They Had Nothing: They Gave Everything
A True Story Worth Reading
© Robin Easton - All Rights Reserved
Even if all we do
is one act of kindness,
one person at a time,
we change both another life
and our own.
© Robin EastonDuring the mid-seventies, I traveled with a friend to the then-small fishing village of Zihuatanejo, in the state of Guerrero, Mexico. I had saved for two years to go to Mexico, so this trip was a big deal. About a month before leaving the States, I started to learn Spanish. By the time I left for Mexico, I could speak enough Spanish to get by. We flew to Mexico City and then to Zihuatanejo, where we stayed in a small, inexpensive motel perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. Bright red hibiscus with long yellow stamens bloomed outside our open window, where a rope hammock hung under the veranda. Beautiful little stone steps wound down the cliff to the beach below.
The first two days, I swam in the ocean and lay in warm sand. Every morning a little girl, about six-years old, with a long, black braid wandered up the beach to sell dried banana chips. I always recognized her approach, as her bare feet danced across the sand, and her faded-orange dress fluttered about her tiny legs.
Each day I bought a few bags of chips, which she sold from a small basket. I was surprised that her English was far better than my Spanish. One morning I invited her to sit and visit with me while we nibbled banana pieces. She seemed delighted to rest for a bit and chat. She instantly set her bare feet close to mine, almost touching...wanting to touch. When I slowly swung my feet until the tips of my toes touched hers, she giggled and chirped, “People call me Banana-Chip-Girl.”
I smiled and said, “You are far too lovely for that name.”
She sighed with contentment and went very quiet. Then with an angelic face she shyly said, “Mama says God named me, Luna. It means moon. If you come tonight, you see me in the sky.” Then more silence and hesitation. I waited, and finally….”I show you where I live, but you would not like it. Mama says never bring people because we don’t live in a real house. But she says we’re still a real family. That matters. But I visit you here. Maybe Mama comes too.”
A quick darting glance at my face. Was I judging her? When she saw no recrimination, only a loving smile, she beamed her own bright smile, one filled with white teeth, hope, and love. She clapped her little hands together and wiggled with pleasure.
At that exact moment, I thought of one of the simplest and most meaningful things I owned. It was a tiny sterling-silver-tube necklace, with real turquoise and coral beads, and a little mother-of-pearl dolphin that my dad had given me. I always wore that necklace, but I’d left it back in my room so I would not lose it during my swim in the sea. Sitting there, I suddenly saw the little necklace strung around the neck of this delicate Moon Child. I would give her the necklace the next time I saw her. For a little girl of such Light, it would be like a gift from heaven…for both of us.
Early the next day I explored Zihuatanejo. I walked down the hill to the marketplace. Straw hats, ponchos, baskets, hand-painted maracas, and other wares spilled from stalls. Whole dead chickens plucked bare hung upside down and covered with flies. Morning-caught fish piled high on tables, and oranges, mangoes, coconuts, and other fruits and vegetables lay on colorful, woven blankets spread on the ground. Bubbling laughter, chatter, and music filled the air with the smells of spicy cooking, sweat, newly woven palm-frond hats, urine, rotten meat, and fresh ripe fruit…humanity. A row of girls in lacy-white dresses wound their way through the stalls, probably headed for the church and their first communion.
I bought three oranges and kept walking to the end of town until I reached the village laundromat. Four wooden posts supported a tin roof that covered a ring of concrete washbasins. Each basin had one faucet spouting cold water. Women lined the front of the basins, vigorously hand-washing their clothes and hanging them on lines to dry in the hot sun. Rows of red, green, blue, and white clothing fluttered like flags in the breeze. Babies and children laughed and rolled about on the ground at their mother’s feet. The whole scene reminded me of a colorful confetti party.
I remembered that Luna had said she lived beyond the town. Curious, I kept walking. The road quickly turned into a dirt track. Little puffs of dust rose with each slap of my sandals. This area of Mexico had been in the grip of severe drought for several years. The hillsides were brown and crispy-dry. One match would spark a deadly inferno.
The town's main buildings were suddenly replaced with huts made from palm trees. The hut walls were constructed from the central rib of the palm frond. The ribs were placed upright, one next to the other like slats. I could see through the slats to people sitting on dirt floors inside. The roofs were thatched with whole fronds. Most of the ‘houses’ were no larger than my bathroom and often housed six or more people. The thatch would have leaked insufferably in the rain. But during the drought, rain was no worry. The roofs merely offered small patches of shade, an escape from intolerable heat.
As I looked from the tiny palm homes out to sea, I noticed an opulent American cruise ship sitting in the harbor, its gleaming-white a stark contrast to the poverty around me.
Naked children peeked from between the ribs of their palm frond homes. They watched me, someone from that ‘other’ world, a world as foreign and unattainable to them as the life of a movie star. Huge ravenous eyes stripped of all pretense examined my clean white shorts and red T-shirt, my nice leather sandals, my backpack, and camera. I bluntly saw myself through starving eyes. Some women shyly smiled at me, while others turned away with anger and scorn….hurt. I felt ashamed.
For some reason, I walked farther and farther away from town and the palm-rib-shacks. I didn't know why or what I was looking for. All I knew was that I wanted to see what lay beyond the lush table laid out for tourists, what lay beyond the town. So, this is where little Luna lives, and she walks all the way up the beach every day to make a few cents. I vowed to buy ten or twenty bags from her the next day.
I thought of my not particularly expensive apartment back in the States. I thought of my closet full of clothes, also not particularly expensive, purchased from Target and Kmart. I thought of my old second-hand car, my used furniture, my very small bank account, my hot water, electricity, more-than-enough food, my nick-knacks, books, guitar, music, and more. I probably would have been considered lower middle class in my own country, but when I looked at the shacks with no running water, no toilets, no electricity, no furniture, no floors, no clothes, no shoes, no beds, no blankets, and almost no food….I knew I was rich beyond belief.
The little shacks thinned out and I kept walking down the dirt track when I ran into three completely naked children. One, a girl about four years old who had beautiful smiling eyes ringed with long lashes. Black dusty hair matted against her crown and curled in thin wisps around her neck. She was beautiful, a poster child, but who would want to look at these poster children?
The little boys, probably six and seven years old, were equally as beautiful and had even dustier and curlier black hair, and eyes that on first contact shrank from the world. Blotches and sores that did not heal covered their brown skin. All three stood on broom-handle legs that supported bellies bloated from starvation, huge bellies that sprouted spindle thin arms, and bone-gaunt faces with enormous dark eyes too large for any child.
I thought they would run when they saw me, but they stopped and stared, then suddenly smiled so openly, especially the little girl. My heart shattered into a million pieces that I would never again fit together. The girl’s smile was uninhibited, open, and curious. We all said "Hola" to each other. Their long thin fingers pointed to my camera, and they “ooohed” and “ahhhed” over my shoes and clothes. They talked in rapid Spanish, too fast for me to understand all of it, but I knew they wanted me to take their picture.
I raised my camera and tried to focus through tear-blurred eyes when I noticed the little girl dive at something on the side of the road. She raced back, stood in line beside the boys, and grinned. I clicked the shutter and lowered my camera to see what she held in her tiny hand. Slowly she tore a grimy, dirt-covered, hotel roll in half, a piece of garbage that had fallen into the gutter, probably dropped by another tourist. She stepped toward me, smiling so huge, and offered me half her roll, part of her meal.
The little boys silently stared at us, eyes pleading for a piece, swallowing hard, mouths already tasting the bread. Not wanting to offend the little girl, I put the roll to my mouth and pretended to bite off a piece and chew. I then tore ‘the rest’ in half and passed the two bits to the little boys. Their mouths opened like baby birds before the bread even touched their fingers.
All three smiled like beatific angels. Each little belly sat bare-assed on the ground and happily gulped down their portion of roll. I joined them in the dirt. They watched me closely as I pretended to chew and swallow as I smiled at each one. When our picnic was over and they rose to leave, the little girl ran to my leg and hugged me. I barely held back my tears, but I knew I could not worry them with my self-indulgent emotions.
Suddenly, I remembered the three oranges I had bought at the market. I reached into my pack and handed one to each child. I wished I had more food with me. I would come back. I pointed to the spot where we stood and said, “Mañana, sí?” meaning “Tomorrow, yes?” Their little heads bobbed up and down and off they went. The little girl turned and waved; her smiling mouth already full of juicy orange. It was like Christmas for them, and for me it was a deeply humbling awakening that I will never forget.
The next day I returned with fresh bread, cheese, chocolate, fruit, and more, all wrapped in three large packages that I told each child to take home to ‘Mama.’ Then I opened another bag that had three small sarongs in it and enough bread, cheese, fruit, chocolate, and little bottles of orange juice for a picnic, one bundle of food for each of us.
As hungry as these children were, they did not grab or shove to be first. They again sat on the bare earth and watched me. As each item was revealed, they ‘ooohed’ and ‘ahhhed’ like they had over my clothes. Their dark eyes were huge and watching as I laid out the picnic. Each child patiently waited in turn as I gave them their sarong and pile of food. Even then, they did not greedily grab and stuff their faces. They explored the food, touching, smelling, and making little sounds of pleasure and awe.
I knew they would savor and share the food. When the oldest boy noticed he had a slightly larger portion of cheese than the others, he broke some cheese off his block and gave it to the little girl and the other little boy. When they all had exactly the same amount they seemed to feel deeply satisfied. They even worried if I had enough. When they saw that I had the exact same things that they had, they relaxed. Then very slowly, as if savoring every single bite, they took tiny pieces and began to eat. They knew how to ration their food, after a few bites of cheese and bread, they very carefully wrapped the rest of the food to save for later.
As we all sat in the dirt, I again had all I could do not to cry. In my entire life I had never seen anyone who had so little, give so much. I have never felt as humbled as I did with these three children. I have not since seen such selfless grace and purity of spirit. Never. Those children did not have one thing in their lives, no clothes, no shoes, no food, no house, no car, no books, no medicine, no school, no bed, no future…not one damned thing, yet, they were the Purest Love I have ever known.
I knew that the next day, I had to catch an emergency flight back to the States as my friend was seriously ill with food poisoning. I was grief-stricken when I had to tell the children that I would not be able to return. Although they seemed to lovingly accept this, I worried terribly. They would only have this one small gift, and then the bigger bundles I gave each of them to take home to Mama, and then…possibly no more. How long would they survive? I doubted many wealthy tourists ventured into this area of town. I had heard the way tourists talked about the people in “the slum.” They used words like “filth,” “the dirty ones,” and “the scum of the earth.” I wept. I wanted to give more to these beautiful people who quietly endured the harshness of life and their fellow humans.
At that young age, I did what I could with what I had. But, I could not stop thinking about my life back in the States, and I felt ashamed of our greed, and voracious spending, and even more shameful, our scandalous waste of food, things, resources, each other, the Earth, and life itself. I knew that most of us have no idea how much we waste or how wealthy we are, wealthy to the point that we have lost all sight. Even my tiny apartment back in the States was an astonishing luxury.
Never again would I feel shame for not owning a ‘better,’ newer car, a bigger house, more expensive clothes, fancy things, and so on. Never again would I compare my life to my country’s standard of prosperity and wealth. There would be no end to such a trap, only relentless empty-allure that might wander far from meaningful life.
I lived in one of the wealthiest countries in the world, and if I was not careful, and if I strove to fit into cultural standards of middle-class or upper-middle-class…I could potentially become very, very impoverished. I always want to be aware of what I have, and very aware….of what others might NOT have. I always want to live with empathy, and to continue to do what I can, when I can, to help others. Even if only….one person at a time.
Go with a tender heart.
Love,
Robin© Robin Easton – All Rights Reserved