We had just arrived for another day in Managuacita, little Managua, as the inhabitants call it. We walked the short route from the bus stop to Father Felipe's place. He always comes with us. He says it isn't safe for us to walk alone. I thought he exaggerated.
We crossed a man who put his hands together in the shape of a gun and pointed them at us.
'Fuera, gringos, hijos de puta,' he shouted. Get out, foreigners, you sons of bitches.
I looked at the other volunteers. We were here to try to help, to try and make things a little bit better. We walked past him, blinking in the harsh sunlight, lost in our own mixed thoughts, staying close to Father Felipe.
...
I had cut off too much wood.
Father Felipe lacked materials and I had cut off too much wood. I was wasting what little he had. I felt bad. I apologised.
'Only God is perfect,' he said with a smile.
I don't believe but I believe in what he is doing so I let him have the benefit of the doubt.
...
Sometimes I forget that I'm working in a slum. Sometimes I'm on auto pilot and I take my surroundings as normal. Then a gust of hot wind will bring a nauseating smell along and I'll snap out of it. I'll look around at the squalour, at the poverty, at the hopelessness, and feel shame at how I could ever consider this normal.
...
'And every tongue that accuses you in judgment you will condemn.'
I was writing Scripture on the wall. Isaiah 54:17. Father Felipe's is trying to decorate the interior of his 'church' ~a shack of rusty iron and dirty wood~ with inspiration.
Suddenly there was a big noise behind me. I turned to see a van full of people storm into the room. They were Korean. They sat in a circle and started praying. It was loud. They were shouting. Then they stormed out and all was quiet.
I can honestly say that was an unusual day for me.
...
I try and imagine what it must be like to spend the night in Managuacita. After the sun sets and the precarious lighting comes on, I wonder what it must be like to huddle behind flimsy doors, to sleep on dirty mattresses on floors, to hear animals scuttle around inside and see shadows running around outside.
I don't think I can even begin to imagine it.
Know that you are seeing things the vast majority will never see, and take pride that for sharing those experiences you are a far better person than we will ever be.
ReplyDeleteThere's many ways to take the piss, but it's hard to beat a presumably sincerely intended comment.
ReplyDeleteSeb,
ReplyDeleteRelax everybody hates gringos.
You are making a difference, even if your work is substandard your very presence will be of benefit, economically at least. Although some would argue that you could have stayed at home and sent a donation, not me, so get out there and chop some more wood. Here is a tip from someone who has cut a lot of wood: measure twice cut once.
CW.
Thanks for the comments.
ReplyDeleteBut I'm just an interloper, Father Felipe is the far better person.