Last Friday I moved out of my homestay. My mom made me chamoron (I think) it is chocolate flavored and spiced atole for breakfast. It is my favorite. We sat for our last breakfast conversation and she gave me a really pretty, pale purple blouse (which I told her I would wear for Easter). I reluctantly packed up a few more things, and she called a cab for me one last time. We hauled my stuff out when it finally showed up. Before I left, she gave me a huge hug and told me “te quiero mucho” (I love you a lot), which she had never done before. We both had tears in our eyes and I told her we would see each other soon. As soon as I got in the cab I started sobbing.

I threw my stuff in my new room and started getting ready for the day trip to a rural community that is very very poor. I was not in the mood. I was crying hanging up my dresses in the closet. I was extremely upset, and trying to smoother the feelings so I could be present to this intense and powerful day.

The day was pretty tough. The people live in extreme poverty in some cases. The water is polluted with arsenic and lead, and usually they have to hike up a huge stone hill to carry it back. We participated in this activity, taking turns carrying the garrifon (pictures soon). Then we met with a family in their home. In a dark, smoky room we crouched as sun broke through a hole in the plastic and stalk-covered roof. It’s fine for now, but when the rainy season comes, the mother of 5 will be cooking in a mud puddle. We made and ate tortillas over the woodburning fire. Then we moved to the room to make small, woven-palm baskets. This is their only income generating project, and it dates back to their indigenous heritage. They live isolated on a hill where natural resources are scarce and farming is difficult. But, many are so poor that they eat tortillas and salt. Water is so scarce right now that they live with dehydration. As we wove baskets, we could sometimes notice the effects of the toxic water in our mom’s delayed responses or slow thought processes. To make worse the situation, the dyes used on the plants (because plain palms won’t fetch a price [but even the colored are sold at dirt-cheap prices]) contains lead and other harmful chemicals that hurts all exposed. She has never left the village. Many haven’t. They fled the conquerors and the town’s name means “people who fear.” This is the root of many social problems here. They live in fear and isolation. Now, domestic abuse is quite high also as men who travel the state to sell the baskets often bring back alcohol addictions (if they come back).

We went with an organization founded and located in Cuernavaca that has slowly been developing programs for education, empowerment, and improved living conditions for the people. More than anything, they hope to free the people from the darkness of fear and suspicion that has been ingrained for 500 years.

It was kind of too much for one day. Even though hearing the children laugh and talk at the school was beautiful and consoling, all I could feel was grief and sadness. More, I feel confused and pray to God that I will know what my calling is in this life, in this world with such dire need of service, attention, goodwill, and love. I had a breakdown in the van on the way home...a laughing fit of delirium with tears running down my face. It as not a pleasant day, to be honest. I was exhausted and slept without moving that night.

Pray for them. Pray for us. Pray for justice. Live for Love.