Pedro Hernandez

The engine hums as I steer the familiar path through the chaotic streets of Guatemala City, navigating the twists and turns with practiced ease. At 53, I've spent decades behind the wheel of this red city bus, witnessing the ebb and flow of life in this bustling metropolis.

Just the other day, a group of armed men stormed onto my bus, their faces masked by the shadows of their hoods. Panic rippled through the passengers as they brandished their weapons, demanding valuables with an air of ruthless authority. It's a scene I've unfortunately grown accustomed to – the threat of violence lurking just beneath the surface of our daily lives.

Thankfully, on that day, everyone complied without resistance. The fear in their eyes mirrored my own, and in a city where the inhibition to use a weapon is dangerously low, handing over their belongings was the only option.

As I drive, my mind wrestles with the weight of it all. How much longer can I continue to endure the trauma of these harrowing experiences? The scars run deep, etched into the fabric of my being, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurk just beyond the next corner.

But as long as Guatemala remains ensnared in the grip of economic hardship and political turmoil, I fear there's little hope for change. And so, I continue to navigate these treacherous streets, clinging to the hope that one day, things might be different. Until then, I'll keep driving, my hands steady on the wheel, and my heart heavy with the burden of what could be.