Traveling Beans

Solidarity

The first night that I arrived in Estelí, at the home of my surrogate grandmother’s son, she showed me into the one bedroom in the three room apartment. When we were to go to sleep, I imagined that she and I were to share the double bed; instead Dora lay down on the floor, telling me that she had a cot.
When the next day, I realized that she had slept on two towels, telling me she slept on a mattress, I insisted that she share the bed with me, but not before feeling horrified at myself for not realizing earlier she had been sleeping on the floor.
In Cuba, I was given the following as one definition of solidarity:
“Solidarity is not giving of your extra, but rather sharing what you have”.
As I exist here, in these communities, I am being surrounded by actions of solidarity. They are actions of acceptance, of generosity, of love and openness such as I could not have imagined and feel scarcely able to repay.
I have been allowed to enter people’s homes, their lives, and their hearts, simply because I have shown up and been interested. They have done everything in their power to make me feel happy, at home, and taken care of, from buying me purified water to not allowing me to shower if it is too late and I may catch cold, to making sure they know about my family, where I come from, and that I feel loved right where I am.
Those of us that come to visit the “third world”, to be in solidarity with people whose lives may differ greatly from our own, really have no way of anticipating the solidarity that, according to the above definition, is extended to us. We come to show solidarity by participating in a coffee harvest for seven days or help to build a bridge before heading back to our lives and problems at home, whereas here, people open up seemingly more deeply, share more of what they have, by giving of their time, attention, homes, history, and knowledge.
While I know that any exchange of this kind, that creating increased understanding and working to build solidarity through fostering personal connections and experiences, is impossible without mutual participation, I am struck to the core by the unconditional acceptance I have received since my arrival.
It is hard work for me to see, let alone examine and synthesize, what it means to be here, from the United States, with money to spend and my light skin and hair. It is hard to understand the lives of young women who married at 14, began working in a cigar factory at 15, and now take care of their children alone while their lovers are in other countries for 5 years hopefully sending a few dollars home. Impossible to comprehend the struggle of new friends who have lost innumerable children and loved ones to a revolution, who have witnessed so much violence and upheaval in the hopes of achieving a better future which still seems a very long way off. But in the midst of all of this, befriending becomes easier, depression moves away, and turns to awe when these same people, facing unbelievable difficulties with scarce resources, turn to me and smile. They illustrate their power, resilience, and humanity by turning to me with laughter, with jokes, with political satire, accompanied by rosquillas (a traditional Nicaraguan cookie) and fresh coffee. This whole experience is an inspiration and a profound reminder that people everywhere are wonderful, deep, multi-faceted people; and that even in the midst of poverty, hunger, pain and struggle, we are full of love and a desire to connect and share.

posted by Hilary King @ 11:01 PM