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| I shot this photo in Guatemala, a ruggedly beautiful country. Sadly, my photography affliction didn't kick in during the short time I was "in trouble" there and being rescued. Words alone will have to suffice. |
Some travel stories are meant to be shared. Others, not so much. I've tucked this one into my back pocket. Lately, it's been agitating to come out of hiding, so here we go. The episode transpired in Guatemala on February 4, 2020, about a month before COVID 19 shut down borders worldwide.
I was en route to Adopt-a-Village In Guatemala's remote Maya Jaguar school campus to shoot photos as a volunteer, and at the same time, get a deep look at an organization PK, and I have supported for years. I was honored to be traveling with Frances Dixon, AAV's founder, and president, for 30-some years.
That day, what happened to me was a quick but disconcerting example of what not to do as a stranger traveling in a foreign country, especially if the local language eludes you.
On the bright side, it resulted in a stellar example of a stranger going out of his way to aid another human—me. Two years later, I still think about this guy. And how to be more like him.
Before I get ahead of myself...I was one of two front-seat passengers in a Toyota 4WD pickup headed to the Maya Jaguar campus. The journey from the international airport in Guatemala City requires three long but scenic and culturally rich days, mostly while bumping along on eroding roads and over sometimes questionable bridges. Thankfully our driver, Juan, possessed the skills to conquer Third World navigation.
Although Juan was accustomed to the three-day route, this trip also required dropping into Quetzaltenango, a city of nearly a million, to check on a recent Maya Jaguar graduate, Isabela, who was enrolled at a computer skills school there.
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| Guatemalans in colorful everyday dress overlooking the valley occupied by the country's second-largest city, Quetzaltenango. (Not my photo.) |
Like all Maya Jaguar students, Isabela was born in a remote village, raised on dirt floors, gathered firewood for cooking and heating, carried water, and got by on a diet of beans and corn tortillas. She was destined for teenage motherhood and a lifetime of hardships.
Instead, she was among the fortunate young people in Guatemala's remote and impoverished northwest corner whose lives have been, and are being, transformed through rigorous education at AAV.
Still, Isabela had never set foot in a teeming city, let alone been on her own. Also, she was the computer school's only female student. Frances, who loves her students, was a tad worried and eager to see how a former star pupil was faring. The two made arrangements to reunite at the computer school.
Frances had the school's address but...no directions.
No maps. I possessed a device to save the day, an iPhone with a Google maps app. Hooray!
I typed in the school's name, and in seconds, Google produced what it does for flummoxed way-finders practically anywhere—laid out a crisp route and offered audio directions.
Juan, who'd never used such a tool, was giddy. Especially with the audio feature. So. Into the city's bulging belly, we plunged in high spirits.
We didn't have to go far to reach the address. But there was a problem—the school was not there. Juan and Frances consulted strangers who pointed down the traffic-clogged street, saying the school was three blocks away.
Frances and Juan settled back into the truck. Having been sandwiched between them for several squished hours already, I decided to walk those three blocks.
"I'll see you down there!" I exclaimed cheerfully as I strode off alone, confident that I would locate the school because, you know, it was there. I waved at my companions as they passed, pleased to be on my own.
That didn't last long. FIVE blocks later, I was still searching. It must be in plain sight, I thought. Hoped. Who can't spot a school, for Pete's sake!
I couldn't. I looked for a school-like building, something proud, made of bricks, with a sign in front and students congregating.
And so I threaded through dense crowds—hundreds (thousands?) of people. Block by block, slowly. Scanning both sides of the street for anything school-like. Nada.
My buoyant mood dissolved, and I wondered if my brain would be involved in that process as well.
And where was the Toyota truck? They stick out like crazy in a part of the world where such a valuable vehicle is scarce, coveted, and hard to miss.
No truck. No obvious school. HMMM.
Unprepared, I'd grabbed my phone for a short solo journey but nothing else. The temperature felt to be in the 80s, and the sun was brutal. I had no hat, no sunscreen, no water, no money, no ID. And my pathetic Spanish language skills were useless. (I could've used a translation app on my phone but didn't think of it.)
About a half-hour had transpired. My companions would be looking for me at some point. But I couldn't duck into the shade for fear they'd miss me.
As far as they knew, I was a capable adult. A seasoned traveler. The last thing I wanted was to be a stinking burden, some tender know-nothing, requiring constant attention, let alone rescue!
I staked out my alarmed self on a 4-way intersection with sharp visibility from all directions—a tall, pale flower wilting in the sun, craning her skinny old neck this way and that above a sea of curious brown faces.
In the meantime, Frances, bless her heart, was joyfully reunited with Isabela at the school, which was, as we'd been advised, precisely three blocks from where we'd started. Juan hadn't located a parking spot and was waiting elsewhere for a signal from Frances.
By then, I'd been "lost" for (guessing here) 40 minutes. I was sweating, thirsty, and concerned. Embarrassed. To say the least.
Suddenly a car materialized beside me, alarmingly close. The driver, a young Caucasian man, shouted over traffic clamor, "Do you need help!?"
Holy moly! Yes!!
He stretched to open the passenger door and urged me to get in! I saw he needed to move with the traffic. So. OMG. I vaulted into this stranger's car, and off we inched.
But not far. He wasn't nefarious but decent, kind, honorable, and confident. He parked near the school, which was hiding on the second story of an unremarkable building with another enterprise on the ground floor facing the street. The school's modest signage was hidden on the side of the building.
No wonder I didn't see it.
"Why did you stop for me?" I asked in wonder.
"You looked lost and worried," he said. "I drove around the block to see if I could help."
He was a South Carolina missionary, and said he was a "shepherd." That worked for me.
I was a sheep in obvious distress, an older white ewe searching the cityscape with frantic eyes. I told him my embarrassing I-could-not-find-the-school story.
He quickly located the school's phone number and called to ask if Frances was there with Isabela. She was.
Flooded with relief, I realized I had been rescued by perhaps the ONLY person in the city who could have come to my aid. What incredible serendipity! And luck.
Had he not stopped, Frances and Juan would have located me. Eventually. But I was so grateful they didn't have to do that. We were only a couple days into our time together, and I was spared from a possible ball-and-chain designation. Whew!
I asked the Shepard why he made this considerable effort for a stranger.
He didn't hesitate—We all need to look out for each other.
With that, I leaned over and threw my arms around his young neck, tearfully thanking him for saving the day. I didn't get his name.
Maybe Gabriel?
He delivered me to the school, and I sprinted to the second story, where Frances was starting to wonder about me.
And I was beginning to have a good time watching her and Isabela as they reminisced (in Espanol), with evident caring for one another. I've known Frances for about 10+ years. She LOVES her students and has a deep respect for Maya. You can see the pride and satisfaction in her eyes, below.
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| Frances and Isabela shared proud moments as they reunited at the computer school. Isabela demonstrated that she was succeeding in post-graduate work and was deftly navigating life in a huge city. Two years later, this young woman is the computer instructor at the Maya Jaguar school. |
I happily snapped photos, making light of my tardy entrance. But thinking, at the same time, that what the young missionary did for me, Frances does every day, for Maya youth to whom she's devoted her life since the 1990s.
Thanks to the missionary, to Frances, and all humans who exemplify kindness, caring, and generosity for others. And go out of their way to do it.
Me? I am humbly attempting to be one of them.
An earlier Ordinary Life post about my life-shifting time in Guatemala -
A post I wrote for the Adopt-a-Village in Guatemala website -
Moved by a Mission
