"No! What have you done! You can't play being God!", my Dutch buddy exclaimed. We had been observing a line of ants struggling to carry a couple of peanuts back to their nest when I wondered out loud if I should break a peanut apart in order to lessen their burden.
One Dutchman said that it was wrong to interfere with nature. The other said they were a pest and we shouldn't facilitate their lives. Mamadu, a black man from Malawi, said nothing. He was entranced by the ants. We were all high from good weed the dutchmen brought to Parc de la Ciutadella and shared with anyone who asked. That's how I met them.
—"They would have to be nuisance for them to be a pest. They are just picking up the trash we are leaving behind", I said.
—"They climb on you and they bite you", a dutchman said.
—"Look at Mamadu, the ants are all over him and he's not complaining".
Mamadu woke up from his trance and gently shook off the ants. "That's right" he said "they don't bite". Grabbing my can of beer I said "Imagine I take this to their nest and pour it inside, would you protest?". The Dutchmen pondered the situation a moment and agreed that no, they wouldn't. "So what you are telling me is that interfering is bad only if it's good for them". A dutchman countered: "who is to say that having beer delivered at your doorstep is not in your benefit?".
That's when I grabbed one of the peanuts being carried by the ants, shook them off, and made smaller pieces out of the peanut. The ants swarmed the pieces and merrily carried them off. I think everyone, ants and humans, felt a sense of relief from the struggle, and despite their initial protest, soon the dutchmen begun breaking apart more peanuts for the ants.
We observed them closely. Some were really brave, trying to carry loads that exceeded their strength, then other ants would join in to help with the load. Others carried tiny little bits but would be very fast, running back to their nest with as much as a morsel between their jaws. Still others seemed to hand around pretending to be looking for food while others busied themselves doing the actual work. You could drop peanut crumbs in front of them and they would ignore them. "Look, those ones are like us!" one of the dutchmen remarked. It stung because I felt the truth to it.
Sam, an old time friend and former employer had heard about my dismissal and sent me a whatsapp message asking if I was available for freelance work. I hadn't even bothered answering. I had promised myself that I would complete a personal project, an educational game, if only to regain faith in myself. Yet here I was, getting high at the park, looking at ants.
I hadn't called my mother in months. I dreaded telling her that things didn't turn as I expected. She would worry. "What are you going to do now, mijito? I'm not sure mom, for now I'll just go back to Mexico and regroup", I rehearsed in my mind. When I finally mustered the courage to call her, she said "that's great news, we need you here, the family is going to receive you with open arms. Everybody will be happy you are coming back". I was relieved I was needed somewhere.
When I told Mamadu I was going back to Mexico he said "Why? You don't need to. You can stay in my house". Mamadu was truly an angel. Everybody loved him. He was embodied compassion. One of the dutchmen had a bad fall from the slack line and cracked his rib. As he was telling us the story, Mamadu became so distressed we had to console him instead of the dutchman. He wouldn't stop repeating "I'm sorry, I'm sorry".
I thanked him for his offer to host me. I explained that, when you don't know what to do with your life, you should go where you are most needed, and at this moment in my life this was with my family, back in Puebla. He assented. "That's very true, I understand. I wish you good luck", he said. On the day I left I confided to him: "You are a special person and you truly carry goodness in your heart, it was an honor to meet you Mamadu". His smile almost reached his ears, revealing his perfect white teeth against his black face. He said "I think the same of you Mark, I will miss you". I truly felt honored at his words.
It is said of certain Indian gurus that if they press their finger on your forehead, you will become enlightened. I intuitively understood this act by our interaction: when you pay respect to a being who then sincerely gives you the same respect, you are both elevated. This is not to say that I am enlightened (far from it), but to say that we ought to express our admiration to other people. We admire what we recognize, and for recognition it is necessary that we have at least a little bit of that in ourselves.