It was a beautiful afternoon with perfect weather. Lima’s waterfront was crowded: entire families enjoying the beach, parents and children arriving with their surfboards and equipment, surf schools with their instructors, tourists and vendors of drinks and ice cream to offer to that swarm of potential customers.

We were accompanying a friend from northern Peru who had come to visit us. Marcelo and I were taking him to the most pleasant and attractive spots. On the horizon you could see surfers skilfully riding the high waves of the Pacific Ocean – an ocean which despite its name is anything but peaceful. It was a real spectacle! The sun was preparing for its final scene of the day casting an exclusive backdrop of fiery orange and red across the sky.

In this beautiful setting, accessible only to a certain social class, everything seemed to be going perfectly. Amidst the crowd, I noticed a tiny, man as thin as a stick carrying four large sacks of waste material that he had collected: cardboard, plastic bottles, glass… This small figure, completely invisible in that environment, was preparing to climb a long flight of stairs, leading to the overpass that crossed the highway from one side to the other, from the beach to the road. He looked like an invisible ant burdened with a load three times his weight.

In that faceless crowd, his presence caught my attention. “Come, sit beside me for a while,” I said, pointing to the empty seat on the bench where I was sitting. He looked at with surprised, then smiled. He set down his heavy sacks and took a seat. “Hi, my name is Gustavo, and you?”. “Arthur,” he replied with a wide, toothless grin.
He explained that he had come from far away and that he needed to cross the highway, climbing up the steep staircase, to get the bus that would take him home. There, in his humble neighborhood, he would sell the waste material he had collected. This was his daily job which enabled him and his family to survive.

Marcelo gave him 5 Soles, the price of the bus ticket. We said goodbye shaking his sweaty hand warmly and wishing him good luck. As he climbed the stairs with his bags in his hand, every so often he looked back at us and flashed us his toothless smile.

In the midst of the faceless crowd, Arthur became the most important person, the one who touched our hearts, who stirred something deep within us, who connected us with the Beatitudes, to the way God sees.

Gustavo E. Clariá