First World Problems

The first time I visited a third world country, I was 25 years old and in my last year of medical school.  I went to India for a month, and thought I knew what I was in for.  The level of shock at what I was actually seeing is difficult to describe.  The ideas I had about the conditions of life outside the Midwest U.S. paled in comparison to the reality of the dust and the heat, the trash and the poverty.  Yet India embedded itself in my heart and ever since I returned, it is a part of me and I can't imagine life without that experience. 

I think of this as I watch my children react to life in and travels through Central America.  We have talked in the past of "waiting until they are old enough" but I think there is a point where waiting too long makes it more difficult for them and for us.  At 7, with a relatively uncomplicated personality, Josef seems to take it all in stride.  He observes and catalogues and with his scientist's brain, does not seem to make judgments.  Maggie, entering tweenhood and somewhat particular about her surroundings, has had perhaps a more difficult time while taking in the world around her.  I watched her growing discomfort on our travel day bring her to the edge of tears and finally she just admitted that the layer of grime that seems to cover everything in the third world was about to push her over the edge.

We promise that we will keep them safe and do our best to keep them healthy.  We give them advice born of experience ("don't eat the salad with the fresh tomato because you don't know what kind of water it was washed in... that's what laid me out for a day in the Dominican Republic!") and assure them that if the things they see make them uncomfortable, perhaps it will give them perspective that will help them in the long run. And we hope that they can see through the dirt and the poverty to the beauty that is in the ocean, the culture, the language and the people.

Baby steps: Today we went out to dinner to celebrate our first day of Spanish school.  Maggie was scoping out the restaurant, and, indicating a man sitting across the room, said, "You can always tell the Americans in these places, look, he has a coke and French fries, same as you could get at Wendy's", with the air of a world traveler.  I watched the two of them find their way home on the muddy path as local families and kids walked by, stopping to talk to a dog as if they belonged here.  Already their Spanish comes more easily and I am hopeful that they will always hold this month in their hearts.