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By Sofia Van Dyke
A thick cloud of fog surrounded the car, making it almost impossible to see around us. The ground was now practically slush underneath the tires from the downpour of rain as we ambled up the steep cliff. I glanced over at my window and what I saw made my heart beat like a drum within my chest, and my palms began to sweat; where the edge of the cliff had been visible minutes earlier was now blanketed by the thickening fog leaving no way to tell where the road dropped off into a steep ravine. I turned around in my seat, but the van that had been following us (carrying the rest of the group) was nowhere to be seen; my family and I were alone. Fear crawled up my chest but then washed away immediately, as a slight beam of red light appeared before us. We were safe. A truck in front of our car had slowed down to help us see the road before us, and within minutes we were pulling up to the driveway of the house; we all sighed a deep breath of relief. We had made it safe and sound.
The frightful events of the previous night were now forgotten as everyone woke up the next morning bubbling with energy for the day ahead. We drank our coffee, ate our breakfast, and then broke off from the group to spend a few minutes doing devotionals before jumping into our busy day. As I sat alone on the balcony writing in my journal, I couldn’t help but marvel in awe at the gorgeous view in front of me, of the place that I had called home for the past fifteen years. The vast lake glittered in the sun as if smiling at me and the mountains loomed around it as if protecting her in their arms. Little dots skimmed the surface of the water leaving white trails behind them, and birds chirped lively songs from their perches within the various trees surrounding the plantation. I had been to Lago Atitlán [1] on many occasions and seen this view many times, but it never ceased to amaze me and always had a way of taking my breath away. I let the moment sink in for a little while longer and then got up and rejoined the group.
The rest of the day we spent bustling around prepping every room for the commotion and chaos that would ensue the next morning—it didn’t help of course that we were seventeen hundred feet above sea level and running up and down hills—but that made it all worth it in the end. That night, once everything was set and ready, we gathered in our little group and discussed the plans for the next day. We all sat with our ears listening to the discussion going on around us, but our minds were spinning with excitement about the day to come.
We woke up, repeated our routine from the day before, had a quick group meeting, and then gathered in the courtyard; which accommodated a large gazebo overlooking the vast expanse of avocado and coffee trees that make up the renowned plantation. All was silent as we stood in our marked sections waiting anxiously for them to arrive. Within a few minutes we could hear it, the sound of children chattering. Then, one by one, they appeared. These small indigenous children from a neighboring village trickled in droves into our little circle with big smiles on their faces. We ushered them into their groups, making sure every single one was accounted for, and then began what would lead to a week full of all art and creativity inspired events and activities. I Am Art 2019 here we come.
My parents—with the occasional help from volunteers—made preparations for our meals each day, and my brother and I worked as assistant leaders in our own workshops. The main leader in my group was a family friend of ours that we had known for many years, and I was so grateful that I was paired with someone I knew. We had many laughs, Lucia, her sister Sandra, and I, and there was never one dull moment when we were all together.
Once the children were gone for the day, most of us from the team spent a lot of time goofing around and participating in lots of community building games and activities. One afternoon, we went ziplining, and let’s just say that quite a few of us faced our fears that day. Other activities consisted of trampoline competitions, movies (and brownies that the group begged me to make more of), tortilla making in a nearby tienda [2] with the Mayan women and hikes or tours throughout the plantation. I can clearly say it was one eventful week that none of us will ever forget.
The rest of the week went by in a blur, and in no time, we were gathering around in the courtyard where it all started, singing our theme song for the last time at this art camp.
Soy Arte, Soy Arte
Una Creación de Dios
Soy Arte, Soy Arte,
Envuelto en amor
Soy Arte, Soy Arte,
Una Creación de Dios
Soy Arte, Soy Arte, Soy Arte [3]
We had lots of moments full of laughter, and now tears were shed as we hugged and said goodbye to the children we had come to grow fond of in that short amount of time. All those memories still flood my mind, and I can’t help but smile every time I think about the week-long camp we had in Guatemala, or as I like to call it, the Land of Eternal Spring.
[1] Lake Atitlan is a famous lake about three hours from Guatemala city and is a big tourist site for people visiting Guatemala
[2] Store (sometimes can be referred to a small village store)
[3] Translation: I Am Art, I Am Art; God’s creation; I Am Art, I Am Art; Wrapped in love; I Am Art, I Am Art; God’s creation; I Am Art, I Am Art, I Am Art.
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