On the back of the flatbed, about 2o of us holding on for dear life. This was the least comfortable I'd been since arrival. Uncomfortable in the sense that we were a bunch of whites riding down crowded 'city' centers and everyone was pointing and staring. Plus, the new American volunteers were doing everything in their power to not fit in.
After an hour, we turned off onto a side road. There, we found Father Rick and the rest of the group. Father Rick started mass.
Joining us were three nuns from Mother Teresa's parish. Here, they knelt before the two bodies.
The site was something out of a movie. The mass in the foreground; the burning grass and garbage in the background. Know one knew why the fires started but it is believed that locals set the hills on fire in honor of the Earthquake anniversary.
The fiery hills behind our trucks. 
Father Rick, Nurse Conan, and Italian doctor Cesaer take the bodies deeper into the fields to bury them. Joining us was a four piece band that played music during mass and the burial.
* * * * *
After the vigil, we returned to basecamp where the mood was much more lively. The Italians made (honestly) the best pasta I've ever had. Over dinner and a few beers, I talked to a retired American doctor/professor who had worked in Guatemala many times who gave me ample advice for my trip next month. Along with talking to him, I briefly chatted with Cesaer and told him he was the 'most badass Italian I've ever met.' To that he thanked me and told me "Is ok... I'm flattered but it not mean much because most of time I don't even like Italians. Or Americans. Except you volunteers. I can hardly tolerate Germans sometimes." Like I said - a complete badass.
No comments:
Post a Comment