Messengers from God
Lima, Peru
Today I saw a blind man walking up and down the lanes of busy traffic holding a paper cup asking for money.
On my walk to the gym each day I pass the same woman sitting in the very same spot holding her empty cup asking for a coin or two. I had a coin on me only once so I dropped it into the hollow cup.
Each day I am met with these “messengers” who invite me to a different perspective and greater compassion in the world.
The other day I requested an Uber in the peak of central Lima traffic. I noticed that the driver who responded was a woman. Her name was Angela. It is a very rare occurrence to have a woman driver in South America. When Angela arrived I immediately noticed she was an older woman, perhaps in her seventies. She was still driving a stick shift, an admirable skill becoming almost obsolete in the world today.
Almost immediately as we set off for Barranco we found ourselves surrounded by traffic at a dead standstill. Horns going off relentlessly in frustration as eight cars shoved their way into three lanes. I watched patiently in the sweltering heat for fifteen minutes as the light changed over and over again and while we sat helpless in the heat.
“This is my life,” Angela said, in a voice that was exhausted but had also reached a place of acceptance. “I work every day only to earn money. It is not enough, but it is what I do. There is no time left over for anything else.” I couldn’t help but notice on my phone that my one hour trip with Angela would earn her less than $3. I imagined my mother doing such a job only to survive.
Angela began to talk in an endless stream and tell me her personal stories, surprising in fairly good English which is rare in South America.
“I have many stories,” she said. I listened. As we slowly made our alternative route flying through the back alleys and side streets of Lima, she began to tell me her stories. She told me about how she wakes up every morning at 4:30 am to drive for Uber until 6 pm, seven days a week.
She told me many stories I don’t remember but then she told me the story about her mother. This was the most remarkable story she told me that day. She told me that at the age of fourteen she and her mother were on a plane together traveling to Venezuela. They were flying over the Andes mountains. Angela recounted getting up from her seat to go talk to a friend for just a moment. She reminded her mother to put her seatbelt on. That was the last thing she remembered before the plane crashed.
The Andes mountains where they crashed are forested with trees. Angela’s last memory of her mother was of her hanging from a tree high above her. She had been killed in the crash. This was the last recollection of her mother. Angela said that she always wondered throughout her life if she had not told her mother to put her seatbelt on if she might still be alive.
She told me other stories of her grandchildren, how she dreamed of going to the U.S. and changing her life. I told her that her English was so good she should consider teaching Spanish online to English speakers. “I didn’t know you could do that, “ she said. “I am going to go home and look into that.”
I don’t remember most of Angela’s stories but I will never forget the story of her mother. As she dropped me off at the curb in front of my apartment we talked about how we meet certain people along the way for a reason, even if only for a moment in time.
That evening I was inspired to look up the meaning of the name Angela on my phone. Angela means “messenger of God” derived from the word Angel.
One can never know for certain, but I will always remember my ride in Lima with Angela.
Field Notes
“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”
-Michelangelo
Happy Mother’s Day
“All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother"
-Abraham Lincoln
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