I struggle to understand why the children, with their tattered clothes beg us to take pictures of them, with them… Sure, their innocent smiles warm even the most frigid of travelers, and similar to the American 7-year-olds, they have few missing teeth, but no tooth fairy in El Crucero, there aren't even pillows. Maybe they assumed we needed photographs to prove of our benevolent efforts; parade around our experience to get the kudos from Americans back home. But why would the innocent children jump for joy when pointing a lens their way. Another poster child of poverty perhaps. Maybe they subconsciously were aware that we were slowly collecting data, proof of their malnourishment, or maybe they just wanted to be remembered.
They knew if we, brought photos of them back home, posted to the internet and maybe to print for a hardcopy handout, that their faces wouldn't be forgotten, their existence not lost in the shuffle of the Nicaraguans who never see inside the outskirts of Managua.
But as their small fingers point in delight at their own image on the screen of the small digital camera, I realize it isn't about capturing a memory, it isn't even about their relationship with Americans. It is quite simple…. These children haven't seen their reflection before, they're seeing themselves for the first time. The children don't squabble, they share and play together peacefully. They don't have the luxury of crying or wanting or needing.
Inside the clinic I stand in the doorway watching the heavy rain pound the already muddy ground. Steam rises and the faint outline of the ocean is breathtaking. I'm holding a little girl about six-months old, rocking her back and forth, she flutters her chocolate brown eyes and I cannot help but kiss her soft jet-black hair. Her pink outfit is dirty and her feet are bare and my heart is breaking as I become gravely aware of the journey ahead of her. Until she is five or six she will play with the little boys, the other children, she will be hungry and sometimes sick, but she won't be cognizant of this hell. A few years later she might see a television with Dentine commercials and kids playing with brand-new toys. Hopefully she'll dodge incest, but she'll most likely become pregnant out of wedlock. She'll live on welfare, the welfare of a corrupt and crumbling government. She probably won't know how to read, and if so… it will be just enough to get by.
The genetic makeup of this little girl contains so many stories… is she the product of lovers or from abuse? Poor farmers or criminals maybe? The odds will work hard against her, and the chance of choice is one and a million, but until the vicious cycle generations before her, in this exact country, in this exact place begins again, she is pure, she is just another baby born into a confusing, chaotic, but often beautiful world. The rain has slowed and the butterflies dance in the fields not so far away. The little girl has woken up in the arms of a stranger, she coos, she is unafraid… I feel goosebumps because as a capable American I feel powerless, helpless… so I hold her tighter, knowing for at least a moment, I can protect her from her future.
When your eyes lock with another's for the first time… you absorb infinite amounts of information. The adults whose eyes reach my own all tell different stories. Some full of shame, others abundant of joy, some have found Jesus, others' haven't. It scares me to think that if I lived amongst this poverty if I could believe in a God. How can God exist in this pain, this hunger for the right to live. I was told this antecdote about a cabdriver. His wife who was eight months pregnant with his first child had an inoperable tumor in her left breast. It was malignant. She was going to die soon. They didn't know if it would be before or after the baby was born. This is normal here. THe pain and anguish is normal. And just as the children's feet harden against the jagged gravel, and their skin thick to the mosquitoes and their stomachs no longer growl, even when empty… Do their hearts harden after they've been worn thin since they were children?
The teenage girls are giggling and whispering in Spanish. We're tearing the rappers off of the hard candy and sitting on a large rock together. One is wearing leftover sneakers from the 90s, the second a ripped sundress and the third a jean skirt with a dirty Laker's shirt. They don't feel embarrassed. They don't look at my new khakis with jealousy, however they do take turns trying on my sunglasses and holding onto my hand, as though I were a blind person taking turns leading me around the grassed area. They point out cousins or friends and explain in foreign tongue, the El Crucero dialect, that even with my semi-impressive Latin background I fail to comprehend. They're not unhappy, but I cannot understand their minds…. their world is so small, it is comprised of fifty or so people they've known since birth, beautiful landscape and four walls covered by a tin roof.
All the thoughts that pass through my brain… the To Do lists, the worries, the angst, the memories of a perfect date, a delicious conversation with a parent, a lecture I attended that stimulated my braincells, and the thoughts comprised of all the education, travels and eccentric friends alike - media, literature, opinions…. my brain could never be emptied of rich and vibrant streams of various forms of consciousness. I'm not assuming their minds are blank, or their thoughts trivial, or they're unequipped since the day they were born.
At church later that night a Spanish pastor all of twenty-four utilized a theory on Space and somehow, metaphorically tied it back to God's love for us. It was so interesting because I had just purchased the latest "Science Today" monthly publication… the feature talked about how the galaxy could be potentially losing energy, something about light pigmentation and its transformation is none like we've seen. Sure I've memorized the order of the planets and have a rough understanding how the whole "star" thing works, but this pastor, who from this village and yes, by the will of God found some nice people to take him in, to help him out, to give him the confidence required to go after dreams….
He basically talked about what is important to us…. Ak: our values, problems, likes and dislikes… then showed us how big we are in compared to the 300,000,000 star galaxy that the milky way is puzzled into… and then used that to explain the unbounded love that God has for us, and then Sarah jumped in to finish up his message. An American from Kansas, she arrived with the Peace Corps to teach Spanish several years ago. She fell in love with a native and since they live in a home and between teaching and schooling and feeding the poor, she tutors people like this pastor. She explained relativity, and even though we might feel insignificant in comparison to Saturn's suns, our problems and the size of our problems never change… and that stuck with me, and all of the attendees from El Crucero. Seated around me were people who had never walked fifty miles beyond this place, and yet they synthesized and understood that they are small compared to the stars, but their problems are still big to them. And even though my problems and my worries are so different from theirs, and maybe insignificant in comparison, they're still my own and I cannot change that.
And then I didn't feel so bad.
7/4/2010 ...
July 3rd, 7pm.
The sun has just set and the haze from the volcanic ashes make the few stars that much more enchanting. There are eight American children standing in a makeshift church in the outskirts of Managua, Nicagura; surrounding them are several dozen children from the small town of El Crucero. An observer can easily separate these children into two groups by the color of skin, the language they sing and their quality of their clothing, albeit these differences, there is something that all of these children share in common, a dedication to make the streets of El Crucero safer, healthier and a more promising place. That, and their love for the Lord.
This isn't the type of church that includes a Sunday school and a choir, there is no crowded parking lot and brunch at the Pancake House afterwards. A small dirt road will carry you thirty minutes into the mountainous terrain of El Crucero, the lush hillsides are misleading, with a population of only several thousand people, the poverty is fierce. A town running twenty kilometers long has less than a handful of homes with running water. This is the second poorest country on earth, and this is its poorest town. This is the stuff you find on the Discovery Channel.
The Trip:
Between the hurricane in Houston and a faulty engine at DIA, the fact we arrived last night is a miracle in itself. Two vans took Sean and Laura Tonner with kiddos Regan and Hunter in two, Then there is family number two; Sara and Jamie Hendren with kiddos Taylor, (along with her friend Jen), Abby, Jaelyn and Ellie… and cousin Ryan from Dallas. Then there are those from Phaseline, who have as much commitment to this project as the Tonners; Monica Owens, Liz Ryan, Jess Leyba and then there is a journalist, Ak: moi. For most on the trip, this is a familiar airport, they hug the van drivers hello, and for several on the trip this country, and the people are foreign… We lug the duffel bags into the motel, with its simple layout and picnic tables outside, we're eager to crawl into a bed, hopefully not an infested one. However, two of the girls (age 10) discovered a worm in their bunk… again, this is no first class accommodation. We're here as a group to provide medical care and hopefully some infrastructure in a struggling community. That said, these kids know that their idea of work is a few hours during a summer vacation, the kids that we'll see tomorrow morning live in an unending summer where school isn't an option and while some work for a meager penance, many go to sleep in dirty beds, unfed, some with fevers, and many don't know their parents and many will become parents far too soon from when they're ready.
While the photographs depict paradise, I've realized this is anything but….
So, I'm a journalist. I was brought on this trip after editing an article about The Project in El Crucero last summer for Denver Magazine, and since I've been intrigued, albeit the tragedy in Haiti, the sores in Nicaragua didn't occur over night, but have worn through the corruption, the poverty has withheld a civil war and the Red Cross handouts, but for some reason this village doesn't seem hopeless. So not in an attempt to save the world, but rather to quench some curiosity I packed my bags and my bug spray and prepared myself for the unknown.
The Day:
At The Clinic: Inside the small square building there is exposed brick and cement, and not the type people pay half a million for lofts in Lower Downtown…. and there were holes in the ceiling, a toilet that needed to be replaced, measurements and moldy dry wall to be torn down. But Sean, Jamie, Ryan, Taylor, Abby and Regan went after it and accomplished more than they planned. With some of the children of El Crucero helping carry the bits and pieces out to the trash, today they're rebuilding one of the walls.
At the Feeding Center: It took no time at all for Hunter to find his friends, many of the children whom stare at us, the white Americans with confusion… but when they see Hunter's open arms and kind eyes, they rush to him to play soccer and to have fun. The small children, the little girls and boys, those who needed laps to sit on, and hair to be played with, took quite a liking to Monica, Liz and Jess. I hung back with the teenage girls who took turns trying on my sunglasses. They devoured the rice and beans with hungry tummies and packed away more in plastic baggies to bring back to mothers and fathers.
Back At Church: After showering and putting on fresh clothes we all made our way back to the small town of El Crucero where we were greeted with Spanish music, a kid on a keyboard and another on the drums made harmonious music that yes, was quite Christian, but I'd be a liar to say it didn't entice me to dance some salsa. The elders held our hands and greeted us with the most grateful gestures as we left the small building, a square building put together by bricks I don't think we've felt closer to God.
As the day closed and we put the last of the cheese and pepperoni pizzas in our mouth there was a sense of peace and serenity. Far away from the bustle and stress of our day-to-day To Do lists, the highways and the car pools, the conference calls and deadlines, we're glad. But never for a moment are we not grateful that we can return to the chaos and the safety that is the United States. So as we embark on a 4th of July in the poorest country in Central America, and nearly the world…. we're never prouder to be Americans.
