Reflecting on Ash Wednesday

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

Almost three weeks ago, I was blessed to be able to take part in the Ash Wednesday observance here in Santa Fe Colonia.  The morning began with Mass at 9, except this day, it was attended by 200 or more people.  But this was just the beginning. 

Emma and I had decided to invite our Youth Group to join us in our little chapel, Señor de Cañita to distribute ashes.  Actually, to call it a chapel is a bit of a misnomer as it once was a full-sized church.  About fifty years ago, when they widened Vasco de Quiroga (the avenue in front of our house), they destroyed the front of many beautiful old houses, as well as the church – which is well over three hundred years old.  All that is left now is the tabernacle and a colorful life-size statue of a scourged Christ the King, complete with crown of thorns and scepter of sugar cane, of which the entire statue is made.  This little chapel was one of the eight sites around the colonia where people could receive ashes.

 As most of our youth group is in school in the early hours of the day, Father sent a group of ladies from the parish to help out in the morning, as well as Oscar, a man with whom I am working on his reading every Wednesday.  Alexandra, a single mother of three from our youth group, also came over after she dropped her children off at the Guarderia.  As there were several people in the chapel, I decided to make pancakes for the volunteers.  My grandmother, who was like a second mother to me, always used to make pancakes for Mardi Gras, or what she called "Shrove Tuesday," when I was a little girl.  So I decided to continue the tradition (even if a day late!).   Alexandra and I went to pick up a few ingredients and a stereo from the parish so we could have a Taizé CD as background music in the chapel, and then we set to work on the pancakes.  The several people that were there came in to eat in shifts, and when our youth group started to show up, I made another batch.   There were about ten from our youth group in total, and it was great just to spend some time with them talking and laughing, as the people stopped by for their ashes.

By the time 7pm rolled around everyone was getting hungry again, and as the Ash Wednesday fast ends at 1 pm in Santa Fe, we decided to order pizza for the group from a little shop down the road.  Again we ate in shifts.  It was not until then that I distributed ashes, as I thought it better to give our youth group the opportunity.  In Canada, I was used to receiving ashes from the priests thumb, but here in Santa Fe they do things a little bit differently.  Every team received a number of wine corks with a cross cut into one end along with ashes.  These produce perfectly shaped crosses on people’s foreheads (or at least perfectly shaped Xs, if you are not careful!).  However, for the first little while I felt like I was stamping people in an assembly line to be shipped off to their final destination.  I soon found a way to make the process feel more sacramental by putting my other hand on their shoulder or on their head as I gently pressed the wine cork to them and repeated, “Arrepiéntete y cree en el Evangelio.”  After a while of doing this, I went into the kitchen for some water and to see what the rest of our youth group was up to.  To my surprise they were cleaning our kitchen for us and doing the dishes that had been piling up (admittedly for a couple of days)!  Protesting proved useless, as they responded that we had fed them and they wanted to return the favor.  Who knew that admitting you were a sinner and helping others to do the same had such great benefits?

All joking aside, Father estimates that close to 15 thousand received ashes that Wednesday.  Between the hours of 10 am and 8:30pm, we received close to 800 people of all shapes and sizes (and levels of sobriety) in our little chapel alone.  Apparently, this was about twice the number that came the year before.  Emma and I wonder if it was the presence of so many vibrant and joyful youth, but one cannot be sure. We blessed tiny little babies with ashes, saying “Dios te bendiga,” as well as youth,  their parents and the elderly.  Whole families would come, and others would pull over in their cars, hop out to receive ashes and leave as quickly as they came.  We even had the opportunity to visit and give ashes to the house-bound parents of one of our close neighors who runs a convenience store on our little street.   

Reflecting back on it now, I am incredibly touched by this mass acknowledgement of humanity and witness of humility (well,  except for one elderly gentleman, who must be up for canonization, as he kept insisting that he had never sinned!). For me,  someone who is often quite self-critical, it was comforting to share this experience of admitting one´s weakness and knowing I am not alone - not only in my human wretchedness but also in my desire for conversion and change.  

A trip to Kalabo...

by Nicole Tardio, IWM serving in Mongu, Zambia. Here Nicole shares a bit about a recent trip she took to a new part of this mid-east African country.

This past month I had an awesome opportunity to travel to Kalabo, Zambia, which is a village about 50 Km from Mongu. This time of year with the rains the only way to get there is by boat - about a 2-3 hour trip. I traveled with a volunteer nurse from South Africa, 3 people from Mongu who work for the church here, and 2 nursing students from Canada, so we were 7 in total. We all met at the harbor of Mongu at 7 am monday morning to begin our adevnture - by 1 pm the boat was full and we were headed across the plains. It took about 1 hr to reach the Zambezi river then we had another hour winding through the plains on the other side to reach Kalabo.

Monday afternoon we settled into the parish where we were staying. I got to spend some time with a good friend from Mongu who had recently moved to Kalabo. Tuesday morning we were up bright and early to get the day started. I took a walk at sunrise - I was amazed by the beautiful vastness of the surroundings. Kalabo is a village with not one taxi and very few cars, it was just a beautiful calm all around.

That morning we went to the hospital and the clinic in town to find malnourished children to enroll in the feeding program. I learned a ton about what to look for in children, because often a baby's chubby cheeks and round belly can be deceiving. We spent lunch time at the market getting accustomed with the local foods, and figuring out what would be practical suggestions to provide to the families for a balanced diet. We spent the afternoon doing various educational pieces for the caregivers that will be running the program, so that they can in turn teach the mothers when they bring their children in for weekly meetings.  The day was full and productive, and we rested up that night for the full activities of the next day.

Wednesday we ran the feeding program in the morning. We registered 9 babies in the program, gave an education talk on hygiene and milk preparation, and distributed food for the children for that week. Each week the parents will bring the children for weekly weights, education, and to receive the food. The children in the program ranged from 1 year to 8 years old. All were moderately to severely malnourished and can definitely use the additional support. They are admitted to the program until their goal weight is reached and maintained for a time period.  In the afternoon we geared up for home visits. The parents brought their children from the surrounding villages, and a team of three of us set out across the river and into the plains around 1 pm to visit the village of Simbi where two babies admitted to the program lived.

This trip to Simbi was definitely the most exhausting thing I have done so far in my time here in Zambia. We walked through the water at times up to our chests, also through the sand, and across the plains in the afternoon sunshine. It took us three hours to reach the first village, just to find out the other baby still lived about an hour further. The families were so grateful for out visit they gave us gifts of corn and cassava: crops grown by the villages. I was amazed by their generosity, seeing how little they had but their offering it to us without even knowing us. The walk back was equally challenging, but as we passed each person along the way I was reminded that this is a daily reality for many people and I can certainly do this once. We arrived back at the parish around 8pm very tired and wet from our swimming/ hiking adventure to Simbi and beyond. I have not ever fallen asleep as fast as i did that night!! :)

The next morning marked our trip back to Mongu. We got the Kalabo harbor around 9am after making one more stop by the hospital to make a visit. We got the last seats on the boat back to Mongu for that day, arriving back around lunchtime/nap time for me! It was a whirlwind of an adventure blessed with experiences and friends I will never forget.

Because food is always better when shared...

from our IWMs serving in Chimbote, Peru

by: Kelli Nelson
“Gracias a Dios por estos alimentos... Danos energía para ser luz en este mundo… Amen. Desayunamos?” The big hungry eyes on either side of me nodded.  “Okay, then.”  I reached for a piece of bread in the middle of the table and two little arms of my company for breakfast followed.  I held it in my left hand and grabbed my knife with the other to cut it open, they followed.  “Hermana, how are you doing that?” 11 yr. old Jose asked.  “Like this.” I showed.  His brother Jefferson (9) followed with a smile excited to do something he’s never done before.  I then went in for the butter, spreading it thin on both sides of the bread with two sets of curious eyes watching.  When I finished, I set the bread and knife down to find two pieces of bread being handed my direction ready for butter.  “Hermana, please?”  “Sure, do you want a lot or a little… a lot?  Okay.” All three equipped with breakfast, I picked up my bread, they picked up their bread, held it to my mouth, they did the same, and at the same time we took a bite all three looking at each other.  I smiled at them, and they smiled back.
 A regular morning to Centro Amar for English class with Hermana Nancy turned quickly into an intimate moment of sharing food, life, and stories with two young boys from La Balanza, a marginalized neighborhood in Chimbote known for its violence and drug abuse. Jose and Jefferson are in our prevention program for the children of women who have been or are involved in prostitution.  We visit them 2-3 times a week with other children in the same barrio for academic reinforcement and character education. Sister Nancy invited the boys over for lunch at 1pm that day, but they arrived at 9am and couldn’t remember the last time they had eaten.  We set the table, and while Sister Nancy ran some errands, we ate together.

by: Marcelle Keating
I am very thankful for food.  It is a topic I can get a lot of mileage out of in a conversation.  I enjoy cooking, as do most Peruvians.   Peruvians are very proud of their regional dishes and are more than happy to tell you everything that goes into preparing one.  A conversation may start by someone asking what your favorite Peruvian dish is, and from there you may discuss a recipe, where to buy the food in the market or even how to grow it.  It is a wonderful way to share in the culture.   I have gleaned many a new recipe from my Peruvian friends and coworkers and look forward to sharing them with friends and family back home.

Something I noticed early on in my stay here: food is very communal.  If you buy anything as a snack at a local corner store, personal size is not for personal use.  It is considered proper etiquette to offer it to all in your company.  A small personal size soda bottle, Halloween size bag of chips and even an individual serving size of an ice cream bar, all germs aside, is expected to be passed around.  You may only get a taste of your purchase but that is of no great consequence.  Filling your belly is not the objective, sharing is.

The same goes in the work place.  Since I have been working inside hospice, the staff all takes a break mid-morning together. We wait until after the doctor has made the rounds with the patients, then we retreat into the kitchen for a mini-potluck.  Hot tea and sugar, bread, butter, marmalade and sometimes a fried egg is on the menu.  Everyone brings something.  I usually pick up bread for a sol on my way in.  Others may bring the eggs, milk, butter or lunch meat.  All is shared.  It is the essence of what builds relationships.

by: Emily Ruskamp
I never know if I should laugh, be disgusted, or feel accomplished when my economic lessons find their way into my everyday thought processes.  It happens often, not surprising considering the extent to which our community revolves around the exchange of goods.  Three mornings a week I head off walking to Casa LENTCH, an academic and social support program for children who work in the streets of Chimbote.   I have come to enjoy my 20-minute walk as a time to mentally prepare for the chaos of the classroom and soak up the sights, smells, and sounds of the neighborhood. 

One morning a couple blocks before arriving, I encountered two of our boys, brothers, about 13 and 7, buying food at the corner store.  They each bought a small package of crackers and an Inca Kola.  I waited but walked a bit ahead of them, as they walked slowly, probably wanting to finish their breakfast before arriving.  The older of the two opened his crackers and offered me one.  I immediately thought, I can’t eat his breakfast, especially not knowing when he had last eaten.  Still, I smiled, thanked him, accepted the cracker, and took this small act as an opportunity to enter into conversation.  “We came from San Luis,” he said.  I had visited San Luis, a neighborhood on the south side of Nuevo Chimbote, at least a 45-minute trip.  “There probably won’t be many kids here today,” he continued.  “It’s Valentine’s Day-- they’ll all be downtown.”  I hadn’t thought of that, but of course, with so many people out shopping for gifts, they would want to take advantage of the increased business.  I mulled with that as I thought, ah, but you are still here because your utility curves provide that the benefit of studying and eating at LENTCH outweighs the opportunity cost of the money you could be making downtown.  We approached the open gate.  “How good that you are here, though,” I told him, and he nodded.  We entered and casually parted ways. 

As I walked toward my classroom I took note of which students were present, wondering how they decided upon the best way to spend the day, a classic example employed by economics teachers when teaching opportunity cost.  Should a seven-year-old boy spend his summer day doing cartwheels at stoplights for money or learning how to add and playing soccer?  Applied economics in action, but I’m not sure if I should feel accomplished, be disgusted, or cry.