Processing part 2

They had split us up by department. Sacatepéquez and Chimaltenango were first. So we were in these vans, our hearts having just been ripped out of our bodies, when the cars stop. The driver of my van answers his phone, talks a moment, hangs up, and then turns around and informs those of us in the car that something has happened and we now need to go back to the Peace Corps office. We no longer can go to the airport. 

My head is running with so many questions. I have to go back to the office when I just mentally prepared to leave it? Why can’t we go to the airport? We drive back to the office, get out, and then sit and wait for more information. The entire day is filled with waiting and waiting and more waiting. Eventually we received information that the president closed borders and isn’t allowing anyone to enter nor leave the country. So the plane we were supposed to take was cancelled. They informed us that we have to sleep in a hotel that night and they were working to get us a private government-issued charter plan to take us the next day. Meanwhile, they order all other Peace Corps volunteers in the country to pack up immediately and be ready to go in the next hour. We will now all be leaving on the same plane instead of three different ones. All 160+ of us.

We stayed in a hotel that night. And may I remind you, that we are still in the same town where I lived. I had such little time to say goodbye, pack up my bags, and leave and yet I still had not left that town and I was going to sleep in a hotel two blocks away from my house. On Tuesday we woke up, awaiting more information, and yet we got nothing. We were basically locked in this hotel so we paced, played games, some people danced, some people sang songs about evacuation, and others, like me, sat and stared off into the distance. I couldn’t bring myself to do something. I was going crazy. I just needed more information. They kept saying they were attempting to get us a flight but they were having issues getting permission from the president to leave and permission from the U.S. to land a charter plane. I was incredibly frustrated that I was uprooted from my life and my home only to wait forever in a small building when the Peace Corps obviously had no plan for getting us out. Eventually we were informed that they had gotten a plane and they had gotten permission to leave IF the plane was classified as a flight containing high-risk individuals for contracting the coronavirus. In order to get around that, since the majority of us are not high-risk individuals, the U.S. embassy in Guatemala was putting high-risk individuals on the flight with us. This included people over 65, people with kids with asthma, and people with other pre-existing conditions. With these people on the flight, the president signed the papers to allow us to fly a plane out of the country. They told us to be ready by 7:00am the next morning. 

Since I thought I would be out of the country early Monday morning, and here it was, Tuesday afternoon, and I still saw no hope in sight, José came to give me some real food and sit in his car with me to talk and spend one last moment together. A part of me didn’t want to go through the process of having to say goodbye again, but I knew I would regret it if I didn’t take advantage of this opportunity to spend time with him again, when I did not and still do not know when the next time I will see him is. We sat in his car, ate our favorite picnic food (salami, cheese, bread, and juice), and talked. We talked for hours and watched the sun set. We enjoyed being close to each other for my last night in Guatemala. And yes, saying goodbye again was incredibly painful. I felt like I was leaving my heart with him right in his hands. 

At 7:00am the next  morning we get a text saying “Urgent! Stay in place. The flight has been delayed!” And then receive no further information for nearly three more hours. It was excruciating. I had prepared to leave. I did not want to leave, but at this point I was about to jump off the roof of the hotel if it would get somebody’s attention. (Jokes). Needless to say, I was going a bit crazy. When more information did come, they informed us that they have a flight, they have permission to leave and to land, but they have no crew. I repeat, no CREW. No one to fly the plane. It was almost comical at this point and people were volunteering to learn how to fly a plane if it was necessary. A few hours later they somehow got a crew to fly the plane and we were whisked away. For real this time. And at least we were all together. Throughout the pain and the hurt, we were together. All volunteers. 

We were driven to the airport in several large vans and police escorts. Another complexity within all of this was that Guatemala had banned transportation of more than 10 people. And there were over 160 of us. So we needed police escorts so we wouldn’t be arrested. As you can imagine, that drew A LOT of attention. With these policemen in cars and on motorcycles they escorted us through the city at a high speed with their lights flashing and their sirens blaring. We even made the news. Guatemalans were getting out of their cars and holding up their phones to videotape us. I watched out the window, wondering how my life came to this in the matter of three days. We arrived at the airport, which was closed since flights were not prohibited. They had to hire airport security just to get us through security, do immigration, and get us on our flight. I think we were all a little hopeless after all of the changes in the past couple of days that our flight would even make it off the ground and land again in the U.S. When the plane took off I listened to music on my headphones, stared out the window at the small lights of the city, and cried. I didn’t want to be leaving. And I didn’t know when I would be able to return.

When the plane landed everyone clapped. Which normally would annoy me, but considering the circumstances and how low we were all feeling, it truly was a miracle that the plane even made it to Miami, Florida. It was 1:00 in the morning in Miami and we were all exhausted. Some of us hadn’t eaten a real meal since 6:30am. I was one of those people. We all stayed in a hotel and the next day was when we had various flights out to our respective home states. I flew to Oregon and arrived around 7:00pm on Thursday night. Finally I was back. The first moments felt like a dream. Was I really seeing the Portland airport carpet? Was my mom really casually picking me up and driving me to McMinnville? Sitting in such a nice car driving on a nicely paved road felt fake and strange and dreamlike. I didn’t know how to feel. However, as the days pass, it starts to reverse itself. Some moments it feels like I have always been in McMinnville, the whole time. And Guatemala was the dream. That it didn’t actually happen. My reality feels twisted and warped. Walking on the clean sidewalks next to all of the houses who look too perfect with their nicely cut lawns and their children playing outside with basketball hoops feels wrong. I don’t feel like I should be here. 

I am experiencing culture shock. I am experiencing deep sadness. I am experiencing anger and frustration. I was supposed to be in Guatemala for two years and I was there for six months. I had a year and a half left. I was just starting projects. I had so many meetings planned and things I was working on with wonderful people. I had made friends and I had plans. I had fallen in love and started a serious committed relationship with the most amazing person I have ever met. And it was all disrupted. I was terminated from my job. We all were. All 7,000+ volunteers. We do not qualify for unemployment. And we have been thrown back into a pandemic infested country where the job market is crashing. We have to stay in quarantine and we cannot process our feelings with family and friends because we aren’t allowed to be in contact with them for at least fourteen days. It is very difficult. And we do not have job security for the future. We do not know if we will be able to return to our countries we were serving in with the Peace Corps and start back up our same jobs and live in the same homes. We may have to reapply and start completely over. There are so many unanswered questions. It’s all up in the air and is uncertain.

But i’m okay. I’m hanging in there. I will survive. And I am trying to hang on to the hope that this is all temporary. This moment will end. Eventually, I will be back in Guatemala. Whether that is with the Peace Corps or just on my own. I’m not done there. I feel called to go back. So I will keep my head high. I will pray. I will trust. And I will hold on to the fact that even though I do not have much control right now, I have control of how I respond to what is happening to me. And when this is all over, I will have control of how I want to proceed with my life. We will make it through. Even if what it takes is remembering the watery eyes of your best friend and love of your life as he looks into your soul and smiles, reminding you to breathe.