A letter from Roger and Gloria Marriott in Guatemala
February 2012
George and Charlie—brothers—a couple of bright teenage kids.
George and Charlie's mother at home.
They graduated together this past year. George, the elder, was held back for a couple of years for some arcane reasons. Charlie ranked second in his class—the salutatorian. Their mother is proud; father, too—even George, who ranked in the top 10 percent.
They both want to go to college, but it looks pretty iffy. We all know what a college diploma costs these days and these brothers are from a blue-collar family—hardworking, working an extra job when they can get it, cutting corners where they can—sometimes in the amount of food they eat.
In most neighborhoods, people would say the family has too many kids—and they do. Nine kids. The parents don’t speak much to strangers. They’re shy. Not much formal education. Reluctant to look you in the face. Still, George and Charlie ranked high in their classes and both have jobs. Charlie is working in the local bank; George is now tutoring. George likes numbers. Says he wants to be an accountant. Charlie wants to be a businessman.
George and Charlie
The brothers each won a scholarship to pay for high school three years ago. Their little town didn’t have a high school but they found one about 45 minutes from their home in the county seat. The family didn’t want to be separated. They’ve slept in the same bedroom for years. They can’t afford a car. But the parents decided to move the entire family to be near George and Charlie. They didn’t have much, so it didn’t cost much to move. A change of clothes or so each, a couple of tools, a couple of sticks of furniture. It’ll work out, they must have thought. I guess they were right—so far so good.
Their father started a little cottage business in the shack of a house he found. Sounds like a sawmill. Racket all day long. If it’s not the business making noise, he’s trying to add to the house. Still only nine kids. They came from big families. They didn’t think about it. That’s just the way it was when they got married—whatever happens, happens. The other kids, those old enough to attend, are in school. Even some of them say they want to go to college. Wonder where that comes from?
It seems the boys found enough money to get started in college. Now they want a computer of their own. Always something. And the college? Well, it’s about an hour and a half the other side of the river. They’ll have to take the bus and attend class only on weekends. They’ve got to work. Can’t risk their jobs since the family relies on their income now. Monday through Friday working, Saturday and Sunday in college. That’s a busy schedule. You have to be dedicated to do that—but they’ve made it this far. No reason to doubt them now, as long as those scholarships hold up.
George and Charlie. They like those names even though their real names are Jorge and Carlos. The oldest children of illiterate subsistence farmers. Consistency in educational support is paying off—at least in their case. Seems to be working in others as well: Pete is in college studying to be a teacher; Elsa studied to be a nurse for a year but got married and had a kid. Plans to return, she says. Flory now has the bug to be a professional nurse. She made it through high school and a year of LPN training, has a job, and now wants to be a RN. Jimmy is back in school. Says he’s older and wiser.
That open sewer that runs in front of George and Charlie’s house now offends them as human beings. The neighborhood pigs wallow in it, but it’s good only for pigs. The boys are more careful now. Other neighbor kids haven’t sensed the danger yet. That corn grinding business in the front room of the two-room house makes a lot of noise but provides food. At 10 cents or so per bowl of corn a lot of corn has to be ground. But there it goes again.
Change is a long time coming. It comes too slowly. Educational change isn’t as much fun for North Americans as building something. You can’t see it or take pictures of it. But change is coming. None of these young people plan to return to the village or their patches of corn. They can still wield a machete, but their hands are getting soft—their intellect, though, is tougher, sharper, and they want more and expect more. Let’s hope and pray mission efforts prove to be a positive force for them and all those around them.
Peace,
Roger and Gloria
Psalm 9:18 “For the needy shall not always be forgotten, nor the hope of the poor perish forever.”
The 2012 Presbyterian Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 6
Write to Roger Marriott
Write to Gloria Marriott
Give to Roger and Gloria Marriott's sending and support
