Friday, October 5, 2012

Faces From God's Heart: Call of a Coward Pictorial # 2

These strong, hard-working women emerged from their dirt-floor adobe houses dressed in their colorful village wraps and elegantly plaited headdresses—statuesque princesses in plastic flip-flops, seldom stumbling on the dirt paths or cobblestone streets although laden with babies on their backs, and baskets of tortillas, or bundles of wood on their heads. 



There seemed to be no limit as to what they could carry on their bodies. I once watched a woman glide along the rock-strewn road with a propane tank balanced on top of her coiled braid and a bouquet of white calla lilies in her arm.


 They had a fortitude and strength for survival.   
   







Although I couldn’t carry a basket on my head or baby in a blanket on my back, I suspected a woman’s heart beat the same no matter where in the world she walked, and I was restless to get beyond the veil of the foreigner.


                        
 Evita tried to teach me to balance a basket on my head and to carry a baby in the versatile shawl which, depending on how it was folded, became a baby sack, grocery bag, shoulder wrap, or hat. 
 

 She had a curious habit of picking up a shirt or sweater I had left on a chair, and burying her face in it as if to inhale my very essence. Knowing there weren’t any department-store fragrances lingering in the fabric, I was appalled the first time I saw her do this. 

She, however, was unabashed and continued to check my scent whenever she found my clothes lying around.


Mita’s daughters, clung, as did their mother, to their ancient roots.                                                  



One day Lily dressed them in some of her clothes.

  Like poster children for police mug shots, they posed long enough for Lily to get their picture then ditched their rugby shirts, jeans, and T-shirts for the red and orange striped cortes and lace trimmed huipiles, the woven skirts and colorful blouses, that identified the village. 

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My heart and time was with the women in Guatemala. Except for the boys in my school, I had little to do with the men. Although situations vary depending on governments and religious and cultural constraints, women around the world suffer abuses and oppressions that test the strength of the human heart. 

There are so many horrific stories, think Sudan, but one organization I am highlighting here today, Women's Rights Without Frontiers, works specifically to stop forced abortion and sexual slavery in China. In case you want to check them out.

Thank you for indulging  me with my photo moments. One more day, then we'll move on. 





1 comment:

  1. Marcia:

    I was intrigued by Evita inspecting the scent of your clothing.

    I liked your phrase: "... a woman's heart beat the same no matter where in the world she walked."

    God Bless you for the good work you're doing here.

    Richard

    ReplyDelete