The Value of an Education

(photo and story by dianne curtis / all rights reserved)

The Value of an Education

It was Christmas in Mexico for me in 1992. I went with my closest and dearest friend, Linda. I found a cheap package with "Funjet" vacations and decided to do something different for Christmas. Tensions between my mother and other family members had grown over the years and I was tired of feeling obligated to drive to another city every year.

We had a great time the first day but by the second, we were grinding on each other's nerves. We spent the third day apart. Linda had requested this. My feelings were hurt but I got over it and went on a fantastic tour without her. When I came back to the room, I told her about my adventure and how I 'talked to the fish' at Xel ha. She had a stressful day so I said 'goodnight,' grabbed my sketchbook and headed to the pool. It was late so no one was outside. I grabbed a lawn chair that was overlooking the bay of Cancun. I sat down and started to sketch the city lights.

A young hotel worker was walking by when he saw me sitting in the chair with my sketchbook nearby. I had set the pad down for a minute to gaze at the city lights reflecting on the bay. I looked up at the worker walking by my chair. He mumbled something to me, then made a gesture for me to follow and then he grabbed my sketchbook. He took off with my sketchbook!!! I had to follow. My sketchbook is like a diary with images to clarify. My past year's experiences were in that book. I couldn't let him have it so I followed.

He was a short man and moved very fast, turning corners and opening basement doors. I had to hurry to keep up with him. He was heading down under the hotel. I was very nervous at this point. There was no one around and it was late. He must have sensed this because he turned around and gestured for me to keep following. What if he tried to attack me? He was short so I could probably fight him off but what about my sketchbook?

The basement of the hotel was impressive. It was two stories deep with pipes and boiler units all over the place. We were on the second floor and I could look down at these huge water heaters feeding out hundreds of pipes. All the pipes headed to the ceiling. I had to pause and marvel even though the short, young man was disappearing around another corner. Once again, he stopped and gestured for me to keep up so I followed him into this tiny office room where he sat down in front of a messy desk with a pile of books in the corner. He gestured for me to sit in one of the folding chairs. I was busy gesturing that I needed my sketchbook back. He ignored me and began flipping through the pages.

He didn't speak any English and my Spanish speaking skills were weak from neglect. I had been struggling through the whole vacation with communication. My friend spoke fluent Spanish and was becoming annoyed with me relying on her for any and all requests. So I found myself in a situation where I was forced to communicate in Spanish under a dimly-lit, basement hotel office.

Between a few broken English words and my fragments of Spanish knowledge, I gathered that this was a young college student going to school in Mexico. He saw my sketchbook, assumed I was a student and wanted to talk about school. He told me that this was a part-time, night job he did in order to pay for his degree. When I asked what his major was he said "secretario." To this day, I'm not sure exactly what that meant but it didn't matter because I was overwhelmed by the excitement in his eyes when he talked about school. He was very excited about the future.

I've never seen so much excitement from a college student and I thought about my own education. Perhaps I took it for granted. Perhaps in America, we have more choices. What would this guy major in if he was in America? Did Mexican universities offer the vast array of degrees that we have in the United States? I realized that there are not many locals in Mexico that are able to go to school at all.

He told me he felt alienated and lonely working the night shift at this big hotel but school and the prospects of a better life kept him going. We talked for a long time and then he handed my sketchbook back. I said "goodnight" and found my way out of the basement.

This unusual experience has left a mark on my life over the past 20 years. The poverty in Mexico was extreme in 1992 so I'm sure it's a lot worse now, however, I do know one person who rose above it. Education has opened all kinds of opportunities for me and I'm lucky to have people remind me of this blessing.