Wilder Update February 18, 2015
Hola, readers! This is an update on Wilder, the young shoe shine boy that I wrote about in the last blog post.
Ok, so a whole week has passed since we first met Wilder and his older brother, Henry. This Sunday, Bruce and I decided to try a new place for breakfast. It turned out to be a French waffle/crepe place, begun by a French guy. The resto's Breton name and the history of the waffle tradition are described in the menu. Very interesting.
This resto was a small one, with just 4-5 tables and the whole front side was open to the street. We were the only customers. As usual, Calle (street) Santander was busy with vendors on foot, other vendors setting up their stalls, tourists young and old strolling on foot, tuk-tuks zipping by, motorcyles revving their engines. We could easily spend the morning just watching life go by.
Bruce and I had just finished our delicious ham and cheese waffles and were winding up our internet time, when I noticed someone standing quietly just at the entrance to the resto. He was careful, it seemed, not to step inside. Sure enough, it was Wilder. I was actually pleased to see him and called out, "Hola, Wilder. Como estas tu?" He pointed to his mouth, indicating that he wanted breakfast. I knew, without even discussing it with Bruce, that we were not going to invite him in for a big breakfast. But I was hoping that there was something that we could do for him, beside sending him away. I averted my eyes while I bought a moment to think. Bruce was ignoring the whole situation, while he finished typing. However, we made moves to pay the bill and gather our things. Wilder waited, and soon we were out on the street with him.
Once outside, I suggested, in faltering Spanish, that we buy him some fruit from one of the many vendors at the end of the street. He whined that it was too far away - and he was right. The day was getting hot. It was a long walk to the fruit folks for an 8 year old or his two "anciano" companions. Luckily, Bruce is quicker thinking than I. He took the situation in hand, leading the way to a nearby tienda (tiny shop with lots of junk food).
The first tienda that we entered had nothing of any nutritional value. The one beside it included a case with baked goods. An older woman sat at a table to one side, holding an infant wrapped completely in a beautiful Mayan woven cloth, as is typical. The only way that I knew it was a baby was by its shape on her lap. A younger woman, the one in charge, sized up the situation and came out from behind the counter. As Bruce tried to help Wilder make a good decision for his breakfast, she and her mother took over, advising Wilder in firm, parental tones.
The whole exchange was completed in a matter of moments. Wilder ended up with two muffins and a bottle of orange juice. The Mayan women advised him to thank us, I think, but he didn't pay much attention to their advice. His big smile was thanks enough. He ran off, his booty in one hand and his shoe shine box in the other.
The next day, Bruce had an extensive discussion of the whole affair with his Spanish instructor, a native of Pana and a savvy guy. Jose explained the complexities of the shoeshine boy business. Wilder and Henry might be trying to simply help their family. On the other hand, they might be pawns, part of an organized crime group. Sometimes, impoverished families from the highlands send their children away because they can't afford to feed them, and they end up in the clutches of groups like this. I don't think this is the case with Wilder and Henry because they had told us that they attend school - and I choose to believe them.
Bruce and I don't spend a lot of time on Calle Santander but enough to have become acquainted with Juan, the guy from Santiago who sells jewelry that his wife makes, or Jesus, the spit-shined teen with the big smile who sells small cards his mother makes from weavings. We've also seen very old women, bent over from age and exquisitely wrinkled, selling fruit or vegetables from a tiny basket, trying to gather a little income. There are the blind and amputees, too, sitting on the curb, holding cups for donations. Eloin, our young hostess, has reminded us that there is no old age insurance or social security in Guatemala. People here don't have the luxury of retirement. And there's certainly no disability payment system. It's a tough part of the world to survive in. It takes persistence and a certain bravado and ability to connect with the customer. Wilder is well on his way to figuring out how to make it.
This vendor is trying hard to sell some jewelry. The other women are trying to ignore her.
These women are carrying their products on their heads.
The tangle of outdoor food vendors, as well as sellers of other products, near the lakeside.
Ok, so a whole week has passed since we first met Wilder and his older brother, Henry. This Sunday, Bruce and I decided to try a new place for breakfast. It turned out to be a French waffle/crepe place, begun by a French guy. The resto's Breton name and the history of the waffle tradition are described in the menu. Very interesting.
This resto was a small one, with just 4-5 tables and the whole front side was open to the street. We were the only customers. As usual, Calle (street) Santander was busy with vendors on foot, other vendors setting up their stalls, tourists young and old strolling on foot, tuk-tuks zipping by, motorcyles revving their engines. We could easily spend the morning just watching life go by.
Bruce and I had just finished our delicious ham and cheese waffles and were winding up our internet time, when I noticed someone standing quietly just at the entrance to the resto. He was careful, it seemed, not to step inside. Sure enough, it was Wilder. I was actually pleased to see him and called out, "Hola, Wilder. Como estas tu?" He pointed to his mouth, indicating that he wanted breakfast. I knew, without even discussing it with Bruce, that we were not going to invite him in for a big breakfast. But I was hoping that there was something that we could do for him, beside sending him away. I averted my eyes while I bought a moment to think. Bruce was ignoring the whole situation, while he finished typing. However, we made moves to pay the bill and gather our things. Wilder waited, and soon we were out on the street with him.
Once outside, I suggested, in faltering Spanish, that we buy him some fruit from one of the many vendors at the end of the street. He whined that it was too far away - and he was right. The day was getting hot. It was a long walk to the fruit folks for an 8 year old or his two "anciano" companions. Luckily, Bruce is quicker thinking than I. He took the situation in hand, leading the way to a nearby tienda (tiny shop with lots of junk food).
The first tienda that we entered had nothing of any nutritional value. The one beside it included a case with baked goods. An older woman sat at a table to one side, holding an infant wrapped completely in a beautiful Mayan woven cloth, as is typical. The only way that I knew it was a baby was by its shape on her lap. A younger woman, the one in charge, sized up the situation and came out from behind the counter. As Bruce tried to help Wilder make a good decision for his breakfast, she and her mother took over, advising Wilder in firm, parental tones.
The whole exchange was completed in a matter of moments. Wilder ended up with two muffins and a bottle of orange juice. The Mayan women advised him to thank us, I think, but he didn't pay much attention to their advice. His big smile was thanks enough. He ran off, his booty in one hand and his shoe shine box in the other.
The next day, Bruce had an extensive discussion of the whole affair with his Spanish instructor, a native of Pana and a savvy guy. Jose explained the complexities of the shoeshine boy business. Wilder and Henry might be trying to simply help their family. On the other hand, they might be pawns, part of an organized crime group. Sometimes, impoverished families from the highlands send their children away because they can't afford to feed them, and they end up in the clutches of groups like this. I don't think this is the case with Wilder and Henry because they had told us that they attend school - and I choose to believe them.
Bruce and I don't spend a lot of time on Calle Santander but enough to have become acquainted with Juan, the guy from Santiago who sells jewelry that his wife makes, or Jesus, the spit-shined teen with the big smile who sells small cards his mother makes from weavings. We've also seen very old women, bent over from age and exquisitely wrinkled, selling fruit or vegetables from a tiny basket, trying to gather a little income. There are the blind and amputees, too, sitting on the curb, holding cups for donations. Eloin, our young hostess, has reminded us that there is no old age insurance or social security in Guatemala. People here don't have the luxury of retirement. And there's certainly no disability payment system. It's a tough part of the world to survive in. It takes persistence and a certain bravado and ability to connect with the customer. Wilder is well on his way to figuring out how to make it.
An industrious young vendor spends a lot of time sorting and arranging his products.
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