It wasn't at all what I had expected. What had I expected? Well a more modern looking dormitory, that’s for sure. With at least cheap carpet instead of tile flooring and a more Americanized western structure. But this is Central America I reminded myself. I dragged my suitcases behind me. What am I doing here? I thought, why am I here? No one had twisted my arm. Was it just to travel? Try something new? I felt I would fit in and break stereotypes that Latinos had on Americans. That we are too soft and spoiled. In that case, maybe it hadn't been a good idea to have worn my fedora on the day of my arrival. My brown hair was at its longest, straightened and curled at the ends, but still reaching my hips. I was hoping to donate it to cancer the following year. Dark kohl framed my brown eyes. The ends of my white cotton shirt were buttoned and sticking out from my black vest, spilling over my black pants.
I thought I would be used to the dirt roads, that different smell in the air, familiarized with the culture from my summers as a child in Mexico with my mother’s family. I pondered these thoughts and many other questions as I wandered down the dark and cold concrete hallways that led into the dorms. The heels of my black boots clicked on the floor.
I was supposed to find the Women’s monitor—Connie in Dorm 3. She kept an eye on all the young women that were boarding at a Bible school. There were five dorm rooms for the women on the second floor. They were all identical, with a max capacity for seven people. Every two rooms were annexed to each other, two at a time through bathrooms with three toilets, and showers apiece. I looked down towards the men’s dormitories beneath me. The building had a U shape and a deck that went all around the building on the women’s floor.
Finally arriving at Dorm 3, I knocked loudly. A women’s head poked out, her shoulder length hair looked voluminous and overly processed. A victim of over dying and flat ironing. She looked to be somewhere in her forties. Although her brow showed hints of fine lines and her skin looked a bit leathery, one could tell by her facial features that she had once been beautiful.
“Hello, my name is Zara and I am looking for Sister Connie?”
“Oh my heavens, that’s me my dear, you must be William’s sister?” I simply nodded and loosened my burgundy tie a bit. I had heard much of this strange woman from my older brother whom she was currently singing praises of. Obviously, he had made a very good impression. He was one of the chosen few that had made it into Connie’s good book. Although I would initially set out to do the same, I had the nagging feeling near my departure that the reason the same friendly chemistry hadn't develop amongst the two of us was because…I wasn’t a guy. I didn’t hold it against her. It’s a woman thing, I thought.
I was being escorted to my new shared bedroom, Dorm 6. When it had come to unpacking, I remember feeling so overwhelmed when I realized I had brought no toiletries with me! After a short tour, I was lent a few items until I could be taken out on one of the many Mitsubishi vans or omnibuses the campus owned to shop at the nearest mall.
When I was left alone at last to choose my bunk and unpack. All the bottom ones had been taken. Knowing I was finally alone in the room gave me the freedom to sink on the closest bed. Am I really here? Just that morning I had been in my own home weighing my luggage for the 5th time. I had said goodbye to my mother as if I was only going down the street to visit my friend. It felt surreal. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, blinking repeatedly. I am really here! I had thought that if I squeezed my eyes tight enough, I would open them to find myself back at home in my own room. I couldn’t believe it. Am I regretting my choice? I placed my doubts on the balance, trying to measure them. In the end, I still didn’t have my answer as my mind continued thinking, I am really here.
I quickly learned what rules were observed the most and took care to follow them. But we all slipped up once in a while. The important thing was that if you had to break a rule was to not get caught… and if that happened, it was always a good idea to come clean. The most popular broken rule was talking to the young men outside of the permitted ‘social time’. This not only helped to keep us focused on our studies, but tried our self-discipline as well. Our volunteer working hours were not considered ‘social time’. And what usually started with a nod and “How are you?” might accidently turn into a full out 10 minute conversation on the walkway. Female students were not allowed to look down towards the first floor of the dormitories which belonged to the men. Not that there was much to look at though anyways, except their boxers or towels hanging on the laundry line, or maybe a girl could catch the guy she likes at the washboard, scrubbing his clothes clean. All of these were the most common rules broken. Anything that had to do with guys, you could be sure we young women would break them.
….Ok, well there were two girls who would have been the only credible candidates I’d believe to be blameless of this crime. Very special girls, we all agreed, but it was hard to be their friends. You couldn’t help feeling like such a sinner beside them. They were very sweet though, no doubt about that. By the end of my time in Guatemala they would become good friends of mine.
Everyone caught on fast to the campus lingo. Our studies pertained largely to the biblical texts from which derived an abundance of our inside jokes. When we’d catch a classmate looking down at the men from the deck which was forbidden we’d say, “Stop coveting the forbidden fruit”. From the deck we could also look out into the streets. Sometimes we would gather around to watch the local boys who we had dubbed “the Philistines” playing some soccer. It had been one of our many inside jokes that none of my friends from back home would understand.
I remember my first night, I didn’t sleep. One of our roommates was a heavy young woman who slept across the room from me and snored awfully loud. Having had my own room for years, I found this unbearable. I begged God to either stop her snores or to use his divine power and knock me out unconscious. Anything to get some sleep. After my 6 hour flight I had been exhausted. I must have dozed off eventually as I recall someone gently rubbing my arm, awakening me.
“Yeah?” the room was still dark.
“It is almost time for devotions, you might want to get changed now before the chichara rings.” It was Dawn. They had warned me about the fire alarm that rang at 5 A.M. every morning. It was a signal that let students know that the guard dogs had already been caged. The colonia in which the campus was located within Guatemala City didn’t have a very good reputation, what with the many cantinas down the streets and prostitutes that lingered nearby them. The campus took as much precaution with their security guards, patrols and gates day and night.
I tried to pry my eyes open. I was able to see that Dawn had somehow managed to have put on her daily eyeliner and mascara with only the help of the moonlight shining through the open slits of glass window panes. We weren’t allowed to turn on the bedroom light until 7AM. All that went through my mind was, Are you serious? I looked at my little clock on the tall dresser beside me, it read 4:45. A.M! Are you SERIOUS! I was used to doing my devotions, but not at such ungo—I mean—an…early hour. Won’t God appreciate if my prayers are actually lucid enough and not some gibberish I may mutter half asleep? I didn’t argue though. I hadn’t known that our devotions were an actual requirement…I mean having to get up at 4:45? AM? That’s all my brain kept thinking. God? How am I going to survive? Asking for his grace, I did the hardest thing for me at that moment. Flipping away my soft white blanket I jumped down from my bunk and survived.
I felt my way around the first year. I remember thinking all the guys looked alike and wondered if I would ever be able to tell them apart. I was a misfit during my first month because after a week I was moved again for some unknown reason to the room annexed to our bathroom—Dorm 5. Everyone apparently had already made friends with each other and I felt like the outsider. Having just turned eighteen, I was among the youngest in the room. I thanked God because I was finally going to get some sleep without any snores to keep me up.
Dark circles had already begun to form around my eyes like a sleepless zombie. Getting some sleep for the rest of the semester in exchange for a month of awkward loneliness was difficult but a great exchange for me. No one really talked to me. I was the only American in a room half filled with 2nd year and new students like myself. We were a mixture from the African, Central and Southern American continents. I felt alone at first and simply followed my roommates around those first few weeks. At night, I would hear their whispering as they grouped together to speak beside their small lamps, casting their shadows among the glow of their lights. They would laugh quietly as I pretended to read or sleep, feeling like an outsider and promising myself that in the coming year, I would do my best to make all the first year students in my room feel welcomed. I feared the silence that might have come if I approached them—making myself an intruder into their private conversations. Maybe it wouldn’t have gone that way, but I was too afraid to try, afraid of facing any type of rejection, afraid of any type of failure. Although I wanted to have someone to talk to as well, I simply watched everyone, observing the quick developing cliques on campus.
The cafeteria was the perfect place to watch this happen. Although it was an international school, it was common to see the tables filled with either roommates eating together or groups separated by nationality. There was no rule and it wasn’t verboten to sit randomly at a table, it seemed as if they were simply drawn to one another like the lizards I had seen in my backyard seeking the heat of the sun.
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