Fermin

From April 29th to May 13, I was in Belize and Guatemala with Chatham University. We traveled with 23 girls, two professors, and our guide, Fermin.


We were going to make our plane, though that was hard to believe. After squeezing past the overturned citrus truck, which was blocking the one-lane Belizean road, we made our way to the airport as fast as a bus can move on that aforementioned, bumpy road. We made arrived with ten minutes to spare. We stood up, backpacks on, all of us ready to sprint, as the bus parked at the front curb. We ran, Fermin going ahead to make sure the plane would actually wait. We checked our bags to the sounds of the fourth "Final boarding call, Belize to Houston."

Standing in the security line, I realized Fermin was making his goodbyes. I gave him the warmest hug possible, with my one free arm. And I felt surprisingly sad. Fermin had been our guide for the whole two weeks in Belize and Guatemala. He met us at the airport and he was there for everything. He fished me out of the MaCal river, he paddled my canoe into Xibalba, as I sat rigid with claustrophobia. And the days passed, and all the girls fell in love with him just a little bit. Good humored, full of endlessly interesting information, unflappable, and doing every single activity, he always had our backs. He watched out to make sure I didn't get heat stroke, and asked if my ankle was okay. He makes you want to have a Fermin in your own life to watch our for you, amuse you, and teach you about everything in sight. I had no brilliant, soul-bearing conversations with Fermin. We have very little in common, and I was too shy to pry too much. He liked us, but there was a sprinkle of reserve in his manner. Yet, he came to the airport just to hug us all goodbye, because that was tradition. And he approved of my Elvis songs, as we piped by iPod through the van speakers, driving through Guatemala. He is not a friend, there is no brilliant connection, but saying goodbye to Fermin felt like saying goodbye to a friend. I felt the familiar pang of saying goodbye to relatives and friends at an airport. That was a surprise after two weeks. I told him thanks for coming to my rescue when the canoe flipped. Then I waved until the security line moved us out of sight.

I pulled off my shoes, and there I was, running ahead of Drs Lenz and Wister, clutching my hiking boots, sprinting through an airport in Belize, running for the gate (the outside gate. Yes, the classic stairs from the runway was the way to board.) I was glad we made the plane. I wouldn't have minded if we hadn't. Belize is hard to leave behind, even if I wanted to go home sometimes. As Dr Lenz said to Lauren and I, we were now in a cult. Fermin is a part of that. As I said before, you just want Fermin to always be around, coloring the most insignificant moments in life and making them bloom into the unforgettable.