Marciel’s husband was abusive to his wife and daughters. She tells me he’s in prison and says confidently that “he won’t be back to bother them again.” We walk down to her house as I’m startled by a dog that runs within about two feet from my face barking and snarling. Fortunately for me, he’s changed to a tree. Marciel motions me along as I pass by and down the rugged terrain into her front yard.
We talk for a little about her life.
She washes clothes for a living.
No, she doesn’t make much money at all… hardly enough to feed her four little girls.
Yes, she sometimes gets discouraged, but she keeps going.
I tell her her home is very well kept and that she has done a very good job of keeping up the place. I admire her small garden. Three plants – two flower, one herb. The kids stand by and smile. They all hug me as I say my goodbyes. I compliment Marciel on how well behaved her kids are. In all honesty, I haven’t seen a more well behaved bunch of kids than hers.
This was about two months ago. Since then a few of us have chipped in to buy her groceries for the week. A few weeks ago we celebrated Marciel’s birthday with her and her children (pictured here). She put up a pinata and a few decorations, made us food and gave us coke! This may not sound like a lot, but for a woman who probably makes $1/day, this is a huge sacrifice. She loves to give.
Today I went to visit Marciel and another family in the barrio when I was reminded again of Marciel’s hard life. I stopped first and was talking with Guadelupe and her family when Marciel walked by. She stuck her face in the window and smiled, calling out my name. Guadelupe invited her in and we chatted a bit.
After a little small-talk, Marciel said goodbye. Guadelupe filled me in on what I had missed… she told me that Marciel was washing clothes today for another woman and everything was going great. She washed them all, put them up on the line as always and then went about her business. She returned to find the clothes stolen. Now she is left with the responsibility of replacing the clothing. “Poor little thing,” she said in closing.
This is the harsh reality that the people in the barrio here live in. It seems everyone is out to do you harm. I feel it, and I’m not even immersed in it.
Today I parked my bike at the base for the morning and went about my business. When I came back, I found that someone had put a pin in both of my tires, leaving me with the simple inconvenience of taking it to a bike repair shop to be fixed. It cost me twenty minutes and a dollar. Yet somehow in there, I can find room to complain.
