Travel with Adela in Guatemala

It is with sadness that I write this note in memory of Adela. My life has long been shaped by displacement—I arrived in the United States as a refugee in the 1980s, surrounded by advocates fighting to address the mass exodus of Guatemalans during the genocide. I volunteered at El Rescate in Los Angeles and worked closely with Indigenous communities from my home country. That is where I first met Todd, and later, Adela. After the peace accords, I returned to Central America to continue the work that had shaped my life. Years later, when Todd was working in Colombia, he was invited to speak in Guatemala. They took a few extra days to visit me, and it was then that I finally had the chance to show them my home in a moment of calm rather than crisis. The three of us traveled to Lake Atitlán—its deep blue water ringed by volcanoes—and spent time in Santa Catarina and San Antonio Palopó. San Antonio was where Adela lit up the most. The town is full of pottery workshops and ceramic studios, each one humming with color and craft. We wandered from place to place, talking with artisans, admiring their work, and letting the day unfold slowly. Adela had a way of making even simple moments feel full—her curiosity, her kindness, her quiet delight in the details of people’s lives. I remember clearly how we spoke about belonging—how elusive it can feel, how often we had each lived between worlds. There was comfort in that conversation, a sense of recognition. We laughed about our shared disdain for snobbishness and the small cruelties people sometimes use to make others feel out of place. With Adela, there was never any of that. She made space. She made people feel seen. I had broken my foot at the time, so Todd drove while Adela and I sat in the back of my XCAB truck. It wasn’t a real back seat—more of a padded ledge—but she never complained, not once. I knew it was uncomfortable; it was uncomfortable for me too. But she carried herself with such grace, such ease, that the discomfort faded into the background. The conversation, the laughter, the shared stories—those were what filled the ride. What stays with me most is the feeling that, in those days together, we all belonged. Adela had that gift. As I shared Guatemalan culture, landscapes, and memories with them, she shared her warmth, her openness, and her steady, generous spirit. The time with her was simple and beautiful, and I hold it with deep gratitude.