Unbreakable

“Do you speak English?” I heard his voice behind me and turned around. It was the most unexpected place to hear someone speaking English, though he spoke it tentatively. “Yes, I do,” I answered, trying to pronounce my words clearly since it was obvious his English was not very good.

I had seen him when I entered the store. My aunt was looking for ingredients to make my favorite cake. I recorded everything in a sort of diary during my visit to Venezuela. I had not been there in a few years. Poverty and dust seemed to cover everything in the little coastal town.

He was fixing shoes—sneakers so damaged I couldn’t imagine anyone wearing them again. But he concentrated on removing the sole and replacing it with a new one, giving the owner a few more months of use. Buying a new pair would be very hard. It was his job to give life back to those shoes so their owner could keep walking in search of work.

Cumarebo is a small town by the coast in Venezuela. It had never been prosperous. The only industry was a cement factory. I always wondered how people made a living. But after 25 years of economic mismanagement under the dictatorship, people struggled to cover even the essentials. A new pair of shoes was a luxury few could afford.

He had heard my aunt say I was her niece that lived abroad. That got his attention. Here it was, the chance to practice his English. He had a friendly face with green eyes and olive skin, like many other Venezuelans of mixed heritage.

Where do you live?”“Miami,” I said. Then I asked him, “How did you learn English?”

“On my own.”

I was surprised. He made his living sitting on the sidewalk, fixing shoes so worn they were falling apart. In his free time, he tried to learn another language. I asked him why he was learning English.

I want to travel to the United States one day, but I don’t have many people to practice with here. Not many people speak English.“How much is a plane ticket to Miami?”“One thousand dollars,” I answered. His face fell. It was so much money. After a moment, he recovered his friendly expression and said, “Maybe one day.”

We practiced a few sentences, and he asked how to pronounce some words. When my aunt finished shopping, she shooed me along to the next store. We said goodbye and he went back to his work.

I felt a wave of emotion. This is why I love Venezuelans so much. Their unbreakable spirit helps them endure hardship and hold onto hope for a better future. I feel proud and humbled to count myself among them. Their resilience is a constant reminder of what humans can achieve—and of how important it is not to lose ho