The Last 12 Hours

Last night there was thunder so strong it literally made the cinderblocks that form my walls tremble. From inside my room, through colored glass I could see flash after flash of bright lightening, one after another. The rain fell only a little on my tin roof. I fell asleep contented at the situation, and feeling the energy of the storm outside. Later in the night, I was awoken by urgent mumblings in Kachiquel coming from the next room. I wondered if there was some kind of prayer meeting taking place, as my family practices Mayan traditions. When I heard the groans of a younger voice, I realized what was going on. My Guatemadre is a widwife, and she had mentioned that there was a woman due soon in the community. I looked at my clock, it was 4 a.m., on the dot when I heard the repetitive cries of a new life, and the weeping of a new mother. I listened for a while more, thinking of the new life and the life changed.
When I got up at 5:30, I was invited in to greet the little one. Mother was laying on the cement floor, covered to her eyes in blankets. Her abuelita (grandma) sat next to her, beaming. Baby Oscar was bundled on the bed, sleeping. There were some complications with the birth. He was in the womb with his right hand pressed to his face. My Guatemadre Marta had to assist in stretching that arm out, and Oscar was in fact born in the style of Superman. My friend Nic, who waited for me outside was invited in to say hello to Oscar as well. We both felt honored; gringos, total strangers dressed in flashy running clothes, entering a room where a mother labored for 9 hours and delivered on a cement floor. Nic and I left the house and entered the predawn streets. As we headed towards the campos (fields), the sky turned streaks of white to streaks of red. We run on footpaths, mostly, as the road ends one or two hundred yards from my house. We take a new route each time we run, taking 90 degree turns around fields of corn and radishes and cilantro, hoping we will end near the hills. Today the trail led us to the head of a gorge, deep and green. As it stretched before us it took ragged turns and fog hovered just above the canopy, still below where we stood. At our feet, and continuing down to the canyon floor were piles of trash. We had found the city dump. My heart sank. To our left, flowing down was a stream. Nic and I talked about all the people that lived downstream from here, how they might use the water that came to them to bathe, or even to cook with. We talked about how this morning may be a good representation of the coming years, beautiful highs to be followed by disheartening lows.
And I hope to get up some new pictures soon…