I traveled to Guatemala on a Saturday with our national senior account executive from Salem Radio, five of my colleagues from Food For The Poor (FFP) and the 13 coolest Christian radio hosts (some also pastors) that one could ever imagine, coming from as close by as the west coast of Florida and as far away as Hawaii…
Part VI: To Market, to Market…
On Tuesday, we once again head out with Hector, our fearless bus driver, who gave us many thrills on narrow mountain roads, riding the edge of a precipice without the benefit of guard rails. Things are different inside the bus – we are all friends now, bound together by the pain and sorrow that we had witnessed in this life-changing experience.
After witnessing the hunger of those visited the day before, we decided to go to the main street market of Quetzaltenango to buy some corn for the families that we were going to visit on that day. It was just my type of place – loud, busy, densely populated, colorful and full of the vibrancy of life. The fruits and vegetables were like jewels in the sunlight; many were recognizable, while others were typical of the Caribbean Basin. My mouth watered for the “zapote,” (also know as Mamey), which brought back memories of my native Cuba.
Walking through the market that was so jam-packed with all types of foods, I thought of my beloved late father telling me stories of the depression. He had told me that the markets were bursting with food, that the food was dirt cheap (a dozen eggs for 5 cents), but that few had the money to buy anything. “On May 17, 1936,” he would say, “the entire family woke up that morning and went to bed that night without eating anything.”
I thought of the poor, who would have to bypass all the attractive stalls with fruit and vegetables, and the butcher stalls with the deep red sides of beef hanging there. Dried corn for tamales and tortillas would be their only purchase and if they came in to a few extra pennies, chicken feet would be the only affordable protein.
To be continued…