One of the members of our team, slightly over college age and from a northern city, had brought a trunk just totally filled with teddy bears and other soft toys. He started passing them out to the children, and they went totally wild with joy. Many ran to show their family. The word spread like wildfire. Many, many mothers came running with their children. Along about that time, someone brought us the word that the Mayor had been very, very drunk from the festival yesterday, but he was now awake and sending a truck to haul us across the village to “city hall,” a large building that at least had wood floors for us to sleep on. Well, we were beginning to worry that the toys might run out, as more women and children, and now some men, showed up.
About that time, the truck arrived. We quickly loaded our gear on the back, and as we started loading the trunk, with very few toys now, the mothers were tearing at our arms. Pointing to their children, they screamed, “My baby! No toy! The last of the toys were in sight, yet more and more Indians just poured out of their huts. We finally all got on the truck, and started out, with dozens of Indians running behind. The men were now at the front of the pack.
About half way to city hall, we saw we were going to meet another large truck on that very narrow street. The trucks just kept coming, and the mirrors on both trucks fell off in the road. The drivers just got out, looked at their mirrors lying in the road, shrugged their shoulders, got back in, and drove on. Now, in America, we would have soon had two police cars on the scene, and two lawsuits would have been in the works. Life is just more laid back and simple, with the Indians, at altitude.
We reached city hall, with a short lead on the Indians, got everything inside, and locked the door. But the back was a problem. There was a high mud fence around the compound, with a gate, no lock.
Alright. Now I am back in the jam I was in when I started this story. As luck, or more likely God, would have it, right at that time the late little Indian preacher from Cusco, Pastor Cirro, showed up. He talked to the parents a long time, then came and talked to us. He told us, through an interpreter, that we must never pass out gifts with abandon, like that, to people who have nothing. Gifts must be given to the church, and would be slowly passed out later in an orderly fashion. He also told us the people had settled down, and that he didn't think this was going to damage our mission here.
I've thought a lot about that situation, and knew that somehow, I should have had the wisdom to handle that situation before it got out of hand. After all, I AM the one with gray hair here, now a little grayer. All I could figure was, to just prevent the toy “pass out” before it got started. Once it got going like it did, and without being able to talk to them, about the only option I could see on the table was what we did. Just run. Gray hair and wisdom don't ALWAYS go hand in hand, you know. “ Dumb young” usually transfers into “dumb old.”
That night, The preacher was there, the church was full. Their little benches were about six inches high, and I couldn't hang with that, so I just hung out in the back, Aqua Amigo at my side as usual, and leaned against the wall. The little preacher saw my situation, and sent me a stool, which I gratefully sat down on. I put my index finger tip on the end of my chopped off thumb, and flashed him the “OK” sign. His smile faded. Seems that little signal has a whole nother' meaning in Peru.
The next day, the Indian Christians were to meet us at noon. We planned to go to every house, witnessing. They finally showed up, and hour late, and then said we needed to brew up and drink some Coca tea first. Seems at altitude, things just move more slowly. A way of life. Things went well, talking to the people. Seems the people who were trying to tear my arms out of their sockets yesterday just loved us today.
Then we were about to head up on the hill overlooking the village, to talk to the people up there. Our college girls were hesitant to go, and they didn't want to talk about it. Finally, one told me that when they went to the toilet, just a few bushes remember, a group of little old men on the hill tended to gather and try to watch. They really did not want to talk to them face to face.
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