La Cruz Roja

Yesterday, I went to several villages with four volunteers from the Red Cross to distribute despensas. The volunteers were from the government department of INEGI, the organization that collects all the population statistics for the state. We drove two pickup trucks that belonged to INEGI, old workhorse Fords, that were jammed with the plastic bags called despensas, which contained basic foods such as rice and beans. We also had boxes of water, packaged milk (the milk here does not need refrigeration!), baby food, towels and packages of suero (a type of Pedialyte for children who have diarrhea). Willy and Citlalin were in one pickup truck; Giovanni, Nelia and I were in the other.

I taught my Abnormal Psyc class in the morning and arrived at the INEGI office about 10:15. They were out loading the trucks with supplies so I waited in the INEGI reception area and looked up statistics about suicide (a new hobby of mine) while I was waiting. We finally got going at about 12:30.

We drove to a town called Dzemul about 40 kilometers from Merida, and went to the mayor’s office to find out where to take the despensas. He told us that about 1200 families in Dzemul had parts of their houses destroyed. We had only about 400 despensas, so we decided to go to two of the commisarios (outlying villages). In San Eduardo, 70 families were in need and in the other commisario, about 40 families had lost their roofs or other parts of their houses. One truck went to San Eduardo, and Giovanni and Nelia and I went to the other village. We found the woman who is in charge of the village (or at least keeps track of the families living there) and she brought times to let people know that they needed to come to the square. Then, as she called out the name of each family’s head of household, we began the distribution. Do you have any children? we asked, and if so, added the baby food and the milk to the packet. She made sure no family got more than one packet, and kept track so that everyone got at least one.

At one point, she called the name of an old man, who slowly came forward using a tree branch as a cane. She didn’t see him, and when she called his name again, he threw his cane aside and held up his hands. Everyone laughed. “He’s cured,” we said. “¡Que milagro!” (What a miracle!). Instead of the used hotel towel we gave everyone else, we gave him the used hotel bathrobe and told him how handsome he looked in it.

From that town we went to another, and again, went into the municipal building to inquire about the number of families and who was in need. At each palacio municipal, we saw photographs of the town before, during and after the hurricane. We saw pictures of President Fox and his wife smiling and handing packets of food to children and old people. There were sacks of the corn used for making flour for tortillas and sacks of beans waiting to be given out. The pace was relaxed as the INEGI workers questioned the mayors, and had them sign papers saying that they received the donations. I tried to follow their conversations, and understood quite a bit, but much of what they said was lost to me.

In this town (Telchac de Puerto) we were assigned two guides, one for each truck, and went from house to house to house looking for those whose houses had been damaged, or who had old people in their families, or who had small children. This town is a small seaside town, whose main occupation is fishing, and where there are many vacation homes owned by people who live in Merida. A large generator was set up near the town building for electricity at night, since their power has still not been restored since the storm. As we drove around the town, we saw crews erecting poles for the wires and were told that the whole system was being replaced.

One truck went one way and our truck went another. We had to drive slowly and carefully to avoid the huge holes in the roads where the waves had dug large round openings in the streets. Because of its proximity to the gulf, the roads are basically sand, and when the huge waves of sea water touched down during the storm, they had swirled around in the street, creating little ponds everywhere. In the last month, those little ponds had filled with debris and rocks from destroyed walls and homes and made sections of the road impassable. In one pond, we saw two children playing in the water, looking for pescaditos (little fish). We suggested that it wasn’t healthy for them to be playing there, and that they might find more mosquitoes than fish, but they weren’t concerned, and went back to playing after we left.

We passed the baseball diamond, where the stone walls surrounding the field had completely fallen and there was rock and felled light poles in the field. The bleachers, however, were still intact, and three dogs were ignoring the debris as they chased each other and wrestled.

Slowly, the despensas were given away. It was a long process, and often, women or men would come up to the truck to ask for a despensa, but we didn’t given one to them. I was concerned about this, and it bothered me every time, so I asked my compadres why they decided not to give those people the food. They said that they didn’t have enough to give one to everyone, and that everyone was poor and in need. So they used the criteria of 1) is there damage, and then 2) are there old people or children. They said the people that had been refused understood, and they appeared to be right. No one got angry; they simply walked away. I thought about the stories I had heard about the corruption in the Mexican government, and how people in the Red Cross had stolen from the people they were supposed to be helping. I was impressed by the honesty and integrity of these people that I was with. Our method of distribution was slow and laborious, but it was fair. There was no corruption here. I was proud to be with them, and sad that there was never enough for everyone.

When we were done in Telchac de Puerto, we went to the beach to see what it was like. Where there had once been a beautiful beach, there was nothing. The water came to the edge of the town. One of my companions pointed out a shell of a building on the waterfront, and said he had eaten there once, that it had been a wonderful restaurant. It was already dark, and we could see the lighthouse from Progreso, just north of Merida, the moon that was still quite full, and many stars. What a peaceful place.

We went on to another town, and finally finished distributing our despensas about 8:00 p.m. Nelia had eagle eyes as we drove through back streets, and she looked for houses with roofs that had fallen in. To me, all the houses looked the same, and everyone looked poor, but she could tell where there had been damage, and where the house was still the same as before the hurricane. Many of the houses were empty vacation homes, and we saw a few new houses of concrete block being built. I asked Nelia and Giovanni if all the Red Cross workers were this careful when they gave out their donations. No, they said, but they felt it was important. There’s not enough for everyone. If people see them giving despensas to people who didn’t have hurricane damage, they will get resentful and then they won’t trust the Red Cross, so they make sure the people they give to fit the criteria.

By the time I got home, it was almost 9:30 and I still hadn’t eaten. I had spent the whole day speaking Spanish, and for the most part, I had understood what they were saying, and I had made myself understood as well. I was exhausted, not such a different feeling than when I work with the American Red Cross.