February 4th, 1976

Tuesday. A day like any other. I remember coming home from school really hungry and ready to eat lunch. My grandmother had prepared something delicious as she always did. My brother and cousins joined me as we all sat together eating lunch. After lunch we all did our homework and then went to play outside. I remember coming back so tired from playing and going home to eat dinner. After dinner we would settle down to watch tv together and eventually one by one we would be so tired from the day and headed off to bed. Before bed, I remember hearing the street dogs howling. It always scared me and gave me this unsettling feeling when I heard them howl at night. I always felt as if they knew or saw something I didn’t.

I was in a deep sleep when I heard a train coming from far away. The train was approaching us very quickly, coming closer and closer towards the house. The only thing is, there were no trains near us. By now, everything around me was violently shaking. My bed was shaking and everyone was screaming. All of a sudden, my grandmother picked me and one of my cousins up and headed outside. She stopped at the patio of our house and called my cousins towards the second floor of our home. They did not answer. As we moved away, a large potted plant made out of clay fell exactly where we were standing. We ran outside and my grandmother put us down, running towards the rest of the family to see who had gone out. 

All I saw outside was chaos. I saw our neighbors outside in their pajamas and nightgowns. Some people were on the floor kneeling and praying. I saw people running towards the middle of the street. I saw one of my cousins hands and feet bleeding. I saw people crying and screaming. I saw my little cousins and brother scared and confused. I remember being so scared but trying to figure out what had happened. That’s when I heard someone say earthquake. When I heard that word, I became petrified of it. This earthquake had literally turned my life upside down in just a few seconds.

The day was February 4th, 1976 and the earthquake happened at 3:01 with a magnitude of 7.5.

We stayed outside in the middle of the street until the morning daylight came. I heard the grownups saying that we couldn’t go back inside our homes as aftershocks were bound to happen. They said our house could fall on us the minute we stepped foot inside. I remember my aunt running inside the house to fetch pots, pans, wood and some basic necessities to make coffee. Guatemala is known as the country of eternal spring, so the weather allowed us to sleep outside. Some countries even sent tents to allow people to sleep outdoors. 

The days after the earthquake, I remember looking up at the grey sky. It was as if the weather knew to be sad with us. I saw black birds circling around. 

After a few days, my father came by to see how everyone was doing. He spoke to the grownups and I heard him say that he and his team were still digging people out. Some were alive, and some were not. My father’s face looked drained as if he had nothing else to give. But he had to keep on going. I felt scared and I asked him if everything was going to be ok. He told me simply, “I’m not sure.” 

We had been living outside for a month by now and the earth kept shaking unexpectedly. We could go inside more often but very quickly, just to bring things in and out. There was a beautiful river about two miles away and one day, my aunt told us she was going to take us there for a swim. We walked those two miles, ready to have fun when someone approached us. They told us we had to leave the area immediately. There was another aftershock coming and it was too dangerous. We left heartbroken that our fun could not happen. 

I would listen to the adults talking all the time. Everything they said would be about the multiple tragedies the earthquake had caused: how many people died, how many people lost their loved ones, how many people lost their homes. Even though I was just seven years old, I remember every detail of this tragedy. Somethings you just don’t forget now matter how much you try. I could feel the nervous energy of everyone around me. 

Sometimes I would hear a miracle story of how they had found someone alive after weeks of being buried. Or how a baby survived being born during the earthquake. I also heard the many stories of people coming together to help each other, giving to those in need even if they didn’t have much themselves. The kids in the neighborhood continued to play together all day. 

I didn’t want to play though. I didn’t want to be away from my grandmother. I was scared of what could happen. I remember that nobody asked me how I felt, if I was scared, if I was worried, if I was angry. I felt uncertain about everything and didn’t know what to do. No one told me how long we’d be living outside. No one told me that eventually, the aftershocks would end and we would be able to live in our homes again. No one told me that we were going to be fine.

After a while, things started to go back to normal little by little. We were back to our normal lives. The earthquake was a wound that healed with time. All that was left was just a scar taken care of by its own people.