Day Labor

            On my way to work each morning, I pass a group of Latino day laborers standing outside a 7-Eleven.  I never gave them much thought aside from a vague hope that they all found work that day and would be paid enough to support their families.
 
            I have a whole new appreciation for them now that I am writing this story from Lima, Peru, and grouting the tile around an orphanage dining room that holds 560 kids.  My husband and I flew here for two weeks with Global Volunteers (www.globalvolunteers.org) and signed up to help the labor crew (we teach English and play with the kids in the afternoon).
 
            The dining room was slightly damaged during a recent earthquake, so on our first day we were told to chisel out the cement between the tiles so we could grout it later.  Unfortunately there´s no Home Depot in all of South America, as far as I know, so we put on our work gloves, grabbed rusty, industrial-sized nails and a few metal paint scrapers as our chisel tools, and off we went. 
 
            As you can imagine, it was hard, monotonous and physically challenging.  Danielo, our supervisor with a movie-star smile, checked in on us every once in awhile and either pointed out what we missed or said “bueno,” and we lapped up his praise like starving dogs.  (We even got a “muy bien,” or “very good,” from a nun … no small feat!) 
 
            Once our cement-chipping passed Danielo’s inspection we began grouting.  As one who defines “labor” as writing checks to pay someone else to do any real work, this was a whole new universe.  My husband and I divided up the labor.  I would grout.  He would grout, mix the grout, sponge off the excess grout, wipe the tiles and clean up.  Worked for me.
 
       This is the fifth day of grouting and digging out cement with a nail, and believe me, the novelty has passed.  The grout powder was everywhere and we got more on ourselves and the floor than the tiles.  We looked like Pigpen from the Peanuts cartoon series every time we moved.  It is exhausting, filthy and I secretly hoped I’d wake up sick so I wouldn’t have to do this.  Then after my whining I was filled with gratitude and humility as I realized that this monotonous and back-breaking work is a choice … and millions of people in this world must work this hard, or harder, without the option of quitting.
        
       So, when I get back to the States and pass the day laborers on my way to work again, I’ll send more than a passing wish of goodwill.  I’ll remember how hard they work, how little they are paid, how lucky I am, and most of all, I´ll remember that, on many levels, we are truly connected.
        
       Get out and give back.