Two plump brown faces peered around the corner at me, their wide brown eyes taking in my pale complexion and straight brown hair. Hearing their giggles I turned and looked up at them before responding with one of the only phrases I knew of the spanish language, “hola” “¿cómo estás?” This caused a panic and they quickly disappeared, laughing to themselves and speaking in a language I had only begun to understand. A few seconds later I could feel their eyes staring down at me again, I quickly shot my head around to stare at them again, this caused them to dart away even quicker before being followed by a uproar of giggles. This experience was something I had grew quite accustomed to in my short time in Guatemala. Everything from the creepy stares
…show more content…
A large pot was brought out and placed over a small makeshift fire they had crafted in their kitchen. Multiple skinny chicken legs were dropped into an orange mixture of spices and rice and steamed while I played and talked with the kids. The spicy aroma coming from the home was smelled all down the street while curious faces peered through the window. It was a welcoming smell compared to what the original fragrance which surrounded me. When it came time for the meal I was handed a dirty blue cup which contained a white mixture. Taking cues from those around me, I hesitantly took a sip of the sweet mixture and stopped only when I felt a chunk. The kids all started giggling when they saw my hesitation and reassured me saying “es arroz”, “it’s rice.” The chicken, which also carried a unique flavor, was quickly inhaled by all the kids, except one. I remember watching her thinking “Why isn’t she eating?” “does she not like it?” With my broken Spanish I quietly spoke to her, “¿por qué no comer ?”, “Why you not eating?” She looked at me timidly and never responded, so carried on with my meal and talking to the other kids around me. After the meal was over I watched as she got up, placed an old plate over her untouched meal, and quietly left. I followed her with my eyes, watching out the window as she crept back to her home with her full platter. It dawned on me the reason she hadn’t
A large pot was brought out and placed over a small makeshift fire they had crafted in their kitchen. Multiple skinny chicken legs were dropped into an orange mixture of spices and rice and steamed while I played and talked with the kids. The spicy aroma coming from the home was smelled all down the street while curious faces peered through the window. It was a welcoming smell compared to what the original fragrance which surrounded me. When it came time for the meal I was handed a dirty blue cup which contained a white mixture. Taking cues from those around me, I hesitantly took a sip of the sweet mixture and stopped only when I felt a chunk. The kids all started giggling when they saw my hesitation and reassured me saying “es arroz”, “it’s rice.” The chicken, which also carried a unique flavor, was quickly inhaled by all the kids, except one. I remember watching her thinking “Why isn’t she eating?” “does she not like it?” With my broken Spanish I quietly spoke to her, “¿por qué no comer ?”, “Why you not eating?” She looked at me timidly and never responded, so carried on with my meal and talking to the other kids around me. After the meal was over I watched as she got up, placed an old plate over her untouched meal, and quietly left. I followed her with my eyes, watching out the window as she crept back to her home with her full platter. It dawned on me the reason she hadn’t