A long time ago in Mexico...
by Rika Hashimoto
When I was a kid, my family took many trips, so I don't know which one this was. We drove from South Carolina to Texas. In Texas, we stayed in lodges in the Big Bend National Park. I remember waking up and walking outside and being surrounded by a wall of mountains. It was beautiful! From the National Park, we travelled down to the Rio Grande. We rented horses and joined a tour group that crossed the river into Mexico. I remember how happy and proud I was to ride my first horse! So high up above the ground! It had been my dream to one day ride horses forever. I LOVED them. So, you can imagine how excited I was.
Our procession crossed a shallow part of the river. The scene in my mind is of our horses crossing the river very slowly. I remember wanting to gallop the horse like I had seen on TV. I wanted to make the water splash all around as I zipped through the river. But, we were walking a slow pace and I was eager to get to the other side, just to ride back.
As we crossed into Mexico, we climbed a small hill. Over the hill lay a small Mexican town that would be our destination. I wondered what it would be like! Not too far over the hill, we came across a small group of children. They were about the same age as I was. Their faces were smudged with some dirt and they were holding pans filled with rocks. As we passed them on our high horses, they held up those pans. I suddenly understood that they wanted us to buy their rocks. All of a sudden, I did not feel so high or proud. I did not know what to feel or what I did feel . I did not know where to look, either. Our procession continued into the small town. I remember that in this small town, there were only a few shacks scattered about. There were goats roaming around. And there were more children with pans of rocks.There was one gift shop that all of us crowded into. My mother buying a hand-made Mexican rug there. I think I bought a small animal figurine. But inside my heart, I could not get over the difference in their life and mine.
Why was there such a big difference between one side of a river and another? Why did the children have to sell rocks? Wasn't there a better way for them to live? The image of the children selling rocks outside the fully stocked gift shop is etched in my memory.
After about an hour, I guess, we were back on our mules. My mule's head was not actually held high, it was sort of drooping. I think mine was, too. I will never forget my firsthand look at the cruelty of life.
