By Sayda Trujillo

"Va a crecer la quebrada!" "Ahi viene el agua muchá!!" my cousins and I screamed up and down the uneven road of El Barranquillo, my mother's village, outside of Sanarate, Progreso in Guatemala.  There, rain poured during rainy season.  It poured and we the children loved it, I loved it.  I lived with my grandmother and I remember one day the rain came while we were at church, I went to church with my grandmother and my aunts and my cousins every night for the rosary.  When we exited the church, the road had become a river, a chocolate brown river.  I remember joy, awe, happiness.  I was around seven or eight and the water came all the way up mid my thighs. We walked home, we walked up the road, which was now a river.  It was night time and El Barranquillo had no electricity.  I remember walking at night with only the light of gas lamps and candles from the homes we were passing by and the occasional light from thunder.  I love this memory.  When we arrived home, we sat on the porch, I swung on the hammock and more rain came and we sat there and we listened to the rain.