A Village Waits For You

Back at school, I began to think of the huge percentage of people of the world that live in villages. These are people who have no Social Security, no welfare, no doctors, no support system. The thought came to me that perhaps I could go into one of those villages and really make a difference. Even more grandiose, that I might construct a blueprint for others. I was vaguely aware of the massive corporate foundations that claimed to do various things, but it seemed to me as though we’d left matters to the government and companies for far too long. Maybe small-scale efforts could do something they could not, or would not. But in the entire world, where to begin?

Though there are arctic villages, I wanted to work in the tropics. There, at least, agricultural opportunities should exist. Recently coming from Yucatan, it seemed a good place to start. It was close enough to allow a quick flight home if some tropical disease befell me. I didn’t realize at the time that often, tropical diseases are best treated in their country of origin. The doctors there see the diseases frequently, and can diagnose correctly and quickly.

Nevertheless, the Yucatan Peninsula is a big place. Even if my naive and slightly enlarged estimate of what I had to offer was correct, where should I begin? It was obvious I would need to do a reconnaissance once I decided more precisely what I was looking for. When I revealed my plan to classmates, some suggested that I work in the U.S. But a single large family in the U.S. could devour in two months all I was likely to raise.

After wrestling with the matter for some time, I decided that my primary requirement should be isolation. An isolated village would help me avoid government interference, and make sure money spent would remain in the village rather than going into the hands of passers-by. Secondly, I wanted a village as poor as possible. Problems are often created by those who get the basic protein; they just don’t get the dessert. And I wanted a village desperate enough that they would welcome almost anyone to come in and do almost anything. Next, I wanted a small village. I imagined a village of approximately one hundred people. Too few people might result in just enriching a few families. Too many people could result in the resources being spread so thin that it would do no one any significant good. If an abundance of villages met these criteria, I would select one on the border of a state or territory in case I had to leave suddenly for political reasons.

Once my criterion for village selection was more or less lined up, finances needed consideration. I’ve never been a salesman and didn’t want to go hat in hand to anyone. But I figured by canceling my other charity contributions and saving two hundred dollars per month, I could have about five thousand after two years. Honest to God, I don’t know how I figured that amount was a relevant figure, but such was my goal.

As college students are prone to do, I devised a questionnaire, which I envisioned I would complete on each village family. It would give the names of the head of the families, list family members, their ages, and occupations, if any, their medical condition, and indications of what they had tried to uplift the family, as well as where they had succeeded and where they had failed. The forms proved useless. If I had spoken Mayan and Spanish, and had been there for a year or longer, they might have yielded some useful, or at least interesting data. But I had planned a three-month model of assistance. It was hoped that, if successful, I might outline a plan that could be duplicated by students, or faculty, between school years. Also, three months would be sufficient time to plant and see a harvest being made ready. Time spent with an interpreter however, was far too precious to waste filling out forms, which might only later yield something, when the problems of here and now are coming at you as though shot out of a wind tunnel.

After choosing a village, I would have a sizeable block of time to learn the basics of agriculture, animal husbandry, or any other skill I needed. My financial stipend commitments required that, upon graduating, I go to Wisconsin and work for two years until 1971.

While it sounds as if the tasks before me were well defined and orderly, in reality, they were often confusing and did not work as planned.

The day finally came that I graduated so we packed our meager belongings and headed north.