As I write this I’ve been in Guatemala two and a half years.  I’ve gotten used to the firecrackers, chicken buses, black beans and bartering.  I’ve learned to accept that families will be reluctant to trust me until they’ve figured out my age, marital status and religious views, and finally that some things will indeed have to wait until mañana.

And yet, there are some things I thought I would get used to that somehow seem just as poignant as the day I arrived.

Yesterday I bumped along the road to San Juan del Obispo in the old red pick up truck with Vicky, one of our social workers.  We were on our way to visit an affiliated family which had managed to gain the legal title to their land through the help of our legal assistance program.

The home I arrived at had three small separate buildings built of block but with dirt floors; a bedroom, outhouse and a separate living room /bedroom. A pile of rubbish was being burned in the corner, behind the shrubs and pretty flowers struggling to disguise it, but still the smoke enveloped us and, being the time of year, there were flies everywhere.  This house was smaller than the average garage or toolshed , with no glass in the windows and bed sheets for doors.  Seven people live there.

The mother and her children were at home – two girls and three boys all with the most contagious of smiles.  The two youngest boys raced around throwing themselves into the task of being boisterous before hanging off their mother and whispering in her ear, “So is she my Sponsor??”  The mother had recently decided that the next big step for her family was to get connected to running water.  However, after finding out that despite help from the project it would still be more costly than she had thought, she seemed close to despair.  It was quite clear in her eyes that she felt that she was only just keeping her head above the water; that she might just sink at any minute.

I admired Vicky as she tactfully encouraged this woman to make a plan, breaking the task down, step by step.  She encouraged her to think ahead, find opportunities to get funds, whether it be Christmas gifts from the project or the Nispero fruit picking season.  She was stern but fair.  “Remember, Doña Rojo,” she said, “A long time ago I remember you thought getting a block house was an impossible dream.  And it was hard for you, very hard, but you did it.  It’s the same thing again. You mustn’t give up. You can do it.”  Of course it’s always easier said than done, and yet hearing that seemed to give Doña Rojo hope. 

The difficult part of working here is accepting that development is a slow process with few quick fixes.  It’s hard knowing that for this woman, life is unlikely to ever be anything but a struggle.  And yet when I arrived the family had already made improvements: a block house and five healthy children in school studying, three with Sponsors.  It is comforting to know that the future should be brighter.

Originally from Cardiff, Wales, Siân started work with Common Hope in October 2005, and spent a year working with Vision Teams before moving to the Communications office. 

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