Día del Niño

This past Wednesday was Día del Niño (Day of the Niño) here in Guatemala. (It could also be known as “The Day of Torture for Anyone Over the Age of 13,” but it would be difficult for such a cumbersome title to catch on.) And since I am now working with youth through municipal Office of Culture and Sports (more details on my new job to follow at some point), I was involved in the community activities for the special day.

The festivities in front of the municipal building started early in the afternoon. Tactic’s mayor, Hugo, kicked off the event with a welcome to the hundreds of children and parents present and an introduction of those who work in the newly formed Office of Culture and Sports, including their very own special assistant all the way from the United States of America, Kathryn. As if those in the crowd who hadn’t already seen me during my past year in Tactic were unable to pick the gringa out of the mass of children, Hugo insisted that put a hand in the air. “Higher, so everyone can see you.” I was slightly embarrassed, but worse was yet to come.

After being in Guatemala for over a year, I should know by now that when there’s a gringa at a gathering with a microphone, there’s going to be an impromptu speech. (My fellow PCV and friend, Kelly, was impelled to sing the praises of Kotex at a school sanitary pad rally, and another friend, Jill, was asked to impart her wisdom at a function for pregnant women before she had any idea why the people were gathered.) But the thing is, I did know better. I knowingly maintained a large distance from Hugo while he was giving his speech, and I later purposefully avoided my co-worker Fito who was manning the microphone for the event. But I momentarily let my guard down, and Fito seized upon my proximity to pass me the mike to give a speech.

I am not an overly enthusiastic public speaker, though I have never considered the task daunting—in English that is. I have given talks/speeches in front of large groups of people here in Guatemala but always with the prior knowledge that I was going to do so. Preparation prevents (or greatly reduces at least) embarrassment. This Día del Niño speech, however, was popped on me at the last second, and I’m afraid I blew it. Perhaps it didn’t go as badly as the version that has been replaying through my mind, but I am pretty sure it wasn’t something a Spanish professor would have been be pleased to hear. I rambled. I rambled on about how wonderful children are, how wonderful the country of Guatemala is, and how wonderful the municipality of Tactic is. And when I thought my rambling was sufficient, I turned to give the mike back to Fito whose imploring look suggested I should continue talking, so I rambled some more.

Public humiliation aside, I was kept busy during the festivities as the event’s photographer and the self-appointed caretaker of the wounded. The focal point of the afternoon, as with nearly any Guatemalan party, was the more than a dozen candy filled piñatas. The piñatas were each meant to be reserved for a certain age and sex (7-year-old girls, for example). But short of locking up the children who didn’t meet the requirements to participate in a certain round in cages, there was precious little to stand in the way of a Guatemalan child and candy showering from a busted piñata. The municipal police were on hand for crowd control, but they were no match for the darting little patojos.

So inevitably after each piñata round there was some crushed and crying victim of the candy scrum who I took it upon myself to rescue. Like a football referee trying to get to the bottom of the pile after a fumble, I would peal off layer after layer of children and move them to the side. Progress was slow, however, because of the majority of the removed children would simply jump back into the fray with the singular objective of obtaining more of the highly coveted candy. But eventually I would reach the injured party, scoop him up, and carry him to the safety of his mother or older sibling. And then the chaos would start all over again.

Let’s just say that I was happy when the rain rolled in and finally brought the event to a close over four hours after it started. Yes, many children had cried, but there were no broken bones and no one was bleeding, so I count the event as a success. But I am not sure our luck would have held out had the festivities last any longer, and I hope not to make any more trips to the hospital.