My days this week have been more of the usual... loving on precious children and young adults, studying and reading lots of Spanish, spending time with some new friends I have made here, and enjoying the beautiful company of my Tica Family. I have been extremely lazy, only working out once, and I went to see Will Smith's new movie on Wednesday night... clearly I didn't like it too much seeing as I feel asleep on the shoulder of my friend Manny.
Thursday, without a doubt, was the highlight of my week. That morning, instead of having my Spanish class, I went with Sergio to do a "caminata" in "Los Cuadros." Basically, the "caminata" is a walk that Sergio does every Thursday and Friday morning throughout the slum. Some days he just walks to the homes of the children that work with Boy With a Ball, whereas others, he tries to introduce himself to new people within the area, hoping to shine a little light on their lives. Because we were with him yesterday, and the area is not the most secure of Costa Rica, yesterday, we just went to the homes of the children we know, but it was absolutely unbelievable; my favorite thing I have yet to do.
The first home we went to was the house of two little girls named Carol and Catherine. Just from working with them in class, I could see in their souls that they were struggling with something at home, but seeing their situation first hand was amazing. Sergio knocked on the tin door, and I swear the "house" shook. Carol opened the door and though we weren't invited in - her parents weren't home - I could see her house nearly in it's entirety. The entire structure consisted of two small rooms with floors made of cement or dirt - they were so covered that I couldn't tell - furniture that looked as if it was infected with something fatal, and a smell of marijuana, sweat, feces, and rot seeping from the walls, no electricity, no bathroom. Carol seemed embarrassed that we weren't there; I am not sure if it was because she was ashamed of her home, or the fact that this was the first time we have ever seen her without an inch of black eyeliner framing her eyes.
When we left her house, we proceeded to a little boy named Brian's house. He wasn't home - he was at school - but when his mother opened the door, my heart sank. She opened the door wearing underwear and a tank top; she looked worn, exhausted, defeated. Standing beside her were two dirty, smiling little boys, and glaring at us from behind her was her shirtless husband - with one look he made it clear that we weren't welcome there.Though brief, Brian's mother was kind; I can't imagine the wrath of his father. Walking away all I could think about was how I have wondered for weeks now what the cause of Brian's speech impediment and perhaps mental delays could be; when I met his family the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together.
We went to a few other houses, loved on a few other kids, and met a few other parents, and it was more of the same. A few parents who were extremely kind and affectionate, yet had nothing to offer their children, and a few that told us instead that "they had their own stuff to worry about" and their 12 year old children were "old enough to make their own decisions."
The last house we went to was the home of an older woman's and her children. We introduced ourselves to her, talked to the children some, and then she stopped us and asked
, " are any of you guys counselors, or does your organization offer counseling for children?" I wanted to jump out of my skin and tell her my counseling history, but instead I practiced my self control and let her story unfold on its own. And it did. She began to tell us about her daughter, the mother of the four children that lived with her, who had been a prostitute since she was only a teen. She was out one night in Los Cuadros, when one of her tricks killed her, leaving her four children as orphans because their father had left years ago. When she told the story, I was in shock, honestly I could hardly believe the words spilling from her mouth. But then in looked into her eyes and saw a sadness and a desperation unlike anything I'd ever seen. And when she asked if we could please help her daughters child, who is currently suffering incomprehensibly, my heart broke. I wanted to scoop up this woman, and her children, and her grandchildren, and save them from this horrible nightmare that they called their life, but then I had to take a deep breath and accept the fact that this was one story that I couldn't write.... It was already written. All i could do was drown them with love, and love, and more love.
It's amazing how different the story is when you actually get the chance to meet the characters. I want to write every one of these stories; I believe this world could be a much better place if we could learn from one another's stories. I'm accumulating some pretty inspiring ones in Costa Rica.
Xoxox,
Caroline
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