I was born in the United States of America in 1984. I grew up in a 4 bedroom, 2 bath house, with a decent view of the beautiful blue Tahoe. Our back yard was wide open Pine forest, which eventually opened up into a wilderness area. There was always food on the table, the shower was always hot, and my parents always had money, even if it wasn't always growing on trees or got tight from time to time. I participated in sports, I skied, I played, and had the uniforms, the clothes, the accessories, and whatever else went along with these activities. There were birthday parties, camping trips, presents at Christmas, family vacations, sleepovers, high school dances, a car, college, and thousands of other events, experiences, opportunities. I had what would be called a "normal" childhood. It was a wonderful childhood. I have had my struggles, my baggage. I have balled my eyes out, felt like giving up, nearly did, bounced back. I have been to the bottom and back. So have most of you. We have all lived, more or less, our "normal" American lives.
Magdalena has three children and is separated from her husband, a practicing alcoholic. She has three children, one or two of which live with her at her home she rents in San Pedro de la Laguna, Lago Atitlán, Guatemala. She runs a small comedor, or low end restaurants, out of her downstairs floor, using a stove she was given by a friend to cook with, which is placed at the bottom of the stairway up to the second floor because there is no room for it in the kitchen; well, kitchen may be a bit of an overstatement. Magdalena and her son, Ezequiel, share a downstairs bedroom; upstairs is a wash/storage room and two other bedrooms to be rented out to travelers or students, along with a bathroom. No hot water, unless you heat it up in a pot using firewood. Ezequiel wore the same clothes the entire time I was there, everyday, for everything. There is no such thing as uniforms, or sneakers, or cleats. There are just a pair of shoes and a few shirts, maybe a pair of shorts, but probably just jeans. Magdalena doesn't have enough money to pay the rent this month, but then she never does. She will find a way to work things out, as she usually does.
Welcome to the real world, the actual “normal” world. The world where there is not enough to go around, and life is taken day to day by necessity. We westerners are the anomaly. We are the few, the privileged, the lucky; we are not the norm. Magdalena can even be considered to be well off in this real world I am speaking of. With lots of help, she is able to rent a house large enough to try and run a restaurant and house travelers, with nearly half the things inside gifted by her church or travelers. Too many don't have houses; too many don't have sources of income. Half the world lives on $2.50 a day, which is three billion people by the way, or ten times our own population in the States. 80% live on less than $10 a day, and Magdalena probably falls somewhere in between the two.
One of the most significant realizations I have had on this trip is to have had my eyes opened to the real world. It is an education like none you could ever pay for. You must see it and live with it daily for it to sink in. You must learn it from buying and eating your meals and sleeping in your bed everyday, all while you are asked for help by those who won't be getting at least one of those things that day.
David and I stayed two nights with Magdalena and Ezequiel. The second night David and I cooked for them: three top ramen instant noodle packs with a carrot and two potatoes added for some heartiness. We stir-fried some onions, garlic, and zucchini to eat as well. It cost nothing. The ramen packets were Q$2.50 each, or US$1 for all three. We bought all our vegetables for maybe a US$1.25, and were remarking in the marketplace how nice it was to have such cheap produce. Ezequiel and Magdalena loved it. It felt good to help out, to see them enjoying the meal we had bought and cooked for them. Ezequiel said they should have that meal again some time, but his mother said, "I'm sorry mijo, but it is just too expensive." That cut my heart. Too expensive? And we thought it was so outrageously cheap.
This is the traveler's Catch-22. It is an amazing experience to be out in the world, seeing its beautiful sights, and interacting with its wonderful people, but it hurts sometimes to open your eyes to the reality of it all. Yet, I would never have them closed on what I have seen and experienced, never want the knowledge and memories erased. It may hurt, but I would rather be heartbroken over a situation and be able to do something to help than to turn my head and pretend it never existed.
Some may wonder what we could have shared at that table. For us, it happened to be our faith in Christ. Not knowing prior to dinner the previous night (we didn't cook that night), we said grace and it turned out Magdalena was a Christian as well. Immediately everything else faded into the background, and we had dinner as a family that night. But that isn’t the point I am trying to make here, though it was a beautiful thing. Each and every one of us would have shared something at that table that night, because each and every one of us shares our humanity, and everything that goes along with it. Are there stark differences between all of us? Certainly, but those differences only overshadow the simpler yet glaring similarities so long as we let them.
Let’s play word association. What word or picture first comes to mind when you hear these words: Latino. Black. Ameican.
Latino
Was it dishwasher, field hand, illegal immigrant? Or fellow human trying to make a better life for his/her family, fleeing from severe poverty most likely created and perpetuated by the country in which he/she is now seeking employment?
Black
Was it gangster, uneducated, or according to a nation wide pole, associated with such and such negative attributes? Would you have been in the brave and astute 5% who refused to play that ridiculous game? Maybe because of recent events President flashed through. Thankfully it can, for the first time in 250 years, or perhaps better said as TOO-hundred-fifty-MANY years.
American
Was it a States resident, or did you also think of the other half billion people in the 22 other countries on the continents bearing the name Americas? Perhaps white was the color of the face.
I ask and give these answers because I know what I have caught myself thinking too many times, much to my surprise and contrary to every belief I hold, but thinking it nonetheless. Whenever I catch myself though I try to remind myself of what the real differences and real similarities are. I have been all over the world, and although there are thousands of languages, cultures, styles, customs, ideas, etc., we all share quite a bit. In the end, we all smile the same ear to ear grins, laugh the same hearty laughs, cry the same salty tears, and bleed the same bright red blood. Children still shriek and howl in the same carefree manner, lost in their created worlds, whether they are playing with expensive plastic toys or a plain and simple rock. We rejoice at weddings, weep at funerals, and cannot stifle cheerful laughter when a little 2-year-old girl shakes her hips to some music with a beaming smile. We even snore in the same language; you can take my word for it.
When I remember these things, I am no longer hugging a poor, struggling, Guatemalan woman and boy goodbye when David and I finally have to leave. We are embracing family.
For my fellow brothers and sisters out there, Magdalena and Ezequiel could truly use some prayer from you all. Magdalena is a woman of amazing faith and dedication, but the reality of her situation is harsh and the temptations and pressures she faces in the world are truly unbelievable. Please, please, please lift her up to our Father(1 Tm. 2:1, Eph. 6:18).
