VISIT TO CIUDAD DEL ESTE, PARAGUAY

[I finished this on Tuesday, July 20th.]

June 30^th, 2010

Today we headed to Ciudad del Este. For some interesting information about this city you can go on line to Wikipedia…3^rd largest tax-free commerce zone in the world, etc. Radar Fostervold filled us in on all these vital facts one day around the dining room table.

Mission number one was to take Laura, the nine-year-old Ache girl who was burned so badly about two years ago, into see the doctor. She has scars from her upper chest to below her knees. She has keloid scars standing an inch high across her lower abdomen. Up until six months ago, she was not able to stand up straight due to the scars. But thanks to skin graft surgery, she can almost fully straighten her legs out.

She had developed an infection in some of the scared areas. Bjarne made several phone calls to make sure we could get in today and that we were running a bit behind schedule. When we arrived at the hospital, we were able to go right in. The doctor was so kind and gentle with Laura. He explained how he wanted the infection treated and how to do the cleaning, etc. Leanne was able to ask the doctor questions regarding Laura’s condition. Would the doctor recommend further skin grafts? Would Laura be able to have children, nurse, etc? Questions a mother and a nurse would know to ask. Laura handled it all with such strength and grace. It is a blessing that most of the scaring is hidden under her clothing. She is a beautiful little girl. But, oh, the scars…What pain she must live with! Stories vary as to how this happened. It has come out that her mother may have pushed her into the fire. Laura will not have anything to do with her mom now and her mom really has no interest in her either. So the scars are not only physical. They are emotional too. May the God, who so intimately knew Laura before she was even conceived [Psalms 139], heal the deep wounds of her soul and body. May she know she is loved and beautiful in His eyes.

After buying the needed medications at several pharmacies, we went on a short sightseeing venture down to the Parana River which runs between Paraguay and Brazil. We drove down this dirt road on the Paraguayan side with very poor housing lining the sides. Most of the families living here are probably land squatters. In the middle of the street in front of us boys played soccer barefoot, other small children played on the edges among piles of garbage, a pig or two wallowed nearby and the smell coming from it all was not very pleasant. Apparently, many in this area make a “living” out of sorting through the city garbage they collect and recycling the “valuables”. I photographed one child maybe a year old or so along the side of the road, naked and filthy, standing among it all. What will his story be? It was difficult to not just stare in wonder and semi-horror.

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As Christians what is our reaction to this kind of poverty? Does it go beyond the Four Spiritual Laws, the conscience-relieving donation to this or that non-profit organization, government handouts? Where do I fit into this picture? And you? From afar it is easy to cast cold judgmental dictums and withdraw to our safe little worlds…But what does God expect of us? What good, for all concerned, CAN be done? Remember the story of the two guys walking down the beach and finding thousands of starfish stranded up on the sand? As they walk along, one of the guys randomly picks up one then another and throws them back into the water. The other guy then turns to him and says, “Why bother? What difference will it make?” So, the first guy responds after tossing another one back, “It makes a difference to that one.” [If I butchered this story, it’s because I am from…Mars, maybe.] The idea…we must not surrender to the overwhelming need and do nothing. We can ALL do something. If it bothers us so, how must God feel?

As we drove on to our next destination, we went down a nice road with grass and trees along the edge. I think there was a park nearby too. For about a block on both sides of the street we saw lean-tos made of black plastic. Outside we saw children playing, sitting on the ground; another, dressed in his birthday suit, played with a friend or a sibling. Maybe they were bathing…No adults were visible. Bjarne told us these were Mbyá Indians who had left their lands and had come into the city. They were squatting on this street. Maybe it was politically based, protesting this or that…Maybe the original motive was forgotten. They had been there a while now. We found out later that the children begged for money around town and, when given enough, they quickly run off to buy glue to sniff. Some of the women have gotten into prostitution to make a little money. The Mbyá have been very resistant to any outside help from missionaries.

From this place of desperate need we went to the home of a wealthy elderly French man Bjarne had met. This man had given a sizeable donation to the Ache Indians to build and stock fishponds. He wanted to know how his investment was coming.

We pulled up to this beautiful home, which looked like something out of an old western movie. It had a high metal fence around it and there was an armed guard at the gate. Beautiful gardens. After getting the OK from inside, we were allowed to enter the property. At the door we were welcomed in and shown the warmest hospitality. The man’s daughter and grandson were home visiting from Florida. She moved in and out of Spanish and English with flawless ease.

Apparently the gentleman had gotten wind that nothing was being done with the fishponds and he feared his money was being squandered. Bjarne with great insight sought to reassure the man and his family that his financial contribution was not lost, but was in the bank. The process of building the ponds had come to a stop when heavy rains had washed them out before they had been completed. They were waiting to hire a backhoe operator to come in and fix the ponds before they proceeded. When we left, the man seemed much more at peace and excited to see his investment bring some sort of benefit to the Ache tribe.

Hmmm…Might God use other people like this man to help bring positive change to the Ache, the Maka…? Some might be able to financially contribute, others might teach their special abilities, say in carpentry, mechanics, welding, teaching, music…and who knows what all.

From there we headed to a big supermaket to eat lunch. I think I have mentioned doing this back in Asunción already, but some of the large supermarkets here have great buffets and nice, clean seating areas. You can eat a great meal for under $10.

Our next stop was going to be the Maka “village” in Ciudad del Este. In retrospect eating before going there may have been a poor decision. But it was time. It had to be done.

Back some 30 years ago Maka Indians would come to this city [then it was called Ciudad Puerto Presidente Stroessner] to sell their traditional weavings and bows and arrows to tourists. They came with their wares and stayed long enough to sell them and then returned to Asunción. But things became more permanent when some vote-hungry politician donated a lot and a half-finished building to the Makas to live in while they were in town. Soon families came and stayed for much longer periods of time; some have not been back to Asunción in years. Today over a hundred men, women and children call this “building” their home. From here they can quickly reach the many tourists coming across from Brazil and Argentina. The Iguazu Falls and the Itaipu Dam are big attractions for tourists, as are the cheaper prices on big electrical items like big screen TVs, etc [tax free]. Very large cities within Brazil and Argentina are a relatively short bus ride away as well. Tourism puts food on the table for these Makas.

At a price…

We parked in front of a video arcade. Inside playing were a number of Maka children. To the right across the street a large cement truck was being unloaded where a new shopping center is being built. In front of us garbage littered the whole area but especially the sides of the street where in places it was one to two feet deep. I asked the boys if Aso [one of the first believers among the Makas] was around. They looked at me kind of funny… a white guy speaking Maka? It must not have computed too well. But they quickly showed us to the entrance to the “village”. It was just down the street from where we had parked. I had heard Dad and Mom’s stories and seen photos of their visit here back three years ago, so I knew sort of what to expect…I thought.

The entrance was nicely done with the lettering “Maka letset” [the home of the Makas] above the doorway. Once inside the area opened up into an area of small wooden huts off to the right and to the left, one right up against the next. There was no grass. The huts had long lost the white “cal” paint job. The bottom half of the huts were stained reddish from the rain splashing up off the red dirt. Doors closed. Some clotheslines hung across the limited spaces. Coming up to one hut off to the left I recognized Aso’s wife sitting inside. I greeted her. Soon Aso came out, still tucking his shirt in his pants. He looked old and tired. [It had been 24 years since we had seen him.] From Aso’s home a young man emerged who was obviously drunk. He was one of Aso’s sons. He recognized us and wanted to talk to me about playing soccer. I couldn’t catch everything, but he was a bit pushy, wanting to get his message across. Aso asked that he be taken aside, distracted, which happened rather quickly and tactfully. This scene must have been painfully embarrassing for him. From there Aso directed us to the school’s only classroom, the only area big enough to accommodate us all. To get to the classroom we had to enter a larger two, maybe three story brick building. Darkness made it difficult to navigate the hallways and stairways. Kids played on the damp, dirty floors of the hallways. No place to play. Doors led off to the sides…It felt like we were in some dark cockroach nest, people living on top of one another. No room to live with any kind of privacy. The tightness, the putrid smells, the looks on the people’s faces…gripped our stomachs and our souls.

Arriving at the classroom it quickly became apparent that this room too was not overly spacious nor very comfortable. The only light in the room came through the shuttered windows. I don’t know why the lights were not turned on. Were the lights burned out? It became hot and stuffy with so many people in the room. Children came and went. A baby held nearby cried…And I struggled to hear and to understand what Aso was saying. He spoke so softly. Conversation was first focused entirely on our family. How was everyone? Using the little photo album we tried to get everyone caught up. How strange that these people in a world very, very far away and in situations so, so different would show such loving concern over the extended Cole family, the news of Leanne’s father’s passing several years ago and now Gramps’. Our common histories brought us to that very point in time. What were we there for? What could we accomplish that might bring a positive change here?...And the thoughts floated in and around my soul. I talked a bit with the school teacher who was sitting next to me regarding the importance of education, giving the kids hope for a future, a profession. He shared stories of young people in the “village” using drugs, one older teenager who had come out of drugs and had chosen to follow God. The drugs and violence are everywhere on the streets outside their walls, young people left unattended. He was alone in this challenging role, he said. How much could be accomplished? Yet he realized the importance of his mission when he stated, “[The children] are the foundation of our future.” If so, looking around all I could see was darkness, a boring existence, no room to play, for fun, at every turn threats to their survival, much less their thriving in society.

I think we were there for several hours...I think God helped loosen my tongue a bit during the time. It seemed easier to communicate in Maka than usual. Staying any longer was not possible. It would not be fair to those who could not participate in the discussion. I could feel it was time to go. But what had we accomplished? Had we done what we were supposed to do? It was hard to say that we had to go. It was awkward. I sensed there was so much more to be shared. But we said good-bye. I really can’t remember where we left Aso, but we were shown our way out again through the maze of the buildings. I remember running into the drunk young man again. We spoke briefly. As we walked out the entrance, children played on the sidewalk and street and teenage girls [Where were the teenage guys?] hung out watching the world go by. I shook a number of their hands as I walked down the sidewalk …One girl had her face all bruised and scratched up. Obviously she had been beat up. A number of the girls were wearing make-up and were really sharp-looking…What were they really doing out there? Judging by the look of some of the children inside, girls have been prostituting themselves to anyone offering enough. Sexually transmitted diseases I am sure are becoming more and more of a problem too. [In Maka history intermarriage with Paraguayan people has not occurred. But due to the proximity of the national people to the Roque Alonso village and here in Ciudad del Este, more and more girls are becoming sexually involved for the benefits they can receive. Cultural tradition and religious conviction are not strong enough to prevent the slide. The boredom, the glitter of the money, drugs, the thrill…dull their senses.]

As we got in the vehicle to drive away and we increased the distance between the Maka and us, the weight of what we had experienced became too much. Leanne wept in the back seat. Juliana, the Ache woman who had accompanied us, put her arm around her and told her she loved her. She had seen the whole thing and knew how much these people meant to us. And she probably had a very interesting perspective too being Indian and having lived similar painful tragedies…She knew it from both sides of the story. All I could think of was, “I can’t believe it!” My stomach felt like there was a lead weight in it. I was an emotional mess. I wanted to just scream, “WHY?” I was angry. I wanted to hit some heads together. How could the adults make a decision to live here like this for the convenience it offered at the expense of their children’s lives? It is not fair!!! They were looking at the here and now, not tomorrow.

As we drove away from Ciudad del Este, the sun began to set. The pollution from the heavy traffic lay in the valleys like a fog. The darkness outside reflected the heaviness in our souls. Oh, Father, none of this is new info to you. You know every soul in each of these places and you love them. Father, shine your light of hope and love brightly there. Break the chains that tie people to poverty, hopelessness, and self-destructive behavior. Save them to a life of meaning, mental and emotional and spiritual growth, and peace in you. Amen.

It is now July 5^th. I am writing this a bit after the fact as we have been out of town. Hopefully, I will remember the essence of the events over the last week.

On Saturday, June 26^th we met Martha Perrot at Churrasquería Paulista near the intersection of Mariscal Lopez and Republica de Argentina. I think that’s the name of the second street. Martha and I attended Asunción Christian Academy from ’74-’76 together. When we graduated in ’76, there were five us: Martha, Dave Green [who is in Paraguay but out in the “campania” [back country], Howard [we called him “Howie”] Blount, Libby [or was it Libia? I can’t remember her last name.] and me. So we had a class reunion without the others. You can do that when you have such a small class J

It was fun to get reacquainted. God’s loving touch is there as he weaves our stories, sometimes together and sometimes far apart, but always, always fully understood and purposeful. Each thread is chosen and used with his infinite love and wisdom. Never is there heard from his lips: “Oops, I wasn’t expecting that!” From our earthly perspective it doesn’t always feel that way, does it? What fun it will be to see the finished product some day!

Thanks for the fun time together Martha!

On Sunday, June 27^th Bjarne Fostervold came to our place for breakfast. For those who do not know…Bjarne and his wife Rosalva andtheir children [Brian, Radar and Silvia] and Rosalva’s niece, Blanca, live out in Naranjal, a town about an hour from Ciudad del Este. They work with the Ache Indians.

After breakfast we drove out to Roque Alonso for the Maka Sunday morning service. It was nice to introduce Bjarne to the folk there. He did know a few of the people, like Tsemheyi. A number of years ago Bjarne and several Ache Indians accompanied Tsemheyi and a few Makas to a meeting of Indigenous people groups in Mexico City. I had looked forward to having Bjarne see how things were with the Maka and to get his view on the state of things. A fresh look from someone who had his experience might be most helpful.

Bjarne seemed especially taken by the music and the singingof two men’s groups. He took out his cellphone and dialed someone and held up the phone so they could hear. Interesting to think back of when virtually the only music heard was the ping…ping of the drum played by a chosen few young men hour after hour in a trance-like state. Times have certainly changed. The drum, flute, guitar and tambourine and the choruses are Maka through and through. Praise God!

Tsemheyi spoke briefly, thanking the Wycliff translators, Matt and RoseMary Ulrich, for their work on the Maka New Testament. The Ulriches were to leave the next day for a two month furlough in the USA. They hope to have the N.T. completed soon and printed in 2011. Please pray for them as they complete this work and the finances necessary for the printing of it. The enemy has been at work trying to stop the completion.

After the service Leanne was asked to come and see a baby that was ill. Suggestions were given and we learned yesterday that the child was doing well now. “Ana”, Leanne, seems to amaze the Indians. I have heard them several times make comments like “Boy! She really knows her stuff!” [In Maka it sounds a bit different J]

Then we went back to the guesthouse and made lunch.After eating we went back out to the village to watch the Maka play soccer. They were playing one of their last games in a tournament against local Paraguayan teams. The game was played at the field in the village. The field now has a fence around it and it had been lined with “cal” [lime]. It looked nicer than I remember it from several years ago. But it was still basically all dirt/sand with just a bit of grass on the edges. Paraguayan spectators lined the side closest to the cobblestoned road and the Maka were in the majority around the rest of the field. It was fun to just watch people, especially the children, and to just soak in the “ambiente” [atmosphere]. The “chipa” man walked about tempting all with the wonderful smell coming from his basket balanced on his head. There were several other Paraguayan folk selling different food items too. The men sat mostly in chairs near the fence while the women and children were back away from the sides, more in the shade. Kids played about. Two in front of us played soccer with what appeared to be a seed about the size of a peach-pit. They were having a blast, trying to kick and “dribble” this miniature “ball”. One time I saw one of them pick up the pit with his toes and try to go by his “opponent”. Of course to make things even more realistic, they often acted with great skill like they had been fouled, rolling on the ground grimacing in “pain”. They were most entertaining!

We arrived too late to watch much of the younger guys’ game, but the Maka won handily. Eva’s husband played well, scoring several goals. The ending score was 5-0. The older guys’ team was less successful, losing in the final half 0-2. But I was impressed with the effort and determination to do their best. Again, there are probably issues involving poor nutrition, inadequate conditioning, poor sleep habits…which effect their performance. Skill is not the problem.

As we were driving out of the village, Barbosa again stopped us to greet us. He came right up to the car. He asked that next time we take pictures of his family. We’ll have to use wide-angle to get them all in J We took Bjarne over to their mission’s guest house where he was staying. This would prove useful in finding it again the next day.

In the evening we got ready for our trip up to visit the Fostervolds’.

On Monday, June 28^th I woke up at 3:30 a.m. with a really bad headache. After taking medicine and not really feeling much better, I just got up and took a shower. I had plenty to do anyway. I had to go change some money first, so headed over to place I had done it a week before. Only this time I was without Steve Jackson from New Tribes Mission to guide me and my head was not exactly feeling too connected or maybe it was that it felt like it was a bit over-sized that morning. I remember thinking, “I know it was here last time I was here!” and around the blocks I’d go again to see if I could find it the next time. On one particular trip around I found myself going airborne over a Paraguayan speed-bump. In case you haven’t had that experience before…These speed-bumps are twice or three times as big as the U.S. variety. And remember my head is KILLING ME! After ascertaining that the front axle was still up front and that my head had not protruded up through the roof, I managed to gather my wits and try one last time to find the “casa de cambio”. And miraculously there one was, a different one, but one none the less. I even found a place to park. I was hoping the two guards by the door were not looking too closely at this “gringo” who looked a bit strange. Have you ever had a migraine before? I felt like my knees were knocking and my eyes were cross-eyed and there was a spike sticking in my neck. So, I was relieved when they let me go.

From there I went to grocery store to pick up a couple items for the bus ride. Then I drove back to the car rental place, praying that they would not charge me an arm and a leg [I would have gladly given them my head!!] for the small bump/scratch I put on the front bumper the first day we got the car. I was tempted not to tell them about it, but thought that would not be right. Having a conscience is sometimes a drag J But the folk there were very kind and let me go without charging me any additional fee. PTL! So, having returned the car, I walked back to the NTM guest house.

Around 9 a.m. we took a taxi over to Bjarne’s mission’s guest house. After a brief time there, we headed in another taxi out to the bus terminal. We barely got there in time to board the bus. Fortunately Bjarne had purchased the tickets earlier. The bus was fairly nice, seats reclined and it had a bathroom, sort of. The bus began its meandering through some backstreets and finally back onto the main highway headed towards Ciudad del Este and Brazil. By the time we made it out by Fernando de la Mora and San Lorenzo, I could swear the sun had almost set. [a slight exaggeration! Probably only two hours!] Start, stop, start, stop…Bumper to bumper traffic, picking up passenger after passenger…Folks were standing in the aisles now. Remember that spike I spoke of earlier? It kept reminding me that it was still there. As we left behind San Lorenzo [I think it was], more and more country began to appear outside the windows. We left behind us Itagua, where we bought the ñanduti weavings. And stopped in what we called Chipa Town when we were kids. A lady got on the bus with a big basket piled high with hot, hot chipa. Leanne adds, “It was a sight to behold how she balanced the huge basket, handed out chipa and made change all while wearing a very short, tight skirt, nylons and dress shoes. She did all this while the bus bumped and rolled on to the next town, never losing her balance or cool.” Leanne bought one for herself, but my stomach was feeling very uneasy. A boy and his mother got on at some point. She sat in front of us while he stood in the aisle. He got hungry too, so his mother gave him a “milanesa” sandwich. He held onto the seat in front of me with one hand and held the sandwich with the other. He leaned against my leg to help keep himself upright while his crumbs rained down on my lap. It was now dark. Caaguazu then Coronel Oviedo…A man got on holding a leather work bag. I imagine it was heavy because he wanted to take the strain off his arms. So while standing next to my seat, he set it on my headrest. The spike was still digging into my head and neck!!! So I asked him once, then again if he would remove the bag, please. He did. Finally, we arrived at the crossroads to Naranjal. When we got off the bus, it was 7:00 p.m. or there abouts, cool and drizzley. I felt like my knees were going to buckle getting off the bus. Lights were doing weird things and my stomach was feeling weaker still, kind of a cross between feeling very hungry and very sick. Brian Fostervold met us soon with the truck and we bounced our way over cobblestone roads into Naranjal. Every bounce hurt. It was good to finally arrive at the Fostervolds! I headed to bed after eating a little bit of broth. Leanne stayed up with the family. The kids had asked for some American chocolate bars, so, when Leanne unpacked several bags of them, they discussed ways to make them last as long as possible.

On June 29^th I woke up pain free. PRAISE GOD! JJJ

This was the day that Paraguay was going to play Japan in the World Cup, so we all gathered over at the place where the translation of the Bible into Ache is taking place. Television reception wasn’t too good, but we all knew when Paraguay had won the game [barely!] in penalty kicks. Almost immediately the fireworks were rocking the air. We all piled into the Fostervolds’ pickup and drove off towards the center of Naranjal. By then there was an impromptu parade going…BEEP-BEEP-BEEP, BEEP—BEEP—BEEP [there were a few truck horns too!] The roads were full of flag-waving, fanatic kids and adults, some driving, some cheering from the sidewalks. Cars and motorcycles alike jockeyed for position as they paraded down the street. Not all who drove were of legal driving age. It was a blast to enjoy the moment with the people!

In the afternoon Leanne and I went with Bjarne to Puerto Barra to visit the Ache. The trip took about 30 minutes, driving first over rough cobblestone roads and then over smoother red dirt ones. We decided that we prefer the dirt roads, at least when they are dry. I hear they are as slick as ice when they are wet. Looking out the windows as we drove, you could see acre after acre of the most beautiful farmland sown in oats, field corn and soybean. There were smaller fields of “mandioca”, surgercane and yerba mate trees. Grain silos dotted the landscape. Some cattle. He pointed out how much of the area used to be jungle. For those uneasy with the cutting of rain forest…It would be good for them to see this. This land was being treated with utmost care. It was obvious these farmers loved the land and planned on making it as productive as possible for as long as possible. I suggest that at least some of what we see stateside in the press is a distortion of the truth. It is done to create fear.

As we got closer to Puerto Barra, Bjarne pointed out the land, which belonged to the Indians, and spoke of how it became the Indians’, the multitude of meetings with government officials, etc. This land too was being used. Some had been left relatively untouched [jungle]; the rest was being used to grow sugar cane, “mandioca” [some call it manioc or yucca], and oats. There was pastureland too.

As we walked up the path, some folk were meeting around a long picnic-like table. Bjarne joined them. I guess they were talking about some issue needing resolution. Soon an Ache woman came up to us and introduced herself as Juliana. She proceeded then to give a quick tour of the place. She did so with great pride. She told of her early days in Cerro Moroti; her relationship with some of the missionaries I knew there, the Stolzes, the Heckarts…She spoke of them with great affection, as if they were relatives. She told of her first marriage and the abuse there and how now with her new husband she was happy. After a later conversation with Bjarne, we found out that Juliana had come to Puerto Barra a mess. She had found the Lord here and was walking with Him.

One thing that became almost immediately clear, and was reinforced every time we visited the village, was that the Ache are very affectionate people [much more so than the Maka]. It didn’t take long and kids were walking next to us holding our hands. Adults would not just shake our hands, but hug us [maybe several times too]. Especially interesting was an older man we nicknamed Giggles [I think others called him Miagui, as in the old Karate Kid movie.] This guy just loves to giggle and hug folk. You couldn’t ask for a better greeter at church. Well, then again some of the gentler sex may frown on his friendliness. J His stature perfectly fit his early hunting days in the jungle. Any tall “gringo” could never hope to keep up with this great hunter. He’d be left strangled by the vines, which Giggles had ducked under.

We went over to Murray and Stephanie’s for tea. They are missionaries from New Zealand. They live in the village. There we met for the first time Laura, the girl who many of you prayed for when she was receiving medical help for her burns. She is staying with the missionaries temporarily so as to receive daily medical attention. She seems like such a sweet girl despite her tragic accident. I’ll talk more about Laura later.

Just before we left the village to return to Naranjal, we met Luis and Lilly, a Paraguayan couple who teach the Ache children. It was a brief time, but it was very obvious that they had a heart for God and these people. Their job is challenging as they seek to cross cultural barriers and teach the children concepts, which can be so radically different than those their parents have learned or experienced. They need our prayers.

I'll continue this tomorrow. Thanks for your prayers!