Home Sweet Home

If there is one thing I have accrued living in Guatemala it is patience—endless amounts of patience (and free tampons…thank you Peace Corps). And I have just learned that patience pays off.

From the first day I set foot in Tactic on my site visit, I had my hopes set on living in the house where the volunteer that previously worked with Nu’Kem used to live. I had heard stories from Peace Corps staff members and seasoned volunteers about the gorgeous house Jee had in Tactic. I came. I saw it. I loved it. I wanted it. It was not available.

The house was unoccupied, but the owners, who permanently reside in Canada, were going to make a visit to Tactic and therefore didn’t want to rent it. With the uncertain possibly of residing there in the future, I left my contact information with the relatives who care for the house. I would stop by their home every 15 days or so to reiterate that I was very interested in renting the house the moment was available. During the vast majority of the visits I would speak with the Grandma, and as the months passed by, I was being to wonder if the message ever made it past her ears. But still I hoped and waited. I waited for almost a year, 315 days to be exact, until I finally got a call saying the house was open.

On June 1st, I moved into my Guatemalan “dream home.” And after all that waiting, living here really does feel like a dream—a wonderful dream. I have a huge front yard with orange and lime trees, flowers, and a tomato garden. There is a full kitchen with a real sink. The shower is wonderfully hot. There is a built-in wardrobe with a full-length mirror. The floor is tiled. I sometimes wonder if I am still really living in Guatemala.

I shed no tears about leaving behind my one room moldy former residence (I liked to call it my Guatemalan studio), but I did cry about leaving the wonderful host family that rented it to me. The house was separate, but located just behind the family’s house, so I would stop and chat with them every time I came and went. I spent countless hours sitting in Doña Maruka’s “Los Angeles” hair salon laughing about my Spanish faux pas and translating the instructions on beauty supplies (“DO NOT use this relaxer on white people’s hair!”). The moment I broke the news to “the Ruk” (she doesn’t know I call her that) she started crying, and my tears soon followed. She told me she understood my reason for moving and that no matter where I lived, I would always be part of the family.

So I left my dream host family for my dream house. And although I often miss the extended daily interaction with the family, this house was definitely worth waiting for.