Violence and poverty have for many years forced Guatemalans to leave their homeland. But millions in that long-suffering nation do not have the money required to depart. That sad reality was brought home to me 39 years ago in a village in northern Guatemala. I was on assignment for Time when three young siblings, Manuel, Martin and Maria asked me if I had any chores I needed handled. The children were orphans who rented a room in the village and supported themselves as best they could working odd jobs. I was stunned. Immediately, I took the kids with me to a church orphanage. The civil war ravaging Guatemala had orphaned so many children, I was told, that there was no room for the siblings.
On the Sunday morning I was set to leave, the children, who looked no older than 10 (they did not know their ages), were waiting by my vehicle. Maria was barefoot because she had no shoes. We went to the open-air market to buy Maria footwear. Only plastic sandals were available. After I bought her a pair, the siblings huddled and soon Maria was crying. Here is an excerpt from my book that recounts what happened next.
I asked Manuel what the matter was.
“Are you married?” he asked.
I was puzzled by the question but answered yes.
“Do you have children?” he then asked.
“I have a son and a daughter.”
“How would you like to have another daughter?” asked
Manuel. “We cannot take care of María, so maybe she could
live with you.”
I was surprised, saddened, confused.
María covered her face with her forearm and sobbed. My
mind raced as I struggled to think of how best to help these
children. I knew that adoption would be difficult, time-consuming and not a sure thing. I was certain I could not leave
the children in their present condition. But what could I do?
I told the boys that María was not happy about being separated from them, and so adoption was not possible. I asked
how much they paid in rent and food. Based on that figure, I
gave Manuel the equivalent of one-hundred and twenty dollars, more than most local working people made in six
months. He was thrilled. I instructed him to hide the money
well, not tell anyone about it and spend it carefully.
I said goodbye to the children, feeling that I had not done enough. My heart told me I should have taken them with me and placed them in a secure environment, a stable home. On the other hand, I consoled myself with the knowledge that I had provided immediate relief and that, realistically, I wasn’t able to do more. When I think
about them now—I have never forgotten Manuel, Martín and
María—I feel I should have done whatever was necessary to
adopt them. And because I didn’t, I feel guilty.
Ricardo Chavira Chicano 