Gaia: Food For The Poor

...in Nicaragua

http://thomasdavis.gaia.com — Wed, 24 Jan 2007 16:24:36 GMT

In July, I spent 11 days in Nicaragua on two back to back pilgrimages. The first was with a group of our speakers and the second was with a group from St. James Cathedral in Orlando, led by Fr. John McCormick and Dr. Lynne Nasrallah.

I visited La Chureca with both groups. La Chureca is the garbage dump in Managua. Although it was my fourth visit there, my eyes still had a hard time accepting it as reality. There is so much there that is offensive to the senses. There is the rancid smell of putrefaction that assaults you as soon as you get off the bus. Then it's all downhill from there. You have to speak with your teeth clenched so as not to allow entry to any of the thousands of flies that are permanent residents. We were fortunate that, on both visits, the wind was blowing in the "right" direction. This meant that we didn't have to cover our faces like terrorists in order to avoid inhaling the toxic smoke that emanated from the multiple piles of burning garbage a few yards from where we stood. There were hundreds of vultures that made the place look like a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie. Every now and then, a group of them would fly around in some sort of macabre dance that truly chilled the spine. There were cows, pigs and goats also, adding their share of filth to an already repugnant place.

But the worst part is that there were still dozens of people there, maybe hundreds, trying to eek out a wretched existence from the refuse of the world. These poor people (and I use "poor" in its full complexity of meanings), some of whom have been there for as long as forty years, spend at least 12 hours a day trying to retrieve recyclable materials from the huge mountains of garbage that the trucks occasionally dump. Whenever a truck unloads, the people become human scavengers, competitively trying to get the most advantageous position to extract the most value from this "precious" cargo. At the end of the day, they sell their bounty to the trucks that come to purchase it for US $1 - $3... after spending 12 hours in hell.

The day before we got there, a young girl (14 y.o.) had died at the dump from toxic poisoning. There were no relatives there to claim her... she would be buried in another two days in an unmarked grave. A few weeks before that, a young woman took her infant son with her to work there. She had no one with whom to leave him and she carefully placed him in a box and covered him with a sheet of newspaper to protect him from the sun, the flies and the smoke. Her son was crushed to death by an incoming truck. Death is a monthly reality at La Chureca; the vultures are a constant symbolic reminder of this.

There are two questions that I have been asked when I bring people here: "Why do they come here to work?" and "Why does God allow this to exist?" The answer to the first is easy. When you are poor and illiterate in Managua your options are narrowed to construction work, (which is scarce, sporadic and often unsuitable for women) prostitution, stealing or the dump. Which would you choose? The second is also easy - it has nothing to do with God. The reason that such a place exists as a job site has little to do with God's creation (which offers abundance) or design. It exists as a work place because of injustice, poor government, the unequal distribution of wealth, corruption and the unequal opportunities of education and advancement that exist in our world. Not God's doing at all! What God mandates us to do is to make a difference in a place like that - and we do...

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...in the Dominican Republic

http://thomasdavis.gaia.com — Wed, 24 Jan 2007 16:21:31 GMT

In an area called El Cercado, we inaugurated at least four housing projects, but one stands out over the others. We went into a village that the world had forgotten, or perhaps it never knew it existed. So remote was this place and so bad were the roads to get there. The village is called Abre la Yayas (Open the Yayas - no one seemed to know exactly what these were.) The people have lived there for generations in what I can only describe as horrible poverty (extreme poverty seems too mild a term). The horror of the poverty was well matched by the intense beauty of the setting. Surrounded by verdant mountains, nature showed off the glory of God's creation. Our eyes were drunk with the exceeding beauty of this place.

Someone reached out to these destitute people from beyond the grave. Jeanette C. Rowe, one of our generous donors, left a large legacy of love for FFP at her passing on to eternal life and her family decided to build a village of 54 homes in her memory - the Jeanette C. Rowe Memorial Village. I was fortunate to share with Jeanette's sister, Marie, and her nephew, Matt (Marie's son), the emotion of witnessing with them the transformation of this place from wretchedness to unrestrained joy. One of the grateful villagers, a short, strong and stocky woman kissed Marie repeatedly and hugged her, frequently lifting Marie off the ground. The adrenaline and emotion of the moment allowed Marie to survive unharmed! :o)

We later met in their brand new chapel (yes, they now also have a place of worship!) and the happiness and energy portrayed in their singing, dancing, and praising God are difficult to capture in words. Many of the villagers spoke beautiful words of gratitude to God, to Jeanette, and to us for being present with them at that time. When Matt spoke, he promised that his family would perpetuate his aunt's generosity to this village. There were many moments of laughter and many moments of tears for all of us who shared in this uplifting experience that proved the transformative power of Christian love. Jeanette had to have been smiling as she enjoyed the warmth of God's embrace.

The next week, I returned to this very place with a large group of our speakers, and there was a great encore of joy and song and dance and laughter. In this second inaugural celebration, the little children placed their hands on the heads of our priests and pastors and blessed them. A picture of Jeanette was permanently installed in their chapel and the priests and pastors then went out and blessed the homes of these humble and jubilant people...

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...in Jamaica

http://thomasdavis.gaia.com — Wed, 24 Jan 2007 16:18:41 GMT

As always, the trip started eventfully with a cancellation of our flight and an all day wait in Miami. The hours seemed like minutes because of the charming company of Linnae and Darcy. From the first moment, we got along like one big family and if you knew those two you would realize why there was never a shortage of laughter. We got to Jamaica and were able to start our pilgrimage the next day.

Our first major stop was Rose Lane, in downtown Kingston. Those living there have truly been a forgotten people. We saw people living in the worst of conditions: crowded, unbearably hot, holes in the walls and on the roofs, rotting floors and little ventilation. I wondered how these people who have suffered from multi-generational poverty and neglect did not succumb to despair and I remembered God's words to Paul, "My grace will be enough." It was inspirational to see God's grace at work; to touch the 78 year old woman who had to take care of her seriously ill brother of a similar age; to see the pride that some women took in their dilapidated homes, where they hung pictures from calendars and had tiny porcelain ornaments on their tables; to talk to two women who worked upstairs in an old building that was missing a good portion of the floor, one sewing and the other one cooking (the whole place felt as if we were slow roasting in an oven, and we were only there for minutes) in order to seek out a meager existence; to sense the concern of our guide, a resident of the community, who made a better living than the rest by making coffins and yet wanted the others to experience some of his success.

It was wonderful to see the devotion that Pastor Kelly (an American Pastor who after a pilgrimage with us decided to make that area his permanent home) showed for his "adopted children." Speaking of the children, they were beautiful as ever - warm, affectionate, sometimes shy, at times with a sadness in their eyes that is hard to forget. It was here that I first noticed Peg's relationship with everyone she met. She wasn't content with being a beautiful person, she was determined to bring out the beauty in all of those with whom she spoke. She warmly and sincerely reached out to each one of them by complimenting their names, their appearance, an ornament in their home - you should have seen them light up with the electricity of affection!

From here we went to Bellrock, one of the older communities that we built in Jamaica. True, the houses were no longer looking new, the paint was no longer fresh, but there were lots of signs of progress in that once depressed community. The gardens were flourishing (even in the "dry season"), there were new additions to some of the homes and even some new homes going up in the area that indicated a new era of prosperity. It was good to go back.

On to Jerusalem. An aptly named project, for it is truly a holy place. I am always astounded by the devotion, warmth and affection with which the caretakers treat these children that truly fit the description of "the least of His brothers and sisters." These are the ones who are severely mentally challenged. It is obvious that although they don't respond well to learning, they respond marvelously to love.

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