Stepping forward...

by Terri Horn, returned IWM who served in Bukoba, Tanzania.

On a warm, 70 degree Friday afternoon in Las Cruces, New Mexico, I am sitting outside at Starbucks writing my last blog while the rest of the country is covered in snow. I have begun graduate school in New Mexico, pursuing a Master’s degree in Sociology in the hopes of one day working as a program coordinator of a non-profit organization that advocates for the rights of those in third-world countries. In 1 month, nearly everything about my “environment” has changed. I am in a new place, with a schedule that is about 100x busier than it used to be, and am now working at a university, teaching and grading papers instead of researching, writing grants, and interviewing. It has been a challenge to adapt to. When I was in Tanzania, my schedule was so “relax” and informal that I rarely had to plan my life. Now, I live off my planner and cell phone and am operating on 3 hours less of sleep than I was getting in Tanzania. Luckily, my appetite has returned and I do not feel as much “pain” or lonely moments as I did when I first returned. I have new focuses now and am glad to be back in the United States. I am grateful to be in a culture that I understand, a culture that accepts me, a culture that doesn’t make immediate assumptions about me because of my race and gender. It makes me think that I need to be trying even harder to eliminate some prejudices that I had and still have.

It’s really true what they say. Hindsight is 20/20. In looking back on my time in Tanzania, it isn’t my success that I see. I don’t see myself working with women and children, writing grants that were eventually funded in thousands for the women’s organization. I see the moments when I was tired, the moments I snapped, the moments of my personal frustrations; the times I got ripped off at the market, the times I would pick up a child and their hands would immediately go to my pockets, all the times the local people would criticize and attack me for being an American.  It’s not their actions that I remember, it’s my reaction. Though I gave it my all, though I poured my heart out to the people there, I know that if I could do some things over, I would.

I wrote BUWEA a long letter last week, telling everyone that I missed and loved them and that when I was there I often felt like I had 5 mothers, all of the BUWEA board members. I received a response from them the other day, in Swahili. It said, “How are you? We are all thinking of and remember you. You are welcome to visit us again.” So I keep writing even though my heart wants to call them, if it wasn’t for the 10 hour time difference. I have a plan to continue working both with WGC and IWM. I want to help in recruiting a volunteer for BUWEA. They deserve it. It was them who took care of me, who taught me the language, who guided me. I want to meet with the new missionaries, encourage them, help them understand the process, and in some ways tell them what not to do. I want to continue supporting WGC, both in grant writing for them and in helping with the annual Basket Sale and other fundraisers. My heart doesn’t want to let go. I am telling myself that that’s ok- for now.  In the words of a soft rock band Coldplay, “Nobody said it was easy; no one ever said that it would be so hard. Oh, take me back to the start.” In other ways, I am proud of myself. Proud that I was able to be there for 18 months with a job that I loved, working with these ladies that have so much potential. I am happy that I did not deny myself that opportunity or listen to anyone who told me that it would be a waste of time. In the long run, everything has functioned like clockwork. I have lived my life exactly the way I wanted to, and I have no regrets. So I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same after all. All I know is, I’m in a beautiful place, surrounded by welcoming teachers and roommates, and I still feel like the world is at my fingertips. I’m standing on the edge of a new horizon. It’s time to step forward. 

Different sources of gratification, varying definitions of success...

by Elle Vatterott, IWM serving in San Antonio, Texas

We live in a society which thrives on instant gratification. The role of technology and readily available information often goes unnoticed, which leaves some people oblivious to this created need for a quick reward or reassurance for their actions.

Before starting my missionary experience I felt relatively prepared to handle the challenges involved in this lifestyle. Yet, when I started to lose focus and energy I had to revaluate my beliefs about success and motivation. Discovering my need for quick and tangible results to feel gratified is something I definitely did not anticipate.

To me, overcoming a weakness or fixing a complex problem generates ultimate satisfaction. Whether it was a teacher’s feedback on a paper or customer’s comment about my service, I have always found pleasure in being able to acknowledge my flaws, and subsequently establishing goals and beginning a plan of action to improve. However, lately it seems that the more problems arise, the more difficult it is to implement solutions. 

In particular I struggle believing that my work, while thoughtful, well researched and meticulously carried out, has made the slightest difference in the children’s lives. It is funny to think about how much I dreaded “report card day” as a child, and now I feel like I need one more than ever.

  

Unfortunately, there are no “quick fixes” to this kind of problem. I want to give and do as much as possible in this short year, but I am quickly learning that what I formally understood as “successful” does not exactly apply to this experience.

Sometimes, when all else fails, I like to go on several “mental vacations” to Peru, Zambia and Mexico. Reflecting upon how each girl’s (missionary's) unique talents and personalities are collectively bringing about such positive and beautiful changes in the world helps me to remain inspired and hopeful.

  

So in the spirit of embracing change and growth, I hope to find contentment in continuing my work joyfully and wholeheartedly without needing instant gratification, but rather in drawing upon my faith as my number one motivation.

Mixed Emotions...

by Nicole Tardio, IWM serving in Mongu, Zambia

First of all Happy New Year to everyone!

Tonight I write this blog with mixed emotions.

This week I received in the mail a donation of Children’s books! They were eight little books with bright pictures and simple words. They are all about animals, colors, water, and more animals! :)

On Thursday of this week I took them into the Children’s Ward at the hospital where I am spending a couple days each week. I was unsure at first of how it would go, since there are up to 36 kids on the ward and only 8 little books, but none-the-less I was excited that the children would have a little fun amid their sickness and pain. 

One of the nurses made an announcement to pass out the books around and share, so that everyone could enjoy them. I handed a book to a little girl about 3 years old who was crying. She and her grandmother sat on the bed for the next 20 minutes looking at the animals and making animal sounds. I was so happy to see the joy on her face!!! She was the reason why I asked for the books: she has been in the hospital for close to two months now, with an infection in her bones. To see the faces of the kids light up to have something to look at made my whole week. They were so happy to see the animals and to have a distraction from the pain.

This experience reminds me to treasure the simple things in life. I am reminded that each moment in the day brings little miracles and each smile on a sick child’s face is something in which to rejoice.  

While there are countless happy and joyous moments throughout each week, it is simultaneously with a heavy heart that I pray tonight for peace. There are daily examples here of pain, suffering, injustice, and a lack of societal peace and stability. I ask for you to join me with prayers for peace.

A Christmas Different

by Tara Hurford, IWM serving in Santa Fe, Mexico City, Mexico.

I feel very blessed and privileged to have had the opportunity to celebrate a Mexican Christmas season.  Let me paint a bit of a picture for you. 
The start of Advent brought the traditional wreath and a stunningly beautiful, larger than life, papier-maché nativity scene complete with donkey and heralding angel to the humble Asuncion parish alter, hand-made by a local man who makes piñatas down the way.  For the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the city buses paraded up Vasco de Quiroga (our main street) in an hour-long procession, honking the tune of ¨Jingle Bells¨ and donning the sacred image, along with wild and beautiful Christmas decorations and youth throwing candy from the sun roofs. Gregorio Lopez, a local parish group, re-created the Guadalupana image on the cold courtyard blocks of the parish with colored sawdust on the eve of celebration of the appearance of our mixed-race Mother to the now famous indigenous peasant, Juan Diego, after more than a week of pilgrimage with her statue to homes in the little pueblo.  Then came the Posadas, with the walks and turns around courtyards to imitate the long journey to Bethlehem and begging for a place to stay at the ¨posada¨ for the Holy Family, ponche and piñatas.  Christmas Eve was an experience in and of itself with the parish grounds literally flooded with people for seven straight hours - spanning four masses - and the presence of hundreds of baby Jesus sculptures to be rocked to sleep, blessed and kissed to return home to their respective nativities for another year.  Then after the eleven o´clock mass, we feasted, far away from everything I usually associate with Christmas -- my family, friends, snow, spruce trees, and presents.  I found a new type of peace amidst people I have only known for a few months.

But the Christmas season also brought me to some rather sobering social reflections, and here I would like to some fragments with you.  About a week or so into Advent, I had the opportunity to help Miriam, one of Incarnate Word´s long term Missionaries, polish her application to the Irish government for funding for her project here in Santa Fe and in the Distrito Federal.  I ended up learning a lot about the Santa Fe community, problems and all, based on the first 75 of Miriam´s interviews and observations of my own.

Social disintegration and inequality is readily apparent if one only has the time to spend a few days walking the littered streets of the pueblo, or chances to wander ten or twenty minutes West on Vasco de Quiroga to explore the booming centro commercial with its numerous skyscrapers, first-class mall, and private Ibero University.  Santa Fe, as a whole, is truly a microcosm of Latin America – the disgustingly rich uncomfortably close to the very poor.  Look west and you have all the amenities and obsessions of ¨first world¨ modern life; look East and you immediately become witness to urban decay, poverty and quiet violence and chaos.  Trash and refuse line the streets and sidewalks, aside the remains of last night´s fix of household cleaner and metal crosses that mark the place where someone´s friend, husband, son was murdered.  Posters of missing persons are common, and homeless or uncared for dogs wander the streets looking for a scrap of food to fill their emaciated bodies.  Police cars and persons frequent the many neighborhoods and always seem busy.  Almost everyone has a second hustle (or only hustle, as the case may be), selling candy, fruit, clothes out of their home, in the market or on a street corner just to make an extra peso.  And generally, there are a lot of people hanging around with apparently nothing to do but watch city life and the numerous ambulances go by.  And yet contrary to logic, this ¨unreal city¨ carries on and people seem generally content, and dare I say, happy.  Truly, they know how to celebrate, praise and pray, unlike anything I´ve ever experienced before in my ¨first world¨ bubble.  

These clues point to the most pressing problems here in Santa Fe of addictions, unemployment, overcrowding, domestic violence and a sense of hopelessness.  One particular question Miriam asked me to ponder for the application was "what are the ¨root causes¨ of all this social disintegration in Santa Fe?"  At first I kind of laughed and thought to myself, ¨yeah,  I´ll get to that right after I solve the questions of the root causes of world poverty, ethnic conflicts, and racism...!?"  However, after throwing ideas around with Emma and Miriam, checking Born in Blood and Fire, a book from a Latin American history class I once took, and scribbling down some mingled ideas taken from some beloved philosophy, theory, literature and history gurus at my alma mater, as well as some serious re-thinking and editing, I came to these - probably incorrect or imprecise - conclusions.

The principal causes of the present social disintegration include the four following factors: the colonial history of Mexico, capitalism and subsequent hyper-urbanization, government corruption and impunity. 
The violence of the initial conquest of Mexico and the hierarchical colonial regime provided a space for agrarian capitalism and now neo-liberalism to do grave social destruction. The government neglects and/or is not able to maintain the pace of construction of infrastructure and social services necessary to accommodate the mass influxes of people who can no longer make a living in the countryside. In addition, the acceleration of chaotic urbanization does not provide the construction of social solidarity networks. Coupled with these factors are widespread impunity and government corruption at every level. In this environment, social disintegration is inevitable as people increasingly disregard the community at large and turn more and more to themselves for survival.

So how does that translate to the lives of the people of Santa Fe and what does it mean?  To be honest, I don’t know, but Emma and I had a very interesting encounter on our Christmas day running up and down the infamous barranca of the town.  Right next to the daycare in which we are volunteering, I spotted a hung-over middle-aged man passed out on street, supine and sleeping.  Naturally we were both a bit concerned for his safety, even on this relatively quiet street, and so we approached him.  After failing to try and help him locate his home, and questioning the other passersby about his identity, Emma ran to the nearest aborrotes (small stores) to buy him some water and cookies as he babbled to me about some crook of a politician who wanted thousands of pesos, for who knows what.  To me, these near first words out of his mouth, upon waking up out of his drunken stupor, were very interesting.  I think the tendency is sometimes to classify, think of, or label ¨the poor¨ as ignorant, and not actors or thinkers in their own life or destiny, or in worse case scenarios, as the cause of their own condition. But this man´s witness to me speaks of a depressing hopelessness, if not a recognized debility in his present situation, not of his ignorance or cause of his own low social ´condition,´ whatever it is.  Of course, no blanket statements can be given, but in fact, my experience over this Christmas season would speak the opposite truth. 

Let me speak on this injustice for a minute: Emma´s mom came to visit a few days after Christmas and we went to the Zocalo (or centre square) of this mammoth city to do a bit of site seeing.  I had heard about this from a friend, but the absurdity of the government´s expenditure on the following absolutely blew me away with its conspicuity as I gazed on it in person. Since 2007, the government in collusion with Coca Cola has sponsored a one month winter wonderland, including an outdoor skating rink the size of an American football field (alone costing the $1.5 million per season), a snowmobile zone, a tobogganing hill and snowman-making workshop for the more artistically inclined.  This is a city blanketed in fog, whose daily average temperature in these months runs between 60 and 80 degrees.  Don´t get me wrong, the Calderon government has done its fair share of band-aid social charity, which may be more than can be said for his predecessors.  He has opened up comedors (soup kitchens) with cheap or free meals, and provided free medical attention and a food allowance for those over 68.  He has provided this, that is, for who are able to negotiate the system by way of a gross amount of paperwork and potentially dehumanizing consultations with social workers. 
All the while, the system that keeps people in poverty remains in effect.  Calderon publicly supports trade liberalization, privatization and market control of economy – an economy by and for the rich.  In fact, it´s both beautiful and sad to say that a group of youth at the parish actually did relatively more with available resources than the government has for its people this Christmas.  In less than a few days, some friends of mine organized a humble gift drive to distribute clothes, toys and candy to child street venders in one of the numerous Distrito Federal colonias (zones).

In all of the beauty and frustration of this new experience of Christmas, where am I left?  What do I do?  As Incarnate Word Missionaries, our mission statement is the following:  We, the missionaries, inspired by the charism and mission of the Incarnate Word, choose to live in community and walk in solidarity with the economically poor and marginalized, in order to be transformed by them and to transform unjust social structures that keep people economically poor and marginalized.  How am I supposed to begin this process of transformation in the face of such poverty, violence, and structural injustice, meanwhile channeling my own anger and impotency into something positive?  I can only answer humbly: to start a journey with the people who have become my family away from home in their struggles, joys and most importantly their incredible hope for a better tomorrow.  My personal hope is that I take this first step in humility, both carefully and prayerfully. Thank God for the millions of others working daily to make this world a better place, and for my many role models, both famous and unknown, who daily remind me why I am still here.  Thank God I know I am not alone.  We are not alone.