a sour taste. He informed me it wasn’t supposed to taste like that. But now I also want to try the cheese in Mexico to see how it compares. 

We finally arrived at the airport at 6 pm and I hid my last farewell. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion for my last few hours traveling. 

And now it’s a long wait until my flight at 1:30 am. I may or may not get anything to eat until 7 am tomorrow in Houston. I definitely should’ve brought more quesadillas (cornbread) with me. 

This might be the end of the traveling part of the fellowship, but it doesn’t end here. There is so much work to be done to connect my experiences with my students’ and to help everyone in our district and community better understand the people who are immigrating to our area. I’m forever grateful to Fund for Teachers for seeing the value of my proposed fellowship and providing the funding for me to pursue it. 

On Saturday morning I took advantage of the few hours I had in Panajachel. I walked the few minutes down to the water and began scoping out options for getting onto a bout for a short excursion. A boat was leaving for San Juan de La Laguna, a 30-minute ride, with return rides every half hour, they said. Before I could get to the boat, I was waylaid by vendors selling items. I had admired some handcrafted items the day before, so I stopped to look. And then I was surrounded with several different people all wanting me to buy. They could see I was a tourist with money, and the question was to whom I was going to give my money. So they all started trying to give me the best deal and be the one to get my quetzales. I ended up settling on a beaded hummingbird for 60 quetzales. I’m sure I could’ve offered less, but I would’ve felt guilty keeping extra quetzales in my pocket when this older lady clearly needed the income. As I walked away, I almost had to push myself through the other vendors who were all still hoping to make a sale. (Later that morning, as I was hurrying back to my hotel, a man who had seen me earlier started walking with me holding up beaded hummingbirds  3 for 100, he said, you paid 60 for one this morning. It’s hard to turn down people, but I did. It made me wonder how these vendors see Americans—as rich people who swoop in and throw around money on hotels and food and souvenirs—and I was curious as to what time he would be going to later in the day.)

Eventually I made my way to the dock, having missed the boat departure by just a couple of minutes. So I boarded the next boat, Alma, and waited until the boat filled for our trip across Lake Atitlán. It was an uneventful ride other than that big log we hit that our driver then turned around to go and fish out of the water. When we arrived at the dock in San Juan de La Laguna, I gave myself 30 minutes to walk the main street as I still had shopping to do and had to be out of the hotel at noon. 

The walk up the street was beautiful. It was obvious that this part of town was designed specifically to attract tourists. In fact, when I had been looking for an excursion, the man who sold me the ticket had laminated cards with a map showing the lake and the various destinations and he had shown me a picture of the street I would see. It was beautifully decorated and was lined with shops selling to tourists. 

There was also a family taking pictures for a quinceñera, and I thought how lucky she was to have such beautiful locales for her pictures. I stopped and listened to some live music a couple of times and put some quetzales in their baskets. I went into a few shops but decided to spend my money in Pana at a shop I had seen the day before where the items were authentically made with real leather. I wanted to honor someone’s labors rather than buy obvious imitations. 

I made my way back to the dock and managed to find a boat with the same company so I could use my return ticket. Three others and I waited for a while before being told to switch boats—to the Alma, the same boat I rode over on. I chatted with two people from Guatemala City while we waited. They said they frequent the area every couple of weeks, driving up in a car or raking the bus. We shared a laugh about my death ride on a bus the day before. 

Back in Pana, I hustled to do my shopping, grab some food, and get back to the hotel with enough time for a quick shower. It was going to be a long ride, and I didn’t want to feel sticky, which is pretty much the most common feeling I’ve experienced here due to the heat. 

My driver Ismael (that makes me sound rich lol) picked me up promptly at noon and we started making our way toward Guatemala City. We would have to go all the way through the city to go toward Sanarate. We took a road through the mountains for a while before hitting the main road. Ismael lives in Pana and makes many trips between there and the airport to pick up tourists, so he is very familiar with the roads. 

Upon nearing the city, traffic quickly bogged down. He saw on the map there was an accident and decided to take a long detour to avoid waiting, so I got to just a tiny bit of Antigua, which is another popular location for tourists. 

And then we got stuck in more traffic after Antigua. We were in the heart of the city and the middle of lots of cars in considerable rain. Parts of the roads had been converted into rivers, and I sent a joking message to my students that I had come to Guatemala City to see the waterfalls and the best fountains. 

It took a long time to get through the city and even then traffic was slow for a while outside the city. As we approached Sanarate, I called Elva, the mom of a former student of mine, to let her know our location. Google Maps wasn’t able to find us a route to get to Quebrada Seca that made sense, so she directed us where to turn. We realized that without 4WD, it was best for us to meet up in Conocaste where there were still paved roads. 

When Elva and Allan (my former student who is now in fifth grade) walked up to the car, it was like a homecoming of sorts. It was so nice to see familiar faces. I arranged a pick up time with Ismael for two days later and walked with Elva and Allan to the park to await her husband. I was eyed suspiciously by a group of teenage boys in the park; surely they were wondering who this Gringa was and why she was in this town. 

Rogelio showed up in the pickup a few minutes later. Allan rode in the back while the three adults squeezed into the front. The road out of Conocaste was a wide paved road, obviously new, but after 10 minutes, we veered to the right onto a gravel and dirt road. The ride was bumpy and I couldn’t see much because darkness had set in. But I could see the narrow road and how it wound through the trees. This is a sparsely populated region in the mountains. As the crow flies it’s probably not more than a couple of miles,  it it was a solid 30 minutes of driving. We passed no other cars and only a few houses. 

We arrived to a very large house and they showed me the big room I would be sleeping in. I was pleased to see there was a fan as the air was still hot and humid after dark. Elva quickly showed me the house and I was struck by how big the kitchen is—just enormous with beautiful wooden cabinets and modern appliances. She pointed to the stove and said, I rarely use it. Instead, the next room was another kitchen with a long counter that included a wood fire, which she prefers to the gas stove. 

The bathroom, too, was the biggest I’ve seen so far, and Rogelio later joked about the large rooms she had asked him to build in the house. I remarked that in my travels I’ve seen houses that were clearly much grander than others and in several cases was told that it was built with American dollars. I remarked that the American dollar goes a long way in Guatemala and that I imagined being able to create such a luxurious home for Allan had helped him adjust. (Indeed, when I had first asked her in the truck about how he had adjusted to life here, she said he had exclaimed, Why didn’t you bring me here sooner? He has adjusted just fine, and it clearly is connected to the freedom that he feels here. Being able to go outside and play with cousins when he wants, driving s motorcycle to school each day.)

Elva fixed us dinner and we settled in to watch Costa Rica versus Mexico in the Copa de Oro (soccer tournament) on a large TV in the sitting area they have that runs the length of the porch. Elva gave me a pitaya, dragonfruit, to eat, which I really enjoyed, but she said in the US, they don’t have the same flavor. 

At 9 everyone settled down for the night after showers. I slept until 1:30 when I awoke to find myself in complete silence—the fan had shut off and I realized that the electricity had gone out; this happens a lot in these countries when I rains hard, but it wasn’t raining. 

The room was already hot and it was baking me without the fan. Though I was miserable, I tried to view it through the lens of #FullBenefit. I had already been in houses with no fans, and this was just part of life for several of my students; this was just another way for me to understand their experiences. I stumbled around in the complete darkness (I mean pitch black, can’t see a thing darkness) to get to my backpack where I had a neck fan. I had rarely used it on this trip, but I may down with it running on low to extract as much time out of the battery as possible. Three hours—that’s how long it lasted, but it did help me get some rest. 

I got out of bed at 7 and the family was already up, and Rogelio was leaving to go take care of the cows. Allan and sat down on the tiled floor and worked some US map puzzles, discussing the different places that I had been. He pulled out a large roll of paper on which he had drawn a world map, coloring in each country with the design of the national flags. 

And then Allan had homework to complete—a book of legends, stories, tongue twisters, and sayings—so Elva helped him with that while I worked some Sudoku puzzles. When he first started fifth grade this year, he could only read and write a little Spanish, but he has gotten much better in 7 months. She dictated to him and he scribed what she said and then added drawings to his work. When he finished, he pulled out a Sudoku book he had brought from the U.S. but didn’t know how to do, so I taught him and he began working on a simple puzzle. 

At about 1 pm, the electricity finally kicked back on. This didn’t mean Internet, however. As she had explained the day before, when they moved back to Guatemala in May 2022, there was a cell tower that provided good signal to them, but three months ago, the lights on it went out. Some say it fell, others say the bill hasn’t been paid—regardless of the reason, they have very little cell service, and I had zero. When she needs to contact someone, she has to go up the road a ways in order to do so. The first thing they do as they’re driving out to Conocaste, which we did late Sunday afternoon to deliver some firewood, is to start checking messages they’ve received. 

When we delivered the firewood, Elva saw some jocotes growing in a tree and hanging over the wall of the house we were at. So she asked the woman if we could have some and she got a couple of branches for us. One of my students had told me I needed to try jocotes, so even though I could tell that this wasn’t a soft sweet fruit like I usually enjoy, I agreed to try it. Elva had a good laugh at the face I made when I bit into it. It’s much like a green mango, which I have never liked. 

Back at the house we turned on the soccer tournament again to find the US playing Canada. Allan was enthusiastic in his support of one of his two countries, especially since Guatemala had lost earlier in the day. I later saw photos on Facebook of a couple of my younger students who had attended the game and watched their home country play, and I thought what an opportunity for them to attend a game of such status. 

I slept better the second night with the fan and electricity. When I got up, Elva informed me there was a problem. My first thought was an issue with the truck or something that would prevent me from getting to my next destination on the right day. But, no, the dog had eaten one of my flip flops! It is still wearable, but just barely. I used it that day but will throw it away before leaving. #FullBenefit

That morning I had hoped to go to school with Allan, but when I had arrived, they said the teacher wouldn’t be working on Monday. My first thought was maybe I could visit other classrooms, but as it turns out, he attends school in an one-room schoolhouse. There are around 18 students in his class but only a few are fifth graders. The teacher has grades 1-6  at the same time. While I was there, I talked with Allan about what that was like. 

He said the whiteboard is divided into six sections for each of the grades. I asked what they do when she needs to teach the littles ones to read and he said she gives the others an assignment. I couldn’t help thinking how difficult this is for the teacher and the students. He said math is his favorite because he already knows what they’re doing.  This makes me want to look at the national curriculum for Guatemala and compare it to our Kentucky standards and see which grades match up. 

He rides his motorcycle every day to school. There is a school in the village where he lives but because there are so few students, the government didn’t fund a teacher this year, which is why he drives to the neighboring village. He has a year and a half left before having to decide where he’ll go for “basico,” grades 7-9. He’ll either go to Conocaste 40 minutes away (and provide his own transportation) or live with his grandmother in another village. 

So because I couldn’t visit the school, we met up with Ismael at 9:30 in Conocaste and I said a very tearful goodbye to Allan and his family. Everywhere o go people talk about the next time I visit, but we all know that that the opportunity might not come again. There are so many places to visit and both time and money are limited. I can only hope that one day I will cross paths again with the people I have met and that until then I can use technology to stay in touch. 

Yesterday I started my day with a walk to look for some geocaches which had been placed by a local named Alex in some of the parks here. Looking for these fulfilled several purposes: a) I got to find caches in Guatemala, b) it helped me to see part of the area as the locals do—by walking. At the first stop, there was a young man sitting very close to where I needed to look, and since this was a 5.0 difficulty, I couldn’t give it the proper search and decided to come back to it. 

At the next stop, wouldn’t you know it, there was an older gentleman sitting on the bench by the tree where I needed to search. But sometimes it’s best just to explain what you’re doing. As I approached him, he loved his stuff aside and invited me to sit, but I told him I needed to search in the tree because I believed there was something hidden there. His smile was golden, “Verdad?” Really, he asked. So I stood on the bench and sure enough, I found the cache and pulled it out to show him. It was as if I was showing him a magic trick. I proceeded to explain both geocaching to him as well as my reason for being in Guatemala. He was in awe of both, and I was glad I could share that time with him. 

I wandered back to the previous park and found that the young man was still there, but farther away, so I was able to better search for the cache. I found it after a short search—a bottle that had been glued to some bark and placed in a small hole.  I later got an message from Alex, the guy who has hidden these, thanking me for looking for his caches and telling me if I needed any recommendations while in Xela to let him know. Walking to find these caches (and some others later in the day) led me to some great photo spots I would have otherwise missed. 

By the time I found the second cache, it was time to get to the chocolate shop for my lesson. I had my own private class for 35 quetzales as Jenifer  taught me how to take the raw cacao and turn it into my very own chocolate. 

It was an interesting process and she shared the history of chocolate making with me and told me it’s the “good of the gods.” In my opinion, it’s only that good after sugar is added. She let me try the paste made from the raw cacao both before and after adding sugar. There was no comparison on taste. 

When I returned to Trama Textiles, i was ready to start a weaving project. I chose to do a 5-hour project at a cost of 250 quetzales (about $32) because I wanted a big enough sample to bring home but also didn’t want to commit to an 11-hour scarf. (While I was there, I talked to a girl from the Netherlands who was working on a table runner, but she is able to spread her time out over weeks.)

The first step is choosing colors—they had dozens to choose from. And then weaving the yarn around a frame to create the base. It’s a simple process but an important one to get right, counting the number of revolutions and taking the right path. 

The next part was set up by Aurelia. I watched as she expertly set up all the extra threads I would need that would later be removed.

And then she proceeded to show me Proceso 1 and Proceso 2 that would result in a woven cloth. It took a few minutes to get the hang of when to pull up the threads and when not to. After every 7 rows, I removed a wooden dowel and placed it higher, helping to create additional detail in the work. I worked for an hour or so and decided my back needed a break so I went out for lunch and a walk. 

Upon returning I picked up where I left off. As I worked the sun slowly began to creep up on me, baking me as I worked. Normally, it rains every afternoon, but today was going to be different. We moved my chair and I continued working until it was finally time to tie off. The finished products has obvious mistakes in it, but I love how it turned out. I plan to hang this in my classroom with a sign and share it with social studies classes when they study Mayan culture. Aurelia and Amparo, who taught me to weave, are both speakers of Kaqchikel, the third indigenous language I’ve heard while I’ve been here. 

I made the decision yesterday that I was going to come to Panajachel today. I just couldn’t resist being able to see the lake up close. But it would mean figuring out transportation. Aurelia told me she could get me a taxi to the bus and the bus would take me directly to Pana (the shortened word they use to refer to this town). 

So this morning she called Chino, who picked me up, led me to an ATM at my request (I’ve not been prepared for how many people want you to pay cash—even in hotels.). When we got to the area with buses (not even a station), he got out to ask the driver of the bus I needed called Flor del Paisaje. When he returned, he said the bus wouldn’t be leaving for 3 more hours. Or I could take a different bus and make a transfer. A transfer it would be because I didn’t want to sit around for 3 hours and I wanted to have as much time in Pana as possible. 

And then the unexpected occurred. Chino flagged down a bus in the middle of traffic to see if it was going to Guatemala City (because my stop lay en route). I saw it was and hopped out. He handed my backpack to a young guy, I shoved 50 quetzales in Chino’s hand, and ran to the bus that was holding up traffic. I threw myself into the first available seat as the bus took off. I had no idea where I was going or how long it would take, but I was on a bus. (Picture below shows a bus similar to what I took)

We first had to get out of the city, which involved very slow traffic and the ticket taker getting off and on the bus frequently as other passengers boarded. As we would approach a stop, he would be leaning out the bus door yelling, “Guate, Guate” to indicate Guatemala City. 

And then we were out of Xela and on the mountainous road. It was at this point I realized I was risking my life on this bus. If I could’ve taken video I would’ve, instead I had both feet planted firmly and was using both hands to hold on wherever possible to avoid sliding out of the seat to the left or crushing my seat mate to the right. She even made it obvious at one point how crazy the driver was. These were switchbacks we were driving and on the downhills, the driver paid no attention to the reduce velocity signs. I did try to follow our progress on the map on my phone so I would know when I was supposed to get off. 

The driver said, “Your backpack,” and moved to the back of the bus. That was my cue to be ready, I guessed. We stopped, the second ticket taker (who at one point had been driving the bus—to practice perhaps?) held out his hand to help me down. I had barely stepped down before the bus was gone and I looked to see my backpack that had been thrown on the side of the road. I mean literally thrown—the other guy threw it out the back door! 

I saw two taxis nearby and decided it would be worth whatever the cost (it ended up being $16) to not have to wait for another death bus. As we were driving down the main road in Panajachel, I saw more white people in three minutes than I’ve seen this entire trip—so this is where all the white tourists go in Guatemala (also the city of Antigua and the ruins of Tikal, neither of which I’ll see this trip.)

After checking into the hotel (paying again with cash), I decided to take advantage of the non-rainy weather to check out the lake and walk around. Everywhere I walked men were trying to sell me a boat trip—maybe tomorrow. And everywhere you walked were stores and booths selling souvenirs. I talked to several shop owners, purchased a few souvenirs, and had lunch before relaxing in the hotel while it rained. 

While I’ve been here, I’ve communicated with students individually as I’ve met their families. But today seemed like the right time to send a message to the group about having survived the death bus. True to form, D joked the buses are always like that and that it’s where one learns to pray. 😂 Having arrived safely to my destination, I can now say I’m glad I took the chance on that bus. It’s a “local” thing to do, and I don’t think I would’ve understood that experience if I hadn’t actually feared for my life. In truth, the driver never really did anything unsafe other than taking hairpin curves at probably unrecommended speeds. The road is actually in pristine condition (heavily traveled routes here are), and we didn’t pass unsafely like I’ve seen other buses do. I am glad, however, to have private transportation for the rest of my trip.