We Might Be Giants

Guatemalans are tiny! Especially Mayans. I can't get used to it. They are small and sturdy, like Hobbits, only beautiful. And while we're making comparisons, this country might as well be the Shire on account of how absolutely lovely it is. I'm not sure what I expected. I think I thought it would be pretty, if I thought about it at all. But I wasn't expecting it to be so gorgeous. The short Guatemalans are accomodated for in public restaurants and the like, where bathroom sinks and dining counters hit below my waist. I'm not used to feeling tall.

Today was the first day where we went somewhere that was mostly non-white. Thus far, the place we are staying, and the restaurants we've been to have been very Western. And as such, you get the impression that a long time ago, a bunch of white people arrived in Antigua and said to themselves, "What a quaint, pretty little place. All it needs is a Starbucks and generic Irish pub." And speaking of said pub, it's where MRM and I headed last night when we were trying to find her brothers. We spent more on 2 beers there than a pitcher costs back at the hostel, but we didn't know where else to look for Henry or Stephen. The pub could have been in Dallas, or Hoboken, or Nashville. While we were there, MRM mentioned that Guatemala has a 70% unemployment rate and when she said that, I feltmy stomach fall a bit, like it does on a carnival ride. I must have looked a little dumbstruck, becuase she followed it with, "Yeah, why do you think so many people wander around and try to sell you cashews and stuff?" Then I started to feel ill. And I wanted to buy truckloads of cashews, knowing full well that it doesn't solve anything long term. I think that might be one of my lessons here. Learning the importance of studying and staying the course so that when I am ready to serve, it will be more profitable in the long run than buying a sack of cashews. Tracy Kidder, who wrote the Dr. Paul Farmer biography, "Mountains Beyond Mountains" once said something along the lines of, "There are two ways to think about the poor, one is to not think about them. And two, when you do think about them, send a check, and then forget about them." Sending checks is really important. I do it each month to four different orgs, but I don't want to only be a check sender.

Earlier in the evening, we had a lovely dinner with MRM's house mother, Margoth, and Robin, another student. We talked about a number of things and I mainly listened and tried to follow along as best I could. When Margoth learned I was studying to become a nurse, she told us of this hospital for the indigenous poor that was founded by a conquistador priest who has since been sainted and whose church we visited the day before. The church has been in operation for 400 years and remains "funded" -- if you can call it that -- 100% by donations, but much of the money is stolen by the government. Then the conversation turned to politics and Margoth mentioned how lucky we are to have Obama as our president because he "is very smart and doesn't kill people."

There is a dog that lives at the hostel, Tiara. She's a goldren retriever who must be about 100 years old. She sleeps all day in the soil that the palm trees are planted in, and in the early mornings, she moves to the chairs before anyone else is awake. I love her. She reminds me of the Martins' old dog, Pokey.

We were at MRM's homestay yesterday afternoon to pick up her computer and we went up to the roof to see if we could pick up a WiFi signal, and to meet Claudio, the rooster, and MRM's alarm clock. The view from the roof is spectacular. It had just rained, and on all sides were mountains shrouded in mist, and cathedrals, and the ruins of older cathedrals. MRM turns to me and says, "If you want to see something really sad, look over the side into the courtyard below." The courtyad below looks like a tiny Calcutta or Sao Paulo, though I have never been to either. It's essentially the town dump, with shacks, and people living in them, trying to cook something decent to eat. It was all very ugly and dirty and sick and sad. And I couldn't stop staring. These are the faces they flash at you on late night informercials so you'll send money to far away places. But the places are never that far away.

After the earthquake in Haiti, Dr. Paul Farmer -- physician, anthropologist, founder of Partners in Health, my hero, and all around greatest human alive -- was talking about the devastation, and the poverty that had made a way for it. He said, "There is no such thing as the 'third world.' There is only one world, and we all live in it."