Gringos like to eat Guatemalan children with a little salt

Sunday was another girl’s soccer afternoon. Surprisingly, however, there was no rain. The girls got tired after an hour and started to whine a little. We managed to get them excited again once it looked like a group of boys were going to storm the field.

After the game, we went over to Filiberto’s house to hang out with them. We’re not supposed to have favorites, but I think they’re our favorites. We talked, drank atol (hot drink made with corn, cinnamon, and other stuff), and laughed.

Filiberto was telling us all about failed development projects in the community. There was one particularly horrifying story, I haven’t fact-checked this one folks, but it sounds plausible. There was an “orphanage” down the street from our house. Families would leave their kids with the folks at the orphanage when they couldn’t afford to feed them, clothe them, etc. Families were allowed visitation rights. Eventually, families all started to receive the same bad news. A parent would show up for their visitation day, and the folks at the orphanage would tell them that they were terribly sorry, but their child had been very sick and died. They would assure the family that the medical and funeral expenses would be covered by the orphanage. Having virtually no education and even less in the way of money, parents would leave dismayed with little know-how about how to press the issue.

Filiberto says that a few years later, the local municipality decided they were kicking the orphanage off the land to create a hotel. When they started construction, they found dozens of bodies that had been mutilated. Apparently, the orphanage had been harvesting the childrens’ organs and selling them on the black market.

Appalled, Oriana and I didn’t really know what to say. I sympathized that no wonder Guatemalans were nervous around foreigners. Filiberto told us an even funnier one. Apparently parents here tell their children not to run in the street. If they do run in the street, a gringo (white person/foreigner) will eat them.

As a joke, alluding to this same myth, a recent tour participant had walked up to Herson, Filiberto’s 3 year old grandson, and told him that he liked to eat little Guatemalan children with a little salt. Herson didn’t flinch, he thought it was funny. Not even ten minutes after we finished this story, Herson came out to say goodnight to everyone. And to me he said: “Buenas noches, gringa. Voy a dormir ahora.” (Good night, white girl. I’m going to sleep now.) As he said this, he lowered his head. Filiberto told me to put my hand on his head—it’s a sign of respect that little kids are supposed to show to their elders. Herson stood there until I put my hand on his head and said goodnight. He repeated the same thing for Oriana, Filiberto, and Maria Elena.

I don’t understand how foreigners can exploit a population that is so kind and so willing to let us into their lives. I’m hoping that our work will show at least a few Guatemalans that some foreigners just want to help.