It’s a Small World After All…

Carlos & California Love

A short while back on one sunny afternoon after class, I took a chicken bus to a rural Mayan village about a half hour outside of Xela to explore with another student and her teacher. Almolonga is a pueblo centered around agriculture, and grows a large amount of produce both for local consumption and to export to all of Central America.

When we got off the bus we first passed through a town of narrow streets cramped with colorful concrete buildings, then through a maze-like marketplace that eventually tapered off to an open expanse of farmland that laid ahead.

Plot after plot of land was neatly sectioned off by farmer and crop: Vegetables such as carrots, onion, garlic, radishes, lettuce, and leeks were sprouting up through the earth, and barefoot farmers with weathered faces and warm smiles were tending to them. We meandered aimlessly taking in the scenery for a couple of miles, and every time we passed someone working the fields we would greet them with a friendly Hola, buenas tardes! One such farmer stopped what he was doing to come chat for a moment.

Carlos was curious to know our story: Where we were from, what brought us to these parts, how we were enjoying Guatemala, what local dishes have been our favorite so far, and where we learned to speak Spanish. When I told him that I was from San Francisco his face lit up. Standing in a field deep in the highlands of Guatemala, our conversation quickly turned to the glory of California.

He had lived there for many years as a farmworker outside of Santa Cruz and Sacramento. He talked of the beauty of the beaches of Santa Cruz, and how many different parts of California are so beautiful in their own way–the beaches, the farmland, the redwoods. I agreed wholeheartedly with his praise, and we smiled over the shared knowledge of how special California is. Carlos has grown children in the States and hopes to return again someday, but for now he has to be here.

I motioned to the scenery around us, the verdant farmland that gave way to a border of misty mountains and volcanoes, and pointed out that it’s just as beautiful right where we stood. He beamed with pride, and then asked Le gustan cebollas? Of course, I love onions! I told him. He held up a finger to indicate that he would be right back, and ran off to his field.

By this time a tiny woman in traje típico–traditional Mayan clothing–had come over from the farmhouse with a styrofoam cup of fresh atol de elote–a warm corn milk beverage–for us to share. Carlos returned with a beautiful bouquet of vegetables for each one of us, including onion, leek, and celery, and we thanked them profusely for their generosity.

The friendliness and hospitality they showed to perfect strangers just passing by warmed my soul, and I was grateful for the instant bond our love of California had provided. They wished us well, hoping we would enjoy the rest of our time in Guatemala, and we waved our goodbyes. I walked away admiring my vegetable bouquet and smiling to myself about our connection and the inherent goodness of humans all over the world.

The Chicken Bus Connection

Later that afternoon when we were done exploring and ready to head back to Xela with our vegetables, we hopped on another chicken bus. After taking a seat in the back of the bus I noticed a man start down the center aisle, panhandling with a small plastic bowl of change. He appeared to have survived some kind of terrible fire, with taut silvery-pink scarring covering his face, head, neck, and arms. The flesh of his nose and ears had been burned away, as well as most of his fingers.

I reached into my purse to fish out a few notes, and when he arrived at our row I placed the quetzales in his dish. In a moment that left me completely stunned he asked me–in perfect English–Do you speak English?

This is an area where VERY few people speak any English at all–not even the college educated teachers and administrators at the Spanish schools, whose careers center around working with English speakers. In Xela it is very uncommon, and hearing it out here in rural Almolonga from a man panhandling on the bus was even more surprising. Megan and I were the only foreigners on the bus, and I hadn’t expected a word of English on the trip.

I told him Yes, I speak English–I’m from California. He asked if I had ever heard of a place called South Carolina, and I smiled and said Why yes, I am quite familiar with the state.

He told me that when he was a little boy, after the fire, a missionary pastor from South Carolina had brought him back to the States for medical treatment. He ended up living there for 12 years with the pastor’s family, getting therapy and an education. He asked, Have you ever heard of Greenville? I laughed and said Yes in fact I have, an old friend of mine is from Greenville and I spent some time there years ago. It was now his turn to be completely surprised–he couldn’t believe that I knew Greenville! We chatted for a little bit about South Carolina while other curious passengers looked at us with cocked heads, probably wondering what on earth the two of us had to talk about.

He had to get off the bus at the next stop, and I was left both in wonder of my double Small World day and heavy-hearted with unanswered questions about the reasons why he was back here in Guatemala, panhandling on a bus to get by. I would think that his fluency in English would be an asset in employment of some kind here, but I also wonder if he is discriminated against because of his painful-looking scars…I will never know, I can only wish him well and wonder about him from time to time.

The Small World coincidences I had in Almolonga that day made me reflect on just how many invisible connections there are between us all, waiting to be discovered. Encounters such as these are delightful little reminders of our shared humanity and shared space of world that can feel so vast and disconnected–but isn’t. If we commit to moving through the world with open hearts and open minds–if we take the time to talk to one another–we can make visible these connections between us, and we can stand together smiling on common ground.

Behold my beautiful bouquet!

Carlos and his son at work.