If there's one thing I've learned about Guatemala, it's that Guatemalans love festivals, parties, and any reason to take a day off from work to celebrate--who wouldn't? It definitely makes the work week go by quicker. This past Friday was Dia del Maestro(a)--Teacher's Day. I was thankfully invited to this event, and my Kaqchikel (Mayan language I'm learning) teacher wanted me to perform a song in Kaqchikel for the event. Never one to back down from an opportunity to embarrass myself, I agreed and started practicing the song. The event is not just a celebration for teachers, but also a pageant of sorts for the female teachers. The participating schools each perform a folk dance in the traditional traje (dress), while the candidates for Seno Magisterio are highlighted and give an speech about values and bilingual education.
The day before the event, I arranged to go to the event with Seno Angelica, my lively neighbor and a teacher at Panimatzalam. We left an hour after it was supposed to start and ended up hanging out in the park until the rest of Panimatzalam's teachers showed up. The event hadn't yet started so in pure Guatemalteca fashion, no one entered the Salon. Instead, we went shoeshopping. We eventually made it back to the event around 10:15--starting only a little over two hours later. Prof. Geremias, my Kaqchikel teacher, told me that I would be going on fifth so I had a good amount of time. I sat down with the rest of the teachers from Panimatzalam as the MCs told us the order of events. I wasn't worried when I hadn't heard my name listed. There was no time to worry since they called up "La Cuerpa de Paz" (the peace corps volunteer) to start off the event. I rushed to get my guitar and my teacher to present me, as I fumbled to compose myself. As uneloquently as possible, I greeted everyone, congratulated them, and said it was a pleasure to share this special day with them. With nervous laughter, I started singing a song about going to school, "Yoj apon pa tijob'al oj ru yob'en ri tijonel." I was kindly (perhaps out of pity?) met with loud applause throughout the song and was relieved when I could exit the stage. Returning to my seat, I relaxed a bit knowing that nothing more was expected of me.
That relief was momentary. When the ladies of Panimatzalam got up to go change, Seno Dominga invited me to accompany them. Sure, why not! The teachers unlocked a classroom for us and lent us a boombox. All of a suddent, Seno Dominga is referring to me while speaking Kaqchikel to the other women. Hm. All of a sudden she asks, "Meri, do you want to dance with us?" "Uhh...I don't know the dance at all. I don't have a traje either." To which everyone objects, "Oh come on! We only practiced it twice so don't worry! Seno Susi brought an extra corte (traditional wrap around skirt) and guipil (typical sometimes elaborately embroidered blouse) for you. We'll help you get dressed!" So there I was in a classroom learning how to do a baile folklorico (folk dance) from Chichicastenango. After that, the ladies stuck to their word and helped me get dressed into a beautiful corte and guipil, wrapping the faja (cloth or beaded belt that holds up the corte) unbelievably tightly around me. After only rehearsing maybe two or three times within 40 minutes before our performance, I was ready. The dance went surprisingly well, and we all giggled when we surrounded Seno Yoly, our Seno Magisterio candidate, realizing that we didn't know what to do next. After we finished the dance, we took a ton of photographs of us all dressed up, changed our outfits, and listened to the speeches. A few of the teachers behind me cheered, "Bravo, Meri!" When I explained that I had only just learned the dance 30 minutes before performing it. They were shocked and remarked, "iQué pilas!" A frase that means very motivated and "a go-getter." It was amusing and encouraging to see all the looks and comments I got from people for wearing the outfit and participating in the dance. Though I almost always feel like I'm putting forth an effort to integrate, it was a visible reminder for those around me to see that effort.
To our delight, Seno Yoly received second place--that means that our dance had to have been pretty good! We ate our lunch and laughed as we watched the video of the dance Andrea had taken since she didn't participate (at a very pregnant 8 months, the faja of the traje can be extremely uncomfortable). While everyone finished up their food at the end of the event, Seno Silvia, the director of Panimatzalam, handed me a candle and said she'd be expecting me tomorrow at the church for her daughter's Quincenera, which would be followed by a party at her house. Another great suprise after a rewarding day full of them. I was surrounded by a chaotic whirlwind of goodbyes, congratulations, and "Feliz dia del maestro!"
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