3rd World Nations: How is Guatemala different?


© Matt Dayka - Vitamin Angels GT14-9688Reduce_RBC7690

You cannot walk down a street in the loneliest Guatemalan town without encountering it.

The gentle enthusiasm, friendliness, and sociability expressed by every local, from the oldest woman to the youngest baby. Travel to China, India, or Thailand and you’ll be accosted on every street corner with wares and services—but not here. There is a gentle civility that blankets the commercial clamor. A kind, creative calm.

And it’s not just social etiquette. Mayans give off such a radiant vibe that it colors the atmosphere around them. It is palpable resilience, proud and authentic. Decked head to toe in the most exquisite hand-embroidered traje, broad smiles and quirky curiosity utterly betraying the hardships they endure.

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One day, I was walking down the main road lost in the doldrums of un-actualized intent. Slowly twilight began to soften the edges of the sidewalks and cast the volcanic peaks in a scarlet haze. My gaze swept gently across the lane; was the kind of day where it’s both really easy and really hard to remember you’re alive. Suddenly a colorful woman smiled at me and beckoned me over.

Where are you from?” She asked.

I told her about my journey from Australia, her gaze teeming with wild fascination. “I hope that one day, maybe when my family is grown, I too can travel like you,” she said.

Beaming with pride, she stepped aside to reveal a sprightly little girl. As she danced in the milky half-light, I tried not to notice her bare feet or the mud caked under her tiny fingernails. The girl smiled slyly, then dashed into their booth. She came out holding a stack of warm, freshly baked tortillas.

“Amigas,” she said. “Por siempre.” She held one out to me like a new mother offering her newborn child. Well, there was no refusing such an offer. They smiled warmly as my taste buds melted on the first Mayan food I had ever tasted.

  (16)© Matt Dayka - Vitamin Angels GT14-9181

Over a month into my time volunteering with Mayan Families, I find that the same warmth and character oozes from every corner of this amazing country.

Traveling True in the Developing World


Explaining a developing country to someone who has never seen one is like teaching a blind man to paint. He can hold the brush and imagine the colors, but the abstraction can never be actualized to intent.

It takes a certain level of visionary consciousness to confront the honesty that oozes from every cobble and crack. Quantifying impoverished localities means awareness—open eyes, open ears, and open heart. Awareness is not pity, sorrow, or sympathy. It’s an agreement to see and appreciate the world around you from outside the comparative lens. It’s quiet observation, nurtured by a respectful curiosity. It’s sharing in the enthusiasm, friendliness, and sociability expressed by those struggling under the poorest circumstances. Most of all, it’s feeling awed by a cultural community where poverty, trust, and goodwill thrive in tandem.

Unfortunately, this state of mind is not fundamental or inherent. It takes commitment and reflection, as well as a passionate respect for what lays beyond one’s understanding. It’s been my experience that most travelers remain disengaged, despite total immersion in a developing culture. They flit from one visceral encounter to the next with hasty unaccountability. Their days are scaffolded to fulfill one self-gratifying agenda or another; they do not hear, think, or see beyond the tragedy of foregoing first-world conveniences. Every exposure and observation, for them,is colored by their own perception of what’s right and normal.

Embracing twilight from a terrace in rural Guatemala, I witnessed one of the worst examples of the disenfranchised perspective. It was close to 9pm and most shopkeepers were rolling down their gates after a hard day of work. One booth remained open, manned by a girl about 12 or 13. Her frock, sandals, and emotive gaze were as downcast as they were colorful. As I studied her, a group of American tourists surged up the lane—three teenage boys ducked inside her booth and peevishly rummaged through her goods. They snickered, playing with their smartphones and shoving each other into her carefully arranged wares. None of the boys offered a glance her way, as her mouth sank into an expression of gritty fatigue.

Laughing, one of the boys stepped backward and tripped over a vase. The group turned to stare as hand-painted shards splintered across the pavement. For a moment, the boys just gaped in silence at the wasted terracotta. They looked at each other, then the girl. She didn’t make a movement. Her jaw quivered. Suddenly, one of the boys shrieked and took off down the street. The other two followed—they broke into peals of giggles, their voices echoing through the night air as they caught up with their group.

I dropped money on the table, grabbed the basket of rolls, and ran out of the restaurant. She was in the street, sweeping up the shards with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Let me pay,”I said, shoving a wad of bills into her tiny hands.

She tried not to accept it, but after a few moments she gave in and took the bills from me. I offered her the rolls from the restaurant and she gingerly accepted those as well. We sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the moonlit tranquility. Her native language was Kaqchikel, a spoken language indigenous to the Mayan people, but eventually we were able to exchange a few ephemeral pleasantries in Spanish. I learned that she works every day from sunrise to sunset, earning money to care for seven younger siblings. Her one wish was to go to school, but for the time being her family needed her income to subsist. Despite it all, she was optimistic. Happiness isn’t conditional, it just is. In just a few minutes, she demonstrated more courage and heart than anyone I’ve ever met.

In this moment, all the tyrannical urgencies of life were extinguished and I could see things exactly as they were. For every act of blind disrespect, I hope that as we evolve as a people and a species, there is always someone watching. Someone who cares.