Waiting. And more waiting. And even more waiting. That’s pretty much how I would summarize today. We were supposed to start leather working class today but there was a big communication mishap that happened between myself and the leather worker.
We had planned (in my mind) to meet at the Plaza de Armas at 8:30am. I arrived and he was nowhere to be found. Figuring the bus was late (very typical here), I waited. Then I walked around the plaza. Then I waited. Then I walked around the plaza. Then I waited. I repeated this routine for an hour before I broke down and called his wife, who was shocked that I hadn’t found him, “He left at 7:45 to meet you with all his tools and leather. He’s in the Plaza.”
Finally, at 10am I decided I need to get to the prison to tell the women what had happened, since they had been waiting for us since 9am. When I arrived there was a rush of, “What happens” and when I explained the story, the theorized about what could have gone awry. My favorite theory was the one where he left all his leather in the taxi and had to run around town looking for the taxi.
What really happened is that we were at two different plazas. He was at a very small plaza and I was at a very big plaza. It was both of our faults because neither of us clarified which plaza. Now we have a very definite, clarified meeting place for tomorrow so leather class will happen!
Since I was already at the prison, I hung out for an hour talking to the women. They were thrilled to have a chance to ask me everything about my life. Somehow, we landed on the topic of drug use in the U.S. They asked me about the harm drugs can cause to the body and I explained the effects of using drugs. I told them a story about a friend of mine who had died of a heroine overdose several years ago, explaining how common these deaths were. What happened next was touching.
One of the women put down her embroidery and I noticed her eyes watering. She said, “I’m sorry Amanda,” and gave me a deep, long hug. At first I thought she was comforting me about my loss, which I have long since processed and accepted, but then she said, “This is why I don’t want to be in the drug trade anymore. We are responsible for these deaths. We help bring drugs to people.”
I realized that the hug was an apology, not for my loss, but for her participation in a cycle that leads to loss. Her eyes shined with tears as she shook her head, “We want fast money but we don’t think about the consequences. I never want to be a part of people’s deaths again.”
The other woman I was talking with nodded and hugged me, saying, “It’s true. We are all here for drug trafficking and we had to take responsibility for our part of the harm.”
It was a profound moment, seeing how each one of us were affected by the drug trade, made more profound by the women’s genuine sadness over the harm the trade causes. If you had a vision of these women as hardened criminals, oblivious to the world around them, I suggest you drop that right now, because clearly how they feel about their actions goes deep.
