Nowadays, getting lost in a quagmire of daily bad news is pretty easy. One bad incident can destroy the reputation of millions, and societies become fractured by color and culture. Without experiencing human interactions, our understanding that we have more in common than not is diminished and distorted. Beneath our skin, however, we share the same wishlist for a happy life: love, food, shelter, respect, and belonging.
My husband and I travel. Our job is managing people’s properties and caring for their pets in their absence. We accept neither job lightly. It’s our reputation and our way of life. On this return trip to the Mexican Baja, we came mentally prepared for what to expect. Heat and humidity. Of course, COVID makes everything more complicated, and restrictions hinder the usual 4.5-hour trip, and it turns into a 24-hour ordeal. Such is life. While the Baja is an agricultural breadbasket, its prime source of income, which is directly related to people’s cash flow, is the tourist industry and the booming construction hub. Both of which the pandemic hampered.
Although Cabo’s quaint airport was like a beehive when we arrived, it hasn’t yet translated into cash for those in downtown Cabo San Lucas who rely on tourist money. But wherever we go, we interact with locals. We ask questions and take an interest in their lives, and we don’t consider ourselves tourists; we come to experience living in la vida loca style minus the loca.
On this particular Saturday, we planned a quick in-and-out shopping trip to the vibrant resort city of Cabo San Lucas. We were excited about the prospects of a beautiful day and, as a treat, a portable breakfast before hitting the stores. Wham bam, and back at the hacienda by noon, we thought. Our vehicle, however, had other ideas.
We grabbed breakfast and decided to eat in the parking lot. Because of the pandemic, we try to have less contact with people (which makes me sad) and surfaces. Our breakfast was delicious; we were ahead of schedule, and then everything changed. Our vehicle wouldn’t start. When my husband turned over the engine, all we got was rattling grrrrr, no spark, no engine response.
While the highway, snaking its way from Cabo in the south to Tijuana in the north, is pristine, sideroads are hard on cars. The paths are either a jarring washboard or a rough ride through miniature mountain ranges and troughs. The struts in most cars grind because sand gets everywhere, and if it isn’t screwed down, it will fall off.
My husband is pretty handy; he popped the hood and tried to adjust the loose battery cables. Since we lacked tools, he ran across the street to buy a set of vice grips. By then, we’d noticed three guys milling in the parking lot, smoking, washing their company vehicle, their gaze drifting toward us.
Mexico is often in the news for all the wrong reasons. Being cautious is wise no matter what country is on the travel agenda. We also understand that less fortunate people tend to view Canadians and Americans as wealthy people with abundant cash. This is sometimes true but not always, and I’ll casually mention here that we have never had a bad experience in any country.
After trying everything he could, my husband shook his head. This was beyond him to fix without some help. In my bad Spanish, I asked one of the men if they could give us a boost. As I discovered, this gentleman, Alejandro, from Venezuela, spoke excellent English. They hooked up the booster cables; I was very hopeful. Our battery, however, was deeply wounded.
Next thing, we had three men under the hood performing surgery. They brought out their tools and gadgets and tested where we had power and what was wrong. They went as far as climbing under our vehicle. After trying everything, including adding water to the dry battery, the diagnosis remained the same. A dead battery. Alejandro walked with my husband, taking half the battery weight, across the street to the club store, where he had a membership to buy a replacement battery. This was after about two hours of trying to resuscitate ours.
While they were gone, I chatted with Sergio, whose English was on par with my lacking Spanish. He explained to me that he earned twenty dollars a day. Cabo is very expensive, he said, and I agreed. A head of cauliflower grown in Mexico and shipped to Canada is the same price as in Cabo. On twenty dollars a day, that’s not too many heads of cauliflower for dinner. Sergio and I learned a lot about our cultures that day. I explained that Canada had its pitfalls too. And that the cost of living was a struggle for many. The pandemic brought it to the surface. The myth that we were all born with silver spoons in our mouths was dispelled.
When my husband and Alejandro returned, they installed the battery and juiced it up, and we were so grateful when our vehicle sprung to life. My husband tipped the guys half a day’s wages, but Alejandro refused his share and instead offered it to his coworkers. He explained to my husband that he had lost his job two weeks earlier and struggled to get his payout from his ex-employer. And while feeling bad about it at his daughter’s graduation, not wanting to ruin her day with news of his dire situation, he chatted with a man who offered him the job he now has. He now earns decent money as a supervisor.
After my husband offered to pay for his membership at the store and the box of popcorn he bought, Alejandro explained it was his privilege to return kindness. He felt he’d been blessed by kindness and how grateful he was for the opportunity to live with his family in the beautiful city of Cabo San Lucas.
That man is a walking life lesson. Alejandro experienced so much turmoil when he braved the challenges of being evicted from his homeland because of the dangerous political situation. Yet, he’s blinded by gratitude for the blessings and opportunities he’s given. That man is an angel and ambassador for loving-kindness. His spirit permanently marks us.
Monika R. Martyn--Author 