Mar 04, 2008 - 10:57 AM

By Steve Russell

GUATEMALA CITY, Guatemala - The police officer stood by his black truck with his machine gun slung over his shoulder, casually glancing up and down the street, chewing gum and looking indifferent.

The police escort, we're assured, is just a routine precaution for any medical team visiting Central America. We don't argue.

Thus reassured, we boarded our team bus and set out through the streets of this sprawling city of four million, jostling for right-of-way with a mosaic of bright red schoolbuses, late-model American cars, motorcycles, pick-up trucks and bicycles. Black clouds of diesel smoke spew out of overloaded transit buses, engulfing tiny three-wheeled taxis with noxious fumes that bear the aroma of progress. We drive past gleaming office towers and Mercedes-Benz dealerships into neighbourhoods with pot-holed streets and crumbling culverts. The avenues are lined with brightly coloured clay-brick homes of fiery red, burnt ochre and jade-green. Cinder-block tenements perch improbably on the edges of cliffs that rise above dilapidated neigbourhoods.

When we arrive at the first clinic site, set up in a small school, there are already more than 200 people in line. The people of Ayampuc have been anticipating our medical team's arrival since November, when the site was chosen by local authorities and the medical advisor to FTC Canada, Dr. Tony Brown of Port Perry.

He is joined by eight other Port Perry health-care professionals and 20 other assorted Canadian and Guatemalan dentists, nurses, paramedics and translators. The supply trucks have already unloaded the portable dental chairs and equipment, the pharmacy, and several hundred packets of food, clothing and toys for distribution. Tennis balls, hats and mitts donated by the Scugog Women's Hockey League, Reid's Independent Grocers, Durham Pharmacy, school groups and many other Scugog families will be given out to hundreds of Guatemalan children.

Over the course of the day, we encounter many stories of courage, perseverance and endurance. Despite the challenges of widespread poverty, poor nutrition and unchecked infectious diseases, the locals are proud of their village. Life is hard here, and the tawny, creased faces of mothers and grandmothers show the strain. Most of the men and older boys are out in the fields, tilling crops of corn and root vegetables with hoes and plows pulled by oxen.

Our guide, Hugo, paints a picture of a determined people: "Everyone here must work hard to survive. If you don't work, you die."

Most work for less than $5 per day, and only 20 per cent of the population have access to Social Security health care. In case of an emergency, they can trek to the city and wait in line at a state hospital, funded by the government. But the reality of village life is that primary health care is in the hands of mothers and grandmothers, local healers and wise old neighbours. The pharmacy in the next town sells many medications over-the-counter that we recognize as prescription drugs in Canada.

Most consultations, however, have taken place with a neighbour who had the same ailment or the untrained entrepreneur who owns the pharmacy business. Many of the people we see today have never seen a doctor before, and there are giggles and bewildered stares from the children as we poke flashlights in their ears and peer into their mouths. There is widespread fear of the dentist's chair, mainly due to the barbaric practices of historical dentistry in Latin America.

In the tourist museum in the ancient capital of Antigua, we were shown relics of jade dental implants and enamel ornaments that date back to the Mayan empire in 600 BC. Modern dentistry in Guatemala has not kept pace with global advances in technique. Dr. Jack Cottrell of Port Perry and his wife, Michelle, usher in a new era of virtually painless extraction and restoration that shatters this cycle of fear. They work side-by-side with Dr. Mimi, a delightful and very skilled El Salvadorian dentist who is traveling with us. They trade stories of dental practices and share innovative ideas for bringing Guatemalan dental care into the 21st century.

Maria, a young woman in her early 20s, approaches the dentist's chair with white knuckles and knocking knees. Her hand is coaxed away from her mouth, and she feebly shows her nervous smile. Two broken central front teeth mar her otherwise lovely Mayan features. Within minutes, Dr. Cottrell has disarmed her with his infectious good cheer and Michelle soothes her jitters with calm reassurance. When it is all over, she looks into a mirror and glows as she stares at her new sparkling smile.

With tears in her eyes she embraces Dr. Cottrell and then Michelle, thanking them profusely in animated Spanish. She walks out into the sunshine, head held high and hands at her side, a young woman with a revitalized self-esteem, ready to meet her neighbours with a smile and tell them of the wonders that await them beyond the clinic door.

Behind her are dozens of children with rotted brown teeth and cavernous cavities, the wreckage of a sparse diet of corn, tortillas and cola. There is a sense of trepidation in many of the patients standing in the medical and dental line-ups. This country has a reputation for violence and corruption, and trust does not come easy. Many families have been decimated by disease and early deaths, violent murders, and the oppression of hopeless poverty. We soon become aware that we have to work at building trust and winning their confidence.

Ricardo is a nine-year-old boy who is brought by a neighbour to see Dr. Tony Brown. His dark brown face is muddy and expressionless. With chapped hands, he fidgets in a wooden school chair, one of 10 patients being assessed in a large classroom alive with the cacophony of sounds from 10 different families.

The neighbour says Ricardo has heart trouble. But as Dr. Brown listens to his tragic story, it becomes apparent this boy has known deep pain. His father was killed in an accident when Ricardo was an infant, so he was raised an only child. Last year his struggling mother abandoned him in desperation. Ricardo was taken in by a grandmother next door.

He finally opens up and through the tears tells Dr. Brown he is devastated by a broken heart. Suddenly, our pharmacy full of anti-parasite, antibiotic and cardiovascular drugs looks woefully inadequate. We don't have an easy remedy for the hardships of this life. But we can offer sympathetic listening, a gentle prayer and hope for a better tomorrow. With the support of Feed the Children staff in Guatemala, Ricardo will have better food, new clothes, and a chance at an education that will help him break out of the vicious cycle of poverty.

We see countless children with pale eyelids, gaunt cheeks and short stature. We are easily confused when guessing the ages of children -- 12-year-olds here look like eight-year-olds back in Canada. Their families are struggling to sustain themselves with their meagre farm plots. Parasites get under their skin and into their intestines, robbing them of precious nutrition, and slowly bleeding them internally.

If left untreated, the local doctors tell us they will develop a type of brain infection that will eventually kill them. A simple dose of anti-parasitic medication stops the parasite in its tracks, and vitamins and iron reverse the anemia and provide essential building blocks for growth. Antibiotics for pneumonia and dysentery help children get their strength back so they can go back to school or work in the fields again. These are concrete ways to help these determined people.

As we part company with the families of Ayampuc, we are showered with shouts of "gracias" and friendly waves. The community leaders thank our team personally. They are thankful for the free medical and dental care, the packets of nutritious food ingredients for cooking, and the toys and clothing for their children. But most of all, they are grateful that a group of Canadians made the long journey from a land so far away, to visit their village, offer help, and build a better future.

Today, they have learned to trust us, and they are reminded that there is world outside their village that cares about them. We can only hope that in some small way, their world looks a little more hopeful for tomorrow.