When we missionaries shop at the market in Monjas, Guatemala, we are on the lookout for a way we can help the poorer population by buying their produce. The poor are easy to spot, because they don’t have the funds to rent table space. They squat on a piece of plastic or the concrete that’s close to the other vendors. Sometimes this means their selling space sticks out into the street, but that doesn’t inhibit these people. It’s their way of life.

During the first several years of the orphanage, I drove our cook to the market and helped her with purchases for the kitchen. While she did the bargaining, I watched the ladies around me selling their garden goods. I began to see a pattern in how the system worked for the vendors.

Each city has a particular market day, and the vendors that sell for a living travel from city to city. They rent their space and set it up on the appointed day. Monjas’ market day is Tuesday. Local people from Monjas rent their spaces inside the market building for the entire week, but on Tuesday, they move their produce and wares outside to compete with the visiting vendors. It’s easy to find the locals, because they cluster on the same side of the market building.

I prefer to purchase items from the locals to support them, but there are times when I can only find a particular fruit or vegetable in the visitors’ section. My first choice is to buy from the little ole’ ladies who have few items to sell from their little gardens. I know they are trying to earn enough money to buy food for the day.

One day, I saw a tiny elderly lady kneeling barefoot on a three by two-feet of well-used plastic. My eyes lit on some corn on the cob lying in front of her knees. She stared up at me with eyes full of hope. “Can I help you, lady? I have fresh corn,” she said in her quiet almost garbled voice.

I couldn’t resist, and I bought all that she had, about eight or ten ears. She thanked me and looked like she had won a winning ticket. I returned to the house and took my purchases to the cook for a future meal. A few hours later, I heard someone call my name. I went to investigate, and there stood the same lady at the door with a whole plastic bag full of corn asking if I’d like to buy more. This little entrepreneur found out my name and where I worked. I’m sure she left the market and went to her garden thinking she found an easy hit. She did! I bought the rest of her corn, and off she skipped, I’m sure feeling very proud.

There are vendors on our streets daily who knock on the door or shout from the street selling something they made that day. They might sell doblatos, tamales, corn cakes, and the list goes on. One can see a wheelbarrow, looking like it went through World War II, full of an assortment of fruits and vegetables. I remember a time when one of our missionaries bought two live chickens from a lady to help her out. She helped him tuck each head and neck under an armpit so he could carry them home. He didn’t have a plan for the chickens, other than to put them in his yard and have roasted chicken some future day. We laughed when he told of his morning outings looking for eggs hidden in the yard.

We desired to help poorer population who work honestly to have funds for their needs. Even with our good intentions, word got around, and people came knocking on the doors of the missionaries daily. The more we bought, the more they came. In time, we moved to the new office on the property. The mile trip into the country discouraged the sellers, but we continued to help the poorer population when the opportunity presented itself.