Turtles on the Beach

Back in the year 2000 my brothers Dave and Brent, painted and installed wall covering on eight temples for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in Mexico. They were working on separate temples. Brent was in Mexico for fourteen months and Dave nine, they each had five or six guys with them from the States. Towards the end of the projects Dave called me on the phone. He pointed out they had been away from home for quite a while and that they were all anxious to finish up and get home. I had remained in Utah to supply the Mexico projects and maintain the Salt Lake business. Dave asked if I would be able to come down and help finish, you bet.

I’d been down with them for a couple weeks and we were making some good progress, Dave mentioned it might be a morale booster if we were to take a day off and go play. We were in Merida which is on the Gulf of Mexico, Dave knew of a beach that was nice, he called us a cab. We loaded up a cooler with some drinks and snacks and we were out sitting in front of the motel waiting for the taxi.

In America when we call for a cab it is usually a full-sized sedan, the taxi that arrived was a Toyota Corolla. I asked Dave if there was a second taxi coming. Upon hearing this the four guys going to the beach with us said “oh no we can make this work” as they started piling into the back seat. They were all full-sized men and with each entering the car leveled a little lower. I’m not sure how they all fit in that back seat but a can of sardines comes to mind. The front seat was a bench type and Dave hopped in the middle. The driver and I were the only ones yet to get in, I looked to see how he was feeling about so many people riding in his car, and noticing his eyes where a little rounder than they had been, we held each other’s gaze for about two seconds and then we jumped in the car as well. The transmission was a standard which necessitated my brother rearing up to get out of the way each time the driver needed to shift. This of course required comments and giggles from each of the passengers in the back seat as we started towards our day of rest and relaxation.

We first drove through a very affluent area, some of the homes had beautiful metal gates along the street with long concrete drives leading up to impressive homes. Driving on we came to perhaps the middle-income area of the city, some of the homes in this area had 10-foot-high concrete walls around the property with broken glass embedded at the top. I suppose this was their equivalent to our razor wire. After a while we came to the outer perimeter of the city and soon found ourselves in a more barren landscape populated primarily with Russian Olive trees. Every so often we saw what I believed to be squatter’s shacks made out of corrugated metal and maybe some plywood or perhaps even some cardboard, it seemed these homes were made of whatever could be salvaged. At one of these homes a rope had been stretched from the building to a nearby tree, a lady had hung a throw rug over it and was beating the rug with a stick to get the dust out of it, she was doing her best to make their house a home.

Soon our transportation pulled up near some motels to a gated entry of a parking lot which was adjacent to a beach, we paid the attendant a fee per head and soon were unloading our cooler and other necessities. Tipping the driver what we considered to be a bit heavy due to my feeling a bit sheepish, I wondered if he would wait for our return fare. But almost before the trunk was closed the cab was back out the gate, the driver heading towards the city.

We picked up our cooler, towels and suntan lotion and headed towards the water. Canopies had been constructed with bamboo columns and thatched grass roofs; outdoor furniture was also provided with nice cushions. We selected one and settled in for a day off.

I was sitting there with my soda and a bag of chips feeling a bit comatose as the waves came racing up the beech and then gently slid back out to sea when a young girl about age eight approached our group. She was carrying a flat wicker tray about fourteen inches wide and perhaps eleven inches across. With the girl were three younger boys which stair stepped down in height until the youngest about age four, obviously her brothers. The little girl wore a light-colored print cotton dress, and the boys wore denim jeans and a t shirt. All the clothing was badly in need of good washing, but the kids’ hands, arms and faces were clean, and their hair was neatly combed, obviously momma was doing the best she could with what she had. The children walked up to each of the men in our group older sister in the lead younger brother followed like baby ducks. Each of the men rejected the offer made, now it was my turn.  The little girl walked up to where I was sitting and then extended the tray three inches towards me.

The display was quite impressive, on top of the wicker a paper towel had been folded to the shape of the tray, it was a bit dingy in appearance but still served its purpose, obviously nothing was wasted. On the towel the items for barter were neatly and evenly placed. The items for sale were homemade bobble head aardvarks and turtles of impressive craftsmanship.

The body of the animals was made of a seed pod or perhaps a small gourd, one end of which had a hole about three sixteenths of an inch in diameter. Protruding through the opening was the neck and head which had been carved from a small branch of a tree, the head was neatly shaped and the neck had been tapered. For ears small pieces of red cellophane were folded in half, trimmed to the right shape and adhered to either side of the head. Eyes and nostrils were painted. The exact location of balance along the neck was located and from that point a piece of thread was attached, the thread was then pulled through the opening in the pod and up through what would become the back of the critter and glued in place. All this was done precisely so the slightest movement of the body would cause the head to move up and down. The legs of the little creature were small twigs cut evenly in length and glued precisely so as not to allow the slightest teetering when placed on a flat surface, the tail was also made of a twig but a little longer than the legs. Finally, a very intriguing, unique Aztec style design was painted on the seed pod, no two were alike. These were not mass produced nor were they made by a hobbyist; they were created by an artisan. The asking price, four for a dollar.

If they had been a dollar each, I would have pulled out a twenty. I started tallying how many people back home would enjoy one of these little treasures. Counting out twelve that caught my eye I reached for my wallet only to fine my smallest bill to be a ten. Now I mentioned I would have paid a dollar each, but the asking price was twenty-five cents which came to three dollars, so I felt ten was a bet heavy. Asking my companions if someone had a five to lend, I placed it on the tray of commerce.  The response of the salesperson was to raise the tray a little higher and push it a couple inches further in my direction, indicating I was to take additional items to make the transaction even. The little Mexican girl did not speak English, but she was very good at communicating, but if you will allow me to boast in my own behalf, I am no slacker at communication myself. Having watched many cowboy and Indian movies as a young boy I knew how these negations were conducted so I spoke as I made hand gestures. Pointing to the girl and then to each of her brothers I said “the extra money is for you and your momma”, figuring of course that everyone knows the word momma. The response to my communication was for the tray to be lifted an additional inch, she was not having any of it. Thinking that the negotiations had gone on long enough and taking strength from the fact that I was the adult, and she was a little eight-year-old, I went through the same statement and gestures as prior and making sure not to be gruff and ended with both hands in a motioning gesture that the kids should be on their way. Reluctantly she turned and headed to the next canopy with the three ducklings in tow.

Watching out of the corner of my eye, as soon as the kids reached the next canopy the mother of that family was reaching for her black leather purse and I knew all was well.

I might have forgotten all about this experience except that about an hour later I noticed the kids in the shade of an abandoned canopy on the far side of the direction in which they had left us. Big sister and her oldest younger brother were having a disagreement, as soon as she saw me looking in their direction, she jerked her head back and forth quickly which said no and that’s final and stomping her foot in the sand and she was on her way to finish our business, the ducklings struggled to keep up. Upon reaching me the negotiations started just where we had left them with her a little more determined. The tray was placed before me, not a word was spoken, and then the anticipated lifting of the tray slightly and the customary pushing two inches closer. I noticed that no money was offered, it was obviously too precious and needed by the family, but she wanted me to take what I had coming to make our transaction fair. Deja vu, I fell back on the only tactic I knew for this situation, speaking in English and hand gestures. To which you already know her response, we were at a stalemate. I called over a guy from our group who just happened to be bilingual. He had watched the transaction from the start, his first comment was “why don’t you just take some more turtles and be done with it. So much for his help, he hadn’t even noticed some of them were armadillos, you could tell the difference because turtles don’t have ears.

Well, I hate to admit it but I caved in to the pressure and took four additional items. But this gesture of good will was not enough, not understanding the art of compromise she pushed the tray closer again. I was to take an additional four turtles. Enough is enough, I was an adult, and I could only be pushed just so far by an eight-year-old. With no help from the bilingual, I reverted to my trusted Cowboys and Indians style of communication, speaking and hand gestures. “The extra is for you and your momma, now go on, nope go on now, thank you go on. Well, I think she could see she had met her match and once again reluctantly she turned and left with the little ducklings trailing behind.

We finished our work in Mexico and it was time to come home. Dana and my kids met me at the airport, we gathered my luggage and loaded up in our new Ford Expedition.  As I drove out of the parking area, past the buildings and signage the valley opened up before us. It was about eight o’clock in the morning the sky was beautifully clear the mountains which I had missed were back in place and I followed the mountain range with my eyes which would lead us to our home.

With my family around me my heart was full of gratitude as I considered the abundance of opportunity that we might even take for granted.

It’s been several years now since that day on the beach. The young lady sales person might even have a family and children of her own. I am quite sure she does not remember me or our business transaction. I am also equally as sure that I will never forget her and the example of integrity she exhibited.

I submit to you for your consideration that the business transaction conducted that morning was every bit as significant in her life as anything we might embark upon.

One last thought, if you ever wonder if your actions are of importance or if they are noticed by others, you might consider this; do you think this young lady would ever have imagined she would be the basis of a story of integrity in another country these many years hence?