A gift that gives

Everything I own at this moment can fit into my car. So this year when my 38th birthday rolled around, I thought, hum, do I want more stuff? I decided instead that I would ask my Dad to sponsor a child for me with the Christian Foundation for Children and Aging. A few years back the CFCA brought packets to my parents' church and they became sponsors for two kids, one in Columbia and one in Venezuela. The great thing about this organization is that they encourage contact. They encourage families to write and send gifts in addition to the monthly financial support. The other fantastic thing is that they encourage visits. The organization also has an 8,000 mile solidarity walk in which the group travels through Central America and into South America.

For most people in the US, getting out to a third world country to visit someone is not in their immediate plans, but it just so happens that I live in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, and Bolivia is one of the countries that CFCA serves.

It took a few weeks, but my father was able to find a 13 year old girl in Santa Cruz who needs some support. Her name is Ana. As soon as the paperwork came through my dad starting contacting the main office to see how I could visit Ana. A few emails later I had a contact number for the local office in Santa Cruz. I called them up and the plans started.

I've lived in Santa Cruz for 9 months and because I work at an American School and teach in English I don't get much chance to speak Spanish. I was nervous! Excited to meet Ana, but nervous about sounding like an idiot. I didn't know what to expect on my visit, I just knew that I was meeting her at the Santa Cruz office and that there would be a translator there for me. I asked if it would be ok if I bought her some school supplies, I am a teacher after all.

I piled into the taxi with a bag of school supplies and headed to the office. When we pulled up there were two people on the sidewalk waving to me and I immediately felt better. I stepped inside and was told that Ana was upstairs with a nun that accompanied her to the office. I will never forget her face as she walked down those stairs. All smiles! I couldn't imagine how nervous she must have been, and yet she looked so calm and happy.

She sat down and we felt like old friends. I had brought a photograph of my family and took that out to show her. Oh, her expression! She explained that she had a dream about my father, and that she'd been praying for him. She called him "padrino" which means god-father. I instantly had a connection with Ana. We both loved my father. She could see from his photo that he is the kind, loving and sincere. One of my favorite qualities about my dad is his dedication to his beliefs. I knew Ana could tell. I knew right then and there that she felt what I have known my whole life. It was a special moment. She ran her finger over the photo and admired his face. 

I went on to explain the four of us in the photo. I couldn't find a recent photo with all four of us and this is what my dad could find on his computer! We look fantastic, huh? Ana loved the photo. 

After a few minutes the translator, Maria Luz, asked me when I wanted to visit Ana's house and I said, that we could look at a time and she was like - how about now? So we loaded up in a truck and headed out of the city.

What proceeds is hard to describe. I'm in the back seat of the truck, in between Ana and Maria Luz and using my broken Spanish to find out more about Ana. Driving through the chaos and air pollution of the city we finally get a bit out of town. The driver (I should be ashamed that I can't remember his name) pointed, and said, "do you see that mountain" and I was like, "yeah" and he said, "that's not a mountain, that is a trash pile. The city sends it's trash out here and it is piled into that mountain." Apparently the land in the trash area isn't supposed to be inhabited, but where do people go when they don't have anywhere to live? They sort of squat on any land that is available, and well the trash land was available. So there are little villages, pueblos, all around the dump. Communities of families that have set up their "houses". 

We pass along on a dirt road. Each time I turn my head my heart breaks looking at the skinny street dogs. Chickens and roosters run around picking at the dirt. The houses we pass are mere shacks. Piles of bricks with metal sheets resting on the top. It is a typical Santa Cruz day. Sunny, windy and warm. The bustling of the city has stopped and it is quiet, peaceful.

We pull up to a dirt yard with three "structures" on it. To the left are wooden slats nailed together. The center is a brick structure, crumbling, two rooms big, with a metal roof. To the right is a wire cage filled with chickens. There are electrical wires leading to the house and I can hear music playing. The floor of each room is dirt. A bit muddy from the recent rains and poor irrigation. The bricks are falling apart and water can leak into the sides of the house as well the ground.

Ana is with me. She is holding my arm. A gesture not overlooked by me. I am a bit freaked out. I've seen poverty. I spent 10 months looking out my school window in Burma. The difference is that I am connected to Ana. She is no longer a random face in an ad. My brain is racing with sadness, but I cannot and will not let that show. I am positive. I am smiling. I am holding onto Ana.

We walk to the side of the house and there in a tiny room are 5 people. Ana's older sister, her three younger siblings and a 5 month old baby. The three young siblings are naked - wet, freshly bathed. Preparing for their visitor. They are absolutely adorable. Shy, but smiling at me. Her older sister greats me at once. She seems happy. The baby starts to fuss and Ana grabs her and now everyone is smiling. 

We continue the tour and walk to the other room. There are three beds, a stove, and a box that looks like it could be the refrigerator. The beds are just pieces of wood with blankets on top. I sit down on one and say a small prayer of thanks that I don't have to sleep there. The stove is a stand with a propane tank and the refrigerator is not functional and just serves as storage. My heart aches. I wrestle with feelings of guilt, shame, and sadness. My Dad pays $30 a month to CFCA.

Ana brings over her school work. In our short conversation she knows that I teach science and love dinosaurs. She is showing me her science notebooks from school. Her little siblings make their way closer to me and before you know it are leaning into my lap. I am rushed with comfort and love. This is what it's about! Even now, writing about it brings tears to my eyes. I felt so welcome, loved, respected, valued. I had forgotten what that felt like. It felt so good. That warm, soft blanket of peace wrapped around you. Where you could close your eyes, take a deep breath and feel content.

The tour concluded with meeting the two roosters that are used for cock fighting. Of course they are in two separate enclosures. One of the two pup running around the yard had a dangling front leg. Broken and useless. The pups were skinny with patches of raw skin showing. I wanted to take a photo for my street dog book, but thought it would be disrespectful. Besides the images are burned into my brain. I don't need a photograph.