* Last weeken
d, James and I got on what would be a 12-hour bus to El Salvador for the commemoration of the 27th anniversary of the assassination of Monsenor Romero. Too bad neither Honduras nor El Salvador recognized our temporary residencies of Nicaragua! Too bad? Barely. Lucy wouldn´t let us cross the border but she did let us stay in her room for the night! We spent the afternoon hanging out in the border town of Amatillo, sitting by a river which supposedly divides two countries. Eating typica Honduran food telling pretty much everyone in the town our silly story. It was relaxing, enchanting... a vacation for the soul. (PHOTO: Me in Honduras, James in El Salvador)
*Grety had been working on a letter for weeks to receive ¨chinos¨ from the Municipality. I did not understand what on earth she was doing, until they arrived yesterday. Four new playground pieces for the cancha (mini-plaza/bball court/playground). A slide, a 3-swing swing set, and a see-saw. Not like playground things I´ve seen in the states… but THE most exciting new things that the children of El Recreo had ever seen! What a gift it was to be present, watching Don Felix catch his 3-year old grandson on the first use of the slide!
* Proyecto Generando Vida owns a farm in a town called El Crucero, about an hour outside of the city. I convinced Silvio that I just had to go with him to the farm this week to pay the folks that live there and care for the farm. Not having extensive farm experience, I didn`t quite know what to expect. But, boy was I glad I pulled that one! El Crucero was absolutely gorgeous. Higher altitude than Managua, means fresh air, open space, green trees. The farm was stacked with fruit trees... limes, oranges, mandaries, jocoyte, coco, all kinds of other things I didn´t catch the names of. Edgar who works on the farm made sure I tried all there was to offer. Was I Eve in the Gardern? YUP! Then they took me over to see the lambs... As my family and friends can attest to, I´m not a huge animal person. But Edgar went in there, grabed the smallest lamb and brought it over to me. PUT IT IN MY ARMS. Oh my gosh, here I am holding this LAMB in NICARAGUA! Considering MOVING to this simply gorgeous place! (not really, fam) This is CRAZY! Why did God bless me with this outrageous opportunity? The lamb was one of 26 that we have on the farm, and was only 15 days old! I held it for maybe 15 minutes petting it and letting it rub its face against mine. Sweet blue eyes of a baby lamb! With a Shepherd above guiding each stroke of time.
* Pat Nuzz´s Religion class at St. Peter`s recently sent down a huge box of foam arts and crafts supplies, all religious and Easter themed! I was thrilled when my community agreed that we could use the supplies with children from our own neighborhood. The children who come to our door EVERY night… “Dame un cuento” (Can I borr
ow a children’s book?)… every weekend to play and hang out and use our bathroom. We invited them over for an hour on Saturday and gosh they just LOVED it. I had to help most of the boys peel the sticky-part off (you know, nail-biting). Most were asking “what does this mean?” as some of the stickers had the words “Faith” “peace” “believe.” With other donations from a St. Peter’s family, I purchased snacks and soda, special treats!! One of the boys was eating more marshmallows than doing arts and crafts, and Mary and I were tempted to teach him “Chubby bunny!” Endless crafty creations… solidarity sensation!
3.20 MADNESS
I soaked my feet Monday night after work. Filled up one of our laundry buckets, threw some laundry detergent in, and sat on our `patio` in one of the lawn chairs. Laundry detergent is super strong) I´ve had the urge to just sit and soak them for months now, because they get SO dirty at work. The streets of El Recreo are not paved and so walking around in sandals each day does a number on my big feet (which, for my lifetime, have had a tendency to be vulnerable and easily destroyed). So I sat there with my feet soaking, the sun setting, my thoughts racing, and for a minute I imagined I was at the nail salon getting a pedicure with my mom. Ah peace... Then the mangos from our neighbors` tree fell on the roof. ::: thump thump! ::: I eat about two mangos a day that fall directly from the trees. Fruits of the earth!
Then today I came into work, hoping my fresh new feet would last maybe an hour or so, without me stepping in poop or mangos or mud. What are we going to do this morning, bank team? Visits! Yes! Still loving the visits and the personal interaction I have with the women in the barrio. Visits does mean havoc on my feet. Oh well... I think to myself...good thing I wore a sleeveless shirt, I can maybe at least can some color on my shoulders!.. It`s the silly little things sometimes... until they seem too silly…
Our first visit was to Payita, the woman from whom I purchased the size 11 platform shoes about two months ago. (I should really wear those out more...or in more... ) She walked slowly to the door, limping with immense difficulty and greeted us with sad eyes and a pain-stricken face. What`s wrong Doña Payita? Ay so much pain in my feet, I can barely walk. She was wearing her flip flops, and we could see... her black& blue bruised and swollen feet... the cuts that looked like they might never heal... three of her remaining toenails that were painted messily with a nail polish. The rest had fallen off. And as she spoke, with the maybe 6 teeth that she has, she told us. A month ago a guy stepped on my feet. They hurt so much and they just keep getting worse. And my marido (not husband, kinda partner who lives with a woman) is gone. He left and is working but I don´t know where he is. And he hasn´t called and hasn´t visited. Payita is not only among the poorest of the poor, but she also is a diabetic. This could take a seriously long time to heal…I thought…. If it does…
The sense of madness comes from wondering, how will she heal? She has no money to get her feet treated… and if they get worse, she will just get some terrible infections in her feet… maybe lose one of her legs… maybe two… Are people like her just doomed? Poor health and Poverty is an ugly combination.
My Dad always used to remind us of the saying, “I cried all day because I wanted a new pair of shoes, until I saw the man with no feet.”
3.13.07 SADNESS
Don Tinoco died last night. The super-smiling, one-legged man who sits in his wheelchair every morning on the corner outside of his house and who every morning greets us on our way to the Proyecto. The father of Gloria, who works with us day in and day out in the comedor, feeding the children of the barrio with love and nourishment. The neighbor of Karlita who guards our house every day while we go to work. The friend of Matt, who is solely responsible for the wheelchair that Don Tinoco sat in, who everyday no matter how early or late to work, would always stop to shake Don Tinoco´s hand and give him a smile or laugh. The diabetic man who reminds me of my grandfather, because of the way diabetes affects one’s skin tone, bones, handshake, and face muscles near the end of life.
Don Tinoco was 66. Today I am thinking about how my grandfather lived just over a decade longer. My grandfather had been on dialysis for something like 7 years, and in and out of the hospital for his last year of life. Don Tinoco was in the hospital two weeks ago for maybe 4 days because of his blood sugar levels. And then returned yesterday and died there. I am not sure about what specifically happened with his health, but it was due to complications with his diabetes.
I can´t stop thinking about how privileged my family has been: the doctors and nurses and my parents, aunts and uncles were able to keep my grandfather alive for so much longer. We had the money to use on all types of medicine, dialysis, rehab, etc. We were gifted many years of life and love with Pop-Pop... and today I am wondering how many more years Don Tinoco would have had if they had a bit more money. If they didn´t live in a barrio with dirt roads, chickens and dogs and poop all over the place, a house that is less that 1000 sq. ft., with dirt floors, and sheets for diving walls, and tin for outside walls and roofs. Gloria, Don Tinoco´s daughter, left the hospital last night to come home for dinner and her dad passed during that time. I remember how privileged we were to be able to simply run down to the cafeteria in the hospital to buy dinner or snacks when Pop-Pop was sick.
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This morning Grety and I went to Musmanni to buy little pastries and bread for the opening of a new bank this afternoon. Musmanni is a deliciously-smelling, bread-donut chain that I have yet to try, because it´s not quite JVI-stipend-friendly. The cheapest donut is 6 cords, equal to $0.33. Any day, I could probably splurge. But today, we were in there to buy for the women. Focus Marg! I kept telling myself. What struck me was how badly Grety wanted a donut or a piece of bread, but withheld from buying. Disposable income is not a very prevalent concept here in the barrio. I asked her ¨Grety, if you could get one thing in the whole store, what would you get¨ ¨Ay! El donut chocolate!¨ I think one day soon I will bring her one on my way to work, but I thought about how many months and years of my life I have bought daily coffee, donut, bagel, muffin on my way to school or work, just because I had the extra money.
Grety spent the rest of the morning going around to the members of the project to ask everyone to put in 5 cords ($0.27) for a refreshment and/or bread for Don Tinoco´s family.
Another day here I am reminded of the privileges I have had.
And I wonder why others don´t have the same.
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