The New Volunteer

We entered the small room from the street just up from the market. The walls were painted dark red, even the ceiling and there was stack of wood five feet high in the corner. Two long tables abutted the wood. In the adjacent corner were two large wood stoves; apoyos, both crowded with pots of various sizes. Tim and I sat down on one of the long benches facing the door, sitting on the same side. To my left and across the table a middle-aged man sat eating a fried egg, deliberately ripping his tortilla into small pieces before eating it. “Pasen adelante,” he said. Pass through. He already knew Tim. Tim eats at this place regularly. The man addressed only me. “What is your name? You are here to work for Nic?” He must have known Nic, the volunteer before me. “When is your birthday?” I told him my birthday. He looked slightly disappointed when I told him. I gave him a questioning look. He explained that this week is the celebration of the patron saint of this town, Santa Katarina, and it was too bad I was not born in November. He reassured me, however, that it was okay that my birthday is in June. It’s just that it’s a long way off. He dropped his eyes and took a few more bites with his ripped tortilla. He looked up at me again with a smile on his face. “How many tortillas will you eat?

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New Address:

Katie Mader

Nahuala, Solola

Guatemala, Centro America

There are accents over the last "a" in both Nahuala and Solola. It seems strange, but yes, when you address packages and letters to me, they will get to me.