Juxtoposition

Hola!

Today was an interesting day. A true juxtaposition (the best word for this country! thx Ashby).
Instead of going to INABIF where I usually am, I went to Mother Teresa´s. Mother Teresa is a home for "the destitute and dying" men and children. The residents are disabled either mentally, physically or both. We asked why there were no women, but never got a clear answer.

Today was THE DAY of the year for them. One day every year they get to go on a field-trip. Remember field trips when you where in school, the sack lunches, the big buses, the long drive, the songs on the bus... it was all there... but this was no fun day at school.

Mother Teresa is in La Victoria, Peru. (I originally was going to tell you to google it, but I tried... no good info or pics. I guess they really have been forgotten by the world.) We got there at 8:30 and the smog was heavy... and you could feel the violence hanging in the air. Unlike the openness and airyness of Villa El Salvador (Villa). La Victoria is much more a city slum. There are high rise buildings pukeing peoples´ laundry. Everything you see is as if through dirty sunglasses. But you can´t take them off.

There is a huge outdoor produce market laid out on what is supposed to be sidewalk next to the street. There is no bustle. There is lurking and shuffling and leaving. No one seems to be coming or going, just moving, leaving. We rode through in our old van, 9 women, today more white than we were born. I realized that I was ultimately defenseless save the adrenaline stiffened steel wool that covered the back of my neck and my arms. Juan Carlos, our friendly driver who always seems so smooth and ready to chat and joke seemed tense, doing what he could to not let the van stop moving on the crowded street. There where so many people, but my memories are silent. Just faces. Dirty faces with huge dark eyes. When we pulled up to Mother Teresa´s we were quickly rushed in behind an ominous gate. We stepped over and around those the gate was built to keep out. Once inside the scene was very different. The hairs on my neck softed.

It was once a convent, and the stubborn happiness, and strappy hope remain. The building is nun clean and the air is crisp with purpose. The nuns are like white and blue angels. Cliche, but it´s the only good word. They come from all over the world to run this home that houses those who can not help themselves. By a random draw these people were born without the faculties on which the rest of rely to survive, and so society left them to die.

And here we were, an awkward group of women, stunned still and wide eyed. Welt marks stood out on our cheeks where we were smacked by ignorance. And they started pointing... Him, There, Pie (foot), Arriba (up). Esto (that), There.... they started handing us old men, crippled, barely able to walk, and pointing at the stairs to the bus. "No see, explain only" Juan was in my arms, shuffling toward the line of grey sweat suits climbing slowly onto the bus. The man ahead of me and Juan arrived at the the stairway in his wheelchair, "Carlos" I read on the back. before I could wonder how this was going to work, down came a man, up went Carlos´bum, over the shoulder, up into the bus. My turn. Un pie, la izquierda pie, Senor, Up! One step by one step, hand over hand he climbed and I lifted and finally I landed him in a seat... Then... "Pichi Senorita"... I learned that one from my keiki...

More to come... gotta go!