Guatemala, early morning
The autobús speeding out the highlands takes a curve a bit too tightly, balances on two wheels, and then begins to tip over.
Passengers are jolted awake.
The driver’s side of the autobús smashes into the pavement and begins sliding along the road’s decline.
A screeching terror.
¡Dios mio!
By happenstance, I arrive at the roadside scene moments after the bus grinds to a halting silence.
I am en route to the remote village of Xesajcap to help build a two-room schoolhouse along with my father and 20 others.
It is June of 1997 and I am sixteen.
Old ladies in traditional Mayan dress are still crawling out of the overturned autobús. Many others – farmers, children, service workers in the tourist industry – are gathering their strewn belongings in the cool mist along the side of the mountain.
There are injuries but no one appears dead.
Ambulances are not expected.
Two people in my group are nurses and they begin administering first aid.
As I speak with a few passengers still shivering from shock, I learn that the autobús bus had been traveling through most of the night. The driver, they guess, must have fallen asleep at the wheel. He is nowhere to be found, probably fearing for his own life.
The passengers begin gathering their belongings and walking down the mountain road toward Antigua.
The sun continues to rise and I also leave the scene.
There is nothing to do but go on with the day.
It all comes down to trust
Over the years I have often returned to this scene in my thoughts.
I can still feel being surrounded by a fog that exudes a sense of total helplessness.
Why is there no one to call for help? Why is there no accountability?
For a long time I sought to blame rather than to understand.
Only much later did I come to think about this experience as a parable of how we are all helpless without the support of others.
An accident highlights this fact, but it remains true in everyday life.
When I flew home from Guatemala a week later, I was at the mercy of a commercial plane pilot, no different than the trust given to the autobús driver.
We put our lives in the hands of others because we don’t have a choice.
Everyone does it.
A baby is born with nothing but the need to be held and fed and loved. They teach us how much support is needed to grow up into a caring adult.
This week, present day, I am in Guatemala with my 15-year-old son.
We’ll drive on the same road where I witnessed the tipped autobús.
I’ll tell him the story, and say that being human necessarily involves trusting other humans. We live – and we survive – when we take care of others and ensure they have the skills and values worthy of our trust.
In some sense, we’re all careening down the mountain with our lives dependent on others.
See you again next week.
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