This little girl

This little girl…is the reason I do what I do.

She lives in a rural village that sits beside one of the most beautiful lakes in the world…Lake Atitlan, in Guatemala. She goes to school in a three room building that has been pieced together with whatever materials would work. There is no electricity and the water fountain is a garden hose. The people in her village raise their own crops; harvesting coffee beans, raising corn and other vegetables. There are no cars in her village and very few bicycles.

Many of the people in her village are shy, but she is not shy. She is curious. While many of the children in her school hid from my camera, she looked boldly into the lens. While many of her peers observed the visiting strangers from a distance, she walked right up and grabbed my hand.

I sat down beside her.

She speaks Cakchiquel, so we didn’t communicate verbally, although she tried. She motioned for her friends who were on their lunch break to come over as if to say, “he’s okay, he’s not going to hurt us.” And soon, I was surrounded by a pride of young Cakchiquel school children.

Lunch time ended which consisted of what looked like sugar water or powdered milk in zip lock bags that had a straw inserted in the top. We stood up to go listen to the teacher. She grabbed my hand and we walked towards the modest school together. She tried to ask me questions, but I couldn’t understand. She continued to hold my hand until we reached the classroom.

Because we couldn’t talk, I didn’t get her name, I don’t know how old she is, what grade she is in, what games she likes to play, who her parents are, or what her favorite color is. All I know is what I saw and experienced. A young, beautiful, smart, and friendly girl who was not afraid of a tall gringo with a camera. And although we couldn’t communicate verbally…she was a great communicator and ambassador for her village.

Many times, great storytellers leave you thinking about how the story will end. You recount the story that was told and think about it for days or months and sometimes years after the story was told to you. It sticks with you and during periods of your life, you remember the story and reflect on it.

She never spoke to me in a language I could understand, but I can’t stop thinking about her story.