The Magic of Everyday Moments (And Gazillion Bubbles)

Alison, Sandra, and Esvin sat propped up on blankets in the playroom. As I read the book to them, the words surely becoming familiar by now (“Bubbles, bubbles, on my NOSE. Bubbles, bubbles, on my TOES. Bubbles, bubbles, in my HAIR, bubbles, bubbles, EVERYWHERE...”), Jay blew streams of bubbles over them. Sandra smiled and opened her mouth wide, letting out an “Aoohh,” or “buh” from time to time. Esvin giggled. 

Alison, for the first time since I arrived at Casa Jackson on March 22nd, showed clear excitement, began to squirm around and reach forward, and put her lips together and said softly, “puh- puh- pppuhhh!” Alison was anticipating what came next- the “Pop, pop, pop” of the bubbles. Every time we read this book, I blow a stream of bubbles and, one-by-one, catch a bubble and hold the wand to each of them and help them reach out to pop it

This little girl, twenty-four-months old, FINALLY made a sound. She made a real effort to communicate, a real functional attempt at interacting and requesting and being a part of playtime rather than a spectator. Twenty minutes later, during music play, she began to smile slightly as I helped her tap the jingly bells. 

It was a wonderful day.

With any “helping profession,” there are inevitably times where you feel that what you are doing does not matter; that you are deluding yourself regarding the importance and value of your own mission.

In a country/community so awash with non-profits, NGOs, cultural exchanges, Spanish schools, and the gringos that follow, it’s hard to fight your own prejudices and cynicism about the well-intentioned, naive, unintentionally self-serving efforts of some gringo non-profits. Some are started and run by young adults (check), many by young adult Americans (check and check). All are started and run with the best, most earnest intentions (check, check, AND check).

There are hundreds of programs providing education to youth; providing healthcare to expectant mothers and reproductive care to all women; building homes for impoverished families; feeding the hungry. There are programs housing the disabled and destitute; there are homeless shelters; there are programs providing pumps for clean water and solar panels for electricity.

Why Guatemala? One has to wonder what about this country is so compelling that it serves as such fertile breeding ground for these young projects and their young “visionaries.” Guatemala is not the most impoverished country in the Western hemisphere. It is one of the most violent, with murder and violent crime rates higher throughout the height of the most recent Iraq war than in Iraq itself; Malnutrition is rampant due to a combination of poverty and lack of education, but again- it is nots “the worst.” 

I can only extrapolate my own theories from my own experiences, which are small and slowly building. There is something about Guatemala for sure; an unseen, unnameable magnetism that draws visitors in. Every foreigner in Guatemala is someone or knows someone who intended only to visit for a few days, and years later, has yet to pull themselves away. In many of these places, the weather is dream-like (save for the rainy season), the people can be lovely, the pace is pleasantly slower, and the food is delicious and inexpensive. 

Without delving too far into my own cynicism, which has grown exponentially over the years despite a continued commitment to do exactly that which I view skeptically when other gringos do it, I will say this: it is an easy country to love. Save for the areas where there are semi-bustling tourist hotspots and the pushy touts and sneaky children that come with such settings, and save for the “chh-chh-chh” sound that men use to call dogs AND women, much of the country is filled with smiling, friendly women wearing their colorful skirts, shirts, and sashes, children with deep brown eyes and chubby cheeks, and scores of enthusiastic, chatty teenagers and young adults. 

It is also an easy country to start “helping” in. The market may be saturated with organizations, church groups, and backpackers trying to save the world, but rather than make this more difficult, it almost seems to make it easier. Networking in Antigua occurs at the same consistent pace as in Los Angeles, but rather than exchanging cards and information about bands, photographers, promoters, and artists, in Antigua, there is a constant exchange of information regarding various education, healthcare, and humanitarian projects operating in the city. 

And somehow, despite the inundation, there are still people that aren’t reached by the many hands outstretched to them. There are still families that are hungry, still families living in dirt shacks, still children picking through garbage at the dump, and countless other families eking out countless difficult existences. 

In the midst of this dichotomy that sometimes exists, this Gringo Heaven/Guatemalan Hell, I have come to make my home. To put my heart and soul into something the way so many others have, or have tried to. And I do still struggle with my own concerns about whether all of these gringos are helping or hurting, somehow, in some small way.

I don’t have a background in business or finance. I have a surprising amount of business and financial common sense (surprising because I lack “common sense” in some other fundamental ways), and have spent enough time traveling, researching, and hungrily devouring all of the information I could find about international humanitarian aid and efforts to know more than the average bear about the challenges and pitfalls of direct community aid. 

In any business venture, for-profit or not, it helps to have a “niche.” A specialty or focus that is slightly different than all of the others. Special S.T.A.R.s has children with special needs, and a focus on working IN the community, WITH the children’s families.

There are organizations serving children with special needs, but most provide residental care for children rather than working to support the exceptional parents who want to care for their own children. It seems that they sometimes focus on bringing children the BEST possible therapeutic care, rather than the best possible life. By bringing the support to the families that want it, and telling them, “YOU are capable of giving your child a happy, safe, comfortable life. YOU are worthy of loving and caring for your child in your own home. YOU, not the foreigners, not the wealthy philanthropist and his staff, deserve the right to keep your child in your home, if that is what you want. YOU ARE GOOD ENOUGH.”

While the direct therapy and support isn’t exactly my mission; while I feel the community-oriented support is more important and a more worthwhile investment of time, days like yesterday serve to remind me that every single moment truly does matter. Every minute spent loving and stimulating and encouraging a child, every morning that you sit children up and sing to them and play with them in view of their nurses and parents, every small effort that doesn’t measure up to the grand ideas you had for what you COULD do, it all counts.

Since returning to Casa Jackson, and with the passing of the past few weeks, I have seen fewer and fewer children laying on their backs in their cribs all day. I have sat alongside mothers holding their children, watching me sing and play to another child, and had the quiet delight of hearing them begin to sing the same song and repeat the same words in the same tone to their own child, after seeing the smiles and laughter of the child I’m playing with. I have seen a little girl smile for the first time in weeks.

Maybe we are just a bunch of naive kids trying to make our mark; to do the impossible; to fight our own fears and feelings of helplessness in a world that is so far beyond saving. 

But maybe, just maybe, it does matter. 

And you know what? I’ll take the small changes, and the big possibilities. 

“Maybe” is enough for me.