I was offered the rare opportunity and honor to be part of the Mayan culture, even if just for a few months. I went to the creek with the women to wash clothes. Each family has their own scrubbing stone that is passed down through generations. No men are allowed.
I was invited with my family to eat with a Mayan family. Everything was hand-made. Do you know how long it takes to make a tortilla, from corn grinding to roasting over a fire that you prepare? How do you time that perfectly with the onion soup you make from scratch?
One sad visit to the Mayan village entailed a burial of a child who had died from a simple illness that could have been cured given access to modern hospitals and medicine. The whole village walked in procession to the funeral - everyone cared. A water pump was set up in the grave site since the water table is so high, the coffin would otherwise float. Imagine the parents wanting only to hear peace after their loss, and instead hearing the incessant hum, drowning out the priest's words.
The Mayans made my children's school uniforms from scratch. Each perfect, handmade shirt cost $5. How is this possible when American companies charge over $50 for a high-fashion blouse? What are we paying for? Does anyone stop to think?
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