That is by far the biggest gun I have ever seen. That was pretty much the only thought running through my rather confused mind as sweat poured down my face and my entire body shook with fear as I sat in a van surrounded by men with large guns in Chicamoula Guatemala. I grew up in Canada, knowing no hunters, so the closest I ever came to firearms were those colourful water pistols that were all the rage when I was 12. Trying to stealthily glance at these weapons I worried that I would certainly end up worse than wet at the end of all this.
I wish I could tell you how it started but to be honest, I’m not exactly sure. In the hour leading up to that moment I had searched for a missing friend who had failed to return to our mission group’s bus on time. When myself and a fellow missionary returned to the bus, it was gone – in its place we discovered a Guatemalan nurse and an American Minister, left to guide us to the next stop on what I had already deemed an ill-fated day.
I am an ER nurse, I agreed to come with a friend down to Central America to hand out Tylenol in remote mountain villages and see a few Incan Ruins, aga
inst my better judgment I agreed to this day - Embrace day. It sounded like a make-a-wish foundation kind of day. Take poor Guatemalan kids, give them a meal, buy them some new clothes and take them to a pool for a swim – what kid wouldn’t love that day?
In reality we seem to pluck kids from their isolated villages, take them to a bigger town and feed them fried chicken. I am not sure my girl for the day, Sonia, had ever seen a chubby white person before. She cried a lot. I initially tried to console her with a hug but abandoned this plan when I saw the size of the lice in her hair. After a lunch of greasy food that they have never been exposed to we dragged the children through a market and try and convince them to pick out new clothes. By now the crying about being separated from their families is over, Sonia seemed to have accepted me as her new mother. I can only assume what she is thinking as she speaks no English and I speak no Mayan. Needless to say, I am eager to return to the bus and return this child to her old life. Almost all accounted for; we note that my friend Carrie and her girl are missing. I vault from my seat and readily volunteer to try
and find her, eager to leave the rearing of my child to someone more competent. It seemed that Carl had similar thoughts and in mere seconds we were both off the bus, leaving our charges in someone else’s hands.
The plan, and we both verified it with the group leader, was that we would search for 20 minutes and then return to the waiting bus…that is where the wheels truly fell off this day. After a fruitless search of this third world market we returned to the curb where we had left the bus…and stared at the emptiness – just Wes and Anna remained.
Now a foursome, one speaking the language, we have learned that the bus decided to make its way to the pool portion of the day and we are to follow in a cab. I have no money or ID with me…but others with more forethought are prepared. So I blindly follow them into an old van that I am reassured is indeed a Guatemalan taxi.
The next few seconds were mentally overwhelming. There was a lot of yelling just before Wes, the preacher, was yanked out of the vehicle by his shirt collar. A kid on the street started crying while some nearby teenagers started to snicker. Many men started to yell at me, unfortunately they were shouting in a Mayan-Spanish dialect that I am completely unaware of - not that I was able to process anything while staring down the barrel of an automatic weapon. I could see that a crowd had gathered, I deemed this to be a bad sign, people don’t generally gather around to watch a traffic ticket. Anna the Guatemalan nurse, who speaks no English leaned in and coaxed me out of the van by repeatedly saying “no problemas”. Relieved at any reassurance, I joined Carl, Wes and Anna on the side of the road where upon, with almost military precision, the four of us realigned into a formation and surrounded by 8 armed men.
With no ability to participate in the conversation between the leader and our Guatemalan nurse Anna, I study the men surrounding us. Solely based on the ghetto Spanish I learnt working in Southern California I have deduced that they are 4 military officers and 4 state offices. I have no idea what crime we are being detained for or what their plans are for us. The man in charge, who just has a holstered sidearm unlike all the other automatic weapon carrying officers, turns and says something to me in rapid fire Central American Spanish. “Soy Canadanse” was my reply. In fact those were the only words I uttered to the guards, hoping that if this was something serious…they would follow some sort of international agreement law that must be in place and contact my embassy. I like to think that I sounded tough without a quiver to my voice…but I know there was a telltale whimper there.
Anna, bless her, would continually lean over to me and whisper “no problemas” in an attempt to keep me calm. Of course her inability to understand English meant I couldn’t question her further on this statement, I just nodded and tried to look brave. We stood for a 30 min in the hot sun while many onlookers gathered around to listen to the police question us before we were relocated to the back of a police truck. It was here that I finally, with the help of my fellow detainees was able to piece together the rationale for our detainment.
I read in guidebooks before leaving North America that in the late 1990’s there was a belief among many rural Guatemalans that white women were coming to their country to kidnap children for the purposes or either raising them as their own or selling their organs. This belief was so deep-rooted that it even culminated in the death of a Japanese tourist who was witnessed photographing children. Earlier in the day I noted the police watching us, I didn’t think anything of it at the time, as they seemed to be surveying
the whole town square. All of us white people were running around, paired with a child shopping for shoes and bags of rice. Suddenly, less than an hour later we were without children and unable to produce them. We were being arrested on the suspicion of kidnapping.
It felt a little like the start of a bad joke - "a pastor from Texas, a Canadian and a Mayan speaking nurse are in the back of the Guatemalan police truck", except that it was real. I sat back and wondered what fork in the decision making road I strayed onto to make it to here; the back of a foreign paddy wagon with 3 virtual strangers, no money, no ID and a pending arrest for a felony.
It took some begging and pleading on behalf of Anna and Carl, who spoke some Spanish, to convince the newly arrived on the scene sergeant to drive us to the alleged swimming and thus give us a chance to produce the missing children. I just sat there mumbling “soy Canadense” every few minutes to anyone who would listen.
It all worked out in the end. I wish I could tell you how but I am honestly not sure. We were escorted to a local hotel that happened to have what I am guessing is the only swimming pool in town. The woman, who was hosting us the group of missionaries appeared, said something to the police and handed them an envelope. What was said and what was in the envelope, I have no idea.
I wish I could tell you how it started but to be honest, I’m not exactly sure. In the hour leading up to that moment I had searched for a missing friend who had failed to return to our mission group’s bus on time. When myself and a fellow missionary returned to the bus, it was gone – in its place we discovered a Guatemalan nurse and an American Minister, left to guide us to the next stop on what I had already deemed an ill-fated day.
I am an ER nurse, I agreed to come with a friend down to Central America to hand out Tylenol in remote mountain villages and see a few Incan Ruins, aga
inst my better judgment I agreed to this day - Embrace day. It sounded like a make-a-wish foundation kind of day. Take poor Guatemalan kids, give them a meal, buy them some new clothes and take them to a pool for a swim – what kid wouldn’t love that day?In reality we seem to pluck kids from their isolated villages, take them to a bigger town and feed them fried chicken. I am not sure my girl for the day, Sonia, had ever seen a chubby white person before. She cried a lot. I initially tried to console her with a hug but abandoned this plan when I saw the size of the lice in her hair. After a lunch of greasy food that they have never been exposed to we dragged the children through a market and try and convince them to pick out new clothes. By now the crying about being separated from their families is over, Sonia seemed to have accepted me as her new mother. I can only assume what she is thinking as she speaks no English and I speak no Mayan. Needless to say, I am eager to return to the bus and return this child to her old life. Almost all accounted for; we note that my friend Carrie and her girl are missing. I vault from my seat and readily volunteer to try
and find her, eager to leave the rearing of my child to someone more competent. It seemed that Carl had similar thoughts and in mere seconds we were both off the bus, leaving our charges in someone else’s hands.The plan, and we both verified it with the group leader, was that we would search for 20 minutes and then return to the waiting bus…that is where the wheels truly fell off this day. After a fruitless search of this third world market we returned to the curb where we had left the bus…and stared at the emptiness – just Wes and Anna remained.
Now a foursome, one speaking the language, we have learned that the bus decided to make its way to the pool portion of the day and we are to follow in a cab. I have no money or ID with me…but others with more forethought are prepared. So I blindly follow them into an old van that I am reassured is indeed a Guatemalan taxi.
The next few seconds were mentally overwhelming. There was a lot of yelling just before Wes, the preacher, was yanked out of the vehicle by his shirt collar. A kid on the street started crying while some nearby teenagers started to snicker. Many men started to yell at me, unfortunately they were shouting in a Mayan-Spanish dialect that I am completely unaware of - not that I was able to process anything while staring down the barrel of an automatic weapon. I could see that a crowd had gathered, I deemed this to be a bad sign, people don’t generally gather around to watch a traffic ticket. Anna the Guatemalan nurse, who speaks no English leaned in and coaxed me out of the van by repeatedly saying “no problemas”. Relieved at any reassurance, I joined Carl, Wes and Anna on the side of the road where upon, with almost military precision, the four of us realigned into a formation and surrounded by 8 armed men.
With no ability to participate in the conversation between the leader and our Guatemalan nurse Anna, I study the men surrounding us. Solely based on the ghetto Spanish I learnt working in Southern California I have deduced that they are 4 military officers and 4 state offices. I have no idea what crime we are being detained for or what their plans are for us. The man in charge, who just has a holstered sidearm unlike all the other automatic weapon carrying officers, turns and says something to me in rapid fire Central American Spanish. “Soy Canadanse” was my reply. In fact those were the only words I uttered to the guards, hoping that if this was something serious…they would follow some sort of international agreement law that must be in place and contact my embassy. I like to think that I sounded tough without a quiver to my voice…but I know there was a telltale whimper there.
Anna, bless her, would continually lean over to me and whisper “no problemas” in an attempt to keep me calm. Of course her inability to understand English meant I couldn’t question her further on this statement, I just nodded and tried to look brave. We stood for a 30 min in the hot sun while many onlookers gathered around to listen to the police question us before we were relocated to the back of a police truck. It was here that I finally, with the help of my fellow detainees was able to piece together the rationale for our detainment.
I read in guidebooks before leaving North America that in the late 1990’s there was a belief among many rural Guatemalans that white women were coming to their country to kidnap children for the purposes or either raising them as their own or selling their organs. This belief was so deep-rooted that it even culminated in the death of a Japanese tourist who was witnessed photographing children. Earlier in the day I noted the police watching us, I didn’t think anything of it at the time, as they seemed to be surveying
the whole town square. All of us white people were running around, paired with a child shopping for shoes and bags of rice. Suddenly, less than an hour later we were without children and unable to produce them. We were being arrested on the suspicion of kidnapping.It felt a little like the start of a bad joke - "a pastor from Texas, a Canadian and a Mayan speaking nurse are in the back of the Guatemalan police truck", except that it was real. I sat back and wondered what fork in the decision making road I strayed onto to make it to here; the back of a foreign paddy wagon with 3 virtual strangers, no money, no ID and a pending arrest for a felony.
It took some begging and pleading on behalf of Anna and Carl, who spoke some Spanish, to convince the newly arrived on the scene sergeant to drive us to the alleged swimming and thus give us a chance to produce the missing children. I just sat there mumbling “soy Canadense” every few minutes to anyone who would listen.
It all worked out in the end. I wish I could tell you how but I am honestly not sure. We were escorted to a local hotel that happened to have what I am guessing is the only swimming pool in town. The woman, who was hosting us the group of missionaries appeared, said something to the police and handed them an envelope. What was said and what was in the envelope, I have no idea.
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