About forty years ago, I was living in Texas, way out in the country. I was out in the rurals with a young Mexican sister and we stopped at a little cafe for lunch with a bunch of old (white) farmer types sitting over their coffee. She confided in me that as she saw the many white folks, her primary thought was that they were wanting to kill her. It was shocking to me. I only saw some tired old men. We were both in the same environment, seeing the same things... but perceiving something so very different.
She was giving voice to being a minority in a white world.
Her reaction certainly seemed to be over-the-top, but being a minority in the US is difficult. There is a history of violence toward minorities, so she was just giving voice to fears based on real history.
But ... here we are in Guatemala. We are a couple of very white faces amidst a sea of Guatemalans. People stare at us. Hey, even I stare at the few white folks we see here (when we're outside of Panajachel)!
We are the minority here. No question.
As we sit in a restaurant, or walking in a mall in Quetzaltenango, I'm reminded of being different. Being the minority. Being stared at, subtly or not. And we realize something could happen - a kidnapping of (supposedly) rich Americans, or worse. It's not without risk. In Panajachel, our little town, foreigners are common, and in Guatemala City (the capital) it's certainly not uncommon. But outside in other towns, we are definitely unusual and a cause for curiosity.
Statistically, Guatemala can be a dangerous place. We have never felt really unsafe, but we're careful. We stay off highways at night. We avoid dangerous neighborhoods.
Like the young Mexican sister 40 years ago, do I feel like the Guatemalans are 'out to get me'? Not really. But I watch. I'm careful. I wonder. And I see them watching me, and frankly, I watch them.
I am a minority.
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