CRASHING IN & OUT OF TIME: A RECAP OF MY LAST DAYS IN GUATEMALA

I wish I could say that it’s all a distant memory now—a set of experiences frozen in the past, sold to recent history, lost in the corridors of time. To relegate my time in Guatemala to a ‘thing of the past’ would make me nothing but a flagrant liar. The truth is that three weeks since my departure, my spirit finds itself roaming the cobblestone roads, gazing at the lush, green cane fields, smiling with the many indigenous people of Guatemala. I didn’t know that a country could mark my soul so deeply and cause me to crash in and out of time so often. In this post, I want to call your attention to the adventures of my last days in Guatemala that have pushed me to lead a radically different life.





I’ve long been obsessed with order. In my world, chaos is the devil revealed. Order grants clarity, inspiration, peace and a window to God. All things, items (and especially animals) are best when neatly tucked away in its assigned corner. I know some eco-feminists and animal rights activists may not agree with me. Tough luck!

My commitment to accuracy, precision and perfection served me well when I volunteered as a surgical assistant. How did I land this opportunity? Well, while strolling through Chichicastenango, I stumbled upon a hospital named, The Good Samaritan. Excited by its title and strong biblical reference, I inquired with the receptionist about the organization’s history and work. When she told me that it was a Methodist-funded charismatic hospital serving the local poor by offering life-saving operations at an unbelievably low cost, I knew I’d found a new hangout spot. Body-cutting and tongue-talking? Seemed like a new, exciting twist to my journey. I begged to sweep their floors, and instead, the chief surgeon asked me to work with him. I was pleased as punch!

Warning!: tangent emerging.

Many of you may not believe this, but I was a biology nerd/addict throughout high school. I was determined to be a physician; it was, in my eyes, the world’s noblest profession. When my mother realized that my Bible and biology textbooks were my closest friends, she told me a story that strengthened my resolve to pursue medical studies. Apparently when I was born, I cried like most babies do, and then opened my eyes wide, raised my index and middle fingers like a pair of scissors and placed them by my navel cord, as if to cut it myself. The doctor was so alarmed he called all the nurses and interns to see this ‘strange baby’. Crowded by onlookers, the doctor told my mother “ Lady if this child doesn’t become a doctor, ‘bang yu belly an bawl’, meaning hold your belly and weep. Becoming Dr. Wallace seemed achievable…until I took physics. There is not a subject I loathe more. And because it is a requirement for medical school, I gave up on my dream. A million crackheads and scholars could never compel me to even skim through a physics text ever again!

Detour: tangent ending.

Although I knew that it is not likely that I will be Derron Wallace, M.D., I was thrilled to gain some firsthand experiences and learn what the work would be like. That’s why I jumped at the opportunity to have a 7am to 9pm shift, and help remove malignant prostates, cancerous breast lumps, amongst a host of other things. I didn’t squirm once! The only operation that was a bit much for me was the vaginal hysterectomy. I guess I am still a strange soul after all, for how many 22-year old men can boast helping in such an ordeal without passing out?

Despite the occasional grotesque imageries, the hospital was the ideal site for my study of a community-oriented Pentecostalism. You will not believe how much, often and loud these families prayed when I took their loved ones to the operating room. After returning with the lead surgeon to inform families of successful surgeries, we were given six-packs of soda, chickens and baked tortillas. Some even wanted me to marry their daughters! The greatest gift for me though was an interview or an invitation to their church.



Things did not always go as planned. One 14-year old girl almost died in our hands. After removing what was one of the largest breast masses I’d ever seen, she stopped breathing. I froze. I saw her mother’s worrying face before mine. Her daughter was dying and there was very little I could do. Luckily for all of us, we were able to revive her. I couldn’t thank Jesus enough. I learned that even in an orderly, methodical world, chaos and the unexpected are to be expected.



I wish I’d remembered this lesson when one of my college friends visited me and convinced me to rent a moto-bike. CJ, blessed with one of the most gifted minds I have encountered, was always open to chaos and the unusual. I often rejected opportunities to indulge in nonsense for the sake of my sanity. Because of the Watson, I decided to welcome any and everything—the good, bad and indifferent. Before we rented the bike, CJ insisted that we get a map of Antigua. Much to his surprise, I suggest that we not get a map, but that instead we follow the open road and get lost. What a trip it was! We cruised through several towns, witnessing the majestic wonders of the earth and the Divine. Nothing beats the section of the trip when we crashed; or put more accurately, when I crashed. I was ridding up this very, very steep hill and a large truck was in front of me. As a result, I couldn’t go at maximum speed. I got tired and when I let go off the gas pedal, I lost momentum and began sliding down the hill. Did I panic? Wouldn’t you? I imagined not seeing my mother again, not being able to play wit my fat, baby nephew, not being able to see Jamaica again. Eventually, I crashed on the side of the road and hurt my shoulder and chest. (Don’t tell my mother!) It wasn’t bad though. I enjoyed the mild pain. Does this mean I will not ride moto-bikes again? No. It simply means that next time I will wear more than a helmet. I will clad myself with safety vests and arm pads!

During my last week in Guatemala, I decided to treat myself and invest in my musical talents. As such, I bought a guitar! It’s a treasure trove and I love it. I used to write and re-arrange gospel songs in high school. I even won a Bertelsmann Foundation Music Scholarship for one of my original compositions a few years ago. I am now learning to play the guitar and re-tune my musical sensibilities. Who knows? May be I’ll have a gospel album to launch at the end of my Watson.

My cursory introduction to the challenges of the medical field, newfound openness to unplanned (and at times, dangerous) pleasures, and a revived commitment to musical creativity has furnished me with enough courage, passion and memories to keep me appreciating Guatemala for years to come. I ask you all to make a special request to God on my behalf—that I may grow stronger, bolder, wiser. Be blessed!


Bruised & Blessed,
jr