Dick picked us up this morning, and the four of us (Dick, Ryan, Melissa and I) headed out for the Santa Rosa area of Guatemala. The team from Westside Church in Omaha had been serving there building a house for the family of Leslie, one of the girls at Hermano Pedro. We will join them tonight to help with a wheelchair distribution in this area tomorrow.
Dick had originally planned to drive the route through Guatemala City, but after I reminded him that we could go through Esquintla, he decided that would be a nicer drive, even if it would be somewhat longer. Not long outside of Esquintla, though, I was wondering if he regretted this decision. We were stopped dead in traffic, with cars coming toward us, but nothing moving in our direction. In Guatemala you can be stuck in these situations for hours. Today, however, it wasn’t too bad. Soon traffic started to move, and we discovered the source of the problem.
A bridge over a fast flowing river had been washed out by the rains. The steel girders seemed to have crumbled like tinker toys. We were re-routed to a dirt road with make shift bridges of what looked like no more than wooden planks set between piles of rocks, covering the fast flowing water. After we crossed the second of these, Melissa very quietly said, “Did I ever tell you I was afraid of bridges.” At first I thought she was kidding, but Ryan soon explained that she was very serious about this. She was a real trooper though, and hung in there through the last small bridge without even needed to find a Valium.
I, on the other hand, did fine with the bridges, but held my breath as we went up a “road” of mud and rocks on our way back to the highway. On the other hand, for Ryan, this “off-roading” was the high point of his day.
We continued on, looking for the town we would be staying in. However, it appears that since Dick’s last trip here the roads have “moved”
(Do I detect a little sarcasm here Pat? Actually Pat was suppose to be navigating but she had once again drifted off to sleep. Older people seem to have a way of doing that. Dick) (I wasn't sleeping. I had my eyes squeezed shut in terror!--Pat) and we soon found ourselves in what looked like a multi-lane toll booth in the States. Since this was somewhat confusing, Dick proceeded slowly, and eventually we discovered that we were about to enter El Salvador and were passing through the customs station! It only took half way through for the four of us to figure out what was going on, and that maybe we should turn around.
Now, the good thing about this re-routing, was that we now know exactly how to get to the El Salvador border on Monday,
(That is exactly why I made this little 3 hour detour. Dick) (If you read the blog from July 12, you'll find this is a VERY poor excuse!--Pat) when we are scheduled to take a wheelchair there! The bad news was that, to get back to where we needed to be, we would once again have to cross the make-shift bridges over the rushing river. Ever the alert protector, however, Ryan looked at the map and found an alternate route. Since Dick had never taken this way before, I think this made his day. What made the day for me and Melissa was that the road was actually paved, had no real bridges, and came out where we needed to be!
We arrived at our hotel before the team did, and decided we would go and look for Bayron, a ten year old deaf child Dick had met at a clothing distribution, and I had worked with about a year and a half ago, trying to find the best way for him to communicate.
We located the house where he had been living, and were told that he, Grandma, and Edgar, his younger brother, had moved “just a little way” down the road. Now, anyone who has been to Guatemala knows that a little way can be anywhere from a block to a couple of miles, depending on the judgment (or lack thereof) of the person you are talking to. In this case, it was really only a few blocks, but to get there we had to walk down a major highway with chicken buses, trucks, cars and motorcycles coming at us.
We finally turned off the highway, and walked another couple of blocks back into a corn field, and reached the tin shelter this family of seven now calls home. Immediately, the family recognized Dick, and began yelling for Bayron. His face lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw him (this is deliberately vague, since the his/he could apply equally to either Dick or Bayron). The family welcomed us in without hesitation, finding chairs for us and having each of the children come and shake hands with us. Again, Melissa’s Spanish proficiency was most helpful. In situations like this, I can get by, but often am afraid I’m not really understanding everything being said to me.
We discovered that, because of his age, Bayron had moved to a different school. The teacher there did not have the patience to work with a child who could not hear, and told Grandma not to bring him back. So, this amazingly bright child, who could not wait to show us his school books, is no longer allowed to attend school. Dick and I looked at each other, and I knew he would offer to try to find a tutor to work with Bayron individually, and a sponsor to pay for his or her salary. I’m happy to say that we have a sponsor (thank you, Melissa and Ryan) and are hoping that Bayron’s teacher from last year will have enough time and energy to tutor him after she teaches her class every day.
I took out my camera, and handed it to Bayron, wondering if he would remember how he’d used it almost a year and a half ago to take pictures of everything and anything he wanted to remember. Once again, he became a master photographer, arranging people, posing them, directing their expressions, and taking their pictures—all without being able to speak a word. I also watched the pride which his entire family takes in his abilities and accomplishments. All too often this is not the case for children with disabilities here in Guatemala. It was beautiful to see this family so deeply love this little boy. It is clear that his abilities have been nurtured in this loving environment, where this family, with no “professional” help, has managed to teach him to communicate through a combination of movements, gestures, and noises. Even the four of us gringos were understanding Bayron without trouble before we left. We plan to return tomorrow or Sunday, to try to arrange for a tutor, and to take Bayron and Edgar with us to swim at our hotel. I know I’ll be seeing more of Bayron
(right, Dick? Please?)
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