TheBanyanTree: Hello from Mexico

[apmartin at canada.com]

Arrival in San Miguel de Allende

I had been traveling for nearly two days on three hours
sleep.  When my plane touched down in Leon, Mexico at
9:45 pm on February 28, 2005, I was too exhausted to be
excited. 

I left Castlegar the morning of February 27th for a
four-hour bus trip to Kelowna, a nearby city in the
interior of British Columbia.  Because winter weather
conditions often delay air transportation to and from
Castlegar, I felt there would be fewer problems getting
away if I left from there.  I had booked an afternoon
flight to Calgary, Alberta where I would stay overnight
in order to connect to a 6:30 am flight to Dallas,
Texas the next day.  There, I would have 7 hours to
kill before proceeding to Mexico.  

When I arrived in Kelowna, it was a crisp, clear day. 
Inside the airport, however, I discovered that fog in
Vancouver had delayed my flight by several hours.  It
was 10:00 pm before I arrived at my hotel in Calgary,
and I had to rise at 3:30 am in order to be at the
airport by 4:30 am.  I awoke after only three hours
sleep, afraid I would sleep through my alarm.
 
As I followed the other passengers across the tarmac
toward the terminal, I couldn’t help but compare the
small airport in front of me to the mega-airport in
Dallas, Texas.  I had only seen a part of the enormous
American Airlines terminal before catching the small
jet that delivered me to Leon, but had never seen any
other airport that could compare in size.

Inside the terminal, I asked Mexican Immigration for a
180 day Visa, collected my luggage and filed into the
roped lanes towards Customs. Air passengers arriving in
Mexico pass a device similar to a traffic light and
each person must press a button on it.  If the light
turns red, the Mexican authorities thoroughly search
ones luggage. 

Because I was staying for nearly 6 months, I had two
heavy suitcases, a carry-on and a small backpack with
me.  A search could mean an hour delay.

Luck was with me; the light turned green and I passed
through without having to stop.

I wondered if my husband, Andrew would be waiting. He
had warned me that the Project’s older-model Buick had
some 250,000 miles on the clock, was unlicensed and
might not be reliable.  I was to wait for half an hour
at the airport.  If he didn’t show, I was to take a
taxi to the Holiday Inn near the airport.

To my relief, as soon as I left security I spotted
Andrew standing next to a man I assumed was Victor,
Casa Ayuda’s administrator.  

“Wow.  You’re so white,” Andrew said when I reached him.

I glanced down at my hands.  Compared to everyone else,
my skin was sickly pale.  In the two and a half months
I had lived in Canada since Guatemala, I had lost most
of my tan.

“Victor has gone for the car.  He doesn’t want to stop
out front for more than a couple of minutes so we’ll
have to load the car quickly.”

Five minutes later Andrew said, “That’s him.”   We
quickly pulled my cases onto the tarmac.  Victor hopped
out and hurried to the back of the car.  After a quick
introduction we loaded my luggage and headed off.   I
only realized later he was worried the police would
notice the New Mexico license plate had expired.

“What a difference to Guatemala,” Andrew said, minutes
after we drove off.

Although it was dark, I could see that the streets
appeared brighter and cleaner but didn’t feel that I
could make a judgment so quickly.  I needed to see
more.  

Two hours later, we arrived at the locked metal gates
outside Casa Ayuda, a non-governmental orphanage.  It
was midnight and too dark to see much except that the
building where I would be living was large and several
stories tall. Inside the front door, Andrew unlocked
the first door to the right.  The room I entered was
spacious with a high ceiling, five arched French
windows, a brick tile floor and plastered adobe walls
painted soft yellow.  Our room was originally
constructed to be a dorm for many children and measured
about 20 feet by 24 feet.  It contained two single
beds, a desk, a dresser, a tiny round table and two
wooden chairs and a bookcase as well as an ensuite
bathroom with three sinks and showers.

I had been dubious when Andrew warned me that San
Miguel was in the highlands and although warm during
the day, it was cold at night.

“Brrr.  It really is cold.” I said, shivering as I
slipped out of my clothes.  “I’m glad I brought my
flannelette pajamas.”

“I told you,” Andrew said.  “Actually, from now on the
weather should warm up.  But the walls are over a foot
thick and will likely keep our room quite cool
regardless.”

When I discovered there was no hot water I decided to
skip washing my face; I was that cold.

“I light the propane hot water tank on the roof every
morning before showering,” Andrew said, “then turn it
off afterward to keep costs down.”

The next morning, Andrew introduced me to everyone. 
Victor and Alicia Sanchez, the couple who run Casa
Ayuda are in their thirties with a ten-year-old
daughter, Esli, and a three-year old son, Ari.

At this time, only three boys live here:  Alberto,
(Veto) a nineteen-year-old mentally challenged orphan
(due to an inoperable brain tumor) who recognizes some
written words but is unable to read.  He has a very
limited vocabulary and often speaks in grunts but most
of the time is able to make him self understood. 
 
Carmello, 14 years old comes from a large, very
dysfunctional family.  His father is an alcoholic and
his mother is mentally ill.  Neither parent was capable
of caring for the children.  Before coming to Casa
Ayuda, he lived by picking through garbage and begging.
 Mexican law does not keep families together.  Casa
Ayuda had been willing to take all five children in his
family but the authorities would not allow it. Small
girls go to one location, older girls to another and
the same for the boys.  Carmello’s sisters were in the
orphanage for girls next door run by Catholic nuns but
Carmello was not allowed to see or visit with his
sisters.

Nacho (Ignacio) a street kid who says he comes from the
coast and doesn’t know how old he is.  He is probably
around 11 or 12.  He, too, is completely illiterate and
was living on the street.  Before arriving at Casa
Ayuda several months ago, he didn’t know how to use a
knife or fork. 

Andrew showed me around the property.  The house is a
large Santa Fe style mansion with thick walls of adobe
surrounded by a 12 foot brick fence.  The house is
multi-leveled and much of it is not being used at this
time.  Cactus gardens surround it.  There is an inner
courtyard with a pond, but the duck that wanders the
property has eaten all the gold fish.  

The building is only partially completed because the
founder of the Casa Ayuda, an American woman named
Betsy Schell died while it was under construction.  It
was obviously built to be a rather grand orphanage but
it is now falling into disrepair because of lack of
funds.   

A docile black lab named Cheetah roams the yard and a
half-grown Golden Retriever named Oso (Bear) is tied up
because he can’t be trusted with the goats, ducks,
turkeys and rabbits that wander the property.

Besides the live-in children, (there have been up to 26
at one time) Casa Ayuda administers several other
programs.  The vegetable program involves visiting
local merchants and picking up fruit, vegetables and
bakery goods unsuitable for sale.  Women from the
neighborhood then sort everything.  What is usable
feeds everyone at Casa Ayuda and the women who sort
receive food in payment.  Casa Ayuda also distributes
canned baby food and formula to mothers in need.  It
represents the charity, Samaritan’s Purse by
distributing thousands of Christmas gift packages to
children in several distant cities.  Two or three times
a year it hosts a camp out for several hundred children
on site.  And it organizes other activities to educate
the local people such as bringing in dentists or
doctors to talk about health issues.

As well, the Project has constructed a wonderful
playground for the neighborhood children and every day
for 3 or 4 hours up to thirty children arrive to play. 
This not only gets the children off the street, but it
gives their caregivers a break.  In Mexico, many
fathers and mothers go to the United States to work and
leave their children behind in Mexico with grandparents
or other relatives.  Many of these children don’t
attend school regularly, receive little nutritious food
and live in cramped living condition.  For example,
five families live in a tiny house across the street.
These children visit Casa Ayuda every afternoon.  There
is a trampoline, a tree house, swings, a zip line, a
child-size climbing wall, a cement area for basketball
and a small soccer field on the grounds.   
Besides initiating a carpentry program, Andrew has
helped build many of these things in the past month.

Andrew says it is very hard to get any time to oneself
because this is a family setting and the boys need
constant supervision and attention.  Each morning, the
boys are assigned tasks and spend the bulk of their day
working.  They do not attend school, nor does Esli, the
Sanchez’s daughter.  Every evening around 7:30 pm
Alicia home schools all the children for a 1 ½ - 2
hours.  Meal times are quite different.  Breakfast is
around 9:00 am, lunch, the main meal of the day is
around 3:30 pm, and supper is any time from 8:00 –
10:00 pm.

Only Victor is able to speak any English so I need to
work on improving my Spanish.  Living with a Mexican
family will be a great way to do that.

I will have to find my place here; it is important I
feel I am making a difference.  The need here is not as
desperate as in Guatemala, but there is much poverty
here, too.  A part of me longs to return to my kids at
Casa Hogar.  I need to give myself a month or two to
decide if this is where I want to be.

.........