A Truly Humbling…and Bumpy Encounter

I just had the most humbling experience here thus far….my friend and I were feeling tired and lazy, and decided to leave our Friday evening festivities early. We were both strolling the streets walking home, feeling a little guilty for leaving, and also overwhelmed by the amount of work we have to accomplish in the next few days.

Here’s a little needed back story: every few days I see the same girl in a wheelchair on Calle Rancho Grande ( a street a few down from mine), being pushed by someone, usually a mom or dad, up and down, up and down the street. I've noticed her before. She always moves slowly, obviously….I can barely even walk the cobble stone dangerous streets, let alone push a wheel chair down them….but her family maintains this air of peace and content, moving at the pace that is inclusive of their whole family...patient and kind.

Tonight I turned onto Rancho. It was dark, no people in sight except for this wheel chair creeping along ahead of me, and her little brother, the size of one of my students, attempting to push her up the cobble stone hill. Cobble stone is an understatement…these streets are broken boulders, cracked in all places. There is no level concrete, and occasional 5 inch dips. It's impossible to take 3 steps without stubbing a toe, or tripping.  I watched them for a minute, not really comprehending what I was witnessing. My mind was racing through all the things I need to do tomorrow, all the stress I'm holding in, and all the "Guatemalan inconveniences" I’ve been dealing with this week (nonfunctioning internet stick, troubled students, so much planning etc). The next thing I know, her wheel chair hit a bump and her little brother was not strong enough to catch her, so this girl is lying face first, immobile in the street. I didn't even think,…I just started sprinting toward them. It was like this sense of humanity was driving me…. "puedo ayudarte por favor?" Can I please help you? – My Spanish words jumbled together, in a tone much calmer than my racing heartbeat.

I reached down, and lifted her, placing her back into her wheelchair, and then offered to roll her up the street. The little brother looked relieved, as he was rubbing his hands, like they'd been blistered from pushing her so far up the hill…who knows how far they'd come. We started chatting, and I learned he was only 7 years old. She was 12 and has been handicapped her whole life…everyday someone in her family takes turns rolling her up and down the street. It takes a long time for their family to get anywhere, but they are  used to it. It is they way of life.

After 5 minutes of pushing her, anticipating every bump we hit, and maneuvering around every loose stone, I was sure we were almost at her destination, but we kept going and going. I probably pushed her for 10 minutes up the street.  My hands were blistering, having to lift the chair every speed bump we came across or massive pot hole we had to dodge…it took strength to not let the pain be heard in the tone of my voice while talking to them. My arms were shaking and my hands were burning….to think that she does this trek every single day to just leave her house…and to think that her 7 year old brother was going to roll her all the way home….it would have taken 40 minutes to just get up Rancho.  We finally reached a tin roof shack off the side of the road and she said "mi casa"….my arms practically gave out, as did my voice when she thanked me profusely and the little brother reached out to hug me….I stood in shock for a few seconds…and just 20 minutes prior I had been so consumed with "my issues, and inconveniences"…ya my life is really tough, isn't it? 

Wow- we are all placed with an absolute purpose and I was guided to walk that road at 9:30 pm tonight, just as those children were guided to be there, to put my gratitude and life into perspective. We have so much to be grateful for and the power of human connection and our ability to help others and be rejuvenated by the strength and daily courage of others, should never be overlooked. This is a night, a moment of human connection, that I will never forget.