Reportage

I spent three and a half hours the other night getting my ankle looked at by Dr. Raul Antonio Amenabar Perdomo at Esperanza, the closest hospital, who pretty much told me what I already knew. “Looks like a moderate sprain.”

Moderate? You should see this thing? I am no stranger to these “moderate” sprains, having done this before at least half a dozen times, following in my brother Mike’s (enormous) footsteps, and my Dad’s before him. I know the drill. Thanks, Doc. At least medical expenses are dirt cheap here: $25 for the doctor visit, $30 for x-rays. Who needs insurance?

In any case, I’ve been told by the Mrs. that I will be playing no more Papi Futbol. Thanks, Kris. My first game in my brand new $70 Adidas turf shoes, two minutes left to go, two assists to my credit, about six reasonably good shots on goal, and I wrench my tobillo. So goes my latent soccer career.




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The Volvo has been in the shop almost two weeks and counting, and as far as I can make out from those I’ve coaxed into calling the place for me, they haven’t even touched it. Haven’t laid one greasy finger on it. Not one. So we’ve been renting cars, bumming rides, and walking. Kristin has suffered more than me from this because of the ankle, etc.


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Heather, the new temporary Director of Hannah’s Hope who is in from Portland thru Christmas (she’s actually the Executive President of All God’s Children), is moving in next door, just beyond Tony’s place. Her family is coming down this week along with 7 of her pets. I was delighted to see yesterday that she had a new pong table brought in. Will be nice having gringos within a shout of here, and nice to play a little pong too.


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A pack of laborers have been putting up an elegant sheet metal gate next to our place. The owner’s must be nervous someone’s going to steel the six or seven mounds of dirt on the other side.




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We hired a day maid to help with Cristian and some of the cleaning. Her name is Rosa. It’s been a little awkward for us functioning in a society so defined by class. More on this later…


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Took the kids to El Museo de los Ninos (The Children’s Museum) last week, which was a great success. We’re looking into planning a field trip for the kids at Hannah’s Hope.


(Disgusted that we can't find any good sausage in Guatemala)


(Since Central America is notoriously weak on child labor laws, we decided to put the boy to work)


(Mallory making a castle)


(Mallory is this crazy jumping mechanism. She tore it up in that thing)


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We’ve found a home in the Union Church of Guatemala City. As far as I know, it’s the only English-speaking Protestant church in the city. The other Spanish-speaking churches we’ve attended have been overly charismatic, which has only made us miss our Presbyterian church back in Cincinnati all the more. The pastor, Karl Smith, has given three great homilies each of the weeks we’ve attended, and the congregation is genuinely warm and friendly. The youth pastor and his wife even invited us over for lunch next Sunday. Most attendees are either missionaries or U.S. Embassy employees and their families, about 150 in attendance at the 8:15 service. Whatever or whoever they are, it’s good to be among our kind.


(Taken from the parking lot of The Union Church of Guatemala City)