El Día de los Niños

This past Thursday was the Día de los Niños (Kids’ Day) in Xela, and El Nahual organized an afternoon fiesta at the local zoo for its affiliate elementary schools. One hundred and thirty seven children from La Cuchilla, La Candelaria, and El Nahual’s Manos de Colores program came to enjoy the modest display of animals (turkeys and jaguars were the big attractions) and to play a bunch of carnival-esque games prepared by the volunteers.

In the two weeks before the Día de los Niños I had volunteered three times at La Cuchilla, an elementary school. The school sits on a narrow side street in a tiny neighborhood fifteen minutes outside of the city center. The doors to the classroom exit directly out onto the dusty road. Modest metal panels make up the ceiling and are the only thing separating the students from the elements overhead. Maps of Guatemala and pictures of the national flag adorn the fading red walls. In the second classroom, student art projects hang from the ceiling, conveniently disguising a dangling fly strip with hundreds of its victims on display.

Each time I went, I taught the same two classes, each time with at least two other volunteers. In the first, the 8-10 year old students sat two to a desk (when they were actually sitting). When we walked in, we were always greeted by a couple young girls in uniform skirts eager to show off their English skills. “How are you?” we’d ask and they’d shout back, “How are you!” with huge smiles on their faces. They don’t quite get the concept of “I’m good. And how are you?” With their school year almost coming to a close, you’d think

we’d be far past the basics. With so much volunteer turnover, however, I wondered how much good we’re actually doing these kids sometimes.

The question of whether or not we’re actually helping the kids bothered me a lot, but on Thursday I couldn’t think about that; there were games to set up. As I sat near the gazebo in the park waiting for the rest of the kids to show up, it started to rain. The city kids took shelter under the gazebo alongside me, but the rural kids weren’t deterred by the dark clouds. They continued sprinting around on the grass, having headstand competitions and playing tag.

The rain came and went, and I set up shop near a tree. I put my cardboard box/mini table on the grass and, as I sat there with my three cups and Styrofoam ball, Andy said I looked like a Gipsy hustler on the streets of Spain trying to peddle out fake Euros. Andy and Beth had some basketball-ish game set up, Rachel and Sarah had a mini-fishing pond behind me, and Steve and Shamus had get-the-ball-through-the-cardboard-clown’s-mouth games ready to my right. There were four more on the opposite side of the gazebo, but once the kids started playing, I didn’t get to see how they went.

Jaime, our director, gave all the children a little speech that I couldn’t hear, but I knew it was done once a stampede of kids came trampling toward us. Smiling faces, ranging from four to fourteen years old, encircled me and my box immediately. I would try to fool them, but – if there’s one thing I learned that day – I’m not meant to be a street hustler. I believe my record was 2 and 87. Every five minutes Jaime would ring a bell and the kids would sprint off to the next game on their list. I thought an hour sitting behind my box and spastically mixing cups would be the longest hour of my life, but each group of kids was so excited to be playing (and kicking my ass) that I found myself smiling along with them the entire time.

After an hour of intense gaming, the children sat on the grass anxiously awaiting to hear who won the big competition. I didn't listen to Jaime as he told them the scores because I already knew the big secret: they would all go home winners today. Instead, I sat looking at them and how genuinely happy they were to be there. I began thinking that maybe how much English they learn isn't so important; maybe our being there as volunteers should be about something bigger than that. I continued thinking as I watched them line up to receive their prizes - toys and hot dogs, all courtesy of Milosz's, a volunteer, Polish government grant. Maybe what these kids need most - maybe what all kids need most - is to believe that they have it in them to be something, to be a winner in life, I wondered. Maybe, being a mentor and showing them that I believe in them is just as, if not more, important as teaching them to conjugate verbs in English. As the last of the niños left the zoo to board our "bus" back to school, I knew they were all going home feeling like winners today - especially the kids who played against me. I just hoped that they'd feel like winners still tomorrow.