Who forgot the truth?

by Tara Hurford, IWM serving in Sata Fe, Mexico City, Mexico

I wrote this poem . . . several weeks ago now, after a chance encounter Emma and I had one night with a lady that is heavily addicted to sniffing solvents: the drug, not of choice but of necessity, here in Santa Fe pueblo, as it is so cheap.  For the purposes of this poem (blog), I will call this lady María.  We know her because she often visits the Sisters down the hill for breakfast or other meals.  We often see her sitting on the sidewalk, sometimes alone, sometimes not.  María is a gentle woman and has a strong sense of God, as well as her call to recover, but still struggles hard with her addiction.  It is unclear to me whether she has a home, or not.

One of the people our long term missionary, Miriam, interviewed in her community survey was the leader of the AA groups here in Santa Fe.  He told her that the chief causes of addiction in Santa Fe were poverty and its vicious cycle, and childhood abuse – of every kind.  According to Dr. Alfredo Nateras, statistics show that 4-5 out of 10 Mexican youth have endured physical abuse in their own homes.[i]  Worldwide statistics show that 1 in 4 people have been sexually abused or assaulted; the statistics are even higher if you are a woman.[ii]  With regard to Santa Fe, I am not aware of any available statistics for abuse.  However, keeping in mind what the AA leader said, a friend of mine, a recovered addict and someone who has worked with addicted youth, estimates that about 40% of the youth in Santa Fe are addicted, whether it be alcohol, solvents, prescription or illegal drugs.[iii] 

This encounter we had with María would not leave my mind and though I do not write much poetry, phrases started to come to me, and so I continued to write a free-verse poem.  I do not know if this poem correlates with María’s story, but if not, surely it is a representative piece. The last line means, “God bless you,” in the familiar Spanish form.

María, who forgot you there?

María, who forgot you there,

Sitting in the Dark, on the urban filth-covered sidewalk,

Inhaling your poisonous elixir,

With your dirty, matted hair covering the Beauty of your eyes,

And the pain of a truth?

María, who forgot your truth --

Repressed, oppressed it back in the Dark time and space of a room?

Was it you, María, to mask the pain of that and many moments?

Or you coerced by another as if to hide themself --

From their own excruciating truth?

María, who forgot the truth,

In the layers of cultural taboo and Dark social propriety,

That makes far too many of us sick off solvents,

Right here in our communal backyard?

María, who forgot to listen?

Who neglects our truth, María,

Our truth that we refuse to acknowledge

Sitting here in the Dark, on the cold urban filth-covered sidewalk?

And still comes the whisper, María, from your cracked and Beautiful lips, “Dios tebendiga”

---

[i] Nateras, Alfredo. Diplomado en Pastoral Urbana.  7 July, 2011-07-17

[ii] Levine Peter. Sexual Healing: Transforming the Sacred Wound. Audio CD.

[iii] Julio.  Discussion about Santa Fe Youth.  15 July 2011.

Every day is another chance to learn.

by Nicole Tardio, IWM serving in Mongu, Zambia.

Today was quite difficult, I must admit. It all started yesterday when I got a call from one of my friends that there was a 7 year old boy in a village about 40 miles outside of Mongu that had gotten a snake bite a while back on his leg. Almost one full year later his leg is so badly infected that part of the bone was now outside the skin and had recently fallen off.

They informed me that they were bringing him to the hospital and asked if I could meet them there to help get him admitted to the ward, to see a doctor, and be treated. He came from the village last night, and I met them at the hospital this afternoon. Not wanting to intrude too much I stayed outside the room when they went in to see the clinical officer; knowing that the x-ray they had just taken had shown severe osteomylitis, I was sure he would be admitted and treated from there, getting to see the doctor first thing in the morning.

The boy's father came out and said that the boy was not being admitted but instead had to come back next Wednesday in order to see a doctor. So the boy, father, and brother proceeded to the pharmacy to get the tylenol that was prescribed. I was baffled by this initially, and then frustrated knowing that prompt treatment is necessary when concerning bone infections. So I marched right up to the nurse in charge of the emergency room (who hadn’t been filled in on the situation), I explained what had happened, and requested nicely to consult with the clinical officer once again to see if the decision could be changed considering the circumstances. After I caused a little bit of a scene (not too much of one though, don't worry!) I soon found out that the dad had refused to have the boy admitted when the clinical officer made the suggestion. The boy could obviously not be  admitted without the parent’s permission, so they gave him a prescription for tylenol and was ready to send him back to the village.

My friend and I sat down with the father and asked what the reasoning was behind refusing admission. After about an hour or so of going back and forth, I was getting quite frustrated and I was ready to give up, knowing that you can’t make someone do something even though you think it's for the best. Then I looked over at the little boy and my heart broke, knowing that there is no way they would manage to come back to the hospital next Wednesday to see a doctor due to lack of transport and the boy hardly being able to walk. Finally the father voiced the real reason why he didn't want the boy admitted: he didn't have the means to feed him if he stayed on the ward. He said it was better if they went back to the village with the rest of the family and they would have food.

I regret not being more understanding and patient with the father. His concerns were very real to him, and I was quick to judge him on not wanting what was best for his child medically, which wasn't the case - he just saw a more immediate concern, like what they were going to be able to eat tonight and tomorrow. With that being said I am thankful for the opportunity today to learn. I am thankful that the boy is admitted on the ward tonight and will be seen in the morning by the doctor to hopefully start his long recovery.

Felices fiestas de San Pedrito 2011!

by Marcelle Keating, Kelli Nelson and Emily Ruskamp, IWMs serving in Chimbote, Peru.

June 30 marked the feast of St. Peter, the celebration of the patron saint of Chimbote.  For two weeks tradition takes over the city with dances, concerts, and fairs with artistry and food from all over Peru.  Each day of the festivities honors a different group of people from women, to children, to healthcare workers, and fishermen with Masses, parades, and the raising of flags.  It all closes with St. Peter’s statue leading a procession of fishing boats out to sea to honor those fishermen that have died and to intercede for a prosperous catch this year. 

It would be easy to walk downtown, browse through all the venders, hear all the music, eat all the foods, see all the people, and think the city was celebrating as perhaps any other city would – its independence, its annual food fair, its anniversary, etc.  But the depth of this celebration goes far beyond that which the eye permits. 

Chimbote, more than anything, is a fishing town.  Its history is steeped in various tribes or settlers exploiting its fertile bay, and its present continues to revolve around the cycles of fish production.  While everyone in Chimbote somehow carries that identity, not everyone is a fisherman.  A simple survey of people in the community would reveal that a fisherman’s characteristics are very distinct -- simple, rugged, hard-working, formally uneducated, and perhaps a little crude – the “real” Chimbote.  What better patron, then, than Peter: a simple, rugged, hard-working, formally uneducated, perhaps a little crude, man who Jesus chose to be the rock of his church?  Even for non-devout Christians, Peter represents the vocation of the common person.  If Jesus personally chose Peter to be an agent of hope for the world, why can’t he choose me?  If Jesus could walk right up to the shore and pull his team members from their nets in the sea, why not suppose he would just as readily stand on the malecón seafront in downtown Chimbote and summon the fisherman from their boats, or the storekeeper from her cash register, or the waiter from his table, or the mechanic from his car?  Jesus’ call is not reserved from the wealthy; Jesus’ call reaches out to the simplest, most humble of people.

There are numerous metaphors that we could reflect upon in relation to Peter, not the least of which being our role as fishers of men and women.  I do not suppose, though, that these metaphors are at the forefront (or even the back) of everyone’s minds during the festival of San Pedrito.  What I do see is that a whole city can come together and celebrate its existence – Chimbote is not forgotten, and nor are its people.  Though it may be a simple town of humble origins, Chimbote is alive, it is hopeful, and it has a future.  For Catholics, Peter is the one who built our church on the rock of his faith.  For Chimbotanos, Catholics and non-Catholics alike, Peter is a symbol of the strength at the heart of this community – its industries, its culture, and, more than anything, its people.  And that, for us, is a great reason to celebrate!

Our community’s encounters with the festivities included:

-Celebrating a mass with co-workers from hospice

-Enjoying Peru’s vast collection of art at the fair

-Kelli singing The Cardigan’s “Lovefool” in a rock concert and winning

-Sharing the traditions of Chimbote with a visitor who was seeing everything with a new pair of eyes

-Sampling Peru’s yummy foods

-Seeing friends and others we know take advantage of the business opportunities whether it be selling candies or keeping their store open all night long

-Listening to hours of live music

-Seeing a llama cross the street as the light turns green at 2 in the morning

-Making a train of five people to get through the crowds in the main plaza

-Waking up super early and running around looking for the right boat to board

-Chatting with musicians performing on one of the ships about how little sleep they got the night before in light of the festivities

-Taking pictures of the pelicans gliding above the water and the sea lions swimming below

-Feeling our stomachs getting tossed around at sea

-Watching St. Peter’s 2 ft. statue get passed from boat to boat in the middle of the ocean

-Seeing families from work sites enjoying the festivities together