The day I met Jacinto
It was there that I met Jacinto, a meeting that would change my life.
Jacinto is around my age; he is one of the leaders of the village; he is in training to be a Mayan spiritual guide, has four children, and an incredible spirit. He also has seen more suffering and pain in his lifetime than I can even imagine.
He probably comes up to my shoulder, but his smile makes him soar above me in height. He is normally dressed in his blue jeans, a short sleeved t-shirt with at least one hole in it, and the “don’t leave home without them” uniform black rubber boots that reach up to about mid-calf and are worn by everyone in the village. These boots help them to walk through the mud that, during the rainy season of May through October, flourishes everywhere.
He was my “partner in crime” during my first visit to the village.
We took to each other from the first moment, never acknowledging the differences in our lives but reveling in the similarities. We played soccer on the concave field that sits in the valley of the upper village. He led us on excursions around the village and up the mountains to an ancient Mayan temple, telling a non-stop string of stories during which he almost never paused even to see if anyone was paying attention. He helped to open my eyes to the realities of his and the villages life.
Jacinto gave freely of all the interactions, of all his stories and skills, with no games, no tricks, no expectations of things in return because that is who he is.
In addition to this friendship, which grew with incredible speed over those four days, I had amazing interactions with the gaggle of children that were always running around the village.
As I listened to their parent’s hopes for the future and for their children, I saw in the eyes of the children a look I had never seen before, a look of true innocence, a look of true hope. These kids had not been through the war, and their parents want nothing more for their children than to spare them the experience of suffering and to have a peaceful existence with more opportunities than they themselves have had.
In the instant that I first recognized that look I, though not knowing it at the time, was called to Guatemala.
On our last day, we had traveled out of the village and were taking a rest stop at the town of Uspantan. The men, including Jacinto, had traveled with us to Uspantan for they had errands to run. In the central square of Uspantan under an almost gothic arch, Jacinto and I said our goodbye.
He pulled me aside and said simply,
“Pablo, this is our last time together. I can see that your eyes have been opened to our lives and struggles here. I have so enjoyed out time together.”
And then, after a slight pause he said the words that would strike deep into my heart,
“When will I see you again?”
Our eyes were locked together, seeming to be on the same level though I stood a foot taller than him.