Choices

I`ve been thinking a lot about choices recently.  My time in Oaxaca and in Mexico are rapidly coming to a close.  On May 8th, I`m going to return to DC for about 7-10 days.  And then?  I`m not sure.  I`ve considered lots of different options and I`m close to deciding.

And yet here I am living in a country where most peoples choices in life are so much more constrained than mine.  I`m not even sure I could explain to people here the choices I`m considering.

A friend once told me of being in Peru.  She asked some locals where they`d like to travel if they could.  They couldn`t answer the question.  No matter how many times she asked people or how many ways she asked the question she got the same response “But we can`t travel”.

I think sometimes we forget how privileged we are to grow up where we do.  That`s one of the reasons why I wanted to travel.  If you travel to a country where people are poorer than you and you`re not humbled at some point during your trip, you`re really not paying attention.  The other day I saw a guy “walking” down the street.  Except that his legs basically stopped at his knees, so he was essentially walking on his knees.  On top of that, he was also missing an arm.  I looked at him and thought “I really don`t know if I could go through life like that”.  I`ve seen other people here with missing legs who get around all day on crutches.  Sure, there are people in the US missing legs but most of them at least have a wheelchair.

When I announced my travel plans, an acquaintance asked if I won the lottery.  You know what, I think maybe I did.  I just don`t know how or why and sometimes I forget that I did.

Why oh why does this stuff keep happening to me?

So last night, I was hanging out with Esmeralda watching one of those clown shows she enjoys.  We were just about to leave.  Literally, we were about 10-15 seconds away from leaving when the clown came up to me and pulled me into the show.  He must have had 50-100 people to choose from.  Why me?

Now, I´ve seen the clowns use audience members before, normally as a prop to do flips over.  So I figured no big deal.  But no!  What I got was 10 times worse.  No make that 100 times worse.  Here`s what he did.  I had to lie on the ground while he walked back and forth across me while juggling machetes.  He must have walked back and forth 3-4 times.  And the one time he did it blindfolded!  Holy crap!  No really!  HOLY CRAP!!!   Definitely not an experience I`d want to repeat.  Oh well.  At least, I can now claim to have “done” something have that few people in the world have done.

My faith in humanity…briefly restored…but not for long…

After my conversation with Frank the other day, in which he related stories of girls being raped by their stepfathers and kids being beaten by their parents for not selling enough chicklets, I was feeling a bit down in the dumps.  A few recent events did boost my spirits, at least temporarily.

Last Friday, there was a new group of kids at Estancia, a family of five kids all 8 years old and under.  Since the kids I knew all seemed to be busy, I spent most of the morning playing with these new kids.  I found them delightful.  The oldest, a boy, seemed to enjoy just watching me play with his siblings.  I really didn`t do much with them, just tossed balls back and forth and other simple things.  The kids all seemed to really enjoy themselves as well.  I particularly bonded with a little six year old girl, Stephanie.  Because Estancia is a drop in center, I never know who will be there from day to day.  There are kids that I`ve played with one day and then never seen again.  So I had no idea if I`d see these kids again.  When I showed up on Monday, they weren`t there.  They eventually showed up, this time accompanied by their parents.  What touched my heart is that at the one point, I saw Stephanie go up to her dad and give him a big hug. 

The second thing that happened is that I lost my USB drive this week.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with USB drives, they`re portable drives that allow you to store information for use with a computer.  Mine has all my photos (not just from this trip but from past trips), music, important documents, and lots of other stuff.  Completely irreplacable stuff.  The second I realized it was missing, I knew where I had left it – at an internet cafe the day before.  I ran back there as quickly as I could.  Fortunately, someone had turned it in rather than keep it for themselves.  I have no idea who the good samaritan was, but thank you wherever you are!!!

Of course, if I wait long enough, something else will happen that will change my opinion of humanity.  the other day, two boys from Estancia ran away from home, one 9 years old the other 11.  They weren`t kids that I knew but from what I was told, the father is an alcoholic who beat the boys regularly.  What do you even hope for in a situation like that?  It`s not good for them to be out on their own but I also don`t want them to be returned home.

And then some Americans who have been here for a while were telling me about some of the scams that beggars here run.  Sometimes adults will recruit kids to go out and beg for them and then meet up with them later in the evening and split the money with them.  Other times you might see what appears to be a family begging together, but it`s really not.  The adults recruit kids to sit with them and beg to garner more sympathy.  Apparantly, there`s one guy who has a new baby with him every year.

Sometimes, I no longer know what`s up and what`s down… 

 

saving starfish

This is going to be a difficult post, partially because I have a lot of ground to cover and I’m not sure how I want to organize my thoughts. And partially because of some disturbing information I`m going to share. I`ll start by sharing a link to the story that inspired the title of this post, a story I`ve encountered several different places:

http://2inspire.multiply.com/journal/item/3/The_Starfish_

As you know, one of my reasons for coming here was to volunteer. And I have done that. But sometimes I wonder if my efforts really amount to much. The money I`ve spent on rent here for two months would pay for a child`s education for 2-3 years. Wouldn`t that be a more tangible way of helping? Is it possible I`d accomplish more good that way than through my volunteer efforts? I don`t know the answer to those questions but they are ones I`ve thought about.

Someone asked me what sort of volunteer work I do. That`s a hard question to answer. Clara, the volunteer from England, is much more interested in teaching the children. Teaching them English for example. That`s not really my style. I`m more interested in just showing up, just being a positive presence in the children`s lives, being a good role model. That, to me, seems as important, maybe even more important, then teaching some skill to the children. In the end, I doubt that I`ll change any lives in my time here, but I do hope that I`ve made a positive impact, that maybe I`ve saved at least one starfish.

Still, sometimes my efforts to help can go awry. Two recent examples. A few nights ago, I was sitting at a table in the town square, finishing up an ice cream cone. Two girls came up to me and asked if I`d buy them an ice cream cone. The one girl I didn`t know at all. The other I knew a little bit, she`s been at Estancia a few times. I thought about it for a moment and figured why night. Ice cream is only $1 a cone and maybe it would bring some happiness to these kid`s life for a brief moment. Of course, the second I agreed to buy them ice cream, three more kids came up, three kids I didn`t know, also wanting ice cream. So I bought a total of five ice cream cones. By the time those five kids got their ice cream, two more girls came, again, girls I didn`t know, wanting ice cream. This time I said no. I could see that there may be no end in sight. Still, I felt bad. How do you explain to kids, especially given the langauge barrier, why you bought ice cream for these five kids, but aren`t willing to buy it for them?

Second example. I had recently started giving some money to the beggars in Oaxaca. Not much, a few pesos here and there. But something. Unlike in the US, where you wonder if the money might be spent on drugs or alcohol, I didn`t have that concern here. All the people I have money to had little children with them. That certainly seemed like a safe bet. Then I met Frank. Frank`s an American who`s lived here for five years. He told me stories of indigenous girls being raped, often by step-fathers, of kids being beat by their parents for not making enough money selling Chicklets. He said these behaviors are quite common in the indigenous population here in Oaxaca and that the courts are overwhelemed dealing with these situations. Now I`m not sure how accurate of a source Frank is, but I`m guessing there must be some truth to what he said. So now I don`t know what to do. Is it possible I`ve given money to a rapist or to someone who beats their children? I have no way of knowing. But it worries me and for now I`ve stopped giving money.

Fortunately, I think the children that I work with at Estancia probably have it pretty good relative to other street kids here.    Someone in their family cares enough about them to bring them to Estancia.  And while Estancia sometimes leaves a bit to be desired (it´s often hard to tell what the Mexicans who work at Estancia do all day), the kids do get homework help, a meal, and can take a shower.  And sometimes there are other activities.  And while I see plenty of children in the streets of Oaxaca selling stuff or begging for money, I rarely see any of the kids from Estancia.

Okay, sorry this is so long.  I was going to write a little more but I think I´ll stop here. 

random stuff again

Jogging:  I see more people jogging here than I have in other cities. But they`re not always dressed “appropriately”.  I saw one guy jogging in jeans. A woman jogging in hiking shoes.  And then there was the woman who was dressed for winter, even though it was 85-90 degrees out.

Psychology:  I also see more signs for psychological services here than in other Mexican cities.  And that`s not a function of being here longer.  I saw most of these signs my first few days here.  In general, getting help from a therapist isn`t common in Mexico.  I think it`s partially cultural, not seeing it as appropriate to talk over your problems with a stranger.  And I`m sure it`s also a financial thing.  I doubt many people have health insurance (and I`m not sure thereaputic services would be part of health insurance here anything) which means they`d have to pay out-of-pocket.

Mail: Mexico is definitely not known for the quality of its postal service.  I would never think of having mail delivered here or mailing anything myself.  Too much of a risk.  So I was certainly surprised when the former tenant in my apartment received three pieces of mail on the same day, two from the IRS (guess they can find you anywhere!) and one froma bank in the States.  No postmarks though, so I wasn`t able to tell how long they took to get here.

Want a motorcycle?:  There`s a deparment store at one of the shopping malls here, that sells motorcycles.  Not exactly where I`d think to look….

Dance class:  So after the one salsa class that I missed, dance class reverted to Cumbia.  I actually haven`t gone in about a week. The instructor is a really good dancer but in my opinion, not a very good teacher.  For example, of the 10-12 times I`ve gone to class, we`ve warmed up before starting class only twice.  Why those two times and no others? Who knows?  And then there`s that mysterious salsa lesson….I don`t get it.  And I hate going to a class where I don`t know what to expect from day to day.