Bilingual Babysitting

New Year’s Day was a social occasion, spent with Maria, her friend H and his wife and two wonderful children. They were kind to invite me along. I have lots of great photos of them, but I don’t want to post them here, even though no one ever reads this. For one thing, I don’t have their permission, and for another, H’s life is in danger. He’s a journalist whose honest reports from his departamento of the country have exposed corrupt people in government. This has earned him ongoing death threats, as well as the respect of his peers. It’s sobering to sit across the table from this convivial, funny man and to know his life is at risk for telling the truth. I can’t imagine what it’s like for his wife to live with that reality. Two years ago, he and his cameraman were savagely beaten by agents of the government and he had to go into hiding. Still, he won’t be manipulated into silence. Maria wrote an excellent article about him. I’ll try to find out if she’s posted it anywhere online. Among the things that her nonprofit (GraciasVida) does is to develop ongoing journalism training workshops, and raise money to give other kinds of assistance to independent journalists. At the end of other visits to Guatemala, I’ve made a donation to related nonprofit. This time I think I’ll make it GraciasVida.

I was glad H’s wife was there. She speaks very slowly and clearly and patiently, so that I understood a lot. H is much faster, and he was talking about more complex matters, so yo entendí­ less. Still, I got the essence of his life story at present. And the children: the 11-year-old girl is a delight. Like me, she likes drawing and photography and animales. After we had lunch, I asked her to accompany M and me to el mercado, where she helped me pick out a few items. The little boy, they call El Terremoto—The Earthquake. It’s an appropriate moniker. Like me, he loves dirt and twigs and other stuff on the ground.

Every now and then, what I say in Spanish makes people laugh not for its form, but for its intended message, which gives me great happiness. It’s fun to joke with people in another language—much more rewarding than ordering lemonade.

I told H, via Maria, that his little boy was the second-cutest baby in the world: casi casi tan cute como mi nieta, Emmy. After lunch we all returned to the hotel and sat on a lawn above the lake. El Terremoto dashed toward the water. I beat his parents to the draw in chasing after him. He’s 1.75 years old, so his skills on the sharp stone steps to water’s edge aren’t the best. He let me pick him up and carry him all the way down. I tried to speak in Spanish to him. He may be only person who hasn’t laughed. He probably thought, She’s big. She must be correct. Were he able to articulate it, he’d say, You’re such an interesting person, Ginna. You must be using an alternate but accepted form. Linguistically, all was well when we were throwing rocks into the water: echando piedras en el agua, pero our linguistic paths diverged when a herd of ducks floated by. When it came time to carry him back up the hill, he didn’t want to go. I don’t know how to say, It’s time to go back up the hill because you have to drive back home in a few minutes with your parents because it will be dark soon and the roads are dangerous then, and of course you know the situation with your father. Sometimes, strong arms are more powerful than words.