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

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.