COULD YOU MAKE A LIVING BREAK DANCING?

COULD YOU MAKE A LIVING BREAK DANCING?

Whenever I visit a new country I often observe a number of jobs that I know that I definitely don’t want. Mexico has made me aware of several more jobs that I find most unappealing.

A new condo is under construction right next door to the apartment where we are staying. Every day about 7:30 a.m. the noises of construction complement our morning coffee and continue through the day to about 5:30 p.m. The three story building is being constructed entirely by hand (60 hands actually) out of locally made mud bricks, cement, rebar and styrofoam insulation. 

Yesterday, a flatbed truck arrived with about 4000 clay bricks to be used to build the walls. There was no hoist or crane or lift to raise the bricks to the top of the second floor, in order to start building the third floor walls. A brigade of six to eight workers, threw two bricks at a time to the person ahead of them and ultimately they all arrived on the roof about 20 feet above ground. This hand to hand tossing of bricks took about two hours and there was little break in the action and little complaining among the workers. They may have been glad to not have had to cut rebar all day or hoist buckets of heavy cement with a pulley up 20 feet to the cement workers. I surmise that none of these very fit men stopped at the gym before of after work to get in shape.

Another thankless and painful job, is that of a beach salesman. From morning to sunset, an army of men and women parade up and down the miles of beach pitching their wares to the tourists on the beach. Walking miles and miles in soft sand, with a heavy backpack or sack of hats, shirts, ponchos, sand pails, jewellery, sunglasses, figurines, carvings, fruit cups, oysters or dresses, in the heat of the Mazatlan sun, is not for the faint of heart. Their sales are few and their rejections many. A very difficult way to try to make a living.

In the evening, most restaurants are “blessed” or “bothered” by the inevitable group of mariachi musicians, playing a tune or two to the visiting diners hoping to squeeze a few pesos contribution from the trapped audiences. Between wandering musical groups, the rose or flower sellers try to sell their wares to the tourists, or a small child with pleading eyes holds out his packs of chiclets hoping for a sympathetic donation. 

During the day you often encounter someone who gets on a bus, plays a guitars or sings a tear jerking Mexican ballad and passes his hat before jumping off and hopping on the next bus. At traffic stops you may encounter a juggler, break dancer, or baton twirling artist trying to seduce a peso from the drivers of stopped vehicles. 

I don’t wish to demean these jobs or the people who work at them, but rather just illustrate that making ends meet is very difficult for many locals. I won’t even dwell on the dozens of men and women who spend the entire day at the city dump scavenging for any articles of value that are constantly being deposited by a steady flow of garbage trucks.

Whenever I travel I am reminded how blessed my life has been. I am always grateful for the opportunities that receiving an education has provided me. Thank you, thank you, and thank you! I know that I would never have been able to make a living break dancing in a crosswalk or singing on a bus!