Written by Lisa Robinson-Spader.
My daughter, Brenna, left Guatemala this morning, and I will be staying on for two more weeks. To ensure she arrived safely at the airport in Guatemala City, I decided to take the long and torturously windy bus ride back to the city with her to drop her off at the airport at dawn. That put me back at the Alamo bus station two hours before my bus was scheduled to leave for the return trip to Xela. I’ve already spent too many hours of my life lingering in their austere waiting room, and I wasn’t looking forward to another long wait on this coffee-less morning.
I have never ventured away from the station. For the most part, the only traffic on the street is from cars dropping off and picking up passengers. The dirty street with loops of barbed wire atop imposing block walls makes me feel uncomfortable, and the dilapidated alleyways feel dangerous, so I normally just stay put and bide my time while I wait long hours for my bus. This morning, however, I didn’t feel I could take another dreary confinement in the Alamo waiting room so soon after the last, and I asked if there were a place to buy coffee near the station. It turns out there is a McDonalds two long blocks away – down the imposing street where the bus station is located and then a right turn down a busy, commercial street. I decide it was time to venture out of my comfort zone.
As I passed down the menacing-looking street, I kept my daypack clipped tightly to my waist and I avoided eye contact with the random street vendors selling tamales and other items to early morning customers. As I rounded the corner to the busy street, I spotted the golden arches and my tension eased. Soon I was sipping coffee as I relaxed in a vinyl seat in front of a Formica table. I almost felt as if I were in the United States. Almost.
The music, however, suggested otherwise. For the most part, the music consisted of familiar American songs with a few Spanish songs thrown in, so it wasn’t the choice of music that amused me. It was that they were playing two different sound tracks on either side of the room so the songs clashed with each other and vied for my attention. Was I the only one disturbed by the cacophony? Apparently.
I noticed cute insects crawling here and there on the floor. The length of their bodies is less than the diameter of a dime – maybe just half that of a nickel – yet their antennae are longer than their bodies! I look closer. Definitely roaches! They wouldn’t crawl up a shoe, would they? I periodically glance at the floor and move my feet when they come close.
The music and roaches notwithstanding, that was the best coffee I ever tasted from a McDonalds, and the bathrooms were clean and had toilet paper in the stalls. The sinks even had soap for washing hands! It’s funny how many things we just take for granted back home that are special treats here.
As I left McDonalds and made the left turn away from the busy street, I felt like I was heading back “home” to the Alamo bus station. The street vendors and customers were bustling and friendly, and the street no longer felt menacing. It felt like any other street I walk down daily in Xela. It was now familiar, and I knew what I would find as I approached the other end.
I couldn’t help but contemplate the transformation and how similar it is with people. We are fearful of things/people that are outside our experiences, and that fear colors how we view the world. When Hondurans gather at our southern border seeking asylum, others imagine rapists and thieves and long for a more secure border. I visualize the countless Hondurans I’ve met crisscrossing Honduras, their passion for education, their strong work-ethic, and their noble desire to help others in their communities, and I long to roll out a welcome mat.
When others think of Muslims, they often picture crazed terrorists and feel anxious, because the only interaction most Americans have had with Muslims is from news reports covering terrorist acts. I, on the other hand, picture my gentle and compassionate friends in Morocco, and I feel a desire to protect them from distorted stereotypes. When Christians commit terrorists acts, we don’t think, “those Christians are scary.” We think, “what a nut case,” because we know too many kind and loving Christians to paint with broad strokes. (Unless, of course, you know few Christians personally and your views are colored by news reports!)
If we want this world to be a kinder and gentler place, we all need to get out of our comfort zones more. We need to stroll down a few dirty streets and sip coffee with a few cockroaches!
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