The school year here runs from January to October, which
means we have entered the season of graduation from Bachillerato- the Guatemalan
version of high school. Because only a small percentage of Guatemalans attend university, Bachillerato is
a terminal degree for most. It follows the 6 years spent in “Primaria” and 3 in
“Básico.” In addition to the usual high school curriculum of math, science,
language, etc, the “Bachilleres” of Guatemala choose a career focus,
like a college major, which offers the vocational training they will need when
looking for a job. Individual Bachllerato schools offer a limited number of
majors, so our high school kids are spread out over many different schools in
Chimaltenango, San Lucas and Antigua. Some
have sponsors from the US, Canada or Europe
who pay for their “ahijado” to study at a more elite private school. But most
are limited to the majors available at the free public schools. These majors
include: auto mechanic, secretary, technical drawing, teacher, electrician, physical
education, arts and sciences, computer science… To be sure, their high school
major does not mean that they cannot choose something else to study if they
attend the university studies.
Because of these various “majors,” our Pequeños attend eight
or nine different Bachilleratos. This means eight or nine different graduation
ceremonies. I facetiously offer the graduates a “bribe” of 100 Quetzales ($12,
but a lot to them) to any willing to excuse me from attending their graduation.
Anyone who has been to a high school graduation in the States knows how brutal
these can be. They are even tougher here: The Guatemalan flag is brought in,
accompanied by a group salute and its special song. That is followed by the
singing of the National Anthem (all twelve stanzas), directed by a student in
front who tries to wave his arms in sync with the recorded music. Then the
graduates process in with their parents, called individually by name, and accompanied
by loud music. In fact, a recorded soundtrack accompanies everything, including
the interminable speeches by faculty and students. Several hours later
the graduates leave the stage, diplomas in hand. I also exit, doing my best to
cope with the headache brought on by two-plus hours of audio volume turned up so
loud that I fear my hearing has been damaged.
Jose Antonio was one of the graduates this year. He
presented me with one of the eight tickets allocated to each graduate of his
school and asked me to attend. I thanked him and did my best to smile politely,
making peace with the fact that I would lose half a day sitting through yet
another one of these events. The reality is that this is a huge deal for the
graduates. Especially for our kids, who very rarely are celebrated as
individuals, graduation is a rare moment to shine. Individual birthdays are not
recognized or celebrated here (some kids do not even know when their birthday
is), and the only real accomplishments that seem to get much notice are
successes on the soccer field. And so walking down the aisle, hearing their
name announced over the amplifier, is indeed a proud moment. And having a few
people in the audience present to witness this means a lot. All of the other
graduates are accompanied by their parents as they process in. Ours, for
obvious reasons, are usually not. But the graduating Pequeños ask people from
NPH to assume the role of parents for this event.
People in many Latin American countries, including Guatemala, generally have two last names. The first is their primary last name, and comes from their father. The second is the maiden name of their mother. It can be difficult here at NPH keeping track of siblings, because while they may share a mother, they often have different fathers.
Jose Antonio is one of our star soccer players, and a
favorite of the younger kids here. He is outgoing and has a sunny personality.
He plays marimba and hopes to be part of the group that will go on “tour” of
the Chicago
area this winter to play music and raise funds for the house. Brought here as a
small child, he told me once that he never knew either of his parents until a
couple of years ago, when by some freak circumstance he was reunited with his
mother. But his birth certificate reads, “Jose Antonio Desconocido Desconocido.”
(Jose Antonio Unknown-Father Unknown-Mother). He still does not have an
official last name, although our attorney is trying to resolve that now that he
is eighteen and needs to get his government ID.
When I arrived at the place Jose Antonio’s graduation was to
be held, he introduced me to his mother and the little daughter from a
relationship with some man no longer in the picture. Clearly a woman of humble
circumstances, she had journeyed several hours on an overcrowded bus to be here
for the graduation, and was clearly pleased and proud of the son she only
recently met.
After receiving their diploma, each graduate came down from
the stage to greet their parents and have their picture taken. After Jose
Antonio descended from the stage, I saw his face as he hugged his mother. And I
found myself thinking that this was a moment no one ever would have imagined-
certainly, when he began his Bachllerato studies, he never would have dreamed
that his mom would be there to hug him after he got his diploma. As much as I
loathe these graduations (the graduation I attended the next day lasted five
hours), witnessing this moment alone made going worthwhile.
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NPH was founded to serve orphans, but the mission has been
expanded over the years to also take in children who come from rotten families,
or from situations of dire poverty that put them at risk. Here in Guatemala, I
think that about a quarter of the Pequeños are true orphans. Most have at least
one parent, or another relative they can stay with during school vacation time.
The kids are friendly and flash easy smiles when visitors come. But behind each
smile smolders a sense of suffering, hidden from all, only surfacing in very rare
moments of vulnerability. At NPH we try to provide a sense of family to those
for whom this is the closest they will ever get to the kind of network of
relationships that form the emotional base for the rest of us.
A couple of months after I arrived in Guatemala, a
group of visitors asked that I celebrate Mass with them in our temporary
chapel. Reinhart Koehler, who is the President of NPH International, happened
to be visiting us and attended the Mass.
At the end, he offered a few words to the group. He explained that they would
have wonderful experiences interacting with the kids, and that many might be
surprised by how happy the children here seem. There is indeed often a sense of
joy among the kids, especially when they are interacting with outsiders. But
Reinhart cautioned the group against taking this apparent joy as an indication
that the kids are content. He said that after more than 30 years of working
with the children of NPH he has come to see that they would give anything
to have a parent.
No one wants to be a “desconocido.”
