An enlightening encounter

If you have ever traveled to a developing country, you have probably experienced local street vendors. They are the population that sustains itself through the tourist economy. They are usually poor, extremely poor, and, while some have a preconstructed place to bring tourists to shop, others travel with their products in hand, approaching as many tourists as possible.

The population mostly consists of women and children - tourists are less likely to buy from adult men. While the education and social standing of these street vendors is usually low, the breath of their language abilities can be striking. A friend recounted a story where, when traveling in Central America, he would speak in french - to try to avoid the nagging of the street vendors. Of course, his french consisted of only a few words - enough to fool most but far less than needed to carry a conversation. Many times, his plan worked - street vendors would start speaking in spanish, then switch to english - and, when he shrugged and muttered his french phrase, they would usually leave. However, he was astonished by how many times the vendors would start in spanish - then english - then continue in french. At that point, the gig was up, since the local poor street vendor knew more french than he did, and he had to give in.

Traveling for any amount of time here, you become accustomed to the presence of vendors. You learn ways to avoid them. You never make eye contact if you can avoid it - never. You learn to walk behind the most obvious tourist (middle age, short shorts, fanny pack) hoping that they will divert the onslaught. You learn the quick phrase to stem their efforts (no quiero comprar nada hoy, lo siento). And, shamefully, as you grow accustomed, you dehumaninize and treat them more as a nusiance than people.

A few weeks ago, I ventured to Panajachel - another town on the lake - affectionately known as "Gringo-tenango" for obvious reasons. Unfortunately, it is necessary to pass through Pana to get to the city, the airport, etc. And so, I went to Pana and was instantly bombarded with the street vendors. "Buy this purse" "Buy this necklace" "Buy this throw for your table". And so, I put on my experienced tourist face and employed my strategies. - eyes down, behind tourists, "No lo quiero, gracias".

I continued my strategy when I sat for dinner - I sat next to a large, painfully obvious family of tourists, I politely kept my head down and said no thank you.

During the course of my meal (45 minutes), I had between 5-10 people ask me to buy goods. Always the same things, nothing I would ever need, always the same lines - "Compre algo" "Buen precio" "Barrato"

Towards the end of my meal, a boy, not more than 9 years old, climbed the steps to attempt a sale. He was small, but, then again, everyone here is small. He had the same features, dark, ruffled, greasy hair, dark skin, dirt around the edges - that almost all the vendors have. He wore a Chicago Bears jersey - again, not uncommon - most clothes are donations from the States. In his arms he carried the usual suspects: homeade necklaces, bracelets, scarves, etc.

He held is arms up and asked me to buy something. I said no thank you and went down to my book, not paying him another thought. He stood behind me, waiting - not uncommon, kids can be persistant and want to try to sell to you again. After a minute, I turned around, ready to say no once again...and he caught me off guard.

(in Spanish) "Is that English you are reading"

An interesting question - not the usual, "Yeah, it is a book I picked up...Can you read English?"

A slight giggle and a shake of the head

"Your shirt has English on it, it says Chicago Bears - a football team in the US"

He looks down with a newfound respect for his shirt - something he has probably been wearing every day for a long time.

I repeated my question "Can you read English"

"No"

"What about Spanish"

"No." Sadl, yet, unfortunately expected

Seeing as the boy was around 9 or 10 and couldn't read, I asked a semi obvious question "Do you go to school?"

"No, it is too expensive"

I knew this too, public school is not free here, even the worst schools you have to pay for. I asked, " How much does it cost to go to school"

"75 Quetzales...a semester"

This blew my mind, 75 Quetzales a semester - $10 US - too expensive. His chance to escape poverty, to open countless opportunities, to help himself and his family - all thwarted for 10$. It is heartbreaking - he has a natural curiosity, a air about him that could be something better than what he is- but, because of 10$ a semester, he is restricted to his current life.

Of course, there are other factors. More than likely, no one in his family went to school - in fact, he later told me that his two older brothers also sell goods on the street. His family probably has no understanding of the power of education. They are poor, they are uneducated; by selling goods on the street, he is able to help keep his family afloat...at the expense of his future.

I wondered about his business - how many hours did he work, how many sales did he make, how much did he earn a day?

He told me that, on an average day, he works from 8AM until around 11PM. He asks hundreds of tourists every day, but, over the course of 14 hours, only makes 5-6 sales for around 30-40 Quetzales a day (about 5 dollars US).

5 dollars a day - enough for their family to survive, but never enough to escape poverty. They can never save money, they can never invest, they can never advance. If they have some sort of emergency - medical or otherwise - they will never have a backup - their decisions will have to be based on the little they can scrape together and they will plunge deeper into poverty.

I asked him when the last time he had eaten - 8AM. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was 8 --PM - a long day of work having only had a breakfast of tortillas. And there I was, sitting down to a full dinner, after a full lunch and a full breakfast -- suddenly my fish soup lost its flavor.

I asked the boy about his favorite food. He laughed again - you could tell he doesnt usually interact with tourists like this. He said the usual; tortillas, rice, beans - all staples, all things he has every day. So I pushed a bit, "What is the one food that you like above all others, your most favorite food to eat". He finally admitted it was fried chicken and french fries.

And so, I paid for the bill and accompanied the little boy down to a local fried food vendor. I squashed the little medical voice in my head screaming "fried food is bad" and, for the mere cost of 15 Quetzales - about 2 dollars, bought him some fried chicken and french fries.

We chatted for a bit more -- it is incredibly hard to chat when, really, your lives have nothing in common. He thanked me for the chicken and went on his way - more than likely to continue to try to sell his goods.

There are times in our lives when we become accustomed to what we once thought was impossible. In medicine, there are countless examples - your first patient that dies is horrible, but, sad to say, the 100th just doesnt have the same edge. It is then , when you least expect it, that you sometimes get hit with an occurance that serves to re-awaken your senses. I had been in guatemala for 5 months, I had passed hundreds of vendors, I had perfected the art of ignoring. And then, one little kid comes along and reminds you that all those people are very much human.

I did not make a difference in that kids life - he will still wake up then next morning, have a meager breakfast and go about his 14 hour, 5$ day. His path is still set, I was a mere speed bump, a quick diversion to break the monotony.

But, whether he knows it or not, his contribution was much more lasting. He broke the paradigm, made me see deeper than the superficial causes I had resigned myself to. And, although I will still probably do my best to avoid the onslaught of the vendors (after all, I still have to get where I need to go), his memory will hopefully bring me pause a little more often.