Teaching and Learning in Panajachel: Mi hogar, mi comunidad, mi familia.

My home, my community, my family.

Well once my family left…meant I only had 6 more days in Pana…the place I’ve called home and the people I’ve considered family this past year. I made a list of “lasts,” things I wanted to do one more time but also didn’t want to spend my last week counting down my days or mourning the fact that it was my last blackberry licuado, iced coffee from my favorite cafes, walk with Cafu, Solomon’s porch church service, dinner with Carlos’ family…ahhhh the list goes on and on. I spent every minute with Carlos and his family, just living the local life. I can’t quite put into words my thoughts about leaving. I know it is time to be back home, and I am excited about being back in Tacoma next year….I also know Pana will always be there, tucked beneath those 3 majestic volcanos, but I realize coming back as a visitor is quite different than being rooted in a culture, rooted in a community.

When my family was visiting I got a phone call from the mom of one of my students. My student was sick and in the hospital (she’s been in and out all year for a variety of conditions). My student kept requesting to talk to Miss Allison. After my family left I took the chicken bus up the hill to Solola to pay her a visit. I wrote in my journal the following. (I am going to use the name Irene, for my student).

I visited my student, Irene, in the hospital a few days ago. She has asthma and is under careful watch. Her mom led me into a hospital room with 6 beds – each occupied with a young girl under the age of 6. My first thoughts were focused on the poverty and dank, dirty conditions in which these girls were laying – 3^rd world health care. I felt erroneous thoughts of gratitude that I live in a cleaner, more developed country. Flies swarmed my face, as I inhaled the sour smell of old meat soup. But as I turned the corner I saw Irene, little sweet precious Irene – the same brilliant mind and friend to all that sat in the front right corner of my classroom every day her little body allowed her to come to school, with her dow-eyed eagerness and metal toothy grin. My esteem and discomfort in this unfamiliarity wisped away.

She was a strong reminder of my ties to this country, and this community. I am not just a high school tourist strolling the streets of Pailin ,Cambodia in awe of the poverty – or a volunteer living temporarily among the street dogs and street children of Kathmandu. No that’s not me….not anymore. I am a member of this community. I am a teacher, a mentor, a friend, una novia, una nieta, una cuñada, y una guia. That face in that hospital bed, that’s not just some stranger in a National Geographic Magazine. That’s my student, or my boyfriend, or my teacher, or my mentor. These are my people. This is my family. I am part of this community. THAT was the strongest realization I could have made before driving out of Panajachel, taking last minute photos of Lake Atitlan. I said farewell for now, but my roots run deep. I will always consider this place a home.

Some pictures from my last week in Pana.