We are back from Guatemala City a little over a week now, and I find I still think almost constantly about the experience. I believe my dreams have been consistently about the trip since returning. This morning I awoke early thinking about the people we met there. We were graciously received by these good people and were granted to opportunity to share something of their lives for a week. By no means would I be so presumptuous as to say I know them, but I do have impressions based on my observations. It seems to me that life in the community of the basurero, the city dump, is a crucible. How any one person fairs will depend on his unique experiences, opportunities, innate ability and quantum chance. Some like the ladies of the committee, Doña Claudia, Janet & Cony have a quiet strength, a sense of pride and competence about them. Many others do as well. Diego told me with pride that he is Maya and speaks a Maya dialect. Rolando goes to work daily on a camion, a trash collection truck, a garbage truck. His job is to collect payments from customers for the service. It is dangerous work. He was robbed of the equivalent of $75,000 at gunpoint. The danger of the community would figure to be an essential element of life there. People who work in the basurero are doing dangerous work. It is easy to see how they could be seriously injured working so closely with moving vehicles that are dumping their loads. This danger translates to the street. We were told that Doña Claudia’s son was murdered 2 weeks before we arrived. Four people were murdered in apparently unrelated incidents on Thursday. Another gruesome murder happened on Friday. We are told that Sondra witnessed a brutal murder in January. Those who are crushed in the crucible find comfort where they can. They become solventeros or houghers as the gringos know them. They walk the streets holding fabric saturated with paint thinner to their noses, breathing in the numbing vapors, vapors that take away hunger for a little while, that take away the pain of awareness, and ultimately, that take away their mental capacity as it destroys their neurons, their brains, the essence of who they are. It is easy to spot them with their hands to their noses and the sharp odor of organic solvent spilling out as they pass. Fito is a child of the basurero who’s been strengthened by the hardship and by the love of Christ. He is now in law school and writing a book about his life experiences. Rebecca grew up in Guatemala City and speaks perfect English, having been educated in the US as a [Sam] Walton International Scholar. Both are Vida Joven staff. Love and joy show in their faces when they talk with others. And then there are the children. Marvin & Alicia, Estephan & Vincenzio, Edgar, Melanie and so many more who are full of life and love, kids who want to be hugged and held and tossed in the air, kids who want to sit on your knee or your shoulders, who want to help with the hard work of building, and do. They do not seem to be scarred by the basurero. But they must grow up. This is the haunting anxiety, and reality.
Gene Bowers
