In America we're blessed with deodorant and toothpaste, regular showers, and time to lollygag, and tenderly stare into each others eyes… Generally we're not worried if we'll be stopped at gunpoint, or a harmless influenza strain will kill us…. In America we fight over the remote control, and when it comes to food should get Mexican or Indian, or takeout… Generally, our lifestyles afford us the luxury to flirt, to tempt to allure, and ultimately manufacture the dream. The 2.7 children and homemade dinners and years of memories created inside a safe, white picket fence. Is this a product of necessity, no? But rather, amour? No…. we get to enjoy the luxury of choice.
It's 2:23 PM. I'm on a plane. I'm flying six-hours south of Denver, beyond the American boundaries, cell phone service, and entering a country where my tax dollars don't help anyone… Chances are that the couple my age in El Crucero is mid-twenties is trying to feed five kids… they're both undereducated and malnourished, they live in one-bedroom and have rotting teeth? Can they afford to fall in love?
I'm seated in the exit row, so I have plenty of foot room. It's a full flight. There are teachers, school teachers, engineers, mostly caucasians sipping on Coca Cola and eating muffins, I'm surrounded by the typical Americans. Most of them speak English, most of them have ridden on airplane before, I assume they've all seen Larry King Live… I can't help but ask, who will be the people to cross my path tonight.
I've been told as soon as I step off the plane to remove my jewelry and makeup. It will 100 degrees plus, it will be dusty and the streets smell like urine. I'm unprepared for the parentless children, there are those who are really sick, too sick to be saved. Those who steal, those who without choice, thanks to an unfair upbringing, are soulless.
But I'm most afraid, when I look into the eyes of a child who has never known her father, an old man who has never experienced hope, or a mother who has bore the children; from a rape…. Sure, there are the exceptions, those who slipped through the poverty and while still starving, survived. When I look into the eyes of these people, I'm terrified. Who will I see?
The Discovery Channel, the stories on Dateline, the anecdotes church goers bring back to dinner tables… I guess this is a "mission" trip, but what exactly is the mission? To bring America to Nicaragua, or bring some Nicaragua reality back home? Sure, i guess i've had a little experience. There was the summer spent in Brazil when I was sixteen. There were monkeys, ironically our long-lost cousins? Ha. The snakes and the cheerful songs of toucans that float amid the plush canopies of rain forest; foliage that supplied ample photographs…. vibrant flowers, the petals large and fragrant. And sure, there was poverty, but it was veiled under the mysticism of the tropics, the tribal traditions, and so…. it wasn't as tragic as I could fathom.
Demographics cut us into neatly organized boxes, where we can via identify hair color, religion and socioeconomic bracket. And somehow we calculate how much a person deserves. Whether that be from a fiscal standpoint or reverse discrimination. A chunk of America survives on our tax dollars and our empathy. But today i'm reaching outside consumerism and general hospitals, shopping malls and fast food, embarking outside the definable lines where my salary no longer gets to help people. The people in the poorest rural areas of Central America subsist on trash and handouts, the Christians and NGOs can offer… these people aren't even aware of pop culture and MTV and all the desires that catapult American's into that "dream", but we shouldn't be in denial that it is often these same things that are to blame for the eating disorders and the phobias and occasionally endorse the antidepressants. In an American spectrum where consumerism and comparison and competitiveness are capitalistic verbs, the drivers of our lives, what have we gained? But more importantly, when it comes to capitalism, what have we lost?
The ability to be human, perhaps?
Sure… they're helpless in many senses, but the photographs of the barefoot children depict something I don't notice when I flip through the Facebook photos, where my friends are shining in bright dressing, sharing steak and vacations to Europe. In America, we pull our children away from video games and TV in hopes they'll learn the required arithmetic; it is inarguable that children in third world countries are eager to learn, albeit an existence beyond the chains of poverty, is and that will always be a mirage. But, beyond the crime an the senseless acts of violence, you can find an unfamiliar life, one where the women have to support each other, the men spend days in the fields providing for their families….they don't have access to Advil, let alone antidepressants. Maybe survival levels the playing field, an existence void of standard and expectations, maybe it's simply simplicity.
Is this a first class guilt trip in which I've volunteered?
It is 4:30 PM. The plane is in a holding pattern because of the hurricane in South Texas. The pilot over the loudspeaker has alerted us that we will be late. The travelers are grumbling, without access to cell phone and email, they cannot reach their family and friends; some are annoyed that they'll now face the monster of holiday traffic, or the nuisance of rerouting flights. I get it. Spending an extra hour squished next to a bunch of strangers isn't my idea of a desirable Friday afternoon. But as I sip out of my Aquefina bottle and my manicured hand reaches for the valve to twist open the air conditioning, I immediately feel the stream of cold air. A small pleasure in the midst of designer clothes and new shoes…. my body is still human.
I don't look down at these fellow Americans whose feathers are ruffled because our Continental flight is taking longer than expected. The pilot cannot change the weather, the flight attendants can't appease every crying baby. Are we spoiled in our lavish lives, or are we deserving of our hard-earned efforts? I don't have any answers. Only many questions. What equalizes human? Is it the five senses… taste buds met with spices? Our bodies touched delicately, or maybe hearing the sound of enchanting music? Our bodies experience pain, heat, frighteningly cold air. I know some bodies are built for different conditions, but are all of hearts built the same?
As I shut down my new Apple laptop, I close my eyes… and I whisper a very selfish prayer. Not that I can help these starving kids, or sick babies, or orphans… Not even that I can offer them a helping hand or a glimmer of hope. I already know there isn't much hope. They're destitute and ill and uneducated and I don't know what a few days and a few Americans can do to change that, at least for the long term anyway.
These people don't have passports, they don't get to runaway… I get to go back to my world with healthcare and limitless opportunity, safe streets and delicious food and intellectual banter, and yes…. choice. And I guess I pray that I don't feel too guilty afterwards.
