A celebration at the Sam Clarke School in Panimaquim

There is a sombre excitement about today.  Emotions are just under the surface. Today there will be celebration. Today I will surely cry. A sad happy cry. Sad because the goodness we are about to see is the result of a horrible tragedy. Happy because there is goodness here; beautiful, extraordinary, profoundly sweet goodness that we can see in the faces of generations of parents and children.

Today we go to Panimaquim, Guatemala. Like so many places we visit, it is not on any map. It takes us nearly two hours to get there from Xela, loaded into the same van and two pick ups we bounce around in on our way to stove building each morning.

This day is dedicated to Sam Clarke's legacy. Sam -- the son of Guatemala Stove Project founders, Rita and Tom Clarke -- died in a cycling accident in 2008. Sam, by all acounts loved Guatemala. He had travelled there several times to volunteer with his parents. So it seemed fitting that the ending of his life should benefit the people there. Tom and Rita started a foundation in Sam's memory. And the Sam Clarke School was born.

Don't ever let anyone tell you that one person can't make a difference!

I am in no way prepared for that first glimpse of Panimaquim. By now I am somewhat accustomed to the topography of Guatemala. Even the poverty doesn't shock me in the same way it did on the first few days of my journey. But streamers and balloons? Where the hell did streamers and balloons come from? What did we do to deserve such an out-of-character sign of affection??

The school is two rooms. Side by side. It is built as part of a compound, a community, as seems to be the custom. Families live together. They eat together. They share tasks. Their lives are intertwined, the way the lives of Canadian families once were...before we started living alone, separate from our loved ones, working for us and us alone, and putting our elders in "homes"... Oh my...

The school proudly boasts Sam's name -- Los Ninos de Sam.

The building facing the school, on the other side of an open area, says Comedor Fil Y  Kit on it's outside wall. This, I learn, is a tribute to Phil and Keith another GSP volunteer. Both men visited the school in its inaugural year (2009) and thrilled the community by joining them in a lively game of "football". Phil and Keith also poineered a nutrition program for the school, raising money in their Perth town and sending it to Panimaquim.

At the mountain end is a neat little Bano building. It's cleanliness (something not always seen in this country) shows a real pride of ownership.

When we arrive we are greeted by a smiling community. Toothless grins abound. Everyone is excited to see Tom and Rita. If the Pope himself appeared in an armoured vehicle flanked by dark-suited security there could not have possibly been any more excitement.

Tom and Rita have special status here. I watch them carefully. Just as carefully as I choose my words here.

Tom picks up a child and holds him with loving firmness. There are smiles all around, huge amazing-deep- down-feeling-smiles.

There is a stage prepared for our arrival. I feel some sort of ceremony coming on! There is a sound system, microphone and music. Balloons and streamers hang in abundance. Classroom desks...the old fashion kind with a seat and a tray molded in to one...form a semi circle between the buildings. Mostly men, young and old, sit here. Sombre faces hide their thoughts. I really want to know what their thoughts are. How do they feel about what has happened here, about what is happening here? Do they have words to express their feelings about the life they live, their happy moments and sad disappointments? As in all things human...I am curious...

We all disperse; us odd looking gringo's. Talk about being out of our comfort zone!.

Without thought, I am drawn to the seated men. I touch the hand of each one, saying Buenos Dios and almost confidently making the Mam salute --touch hands in a swiping motion then thumb to middle of forehead. Every man smiles...many revealing their gold rimmed remaining teeth. Several elders wear skirts, part of the traditional dress I assume. A feeling of incredible joy rises from within me.

When I finally ask Rita to describe what she is feeling she says, "This is an emotional annual time of remembering."

There is an 8x10 framed photo of Sam Clarke perched on a chair surrounded by flowers on the edge of the stage.

I don't ask Tom to put his feelings in to words. I suppose I am prepared for Rita to cry, but not so much Tom.

Last year Rita and Tom purchased and assembled machinery that processes maize, a Guatemalan food staple. (My tour book actually says that Guatemalan's believe man was made from maize.) I take their pics in the building that was built for it.It is clean and almost modern looking. Kids are peeking through the slats in the walls of the building next to it. I peek too. There is definitely activity inside but I haven't a clue what is going on. A few stone steps down women are cooking on an open fire. Huge metal pots are steaming.

I take photos of faces. This is my favourite thing here. The faces are weathered but have such expression!

Whe the ceremony begins I feel a swelling pride. I haven't done anything but yet it is there. We are invited to sit on chairs inside the circle. Tom and Rita are in front. From out of the building with the slats appears a pageant of children. They enter in costume, dancing, performing. I am reminded of the elementary school performances of my own children and the shameless pride I felt with each awkward moment.

Represntatives from the surrounding communities take to the stage, and one after one they speak while a young woman puts their words from K'iche into English.

"To the people of Canada who have helped us, these are the words I have brought for you," begins one community leader. "As you know our earth has had a lot of damage. We will be thankful if you be keeping helping us."

In June 2010 mudlsides covered their plantations. They didn't have any food, he tells us.

Another leader begins with, "There are only a few of us here because the car doesn't get there. Thank you for still supporting us when we need you, even if the car doesn't get there."

Clara, the intermediatory between Tom and Rita and the community/school says, " I tell the people every time I see them that this help is coming from a place far away called Canada. And now you can meet them."


She continues with such kindness, "Don't be sad about Sam. he is like an angel for the children of Panimaquim."

This is the first time I cry.

Then it is our turn. In preparation I give out the Canadian flags Janice has brought from her Saskatchewan MP. We hop on stage and perform, in our best French, the childhood standby "Alouette", complete with actions! The audience laughs, even if they haven't a clue what we are saying. We are looking so silly. I'm sure, that it is pretty funny. I sing loudly. My voice is horrible but at this moment I haven't a care in the world and what I sound like or look like is totally irrelevent. Next up is O'Canada. We wave our flags and belt it out proudly. Liz says a few words in Spanish. They are translated into K'iche.

Thank you to Laura's boys, Carol's kids and Phil's students for cutting out all of the snowflakes. We got off the stage and handed out the flags and the snowflakes. Children grasped them as if they were gold. I didn't see a single one on the ground.

Before the ceremonies end the Canadians are summoned back to the stage. One by one we are handed a special gift, each handcrafted by a woman who has benefited from the Sam Clarke School. They are colourful and woven. They are beautiful and meaningful. There is little doubt that they are given lovingly. We accept graciously. Mine will be forever cherished.

Tom and Rita purchased a 50lb bag of beans and this is what we are proudly served for lunch, with ample handmade tostidos (corn blobs wrapped in leaves and steamed), and a hunk of unpasturized cheese. I slip my meal to Tom and he gives me his empty bowl. I eat 2 of the tostidos and feel full. We are each given some sort of sugary drink. I don't drink it. We are seated in one of the school rooms. The people eat elsewhere so I don't notice until later that  they are all drinking the sugary concoction out of plastic bags. It is something I notice on the streets of Xela after this. I never do ask why.

I have given a big bag full of pencils and such to the school. In the bag is a ball from the Workables of  Carp, a program that provides life experience to a group of developmentally challenged adults. After lunch the Canadians challenge the Panamaquim school community to a game of football (soccer). Meg, Rowan and Lara are the only girls who play. It is lively good fun! The Workables' soccer ball gets a work out. (Thank you Gerri and team for this generous donation!)

Later I learn that it is even more fitting that the Workable donation be given here. In one of the houses eating beans is a mother with a boy who has Cerebral Palsy. I take his pic. Moments later the mother straps the boy, who is 12 years old, to her back and goes to speak to Tom and Rita. I gather around to hear why.

Through a translator the mother says, "For 12 years I have carried my boy. Now I won't have to. Thank you Rita for the chair."

I cry again.

Rita and Tom have arranged for the GSP to purchase a wheel chair for the family. The mother presents Rita with a handcrafted traditional shirt.

Many of us buy things. There are always things to buy. I would just give them money. They need it more than I do. But we all have pride. Instead, I offer a fair price for outstanding work.

PS. Carol, you won't believe the loom I see in one of the rooms. The young man weaving was barely tall enough to see over the spindles...or whatever it is you call those thingys! Stay tuned for more on this later~!