I wanted to take her home with us. But she had a home.
I wanted to touch her hair, smile and tell her that everything would be just
fine.
It wouldn't be.
I wanted to sit and talk with her awhile, but she'd never understand.
I was from America and she was from Guatemala.
My life has changed in ways I felt immediately upon my arrival there. But I
know, too, that I have changed in ways marked so deeply that I may never notice.
She was around ten years old but her face reflected an image of being a young
woman with life experiences a child should be unaware of.
I was overwhelmed, shocked, maybe even frightened from the moment we walked out
of the airport terminal.
People surrounded us grabbing our luggage, whisking it away in such a hurry that
I had no time to take notice if it was going to the right shuttle. To my right,
a young woman repeatedly asked for money "for my baby." Glancing down, I noticed
she was pregnant, perhaps six months along. She was holding a small basket and
repeating "Please you buy Chiclets?" She had two packs inside.
"For my baby," she repeatedly slowly in a mournful deep tone.
This was just the beginning on a journey to a place I have never been.
A place now I will never leave, because it is so deeply cut into my very being I
will take it with me on the rest of my life journey..
The hotel shuttle now surrounded by locals made the moment an uncomfortable
welcome to my first-ever visit to a country rising from economic challenge and
political unrest.
As we began to pull away, others in the shuttle expressed concern for their
belongings causing us to stop and take inventory.
The men who carried our bags and the woman begging for "my baby" now closed in
on the open side door.
"Tip! Tip! Mr. Tip!"
Not having had time to exchange our currency, all we had were U.S. bills. But
they made no fuss in accepting them.
Startled and uneasy, we began our one hour journey to the Hotel based in
Antigua.
Mid-day traffic slowed the journey that would normally take less than one hour.
I sat covering my face with my hands unable to process what was happening.
"Are you Okay?" Marianne asked time and again.
"Yes, yes...I will be," I replied.
The obvious lack of pollution regulations permitted large trucks and buses to
fill the mid day air with thick fog-like emissions which poured into the small
van shuttle.
Further up the road amid heavy road construction, we came upon even more street
venders selling everything from water to local cell phones. They stood in the
traffic often following vehicles for long distances in an effort to make the
sale.
The mountainous terrain provided a roller coaster-like ride driven by the fact
that speed limits seem to be unregulated or simply unobserved.
After what seemed like an eternity, we pulled up to the front gates of the hotel
we were staying in.
Others arriving and another four or five street venders added to the already
unsettling experience.
But once we stepped inside, the world just beyond the gates seemed to disappear.
Luxury. Beauty. Comfort.
It would be the very next day, after a good sleep, that I would meet the girl
who stole my heart.
There is a market nearly three hours away from Antigua, famous for handcrafted
goods. Our bus left at 8:00 a.m. and traveled the most incredible mountain roads
winding past small shacks, patches of narrow hilly farms and wandering pigs,
goats and sadly thin dogs.
The bus competition among "Chicken Buses" as they are called, causes drivers to
take big chances in the most unlikely places.
Several times after climbing nearly straight up the side of a mountain and
hitting a curve darting directly in the opposite direction, a chicken bus would
dare to pass us on this two lane road.
This beautiful country is blessed with even more beautiful people. Often times
as we passed, they would stop working in the fields to wave and smile at us.
But it was one child in particular who would really get to me this day.
We were warned not to drink the water, eat certain foods and to watch for
thieves and pick pockets.
No matter where you went you were surrounded by women, and young boys and girls
all promising to "Give you best price. Buy for your mother or your wife," they
said repeatedly.
Most carried beautiful blankets, beads and hand woven scarves. This young child
hand one thing to offer. A frog whistle.
"Please, buy. It's a whistle!" She would say and then gently blow to prove it.
She followed us along with at least a dozen other locals. I was nervous and
emotionally detached from all of this as I tried to keep our group together.
It wasn't until I saw my wife Marianne stop to speak to the children that I
really connected.
She knows the language enough to get through a conversation. She told them how
beautiful everything was and followed with "No, gracias!" As she tried to
politely turn them away.
But they kept after her.
Finally she caught the eye of one little angel.
In her language she asked, "How are you today?"
"Bad." The young child mumbled.
Marianne, then went on to ask why.
My heart swelled with pride as I watched her make every effort to bring a smile
to the child's face.
We moved on and she and the others were relentless.
Finally, not out of frustration, or weariness, but responding to that Voice
inside me, I stopped.
Turning to the young girl I asked "How much?"
She could have said a million dollars. It would not matter. Our eyes connected
and my heart, my spirit, my soul absorbed her presence. What seemed liked
several minutes, I looked into her soft warm face, losing myself in her eyes.
The dust of the long, hard work day covered her tanned flawless skin. Her eyes,
dark and sunken in, appeared as chestnut brown pools. Her hair, dirty, but
neatly kept, framed her face.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the largest bill I had.
Once again I asked "how much?" She replied but it fell on deaf ears.
"Enough?" I asked as I placed the bill in her hand. I knew it was much more than
enough.
She blew the whistle one more time and handed it to me.
Her smile was like the sunrise and her memory remains with me still.
Marianne saw us standing there and realized what I had done.
She asked the child how she was and she replied "Good, very Good"
I hold that whistle everyday. I can feel her small hands still grasping it,
hoping to make a sale. I blow it and ask God to let it ring gently in her ear
reminding her that someone cares for her.
Of all the bad things they warned us about, the precautions we needed to take,
the only loss that I had experienced in Guatemala was "The girl who stole my
heart!"
Bob Perks Bob@BobPerks.com
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