[I finished this on Tuesday, July 20th.]June 30th, 2010
Today we headed to Ciudad del Este. For some interesting information about this city you can go on line to Wikipedia…3rd 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.
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