It's Nice to Say Hola

Saying goodbye is hard, and across a three week period, I had to say goodbye to everyone and everything that I know and love. I held back tears when I hugged my friend Kelly who had lived no more than two minutes away for the past 15 years. I watched my other best friends leave for college, and even the handful of my friends attending WVU moved into their dorms and were busy with orientation and settling in. Then, as my departure approached, I had to bid farewell to everyone from my youth group, church, home group, and softball team. It started to become emotionally draining. And after all that, I still had to say goodbye to my family. Thankfully, I didn’t have enough time to be depressed because as soon as I said goodbye, I had to rush through security to make my flight (I was switched on to an earlier flight because my original one was delayed).

After flying from D.C. to Miami to Lima, I had to take a bus to Huancayo, my final destination. Although I had no leg room at all due to my overstuffed backpack, I was too fascinated by my surroundings to be uncomfortable. Looking out the window, I saw what looked like the Rocky mountains topped with beach palm trees, desert cacti, and the tall skinny trees of the savannah. The dust everywhere made it seem like the world was a dandelion that I could blow away with a single breath. All the trees had leaves but were an ashy gray as if the life had been sucked out of them. The people in the streets looked like they’d been plucked out of a time machine with their colorful woven shawls, long flowing skirts, and baby slung over their back. Tiny rainbow shirts and leggings were draped over numerous clotheslines strung between small brick houses. Stray dogs skinny enough to be posing as Halloween skeletons prowled all over the streets along with the occasional pig, sheep, or rooster, saddled donkeys grazed along the dusty side of the road. Three teenage boys ran into the street and performed flips and handstands at a stop light. Children in school uniforms roamed the streets alone. Huge painted signs advertised politicians or stores on almost every wall. Four llamas stood atop a hill. Everything I saw was new and interesting.

For three hours, looking out the window was fascinating. During the fourth hour, I was still enjoying myself. By the fifth hour, though, my legs started to hurt. By hour six, the drone of rapid fire Spanish all around me became frustrating. At that point, I really wanted off the bus. The trip was only supposed to be six and a half hours, yet the bus showed no sign of stopping. I had to use the restroom, but I was blocked in by a sleeping woman who I didn’t have the heart to wake. By hour seven and a half, I begged God to please let the bus ride end. It finally did. Tino, who I would be staying with, picked me up at the bus station and we rode a taxi to his home. I was disappointed to find out that I was currently the only volunteer. He showed me my room, and I spent a few minutes getting settled; however, I still couldn’t unpack because my suitcase was MIA. I sat on my bed and felt a million things at once: amazed, fascinated, interested, excited…but I also found that the loneliness had returned.

Before I had time to dwell on my loneliness, though, Tino’s wife, Mari, invited me to see the mountain school with her daughter Angela. We walked down a dirt road, passed a wall painted with Spongebob characters, and waited at the bus stop. Out of nowhere, a green bus appeared, speeding down the street. It slammed on its brakes when it reached us, and we climbed on. Before I even had a chance to look for a seat, the scrawny bus driver had stomped on the gas, nearly throwing me to the ground. I grabbed a bar on the ceiling and braced myself as we took sharp turns and went straight over anything in our way. I felt like I was a passenger of Cruella De’Ville or the crazy bus driver from Harry Potter 3. When we reached our stop, I thanked God that I was still alive and paid my fare in Peruvian soles. However, I should’ve waited to thank God because the bus nearly ran us over as we were getting off.

We walked a short distance up another dirt road, passing houses the size of an American shed and in much worse condition. I began to expect the school to be a lean-to made of cardboard. But then Mari opened a metal door, and suddenly white walls painted with flowers, animals, and handprints stood before me. As I turned to look around, children started pouring out of three small classrooms. Every single one of them ran up to me, hugged me, kissed me on the cheek, and said, “Hello, Miss.”

“Hola, Hola, Hola,” I echoed as I admired each beaming face. Every child had huge brown eyes framed in long lashes, and most of the girls had beautiful long braids that shone in the sunlight. The older girls asked me where I was from. The younger boys showed me their toy bugs. More and more kept coming out of classrooms to welcome me. By the time I greeted the last child, my loneliness had vanished like my puff of breath in the chilly air.

I'm having troubling getting pictures on here. It's really slow, so I will try to upload them on facebook instead.