Email: Celeste Mason

Dear Amigos and Amigas,

One of the things I find most encouraging in a time of economic crisis, war, and hunger is to see the hope that small groups of average people can bring to the world. Whether it is nonprofit organizations, church groups, or plain good-hearted people, their missions are what keep me and many others hopeful for the future and joyful in the present.

This Christmas I was lucky enough to be able to share with a Guatemalan group of good-hearted people serving their own community. The project is called “Calor Navideño” or “Christmas Warmth.”  Calor Navideño” is a Christmas project serving the community of Comalapa. Throughout the year, “GuateVision,” a Guatemalan TV station, holds a drive collecting whatever the choice item is that year. This year, it was blankets. The day after Christmas, my work was to help sort and package blankets, toys, sweaters, and trousers with pretty little bows on top, not knowing a thing about the event about to take place.

The next day, we loaded all the packages in the back of a pickup truck that was decorated with balloons of every color and every level of inflation. I jumped on the back of another truck, which was also decorated with balloons and which contained a loud speaker, and we began our journey.

We picked up tamales and chuchitos from some ladies who wanted to help out. (Later, during a snack break, I ate one of those chuchitos to find a pig’s foot inside. Thinking it was a cultural thing to eat the feet I offered mine to my counterparts. Everyone gave me a look as they pulled their own pig’s foot out and offered them as well. I guess it goes to show that pigs’ feet are enjoyed by few in Guatemala, too.) Meanwhile, in the distance, I noticed a group of five men walking toward us dressed in mariachi gear, with cowboy hats instead of sombreros, and carrying instruments. Just as I let out a laugh at the sight of a fully dressed mariachi band climbing a hill at 7:00 a.m., two teenage boys dressed as clowns with fauxhawks and unshaved whiskers jumped on board. Suddenly, our overstuffed pickup felt a little more like a clown car in size and in atmosphere.

For the next 12 hours, the clowns, the mariachi band, the volunteers, and I drove around town to the houses of pre-selected elderly people struggling to survive. As we drove, someone up front announced over our loudspeaker what it was we were doing. “Here we are, “Calor Navideño,” bringing gifts, a hot meal, a mariachi band all the way from Mexico (not really), two clowns, and a blonde girl (that’s me!) to the elderly of Comalapa, trying to spread hope and joy throughout Comalapa.” Though my hair isn’t really blonde at all but more dirty brown, I was glad I had made it onto the playbill that day if it would help to spread hope and joy throughout Comalapa. It’s the least I could do for the people of Guatemala, really.

At each stop the mariachi began to play, the clowns danced, tamales and chuchitos were served, a gift was given, a TV crew filmed the whole thing with commentary, and I stood there being “blonde.” At our very first stop an old man showed up carrying homemade sombreros and a delighted look on his face as he handed them over to the band. The look on the mariachis’ faces showed they were not quite thrilled. I imagined the old man thinking how long he had been waiting for those sombreros he had made to come in handy. Well, today was the day for miracles.

Throughout the day, the elderly we visited ranged from bed-ridden to blind to supporting a whole family with no means of income. The floors in most of the houses were dirt, the front doors were often just a piece of wooden board, and the beds were without a mattress and shared by many. No matter how big the hardship though, every single one of them seemed to ignore the overwhelming chaos of the commotion and enjoy their five minutes of entertainment from the mariachi, the clowns, and the blonde girl. The giving spirit was alive that day, as most of those elderly visited offered something in return. Some offered us their smile, others a story, others a piece of candy, and once in a while a shot of whiskey. Whatever it was, it was more than necessary. We finished late that night with headaches from the loudspeakers blasting in our ears (and maybe the whiskey) but hopeful for the future and joyful in the present. And I think those we visited might have felt the exact same way.