A Journey of Hope, Magisterio, Puerto Vallarta

The road dust envelops us as we step out of the van at the top of the garbage transfer station and unload cases of water.  The men and women working in the dump, the recyclers who sort through the refuse for looking for anything that can be sold, line up in the hot, morning sun for a liter of water.  They are of all ages, dusty and dirty, making a meager living the only way they know how.  They come over quickly with a smile and a friendly greeting, and leave with a gracious “thank you”.  They sell what they can find and leaving their place in the dump to get water means that they may miss an item that could be worth a whole day’s work.  We hand out six cases before we drive to the bottom of the transfer station and do the same for those working in that area. 

We leave the dump and drive a few blocks into the village of Magisterio where the workers live.  We stop at the community center day care and kinder classrooms where we are greeted with warm hugs by energetic, happy kids.  They love having their picture taken and giggle as they look at themselves while pushing all of the icons on the digital screen. 

 

At this center, they are well cared for, learn English, play in an activities room, enjoy a hearty meal in a clean environment, splash in a bath at the end of the day and go home in clean clothes. Home for some is a space in the dirt surrounded by tarps.

After visiting with the kids, we bounced through the potholes to the end of Hope Road and view the construction site of the new apartment building for 70 families and a community center. 

 

While standing in the heat and swirling dust overlooking this new construction, I felt a poke in my thigh.  Looking down, I met the big brown eyes and sweet smile of a small boy wanting to hold my hand.  My new best friend shared my walk around the construction site with his shoes on the wrong feet. He gazed intently at the activity.  If his parents meet the criteria, it could be his new home. For the first time, he may feel the safety of four walls, lay his head on a pillow, and sit on a sofa as all of the units will be furnished.   

 

We left the site and drove slowly along Hope Road stopping three times to hand out juice to the kids.  Lining up when they saw the van, they stood quietly, the older ones helping the younger, most of them barefoot, reaching out with a polite thank you when handed a juice.   We distributed six cases. 

This Journey of Hope happens six days every week.  It is the mission of the non-profit organization www.familiesatthedump.org, the vision of the Board and the generosity of donors that are breaking this circle of poverty; the young kids are being cared for, daily meals are provided, the older kids have sponsorships to attend school, medical care is available, adult job training and micro-loans are provided for small businesses, and a housing facility with a community center are under construction and will be fully furnished when completed. 

My time in Magisterio was humbling and affirming that hope never ends.  Information on the work of this mission can be found at www.familiesatthedump.org.

San Sebastian del Oeste, Jalisco

The steep incline and winding, rough road slowed the van to a crawl every couple hundred yards.   We travelled 40 km and a full morning to this old silver mining town nestled at 4,400 feet in the lush Sierra Madre Mountains above Puerto Vallarta.

About a mile before we reach town, we stop at the beautifully restored, 17th century Hacienda Jalisco where silver ore was processed. 

 

Stepping through the crumbling arch portico we wander through the house admiring its thick walls, massive beams, and trompe l’oeil ceilings.  Oil lamps and candles grace tables and stairways as there is no electricity.  There is a fire pit in the patio for evening conversations.   Lush gardens surround the house; plump red coffee beans dangle from tall plants while picked beans are already drying on the patio where ore used to be ground; the sweet fragrance of orange blossoms hovers in the hot air; avocados hang temptingly on high branches. I run my fingers over the rough remains of an adobe wall now held together by tree roots.

Another ten minutes up the hill and we’re bumping along the narrow, cobblestone streets of San Sebastian del Oeste.  Today, 800 people live along the streets and alleys of this designated “Pueblos Magicos de Mexico”, a far cry from the 20,000 who lived here when the town was enjoying the riches of the silver mining industry.  The designation recognizes the town’s historical and cultural relevance: the buildings are painted traditional colors of white and brick red; handmade tiles, all different depending on the size of the man’s thigh who made it, line the roofs; cobblestone streets too narrow for cars; a graceful central plaza that provides a meeting place in the soft afternoon air adjoins a stunning, white gothic church filled with frescoes, crystal chandeliers, and gold.  The town exudes the charm of old Mexico. 

 

 

We inhale the sweet smell of pine as we hike up a dusty road in the afternoon heat to one of the old mine entrances, now almost engulfed by the forest.  We enter the damp air of the dark, narrow chamber and turn on our flashlights.  Standing 100 yards into the shaft, we turn off our lights and imagine the lives of the nine-year-old boys who worked in it.

The mine has not been in production since 1921; however, it was recently sold to a Canadian company with plans to begin mining in 2014.  This vein is so rich that they expect to extract hundreds of tons of silver ore.  The impact on this “Pueblos Magicos de Mexico” is unimaginable.  I’m grateful to have walked its quiet streets on this day.