-or- Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore
For the sake of clarity, this article is a the second in a series I will be writing about my time as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Guatemala from 1995 to 1997. The first article is here
As many here know, the first night in a new place is always a little unsettling. When that place is a different country, with a different language, climate, culture, standard of living, and diet, unsettling can be a bit of an understatement.
I landed in Guatemala 4 hours later than I was supposed to. As the plane began its descent in to the capital city of Guatemala only lights could be seen. The runway, its blue and green beacons flashing, guiding us to the ground suddenly became obscured. We were in a thick bank of fog and clouds and just as suddenly as the ground disappeared I felt the plane gaining, not losing, altitude.
We circled the airport for about 40 minutes in the air until we were told we were going to El Salvador to land, refuel and wait for the fog to burn off. Never allowed off the plane, we sat in the San Salvador airport for another sweltering hour. Coming from Utah, the humidity was unlike anything I had experienced. While I had been to more humid parts of the US, this was beyond that by far. I swam to the open door at the front of the plane and took a peak.
By the time we made it back to Guatemala City I was thoroughly exhausted. I had been up since 4:00 am the previous morning, with only the littlest bits of sleep on the plane over night, not really anything to eat, and the crushing anxiety that I had just said good bye to me friends and family for the next two years. I was going to a country I didn't really know that much about, speaking a language I had just spent the last 9 weeks trying to get a handle on, and I knew it would be me and another 20 year old punk trying to get our work done. Overwhelming.
The day was a blur. Picked up and shuttled around the city by the Assistants to the Mission President, breakfast with him, then off to get notarized copies of our passports made to act as our official ID for the two years. We were then dropped at the Chapel (church building) in zone 9, the Montufar area of the city. At least a hundred other missionaries were there, picking up their new companions and dropping off the ones who were leaving their area. The nurse grabbed us newbies, gave us lots of Pepto pills, and told us not to drink the water or eat anything suspicious. Um, did she not realize just about everything was still suspicious? I guess not.
Elder Baggaley was my first companion in the mission field, my trainer. A tall, lanky fellow, he reminded me of Ichabod Crane. We grabbed my two suitcases (yep, everything in two suitcases and a backpack--for two years), hoisted them on our shoulders, and began the trek to the nearest bus stop that would take us to San Pedrito, zone 5, what would be my new home. The buses, well, that is another blog all by itself. But no bus ride in Guatemala is without a certain degree of adventure.
We made it to our little one room apartment in the basement of a house. I found two beds, a book case made out of wooden planks and cinder blocks and. . .that was it. We lived out of our suitcases, cinder block walls, and a nice, cold tile floor. I was told we were fortunate enough to have running water in this house, though running may be a bit of a stretch. It trickled at best. The toilet didn't flush, and you most certainly didn't put the TP in it. Toss that in a bucket, then pour water in the toilet to wash it down. Bottled water to brush our teeth and the chance of a warm shower in the morning if the calentador (shower head water heater) decided to work for you that day.
My head was spinning. I just wanted to sleep.
When we receive the call to where we will serve we are given a list of what to bring. This is somewhat specific for each mission, depending on climate, customs, etc. My list didn't ever tell me to bring a pillow. I assumed that meant there would be one there. Remember what happens when you assume? Yeah.
No pillow, exhausted beyond what I could believe, drenched with sweat in the hot, sticky Guatemala night, all I wanted to do was sleep. I improvised. I had brought pillow cases, so I stuffed some white, cotton athletic socks in it and lay down to sleep. Through our window the sounds of an unfamiliar city crooned a cacophonous lullaby. Ranchera music, dishes, children, the chaos of the close packed houses right outside our window all coalesced to create a bizarre sound.
I tossed and turned. Bizarre dreams of going home with no memories of my two years were my companions during the night. Tired as I was, I woke many times throughout the night. Each time I was accosted by new scents, sounds and sensations. The morning dawned and brought with it a new revelation: the ants under my bed were not to be trifled with. On the floor in front of my bed was the largest cockroach I had ever seen (though I would surely make friends with larger), dead on its back with ants crawling in and out of its carcass.
I looked out the window, saw the same sort of fog that hindered out landing the morning before hanging thick in the gullies and streets. I knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore.