Email: Samantha Sale

Friends,

Ever since I arrived in Guatemala, I have been struck by the poverty. My first impressions of Xela from our walking tour were trash in the streets, children without clothes, people peeing in public, bad smells, and dogs and chickens roaming everywhere! Then, I meet my host family and move into our house. The five daughters that still live in the house (there are 10 in total) wear the same clothes for a week and shower just as infrequently as they change clothes. We have one toilet for the eight of us to share. When it rains, the roof leaks, forming a small stream running through our kitchen and into the sala, or living room. They never turn the light bulbs on, and we often just sit in near darkness. It sounds drastic, listing it out like this, but I quickly adjusted to all of these differences in my daily life, and they stopped signifying poverty in my mind; just became normal.

One day, I took a trip with Guadalupe, my host-mother, and Lucy, the youngest. (Often they ask if I want to accompany them when they go out, but only as they are walking out the door. I have no notice to gather my things or fix my hair, and I never know where we are going, or what exactly we are doing or how long we’ll be gone. This is a huge risk for me, the control freak.) We arrived at this meeting that had already begun. There was a man speaking about Jonah, but nobody was paying attention to him. Everyone was watching the boys bring in and stack boxes and bags that were full of something, I didn’t know what. The kids were each accompanied by their mothers and both stood up when the child’s name was called. The children turned in a paper and then they got in line to receive their share of the contents of the packages. The leader came over to talk to me after this process was under way (everyone always wants to talk to the gringa) and through our broken conversation, I learned that this program was called Christian Relief Fund, a sister program of Compassion International. The children were turning in letters to their godparents in the United States, and the mothers were receiving food and medicine for their families. I couldn’t believe it. I was living on the other side of the Adopt-A-Child program. My family was receiving handouts. That’s when I knew we were poor.

We recently read Silence on the Mountain, by Daniel Wilkinson. It’s about one American’s struggle to understand what happened in Guatemala during its 35-year civil war. Along with researched history and personal testimonies, Daniel shares his personal journey of travelling and interviewing in Guatemala. I learned about the politics behind the war and U.S. involvement, but more importantly, I related to Daniel’s own experience with the culture, the people, and the crazy things that happen here in Guatemala.

On one occasion, a friend offers to “show him poverty.” They go into this house where a man and wife have a newborn who is screaming. Daniel’s friend asks them about education, medical attention for the man’s broken leg, nutrition for the baby—whose hair is falling out—and how the man will get another job. To each question, the family answers with little knowledge and slight panic in their voices. To Daniel’s friend, their responses seem to prove their poverty, but to Daniel, their poverty is demonstrated by his friend’s ability to storm in their house and interrogate them. Daniel describes how unsettled he felt, recreating the atmosphere of anxiety and helplessness. “That is poverty,” he says, “not having control…. When someone can walk in your house and pull out your baby’s hair” (p. 143).

Daniel’s experience with poverty made me think. Somehow, that family seemed trapped in this endless cycle. How could they get education when they didn’t know they should? How could the man get medical help when the doctor was cheating him? How could they find another job to bring in money when the man can’t work? Poverty, it seems to me, is part of the unjust system of our society, existing within each country but also on a worldwide scale. It seems futile to fight it, and easier just to help individuals. Yet how can I not fight the system? Especially if I call myself Christian, “a follower of Christ,” trying to live Christ’s example.

What does the Bible say about poverty? Old Testament books in the Pentateuch and in the wisdom literature represent poverty as a punishment for disobedience or the result of laziness. Likewise, wealth or richness is a reward for diligence and obedience. They suggest that poverty or wealth is somehow earned, that you are deserving of your circumstance. I think these pithy sayings in Proverbs were meant to encourage hard-workers, but the good news of Jesus Christ is that we no longer deserve that poverty. For indeed, 2 Corinthians 8:9 reminds us that “Jesus became poor so we might be rich.” Jesus understood what it means to live in poverty and he fought the system. In my bilingual NIV Bible, when Philippians 4:12 says that we are “in need,” the Spanish uses “pobreza,” or poverty. I love that: poverty defined by a need of something, anything: money, food, status, love, or even education. Thus, when Jesus saves us from our poverty, he meets our needs, all of them. 

My family’s lifestyle, although typical, does not represent every Guatemalan experience. There are certainly poorer, and as I have discovered, there are richer. I work at CEIPA, an NGO for child laborers and victims of child abuse. It’s a relatively large, well-respected organization. In order to sustain itself, there is a lot of office work, maintaining relations with other important NGOs, and organizing big, public events. Everyone arrives to work every day, freshly showered, wearing make-up, pant-suits and high heels. We’re expected to be able to afford travel all over the city for meetings, and most people go out to lunch every day. And here I am, the missionary. My only closed-toed shoes are tennis shoes, and my only pants are jeans. I had forgotten what make-up was, and if I showered everyday, the water bill would be too much for my family to afford. Plus, my host-mom packs my lunch everyday. I am living in two conflicting worlds. The poverty of my home life is only made more apparent by my inability to assimilate into my work environment.

So, where does all of this leave me? As I adapt to my dual life here in Guatemala, I remember how Jesus talked with the Pharisees and prostitutes alike. He learned about the culture He was in, and was able to stand for something different, something greater, something better. I only hope that some small part of Jesus’ ministry can be seen in my missionary experience here.

Sincerely,

Samantha