The student life in Xela, Zona Uno

Last night, like the night before, we stayed up late at the house drinking rum. Gabby, the daughter of Hugo and Maria, lives in Burlington, VT, and has been visiting since Christmas. Last night was her last. Maria, after feeding the students and her daughter´s friends (artists, graphic designers, yoga teacher who loves tofu etc) tamales at the kitchen table, Maria began pouring rum and cokes in the comedor. She´s a short woman who speaks sort of like a fast motorboat, and she´d painted her eyelids sparkly purple. One minute she was laughing, the next she was crying into her daughter´s shoulder, loud, bitter tears.

Today at breakfast, over the ever present oatmeal and banana, I think Maria told me that she doesn´t like Juan, Gabby´s Argintinean boyfriend who was also visiting. Though honestly, she could have been saying she doesnt like Juan´s shirt. I spend half the time in the dark.

So Hugo sits quietly, sometimes smoking, while Maria talks and Sylvia, her friend, an english teacher tells me in English that you can´t hide your problems by drinking them away and looks meaningfully at Maria. ¨It´s been tried!¨she laughs loudly. ¨No one can do it!¨

Maria sometimes teaches at our spanish school, Educion Para Todos, and always houses students. Some of my fellow students arrive to drink beers and Maria tells us over and over again how much Educacion Para Todos is like her family. ¨Sarah sabe!¨ She says, gesturing at her body. ¨My family.¨ Gabby and her friends get ready to go out, and one of them promises a trip to the nearest beach next weekend, the one that doesn´t ache of tourists.

The other part of student life is of course, the school. I spend five hours a day, from 2pm until 7pm at the little, unmarked school, Educacion Para Todos. It involves a tiny front office with tea and coffee, a tiny courtyard, tiny bathrooms and then tiny classrooms with bare wood tables that come off the courtyard.

Javier is my teacher. He´s 24, and studies civil engineering at the University of Guatemala in Xela. He wears a necklace that reminds him to follow el Señor´s footprints, and giggles when he asks me if in the United States, on Halloween, guys dress in drag? He giggles a lot, and especially giggles when I mispronounce words that sound like bad ones. I asked him what he thought about the current president. He told me he can´t listen to him because there is something wrong with his throat. Javier pinches his nose and tilts his head. ¨Él hable commo una rana.¨ (little frog). He´s a patient teacher though, a good one. We methodically go through the book. He corrects my accent. ¨Preguntas?¨he asks. And then it´s time for some instant coffee.

The school gets a bit of sun through the courtyard, but like Maria´s house, nothing is heated and everything is made of cement. The last hour of the lesson, after the sun sets, is freezing, and we wear jackets and hats while conjugating verbs. Just like at home, where i wear long underwear, thick socks, pants, sweater, fleece jacket and hat to bed.

Xela´s winter weather is like the desert.

Conan, the tiny little attack kitten, has apparantly attracted admirers. Hugo roams the house at night with a sling shot. The neighborhood cats yowl and call for Conan from the neighboring patios and rooftops. They join in the rousing dog chorus when dark falls.