The bell rings at 7:00 AM Wednesday Morning
The sheet hung as a door breathes back and forth from the commotion
in next room. That of five young men
dressing and converting a communal bed back into an open floor. They are gone
before I situated myself, like ghosts they disappear to unknown directions. I
walk toward the dining hall expecting to see someone, but I can’t see anyone
through the open windows. I wander past the chapel and find a couple of the
sisters. The small chapel had no chairs or pews and the sisters are sitting or
kneeling on the red shag carpet. There was an alter-rail and behind that a
simply adorned alter. The walls were dark brown paneling, and a window was open
near the front for light and air. I sit down on the carpet in meditation style and
reflect on nothing. I am thankful to be in Brazil, but I just couldn’t focus on
anything specific. I am relieved when the room fills with everyone from the
night before. I was uncomfortable to focus on the emptiness in my head. “Nothing,” I think, well for once I had a
clear mind almost devoid of thoughts. I question, am I am a wandering missionary
or a Zen sage.
***
We sit for café da manha (breakfast) and all the men that
are Formados, those not in the full length brown habits, are in white tee
shirts. Much like a uniform they are very much the same. I look down the table
and see inner mixed among the brothers, sisters, and formandos are elderly men.
I point at them and try to ask who they are.
They nod, “filhos”.
“Ok,” I say. Then out loud I pronounce, “fil-hos”.
Brother Gabriel is helping serve café and walks over to say,
“Those are the sons.”
Everyone is a son or daughter to the Fraternity of the Poor
of Jesus Christ. Everyone is helped when they need it, or cared for whether
that “son” or “daughter” is able to understand or not.
The house of Mother Theresa is a home for the elderly who
suffer from Alzheimer’s, trouble communication, or other sever impairments.
They were found living without assistance on the streets by the brothers and
sisters, place throughout Brazil, who mission to them. In this place they are
bathed, fed, talked to, entertained, and cared for like family members.
Brother Gabriel handed me an orange, “You will help shower
the mans.”
“Ok, Sure,” I smiled at him faintly and looked around the
room. They seem clean to me I thought as I dug my thumb nail into the orange
skin. I worked the skin loose from the meat of the orange effortlessly with a
little self-satisfaction. I looked up and the whole room was staring at me in
disgust. All those smiling faces, now sat silent with open mouths as if I was
gutting a bunny rabbit at the table. Brother Bento, an older slender faced man
with a long pointed gray beard, quickly removed himself from my presence and
walked to the side of the room.
My response was a delicate, “What?”
Brother Gabriel came to my aid with a knife in this hand.
“Faca,” he shook the blade at me.
“I’m ok.” I show the group the orange with no peel and
ripped it in two.
They joined into a consensus about my behavior and then
addressed Br. Gabriel.
He looked at me with concern, “you don’t use a faca?”
“No.”
“Why no use a knife?”
“I never have.”
He explained to the table in Portuguese. They looked at me,
shook they heads, and laughed amongst themselves. Some even got oranges to
demonstrate how to peel them with oversized carving knifes. Again I was sitting
in silence, now with the brothers and sisters spiraling peelings onto the table
in front of them. A cup remained next to me until the end of breakfast. Brother
Bento didn’t return to finish his coffee.
***
It is Friday morning and I wake up for chapel only to be
ushered to the sleeping quarters of the sons. I hear the light commotion of many
staggering steps and a running shower. I am stopped short of the doorway.
Brother Bento hands me rubber gloves we walked into the room with around 8 beds
setup. The formandos help the men still sleeping to their feet. At times it
looks like a violet act as a couple older men wrestle again these teenagers,
springing into a fetal position with a good swing at a hand or face. The boys
laugh and reaffirm the man’s name, and take no offence only to again help them
up. I was worried what might happen when they did get to their feet. But it
seemed grace returned to them as they stood up smiling and peaceful.
Brother Gabriel was smiling when he walked in with a
waterproof camera. He looked at me and said, ”You ready.”
Roque who was drying one son called for me to help. The man
couldn’t lift his arm very high on his own, so gently Roque lifted each arm. I dried
him and then was shown how the diaper was to be placed. The man stood bracing
himself against me as I nodded to Roque that I understood. It felt as if this
was right of initiation, could this American handle this work or would he bolt?
I looked up from a kneeling crouch and everyone was watching me, even the son’s
point and laugh. My salvation Br. Gabriel gestured me to go on.
I have never changed a diaper, not even for a child. I have
had a prideful parent wave me over saying “look here what my child has done –
amazing you know.” Still I don’t think that counts. Now I was helping diaper, shower,
dry, and cloth those who truly needed that care. I was humbling, yet at the
same time I had little time to think. This is an everyday activity for millions
around the world. After the showers everyone was dressed and we walked the sons
to the dining room. I smiled at the group of near boys, all who left their
families, wanting for something beyond the material, wanting to tend lovingly to
the poor.
We turned the corner to the dining room and a son froze looking
at me in the eyes. He was a large man about 3 inches taller than me. I helped him
wash the side of this body, that due to a withered arm, he couldn’t reach. I
wanted to step back, but he broke into song and locked to my eyes. The Formados
smiled and we listened until he finished. I put my hand on his shoulder and we
walked into breakfast. The rest of my time in Zona Su he grinned at me when I
walked by and I have a picture of him singing to remember.
Dinning Hall Zona Su
They like Knifes in Zona Su
My musical Friend
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