Bienvenidos

Hiccup: an involuntary contraction of the diaphragm, common to all yet understand completely by none. Scientists have no idea why we hiccup, sometimes more frequently and sometimes not for years. As common as oldwives tales for curing hangovers, there are many methods for dealing with pesky hiccups: swallowing sugar-laden water, walking backwards, being scared silly. The third night in Guatemala, Anna, the 11 yr. old girl from our host family, had the hiccups while we watched la película, El Norte, a movie based on two Guatemaletecos making their way to America, the North. I wanted to tell her to hold her breath, or to do a headstand then walk counterclockwise and throw salt over her shoulder, but those things don’t translate, and with my rudimentary Spanish, forget it. It wasn’t so much about Spanish or English, Quecha, or Spanish, it was about capturing the cultural nuances that have no direct substitution.

Preparing for this trip, I had read, been warned, and read again the State Departments warning on Guatemala. In hindsight, ignorance is bliss. Sure, I was informed, informed I should be scared to step outside. Scared someone would rob me after leaving the airport, at the ATM, in the market, on the popular highways, basically anywhere and everywhere. The first night in Guatemala City, I struggled to stay awake until nine, a decent hour, all things considered.
Insert loud, absolutely terrifying gun shot sound here. I awoke disoriented and disconcerted. Oh-no, what is that sound?! It was so loud, like a gunshot, it had to be right outside the window. Seconds later, again and again, there was even a second noise like a kick-back from force. I was terrified, my mind didn’t register the sound, but it clearly noted the proximity. Blame it on the paranoia instilled in me by being a young American female traveling in Central America, but I was terrified and my thoughts far from Rationale. “...Omg, they know we’re in here, they want my stuff, they’re attacking us.” Egotistical, ignorant, que tontia! So stupid, and so undoubtedly American it’s laughable, in hindsight.

Allie and I looked at each other, fireworks? “I’m going to peek.”
“Uh..”
“Shit!” She drew back from the window. “He saw me...”
“HE WHAT?!”
“He saw me.”
“Stop it, you’re joking. No, you’re joking, he, no... What did he do?!”
“He laughed.“
“He what? He laughed?” “What?”
Yeah, he laughed, like he got caught doing something bad, like a little kid.”

What I took for an attack, was a celebration of the New Year, right outside our window. After all we had fallen asleep early, it was only 10:30. A minute later, our party animal received a good tongue lashing from one of our neighbors. Once again, the words did not translate, but the tone did. For the first time that night I relaxed and laughed, el payaoso, the clown.

Since we’ve been here, they have celebrated our presence with fireworks every night. Apparently the New Year, is one on-going fiesta, fireworks are more common than friendly greetings in the street, something my guidebook completely overlooked. Qué interesante.

When I related the story back to mi maestra (in Spanish, of course, Mom) she laughed and explained fireworks were very popular for celebrations here, birthdays, holidays, Friday nights, todo. It seems there is no celebration too little for fireworks, and the only thing unusual would be to pass a night without them exploding outside your window. Miriam re-counted the plight of my previous comrades, also American students. On their first night in Guatemala, in Xela, they too had fallen asleep content and peaceful, only to be awoken by what they interpreted to be gunshots, a gun raid in fact. They proceeded to crawl under their beds and remain there for much of the night after a line of fireworks had been set off outside their host house.

It’s nice to know I’m not the only American boba to disgrace Guatemala.