For every viejita y chico walking around the plaza, I am ashamed to have been one more rejection in their entrepenureal pursuits. The reality is, however, that I don't always need gum, shoe shines, and cigarettes.
Several nights ago in the plaza Foch, one of the hip, trendy areas of Quito with great nightlife, I saw a small, hunched, indigenous woman laden with wares. In her right hand was a shoe-shining box, draped around her neck was a large tray filled with gum, cigarettes, and candies, and on her small, busy feet were shoes, the soles of which made her steps uneven and leaning. Her traditional attire was in sharp juxtaposition with the bustle of millenials surrounding her - happy hours and mochileros climbing out of taxis, adventure-appetites whetted for the pulse of a new place.
I find juxtaposition in many places, and the contrast between the hands that humans are dealt can be overwhelming to the point of wanting to crawl into a cave where I can forget my royal flush and use the cards for kindling instead. But this, of course, helps absolutely no one.
Yesterday I watched a mother, sitting and leaning on a lamp post in the plaza, send her daughter, who could not have been older than four years old, over to the patio of a cafe with cigarettes and gum. The girl was stubborn, a good sales-child, not taking the first five "no gracias" for an answer. Heatbreaking, absolutely, but a daily occurence here and one I'm completely inept and unsure about handling. Not my culture, not my country, not my city, but damnit. . .in a global family she is my hermanita.
I´m sorry, sister, but I´m not entirely sure what to do. . .¨no gracias, mi vida.. . no gracias.¨
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