Stardate: 2.10

Today is Sunday, a day of rest. Domingo, in Spanish. Last night, Saturday, Sydney and I sat on our patio watching the traffic on the road in front of the condo. We are elevated about 20’ up and set back about 25’ so we get almost a voyeuristic opportunity. We can watch the traffic; the traffic doesn’t watch us. It was a beautiful evening, probably 77degrees, a soft breeze. Down the beach we could hear the distant sound of music. Pretty romantic, actually!
There is a lot of foot traffic on the road, mainly Mexican workers going back and forth to the large hotel building project about half mile from us. We have inquired about these workers and learned that most of them are young Mexican men (boys?) from Chiapas, a poor agricultural state in the interior of Mexico, the majority are Mayan Indians and speak their own language. They are considered to be the low of the low in this culture. These guys come here for the work, which is all manual labor. Some of the workers are skilled, like in brick laying or applying stucco, most are just strong backs. Since we arrived we have watched them walking back and forth, early in the morning and after dark, groups of two, three or four.
Some of them, (and I estimate the job probably has upwards of 250 men working), live across from the worksite where the company has fashioned a camp. The workers can live there for free, which I’m sure is a hammock in a shack, sans A/C. The company feeds them, for a price of course. Many of them look about 14 or 15 years of age, really kids that should be in high school. This was confirmed by Jose Luis, our condo manager who also runs the little store where these guys come to buy beer, chips, sweets. We went down to the store last night to get some juice and noticed all the beer had been sold. Jose Luis described that the workers bought it all (6:00pm) and that they work all week and “have to put much party in a little bit of time.” Jose Luis has quite a bit of empathy for them.
Do you know what these guys are paid? Get this, about $5 ($50 Pesos) a day! Yep, a day, not an hour! And that is for the skilled help, the ones that know something! The strong backs get less. Then, if they eat the company food that is deducted from their wages! And most of them are still sending money home to their families. They are paid in cash every Saturday afternoon and last night there were quite a few of them walking by. Most of them had cleaned up, putting on their best Saturday night clothes, some of which looked like what Sydney and I wear to do yard work. They walked down to the little store, bought some beer and munchies, sat out front talking and then walked back to the project. Some of them continued into town, another 2 mile walk.
This is the life these people have to look forward to. No wonder there are revolutions and uprisings in the world. People get tired of being oppressed, of literally killing themselves and getting nowhere. This has been a real education for me, a first hand look at what it means to be the low man on the totem pole. We have all been fortunate enough to have the opportunities to better ourselves. These folks have little, if any. Nada.
So, why do they do it? What do they work for? I saw the answer last week during one of our trips into town. A young mother was holding her baby, sitting on a bench in the municipal square. Her baby girl was sleeping. I asked her if I could take a picture of she and her baby, she nodded a polite yes. It says what I can’t. Adios, mia amigos! Think Spring! Esteben