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

A party with a purpose!

by Elle Vatterott, IWM serving in San Antonio, Texas.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I love a good party. But what I love even more is a party with a purpose. So I don’t think I could have asked for a better birthday present than to celebrate the 25 year-old legacy of Visitation House at their Annual Summer Sojourn fundraiser last week.

The opportunity to help organize the event with such a talented team of people was a true highlight of my year. I am truly grateful to all the committee members, Visitation Staff, sponsors and donors for how they have helped the future of the program.  It was really a beautiful effort and coming together of so many people, and I am fortunate to have had the experience.

Sure, it is a blast to dress up and socialize in a festively decorated ball room but that is by no means the real selling point  that gets people through that door (there are plenty of cheaper ways to fraternize in this town!).

At some point in our lives someone or something moved us. Whether it was a particular family member, friend, homily, book, picture in a magazine, or episode of Dr. Phil; from that moment onward we are changed people. In which we forgot about ourselves and truly become “men and women for others.”

That is what is so great about events like Summer Sojourn. They serve as avenues for us to pay homage, either publicly or personally, to those experiences that have made us the people we are today.

I have volunteered at several charity events in the past, but never at one which has directly benefited my place of work. I had a lot of fun involving the children in the event - the room was splashed with hundreds of colorful decorations made by the women and children, showcasing their unique talents and creativity.  

However, no amount of arts and crafts can give an accurate understanding of the special gifts of the residents. If only attendants could indulge in a sliver of Maria’s famous Tres Leches Cake, or know how much fun it is to draw Texas Monster Trucks with P.J. -  I am a lucky little girl; I feel like I’ve got it all.

Although the event took a great deal of time and energy it has in return, truly helped sustain my momentum in my final months here.  I see the purpose of my work and Visitation House differently now, as it not only helps transition women and children out of homelessness but also fosters hope in the community at large.

We all fit in this small world...

by IWM Nicole Tardio, serving in Mongu, Zambia

My family came to Africa to visit and has spent the past few weeks here with me in a part of the world they had never before known. All six of us traveled around Zambia for a week - they were able to come here to Mongu for a couple days, and I was so happy to share my life here with them! The 8 hour bus ride from Lusaka proved to be our own little safari, as we got to see elephants, herds of zebras, and lots of monkeys in the notional park along the way. The IW Sisters who are here (right now Sr. Laura, Sr. Rosmar, Sr. Cristi, and Sr. Carmalita) greeted us at the bus station with open arms. They were so welcoming and treated my family as if they were their veryown. We stayed at a house in a camp for volunteers overlooking the beautiful plains of Mongu, and the day after arrival as a complete whirlwind, visiting the places and people around Mongu that I have grown to love over the past 9 months.

We first went to MIC to meet some of the moms and babies who are so special to me. We all sang and danced and just enjoyed each other's company. Next we had a quick tour around our little town with Sr. Rosmar, including a picture in front of the “Welcome to Mongu” sign! Then we were off to the hospital for a tour. We visited the different wards including the nursery where we got to give all the little babies new outfits to go home in! It was good for them to see the reality of the hospital here, and I think my mom and sister Emily (both nurses themselves) really liked seeing the place that I share so many stories about. Next was a visit with another group of Sisters - the Comboni Missionary Sisters who have become close friends of mine. We had juice and cake and they all met each other, my family finally faces to people I have described in detail. Afterwards we enjoyed lunch at the local restaurant, the IW Sisters and my family. We enjoyed some typical Zambian food and had a nice cool place to sit. share and relax a bit. Even though I kept telling my family that it is winter here in Zambia, I don’t think they ever believed me - the heat during the day matches the summer months in the States! Next we were off to the orphanage, where I spend an afternoon a week just playing with kids. We had a nail painting session with the girls, while all the boys played soccer. I think all of us, big and small alike had a blast! Before going home for dinner we stopped by the market in Mongu and everyone set out to find their assigned item in order to prepare our truly Zambian meal. Some members of the family did better than others (but I won’t mention who failed to get their item!). With the help of my friends Nancy and Precious we all sat down to an awesome meal. It was truly an incredible gift, and I loved so much to see my best friends here in Zambia mesh so well with my family, as if they had known each other for years.

Now I am back in Mongu, my dad and Emily are back in the States, and my mom and brothers are making their way to Gulu, Uganda. I feel we are all still very close, and I appreciate so much the time and effort they made to come here and get a glimpse of my life right now.

I loved introducing my family to my family here and seeing how beautifully we all fit in this small world. I am thankful for the refreshing time I spent on this adventure with my family, and I am happy and content to back here in Mongu where I have grown to feel so at home.

“So what do you do?”

by Emma Buckhout, IWM serving in Santa Fe, Mexico City, Mexico.

People always ask, “What do you do? What`s your everyday life like?”

When a large chunk of your job description is to be present to and with people, that is one of the hardest questions to answer definitively. My scheduled activities include 9am-2pm Monday through Friday at the guardería (day care), English class on Thursdays, youth group meetings on Saturdays, and children`s choir on Sundays. However, that list seems to fall drastically short. So much of what I do, or more accurately, what I get to be a part of, happens between the lines. There`s always a party at the parish or somewhere else—everybody has a birthday to celebrate. Or there is nightly dinner at the parish after mass for whoever shows up. The moments off the books are what really give meaning, give flesh, to this experience of being a missionary. They give me joy and energy or steal it away. So for this blog I thought I would share some anecdotes or just thought processes from everyday life at the guardería, the parish, our house, or on the street.

Any one of the twenty-four preschool/kindergarten students with whom I work: “MISS! He hit me!”

Me: “Did you hit him as well?”

Student: “Yes…”

Me: “Ok, both of you ask the other for forgiveness and hug.”

*pause*

Student 1: “Me disculpas?”

Student 2: “Me disculpas?”

*hug, giggle, skip off and play*

 --

Between 8 and 9am every morning: “GAAAAAAAAAAAAAS! Tiene GAAAAAAAAS!” If we need to buy a new tank of gas for heating water and powering the stove, Tara or I run out into the street and flag down the screaming man. If not, I usually just grumble.

--

Hanna (6-year-old): “Miss Emma, how are you getting home? Are you walking? You`re not taking a plane?”

Me: “No Hanna, my house is close. I can walk. I don`t actually go back to the United States each night.”

-- 

AHHH ****. I almost just stepped on a rat while running. I wonder if scaring a rat by the sidewalk in Santa Fe is like scaring a woodchuck on the side of the road in Cazenovia….

-- 

Camila (5-year-old) after talking about making paper mache pigs for Father`s Day presents: “Emma, I have two dads.”

Me: “Ok, do they both live with you?”

Camila: “No, first my mom married Apaez and had me and then she married Juan. But Juan is drunk a lot of the time.”

-- 

I don´t know Lupita well, but I met her because the former missionaries knew her and occasionally she sits on the sidewalk on the main avenue. I know she is a drug addict, and while she looks forlorn and unkempt, she always greets us with a pleasant handshake and a smile. One night she had stopped in at the Incarnate Word Sisters´ house just before a planned community prayer and dinner night, and she agreed to stay and join us. Her prayer that night was sincere and beautiful. “God was holding my hand and I let go. Not Him, He never let me go. But I let go. I don´t want to let go again.”

-- 

Maestra Luci: “Miss Fanny can´t come teach here anymore because she lives really really far away.”

Isaac: *gasp* “In the Estados Unidos?! Like Emma??”

-- 

I tried to suggest that Father Salvador open a petting zoo at the parish during Holy Week. I was half serious. By that time the little yard behind the parish was not only serving as a cornfield, but was home to a donkey, a family of rabbits, two geese, two hens, and a rooster. And this is in the middle of one of the largest cities in the world. It all started when someone gave a chicken to Gallo as a present. Our friend Cinthia was known to jump on the donkey´s back at random.

-- 

Dante (5-year-old): “Do you have any kids?”

Me: “Ummm no.” (Thinking “of course not, thank God.”)

Then again, it is a perfectly reasonable question. I am the same age as many of their parents. My friend who is only 5 days older than me has three kids at the guardería.

-- 

Last Saturday, after helping another community group with a trash clean-up project, about seven members of the youth group helped us buy and prepare a delicious chicken and tacos meal at our house.

As Dafne and the others discussed the youth group´s evolution since December: “We´re like a family, no?”

-- 

11:00pm: Knock Knock Knock.

I am in my pajamas and in bed, Tara is sitting on my bed for our nightly prayer time.

We peer out my bedroom window.

Woman in the street below: “Sorry to bother you, I came to leave flowers for the Santísimo” (aka the image in the chapel).

Tara goes downstairs and unbolts the door and accepts the flowers, which we decide to place in the chapel the next day.

--

Slyvia was making her way slowly up the sidewalk, hunched over almost to the waist with a cane in one hand and two grocery bags slug over the opposite shoulder. I power-walked past her, late as always, on my way to the Ibero.

As I struggled to slow down and offer a hand for what were really very light bags: “Do you have any grandchildren?”

Sylvia: “I have a grown son and daughter, but I don´t know where they live and they never come to visit me.”

-- 

Andrea (4-year-old) “Miss, why are you as guera (blonde and white) as me?”

-- 

For those friends from the University of Pennsylvania: I felt like I was out on Locust Walk flyering again this week. Tara organized a huge recruitment effort for the parish youth and theater groups and made flyers to hand out in front of our friend´s shop on the market street. Along with a few enthusiastic youth group/theater friends, she distributed hundreds of flyers over the course of three sunny afternoons. The theater meeting had a lot of new people and I am hoping the youth group meeting this weekend will as well.

-- 

We do not have a tv, but Father Salvador loves to project movies at the parish on Friday nights. I had expressed particular interest in watching Enredadas (Tangled), the new Disney movie, so one Friday night Father insisted that the group of us watch it in English so I could fully enjoy it.

-- 

Another Friday, Tara and I left the parish at 11:15pm tired but in good spirits. On the way home we encountered Lupita sitting on the sidewalk. However, this time she didn´t recognize us and she had a bottle of household cleaner glued to her lips.

“Lupita, are you hungry? Can we get you something to eat?”

She didn´t respond until we gave up and started to walk away. She crossed the street with us, leaning heavily on Tara´s shoulder, and plopped down on the next sidewalk. We left her to run to the tienda and get some juice and crackers. She clearly wasn´t ready to eat just yet—she hadn´t loosened her grip on the bottle—but she said she would keep them for later.

“Que Dios te accompaña (May God accompany you),” she said as we left her hunched on the sidewalk for the night.

Conclusion:

“So what do you do?”

It`s one of the most difficult questions, especially when I ask it myself. I don`t get a grade or job report. How do I know if I`m doing the right thing? I know often I am not. Yet, the beauty of spending two years as a missionary is that it isn`t all about tangible black and white results. It`s most defined by those precious moments in which I get to see humanity in its most raw flesh, closest to God. I am blessed to get to share in the reality, in the joys and the tragedies, of preschoolers, teenagers, peers, and elders. It challenges me but also sustains me. Ultimately, it is why I´m here.

What's going on down there, Peru?

from our IW Missionaries serving in Chimbote, Peru.

by Emily Ruskamp

I have found that being a missionary is not limited to a “site.”  One Wednesday night after English class a couple girls from the parish wanted Kelli and I to go with them to Nuevo Chimbote to a celebration of the town’s anniversary.  It was a school night, so their dad would only going let them go if we accompanied them.  My brother was also visiting at the time, so we decided to go for it.  A group of us piled into a taxi and headed over to the Plaza for the concert, fireworks and carnival games.  When we got there, a group of us were strolling casually around the plaza when I recognized on a park bench a mother and daughter sporting Keiko stocking hats and sharing a bag of popcorn (by the time you read this our fate will have been decided, but at the time of writing it is a fierce battle between two terrible presidential candidates, one of whom is Keiko Fujimori, and this was further evidence of her technique to buy the vote of the poor).  It was Deborah, the mother of several kids in LENTCH, the support program for child workers that I volunteer with, and her 6-year-old daughter Kerit.  Kerit ran over to me and gave me a big hug as I approached them to say hello.  We chatted a bit and I asked them if they were there to enjoy the music, and Deborah said no, just trying to sell some bubble gum.  Business was really slow, though, she said, and they don’t get close to the stage because Kerit once witnessed a fight and is now afraid of concerts.  We talked for a short while more before parting ways.  About a half hour later, I saw them again in the distance, now with one of the older brothers (perhaps 14 or so), and they were pooling their coins together in Deborah’s hands.  The family outing was drawing to an end, and it seemed time to head home and get some sleep for school the next morning.  It was a bit uncomfortable to witness, but it was another reminder of what it means to accompany the poor.  It’s not just something we “do” while we’re at a volunteer site; it’s a lifestyle. It’s the way we live each moment of the day.

by Marcelle Keating

One of the beautiful things about volunteering for two years is that you have many opportunities to meet other interesting people who are traveling and giving of their time. I was recently very fortunate to follow a married couple from the U.S.  The husband, Pat, is a general practice doctor who works a bit in hospice and the wife, Deb, is a clinical nurse specialist in a psychiatric clinic. Not only do they have experience in hospice in the U.S., they have experienced hospice in  a handful of third world countries. It was very heartwarming to see the staff respond to Pat and Deb’s advice and witness their transformation. 

One patient, in particular, captured the essence of their mission. Al (name changed) was dying of a disease, pulmonary fibrosis.   It is a disease that causes a lot of discomfort.  As the lungs lose their elasticity, it becomes painful to breath. Al had definitely been a challenge for the staff in hospice.  He was psychologically dependent on oxygen. Much of what he did seemed to be for show.  He and his family were anxious and constantly demanding attention.

 

Pat put him on morphine. Morphine is available here in hospice but it is reluctantly prescribed.  Many fear addiction or loss of respiratory drive. Pat and Deb were able to educate the hospice doctor and the patient’s family about the benefits of morphine, especially acting directly on the lungs and aiding Al, the patient, in comfort.

Palliative care, care that emphasizes comfort rather than finding a cure, is a corner stone for hospice in the U.S.  but is still a relatively young concept in Chimbote. Families and even the staff here put a lot of effort into sustaining life, even when someone is actively dying from an incurable disease.  Al illustrated this point as well.  With the morphine on board, Al’s respirations returned to normal.  He was able to verbalize he was comfortable and anxiety free.  His requests became infrequent and he began to sleep more. You could tell he was starting to let go. 

The patient was sleeping through some of his meals and the staff wanted to decrease the morphine to make him eat again. Pat’s question went back to the patient, “are you hungry?”  “No”, Al responded. The staff needed to learn to let go as well. Many patients in hospice become like family and this can be difficult. The most important thing for Al was that he was comfortable, pain free and anxiety free. The staff finally understood this. 

I am grateful for Pat and Deb’s presence in hospice. I couldn’t help but think of the Buddhist saying, “When the student is ready, the teacher appears.” Their visit could not have come to hospice in Chimbote, Peru at a better time.

by Kelli Nelson

Greetings from Peru!  What’s going on down here, you ask?  Well, let me give you some of the latest news.  As of this morning, we no longer have three ducks waddling around our backyard.  That’s right, they have offered themselves up for something a little bit greater, a frijolada, which is a common fundraiser here that includes a plate of rice, beans, and duck, and usually sells for around 10 soles (or 3 dollars).  Due to recent and ongoing issues in the zone I work in called La Balanza, our team of volunteers made a move to step up our game in terms of programming.  This being said, funding is pretty high on the list for completing certain tasks in our strategic plan, and when asked what we could possibly do to raise money, I looked to our ducks and to my housemates for support.  Both were more than happy to comply, and I’ve gotten quite the cultural lesson in food preparation (from the backyard to the belly). While we are not an organization that is of the philosophy of giving money directly, we hope to use the funds for bettering our capacity for educational purposes by channeling it through our prevention program that includes workshops on self-esteem, familial violence, health, human rights, etc., as well as groups for academic reinforcement, adult literacy, and more.  La Balanza is now rated on a national level for its violence and drug traffic, and just two weeks ago a young girl, whose family is in our program, was shot and killed two houses down the street from the house that is our classroom.  As many of our clients and their children are concentrated on the same street, this recent event has indeed affected a multitude those in our program giving us no choice but to respond with urgency. And, while this is one of the many cases that has made the news, there continue to be countless incidents such as this that go unheard of in this sector that is left untouched by outsiders and approached recklessly by authorities because of its reputation.  I share this both in gratitude for the sacrifice our ducks and an enjoyable lesson in the process of this fundraiser, but mostly with a deep desire to share a bit about the reality of some of those who live in La Balanza, a people who have been labeled, stigmatized and marginalized by where they live, people who have become my family.

The power of community... not an ordinary mitzvah.

-by Elle Vatterott, IWM serving in San Antonio, Texas

It is amazing how much is accomplished in one school year.   A school year has the power to impact an individual's, as well as a community's, life. Now that less than a week remains until the start of summer vacation, I feel called to reflect on the importance of my faith life, my individual part in creating a nurturing community and the compassion and service I offer to others.

Community played a much greater role in fostering both my personal and spiritual growth than I would have initially imagined.  Through community prayer I found the value of daily reflection in bringing myself into a more unified consciousness. I feel blessed to have such intelligent women as community members, in that they have provided the most exceptional wealth of knowledge and guidance since day one. All of these wonderful things that I experience from community have very organically trickled into the children’s lives as well.

Children need a nest of caring to shelter from the outside. Within their Visitation House community, these children learn values by living them. The infusion of stability, healthy choices and positive energy creates an ideal environment to nurture the intuition and creativity of each child. More directly, I witnessed the impact of the congregational community on the children when Sister Kathleen took on the challenging task of teaching one of the boys here, PJ, who has dyslexia, learn to read. I feel that I have mentioned this particular child in nearly all of my blogs, so one more time won’t hurt!

Just a brief recap: PJ is a third grader who, as a result of his school’s insufficient funding for LD programs, read at a Kindergarten level. At the end of the third grade school year students begin taking The Texas Education Agency Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills Test (TAKS). Four of the five sections of the test were read aloud to him, the exception being the reading portion, which happens to be the only test that third grade students must pass to be promoted to fourth grade. The odds of passing the TAKS were indisputably against him. Nevertheless, everyone pulled together to prepare him for the test.

April 25^th came sooner than I would have liked. I tried my hardest to appear calm for the children, but for those following three days I was an emotional wreck.  Everyday thereafter, before I picked up PJ from daycare, I had to mentally prepare myself to receive the results. I wanted him to pass more than anything, so he could concretely see his reading progress and better realize his potential.

After a month had passed since he took the TAKS exam with no news of results, I broke down and emailed his teacher. She replied later that day, just as I was walking PJ into the house for his reading session with Sister Kathleen. While he went to the bathroom I opened the email (these are the moments when I love my Blackberry!).  As I scrolled down to read that he had passed the entire test, I thought I was going to pass out myself.

When he returned to the reading room and sat down, I asked him if he was keeping anything from Sister Kathleen or me. I should have phrased it differently, because I could tell he thought he was in trouble when the pitch of his voice went up a few octaves. He is a pretty sensitive little boy and tends to get extremely upset in the time it takes to blink your eyes, so I immediately broke the news to him.

He was so overcome with joy and so proud of himself that he has not stopped smiling since that day! I managed to hold it together in front of PJ but tears of gratitude and bliss were flowing down my face on the car ride to pick up the other children. At that moment I believe I experienced something similar to what my Jewish friends love to frequently refer to as a mitzvah.

The way to God is a way of God, and the mitzvah is a way of God - a way where the self-evidence of the Holy is disclosed. We have words to express feelings, but we know how to live in deeds that express God. A mitzvah is where God and man meet, in which we come to an inner certainty of his realness, upon an awareness of his will. Such meeting, such presence, we experience in deeds.

I like to think that this was not an ordinary mitzvah.  What I experienced was more of a mitzvah with a twist… a “twitzvah” so to speak.   There is no doubt that at that moment I had met God and felt his presence.  However my “twitzvah” differs to the fact that it happened not from one man’s deeds alone, but from a compilation of an entire community of women’s good deeds.  

So for now, I am focusing on keeping this positive energy flowing in the Visitation House community... I have a feeling that this is going to be very “twitzvahtic” summer.

Surrounded by Wally-mart

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

When I arrived to Santa Fe, I was shocked to find out that as far as grocery stores in the area, they are all owned by Walmart.  I have boycotted Walmart ever since I wrote the ¨Sweatshop Fashion Show¨ script for our grade 12 Global History course  -- well, boycotted it until I came to live in Mexico, that is.  After I was done digging up dirt on the multi-billion dollar mammoth, our teacher informed us that she never even sets foot in a Walmart parking lot, because it is, in her words, ¨the Devil´s store.¨  The truth is, from the research I´ve done and things I´ve heard, I´ve come to realize we´re not the ones paying for the products  at Walmart – other people are.  For example:

In 2004, workers making products for Wal-Mart stores in China and Bangladesh were being paid as little as $.17/hour!  Wal-Mart is also notorious for denying its workers the right to organize -- not only in their factories overseas, but also in their stores across North America. In April 2005, Wal-Mart a store in Jonquiere, Quebec closed after workers successfully unionized.[i]

But it doesn´t end with this.  Walmart will potentially face a lawsuit in the United States.  In March, six women came forward wanting to sue Walmart on behalf of over one million women who work in the US for gender discrimination.  If it goes through, it would be the largest sexism lawsuit in American history.  But . . . Walmart is also a vampire company, meaning that they move into a town and lower their prices so much that no local businesses can compete with them.  Since Walmart is so big they can survive, but the local businesses often end up having to close.

Since being here, I have also learned how the Walmart owned stores have also negatively impacted the local economy here in Santa Fe, Mexico.  Miriam, the long term missionary who is here for three years just finished a ¨Needs Survey¨ with over 100 people from the community.  Included in this interviewing process, she surveyed people who own puestos (stands) at the local market about two blocks up the avenue from us. One woman said that because Walmart can order in such large quantities and they (small puesto owners) cannot, it’s impossible to compete price-wise, especially in a community that is already economically depressed.   To add salt to the wound, one of the ladies that volunteers and spends a lot of time at the parish bags groceries at the Walmart owned Aurerra  bodega when she has to. . . except, that she doesn´t get paid an actual wage – only what people tip her.

I would really like to say that I have been able to keep up my boycott of Walmart since being here, but the truth is that I have been forced to eat a big piece of humble pie.  We are literally surrounded by the store.  In five minutes I can walk to a mini-Aurerra and in twenty I can walk to the more full-service store – both owned by Walmart.  In the other direction, I can take a fifteen minute bus ride to Sam´s  or Superama  – a little more upper class grocery store – but also owned by Walmart.   Or, I can take about a thirty minute bus ride to Soriana – from what I can tell, the only Mexican owned grocery store – THANKS NAFTA!!! 

And I do go to Soriana when I can.  We also shop more locally when we can, but there are just some products that you cannot buy, even in the other American owned stores that are close by.  The other issue is that – well hey – everything is cheaper there and the truth is, we have a limited food allowance each week.  The ´beauty´ of this system is that the poorest members of society, those whom mammoth corporations hurt the most, are the ones that don´t have the money to make these kind of ´conscious consumer´ decisions.  Who can afford Fair Trade? Only the middle and upper classes, really . . .

How is one supposed to begin to live out the Catholic Social Teaching of supporting just economics, local economies and dignity and rights of the workers, when one simply doesn’t have the resources to do so?  This is the first time I have fully been in this situation, without much of a choice.  While I may not fully be able to choose where I shop here, most of the population here in Santa Fe is choice-less and voiceless in other ways.  As I mentioned in an earlier blog, it doesn’t seem that many people have a choice but to earn money through a second hustle – selling things from a card table out their front door, as there are few job opportunities that pay a living wage.  Most people in Santa Fe don’t have a choice but to live on less than about a dollar a day.  Similarly, there is little choice when it comes to education.  Most of the youth grow up going through poor government school systems and there are not enough high schools in the area.  If they score low on the preparatory entrance exam, which is likely, they again are forced into a poor high school, or like many, do not score high enough to even make it into a high school and are forced to continue the cycle of poverty.

So what´s the answer?  What can I do about the comparatively insignificant conscience quandary I am having?  I seriously do not have an answer.  I wish I did.  I want to support local markets, but when you’re ´poor´ that becomes more difficult to do.   I do what I can, and when there is nothing else I can do -- I curse, under my breath, every time I have to go into Aurerra. I have had to learn to become content with finding other ways to live out the Catholic Social Teachings, solidarity with the poor and simplicity in living.  I have also simplified my diet a lot since moving here and only eat meat when it is served to me, replacing it with lentils which I eat at least once a day, if not twice.  And though it is still a struggle for me, I have also tried to cut junk food out of my diet, when it is not a gift.  I also make a conscious effort to treat the many people I come into contact with, with dignity, especially those in positions considered lowly, such as those who move around the dirty streets of Santa Fe picking up garbage or those who bag groceries at the stores, always addressing them with ¨Usted¨ instead of the familiar ¨Tu.¨   Also, we walk our compost over to the parish about twice a week and flush the toilet with shower, hand and face washing water.  And after spending the Lent season without electricity, I decided to not ask to get my room light, which has been out of service for about four months, fixed in order to save some money for the parish and live in solidarity without electricity.   Most of these lessons I plan to take back to Canada with me, so when I have more choice about where I shop, I can also be doing other things too.

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[i] http://en.maquilasolidarity.org/node/654