Fighting the Tide

One thing about life, some days are crazy. Abby almost started an international incident the other day as she mixed it up with one of the local woman. And I have a vision to help the people here learn to earn a living,  but I'm not sure which obstacles to tackle first. But more on that later. First, here's a story.

We're continuing to work in Bienvenido with Veronica, feeding the many children there three days a week. Abby and I generally go on Fridays, and every other week we take the kids out of school early and they go with us. I think it's worth them missing some class time for the life experience they gain. This last Friday they weren't with us, and several of the kids asked about them. In their small way, our kids are impacting the children there as well as being impacted by the experience.

I've already written a little about the everyday lives of these kids; about the lack of opportunity and the daily tasks of just getting food, shelter and schooling. But the development of good character is a significant challenge as well. All people, but especially children, copy what we see modeled. And in one area, the model is quite bad.

A couple weeks ago, Abby went out to the feeding center meeting with some other ladies.  While she waited, she spent a couple hours playing with the kids, making up things for them to do.  When she returned to the center, the ladies were standing around talking when they heard screaming across the alley.   As they gazed across, they saw one of the neighborhood mothers beating her young boy, Amelia's age, with a stick. He shrieked while she pounded him for who knows what. The boy had been with Abby the past couple hours eating and playing, but apparently the Mom was unhappy about something.  She then left him, only to walk by a little 4 year old girl, who had also been with Abby, and kick her.  This little girl was standing there holding her Mom's hand and the other Mom just came up and kicked her..... twice.  Later, we did find out that these women were two out of the three "wives" of the same man. 

Abby lost it, running out to the street, yelling at the women.

"No toca!" "No toca!" Meaning "don't touch".  It was the only phrase she could think of.  The men and women standing around witnessing this abuse just looked at Abby and laughed.  Realizing she might not be safe, she walked back to the center.  Moments later, everyone was shouting. The neighbors were yelling, the mother was mad,  "That American thinks she's better than me!"  The chaos continued and Veronica, the director, went out to deal with the neighbors.   A little while later, Veronica returned, holding a metal-studded belt she had somehow taken from one of the women. They were in the process of beating one of the boys with it. With tears in her eyes, Veronica explained the violence that occurs to the children she serves.  Majority have many scars on their faces, their necks, legs, and backs from continuous beatings.  Every scar a reminder of their life of fear and hunger. 

In the days and weeks since, we have learned that Abby probably didn't help matters. Most likely that night the kids got beat even worse, for the shame they had brought on the mothers by getting someone else involved. The mothers were furious with Abby, an American outsider, for trying to impose her standards on them. When Abby called me on the way home later, she was in tears. And again that night in bed. For several days she didn't sleep well with those images running through her head. She did the only thing she could think of, and what seemed reasonable and right. I would have done the same thing.

But the issue is largely cultural. In the poor barrio areas of the country, this violence is the only way they know. Moms that behave in such a reprehensible way were themselves raised under constant beatings. The woman that Abby confronted we have since learned is really scarcely more than a girl, 20 years old, and with three children already. What kind of life is that?  She beats her kids because that is what she was taught. I'm sure she hated it when she was on the receiving end, and she probably is still beat by whichever man is staying with her for the time being, but when she feels a need to discipline, she does what she knows.



This boy, Franky, showed up Friday with a significant gash in his leg. He told us his mom hit him, possibly with some sort of metal object. Fortuantely, we happened to have along a lady with the medical knowledge to clean and bandage it. We'll check it this Friday and see how it's coming.



Two weeks ago, a neighbor of our housecleaner, Estel, caught her young son stealing 5 pesos from her (about 12 cents.) She grabbed his hand and held it down on the lit gas stove as punishment, leaving massive burns and tortuous pain. Estel tells us 2 out of 3 houses in those areas have similar stories of regular abuse.

When was the last time you heard the word "femicide?" You probably know it means the killing of a woman, but I can't recall ever seeing it used. Here "feminicidio" is constantly in the papers, as they recount the latest story of a woman murdered by some man who had been in her life but no longer wanted her. I guess the awareness of it is positive, as efforts are being made to discourage this. Recently, the workers at the grocery store near us wore shirts for a month that read "Zero tolerance of violence against women."

But what can be done? Between the poverty, the hunger, the lack of skills and education, and the violence, it seems like an impossible task. And then when you act, as Abby did, and learn all you did was perhaps make it even worse? What's the point?

Faced with the width and depth of poverty, with the brokenness of lives, and the painful cycle of choices and consequences, it can be hard to know where to start. But some have started. Veronica has. And for this short time in our lives, my family can help. The kids are rowdy here. Heck, kids are rowdy everywhere, but especially here. But when the food is passed out under the shade of that sun-baked lot, the children sit quietly and wait for it to be brought to them. She doesn't just feed them, she has shown them how to behave. She is teaching them how to live.

There are far too few tables for the mass of kids there, so the older kids eat with the plate on their lap. But this last Friday, she had the older kids use the tables, with a knife and fork. She told a story of when she was 13 and invited to a friend's to eat. She didn't eat any of the meat because she was too embarrassed to admit she didn't know how to use a fork and knife. She told them, "Someday you might be in a situation where you need to use silverware, and be seated at a table and know how to conduct yourself. I want you to be ready."

She has great dreams. A full-time school there. Vocational trades. Housing for a full-time director. A water-purification system. Buying the lot next door and putting in an aquaponics system that would provide food and income. But first is a larger kitchen.

The plan calls to bring the wall out to past where that table sits. The green wall behind is the current kitchen. She could feed twice as many kids.

If there's not enough room on the stove, we cook outside also. Here, the sauce for the rice is cooking with whatever meat was available to add. It doesn't work if it's raining, but today it turned out great. And no, that's not a gas can next to the fire.



This back wall of the kitchen would be built in concrete block. The current wood siding is far from weather proof and is a potential fire hazard so close to the hot gas stove.



Abby and I have decided to try and make the kitchen happen before we leave this summer. Many of you have read these stories and generously donated money. Thank you! In fact we've raised $1,500 dollars already without a ton of effort. Veronica got a bid for $3,300 for materials, remarkably cheap for the scope of the project. Local neighbors that believe in the cause have promised to provide free labor to build, if we can find a good foreman for the job. So that means we are almost halfway there.

If this is a cause that strikes a chord with you, will you consider donating to build this kitchen? And if we are fortunate enough to raise more than we need for that, she wants to spend $2,300 to build a protective wall around the center or $3,000 to buy the adjoining lot and make the property bigger. But one thing at a time.

And "one thing at a time" is the approach I know we have to take. In light of the expanse of the problems around us, all we can do, is all we can do. For our family, we can't let ourselves get overwhelmed, but rather we must focus on what God has set in front of us and do the best we can with it.

If you would like to have a part in this project, let me know with an e-mail or Facebook message. We have an account set up at Twin Star Credit Union where people can deposit money. A hundred percent of any donated money will go to Veronica's center in Bienvenido. I'll continue to post stories of our adventure.

A boy helps his younger brother eat. The older siblings regularly do this. 

Plates ready to go. Our kids help pass them out to the waiting children.

I should add one quick story. This same past Friday, another boy showed up with a swollen jaw. He was almost unrecognizable from the week before. This time, it didn't appear to be abuse. It seems he had a tooth problem of some kind. An absessed tooth maybe, or some sort of infection. At any rate, he wasn't eating. He was lethargic, with a massive fever. He clearly needed to see a dentist. This boy had a mom, so Veronica sent for her.

Turns out it was the same mom that Abby had the confrontation with. She showed up and talked with Veronica. Abby swears the young woman gave her the evil eye when she walked by, but nothing else came of it. I was busy elsewhere, but I was told a new visitor offered to pay for the trip to the dentist. (There were several new visitors this last week who came out to see what is going on.) Even though dentists are quite cheap here, they probably didn't have even the small amount needed to pay for it.

Moments after we left that afternoon, we were passed by a motorcycle taxi. Crammed onto the bike behind the driver was the boy and his mom, headed for the dentist. She saw us, smiled broadly and waved. Who knows, maybe she won't be an enemy forever.