Two Cities in Paraguay Part Four

I returned to Brazil this past December and lived in a complex called “The house of Mother Teresa” which is a home for elderly and disable men and woman. The house is unique because both brothers and sisters in the order live together on the grounds and in most capacities work alongside each other. They all participate in cooking, cleaning the common spaces, helping feed the residents, managing supplies, and washing clothes in the laundry. The complex has a large U shaped main building for the 25 men and four small “Casas” or houses for the brothers, sisters, guests, the female residents, and even their own information technology specialist and his wife. There is also an administrative hub that operates from “Mother Teresa” that works in tandem with the office of Padre Gilson (Co- founder). Run solely by sisters, they exercise great patience in handling many things relating to government documents, Brazilian bureaucracy, translating, wayward missionaries, and, coordinating many events, all with an undefined work schedule.

I found myself returning to Brazil from Paraguay and really enjoying the company of two Paraguayans, Roque and Marissa, both due for their novice phase this year. They were leaving in February just before I was set to fly to the Amazon. Roque and Marissa helped me greatly with learning Portuguese because like me at one time it was a new language to them. Marissa is tan featured with jet black hair, round cheeks, and sharp angled eyebrows. She smiled frequently and is able softens the most curmudgeonly residents with that alone. Roque is a beautiful liar which was his chief source of entertainment. He has light honey color skin, a permeate grin, and a limited capacity to grow facial hair. When I decided not to shave for a week he explained that the order prohibits guests from growing beards. He repeated the story for a number of days until when I did find myself shaving I was glad he had left on a mission. He brought me into a couple of his stories, like if someone left the house early in the morning; then they died in the night. If someone asked, “Where is brother or sister so in so?” He would reply,” They died and we carried them out, very said.” Then he would look at me for corroboration and I would nod somberly. The other story was that I was African, which he used on a couple brothers on route to their final locations. I helped him with the rues by confirming that I was “South” African. He and Marissa share a common easy of service and were incredibly thoughtful to the men like quickly helping someone eat, or spending extra time talking. The big heart of the Paraguayan is truly a part of them and when they left I missed them, and those I meet in Paraguay.

Marissa and I laughed about the buses in Paraguay especially when someone would complain about the metro system in Sao Paulo. The buses in Asuncion Paraguay are the primary transportation and I traveled by bus to the sister’s house across town. It is wise to travel the buses with a local, because roads are not well marked and you need to remember what your stops look like or you will get lost.  The buses are unique for a whole list of reasons, number one being ascetics. There are no municipal buses and the lines are run by private companies and in my speculation the routes were arranged “fairly” by those companies. These 20 year old plus Mercedes passenger carriers all share a theme with the Muppets’ wildly designed band bus “Electric Mayhem.” Multi colored outside and extravagantly themed inside with the Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ, and fringe. They have no air conditioning, several windows that stick up or down, questionable exhaust systems, and always extra room for one more person. The bus drivers rip through traffic cutting off cars, motorcycles, other buses, and skimming pasted pedestrians. The conductor squeezes through the people on the bus or runs from the front door to the back at stops with a wade of cash in his hand. The buses are business on wheels and never turn down a fair because there is no more room. On many occasions, I was pressed against three people standing and one sitting, not fully exhaling on account I would lose that space, when the bus would stop and board a heavy set Chipa vendora (female vendor) with a full basket on her head. They would call “Chipa” (which is a greasy bagel shaped bread made with yucca flower and cheese) from the front to the back of the bus, muscling though the crowded aisle.

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I traveled on a warm November morning with Rony, a son living in the brothers’ house, to help the sisters across town with their lunch mission. The sisters in Asuncion provide lunch at their house five days a week the same as the sisters in Cidad Del Este six hours across Paraguay. A remarkable example of providence keeps this mission going day after day where resources are limited, and the sisters exercise great economy.

We get off at the stop and walk the two blocks to the gated white house of the sisters. We are met at the door by Sister Lua or Moon, who is very tall with white skin and deep set eyes. She welcomes us with a bright smile as she unlocks the gate. It is a two story house with a large courtyard in back that is a third covered, which opens to a large green grass back yard. In the covered area are tables set into one long surface, and in the open air more tables are set for over flow. In the kitchen the sisters and Formados are working on two naval galley sized pots of vegetable beef soup and a 5 gallon cooler of juice drink.

At 10:45 AM the gate is unlocked and mothers with children in tow begin to walk into the back yard. The children walk lightly finding their friends to sit with and gathering younger siblings, it seemed like they were coming down from class to the lunchroom at a school. I help carry the heavy pots in the kitchen to the outside kitchenette which is our serving area for the arriving families. I help sister Lua in the serving line and the children wait in patience for the bowls to be filled and Rony collects high fives while setting juice at each of the occupied seats. The mothers help us speed up the distribution and even set a remote spot for an older man in a giant sun hat that wants to sit alone.

In an hour we served forty people, ten were adults, and the rest children. We finished lunch after many of the children were served seconds and walked out well feed. The sisters and I began to clean up and, when they saw us, the mothers began to pick up and help us finish. I little girl who was shy the whole lunch walked to me carrying plastic chair, she could barely hold it up, and I took it from her to stack with the others. I said “Gracias” and then she remembered she was shy and turned to find her mother. The clean faces and clothes of the children impressed upon me a different culture of the poor here, they are proud do whatever they can to provide for their families. On a number of occasions I saw mothers discipline their children and it took only a cross look or quick word to correct the behavior.

***

I jump to the other mission with the sisters latter in my trip. It was the first time I would see the people that live in the city trash dump. They were the same families that visited the sisters’ house for lunch and it is one of the reasons the order is blessed to have a location so close.

We packed cookies in little sacks, buttered bread, and jugs of juice for the weekly trip out to the community. We walked a mile before entering the town on the edge of the dump. There is a very small market, a bar, and some houses. The wide dirt road we walk on winds up a hill and we stop at the foot path and small patch of grass. In front of me is a vast sand field that stretches out to the Rio Paraguay. From the open land we see lines of children walking up to meet us. The sisters call them forward with exaggerated waves and calling out the names of the boys and girls. About thirty gather to eat bread in the afternoon. I sit down take pictures and observe the activity. It was not long before the boys become curious and started to ask me questions, but it is hard understand them in the fast mix of Spanish splashed with Guarani. I ask them about school and their families and we start to engage in conversations. I spoke to a boy named Michael that pointed out his brothers, and when they were too shy he would answer for them. They were all on their summer break and it was a fast topic because school had just ended.

We walked on to the other location in the trip and the houses became shacks that were pieced together with a mixture of available wood and scrape. We crossed part of the dump that was next water way that winds through the heart of the dump and empties into the Rio Paraguay. The children played and swam in the water that was also a sunken road. Motorcyclists would raise their legs up and drive into the knee high water and up a hill on the other side. The sisters wanted to cross the river and I asked were we were stopping. “Just across the water and up the hill”, said one the sisters. I looked at the water as a diaper flowed by and a fat hog wallowed in the shallow river. I said I would wait on the beach and they could cross the river. It was the first American decision I made on my trip, and at first I feel strange. The sisters call to the children in the river and they stood up and walked over to us. It was not a big thing. We remained for thirty minutes in the hot South American sun and gave away all of the juice to the kids and the mothers, some that would bring large bottles to fill. The juice is made from clean water which is still a commodity in the areas around the dump and even the churches collect tap water from the city to assist the families here.

We walked back to the sister house with light jugs and empty hands, but also with joy in our hearts from the smiling faces of the children on a summer’s day in Paraguay.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two Cities in Paraguay: Part 3

Asunción is the capital city of Paraguay and home to more than 1.7 million people. The city is dense with commercial and residential buildings side by side and for me it was disorientating to navigate outside of the neighborhood I lived. I was lucky to have a guide for my trips beyond a jog or an afternoon walk. I spent about a month in the city and even on a map it is hard for me to find one a place of reference. I am very grateful for the aid I received traveling to different parts of the city. You are warned by taxis drivers and locals to be careful in the tourist areas and at certain times during the night and early morning. I will say my night life was limited to group activates but that didn’t always mean I wasn’t out late on occasion. These brothers and sister “try” to keep normal hours, but that’s not always possible, between youth events and missions in the streets.

My first week in Asuncion was in late October during the order’s twelve year celebration. I was able that week to see many things in a tourist sort of way. I left for the boarder of Brazil and returned four weeks later to experience life on a day to day basis. It is important give you an overview before describing my return.

 Asuncion is a swirling blend of locations and districts that buzz amidst constant sound and movement.  One such place is the market district that wraps around many city blocks encompassing store fronts, wall-less shops packed in warehouses, and tarps covered stands tucked between building and road sides. The maze like district is covered from both the hot sun and the passing torrents of rain. The market is lively and exotic for foreigners as vendors sell just about everything. They have no restriction on what they can offer in their varying sized spaces, from car parts and electronics, to meats and fruits, it is all in the open and ready to be sold.

The Government square, “Heroes’ Memorial”, the center statue park, and the Cathedral all reside close to each other in the down town tourist district. I walked with two Americans friends and my spiritual mother Sister Magdalena to the edge of the statue park. The stands sell hand crafted wood working, intricate sewn items, and even piercing and tattoos. I walked away from shopping and watched the men at the many concrete tables playing checkers. I could see the seriousness of their games as I walked closer, each man held a wad of cash in his hand or tucked it under their side of the board. The players chain smoke and exchange sours looks as roving spectators drift around the tables.  Under a grand looking statue people sit and talk while resting in the heat of the day. The native women sell their own jewelry and Rosaries fashioned from different types of threads, beads, and local seeds. They sit segregated from everyone else next to the goods arranged on blankets. The native people live in the poorest parts of the city, some live in shanties along the stale drainage ditches, and others in housing alongside the city trash dump.

The United States is embraced in Paraguay, and so is American themed fashion, capitalism, and coke a cola. I helped interpret many shirts with knock off logos and non-sense phases; some were comically bad in translation. The capitalist system is well instilled in the cities culture, and it’s a hustle to survive. Yet there is a Spanish and Guarani phase that defines the easy mind set of the people, “Tranquillo Pau”. As a question it means, “Are you Calm?”, or as a statement, “It’s all quiet and good.” There is a strong work ethic in the people, and I have seen it working alongside the laborers of Paraguay, but they don’t worry about things, just relax in between and pace themselves. They do love Coke a Cola in Paraguay -it’s made with real sugar, along with American vehicles like the Toyota Tundra, I feel the giant Tundra is an American vehicle especially next to the French Peugeot truck. There are American restaurants like TGI Fridays’, malls that have American or American like stores, and the hotels and bars use English names. All priced for the wealthy and the tourists in areas far away from the average Paraguayan. 

I lived in an area that was typical of the many neighborhoods threaded about the city. These areas are packed between the fast moving thoroughfares where cars and buses weave for supremacy. In my neighborhood the speed bumps and uneven stone streets and prevent speeding. The family living across the street shared their living space with a warehouse for reupholstering furniture. When it rained the three children would go on the roof and clear the water off the low spots and to the gutters. Many of the houses up and down the street had open windows to sell small household items, cigarettes, food, beer, and soft drinks. There is a barber, an internet house, little bars, a salon, a couple restaurants, and a gym. The outer streets are lined with repair shops, butcher shops, a supermarket, and many other services; there is no shortage of little businesses.

The brothers’ house was nearly abandoned before they began renovation and the neighbors welcomed them warmly. The house is three stories with a roof used for hanging laundry. It has an open air courtyard of brown aggregate concrete, with a grand mango tree living off to the side, and a grotto to the Lady of Caacupa; the Mother of Jesus Holy Mother of Paraguary. The kitchen, dining room, and chapel are on the ground level, the brother quarters are on the second floor, and the sons’ quarters are on the third. I lived on the third floor with the sons. The sons all were in their late teens and twenties, living with the brothers after struggling with drugs or alcohol, estranged from their parents and family, and without good options in life they turned to the Fraternity for help. They all attended a Regate-me (recue me) which is a religious retreat focused on younger adults both men or women that are struggling with drinking or drugs. I my time in Asuncion, five sons lived with the brothers. They alternate tasks, like cooking or cleaning, but all had plenty of time to recover, reflect, and find a focus. Martin was one of the men, he was around twenty, and after six months started working, staying with his parents on weekends, and speaks to groups about his drug additions. Another son was named Ronny, he is originally from Brazil, and after time spent with the brothers began working for a painter and lay member of the Fraternity.  

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First Street Mission in Asuncion, Paraguay

We packed the cars on a hot night in late November with bread and juice for the Friday night mission into the streets of Asuncion. The donation materials for the street mission in Paraguay consist of bread, butter, and powdered juice. This is a poor country and the Legos (lay Members) stretch what they have to keep the weekly mission going for most of the year. There are many different missions with the youth, children and families, and the regular needs of the brothers’ and sister’ houses. The legos all give time, money, supplies, their homes for retreats and events, and their talents in the capacity they can sustain.

Brother Seraphim was in charge of the mission that night and we fit fifteen people in three small cars and headed to the other side of the city. We drove through at a grand complex for South American soccer that had a large office building for administration, an elegantly lighted hotel, practice fields, and sporting stadium.  At first I expected us to drive on by into a nearly neighborhood, but we drove in front of the hotel and jumped the curbs on the other side of the road. All three cars parked inside the ring of light provided by the hotel and when I got out a string of long shadows approached us. Where the light begins to fad is a deep drainage ditch mostly full of swampy water, full from the persistent rains and run off from the streets and fields. The first to arrive at the cars were the children, and they quickly organized themselves with little help from the Formados. In their native language of Guarani they prayed and lined up for bread and juice. I came around one of the cars with my camera and a little apprehension because this was my first mission in Asuncion and I remember being overwhelmed by the crowd in the border of Cidad De Este earlier in my travels.

The children smiled and wanted to have their pictures taken, and then asked to see the pictures in the viewer. This went on as the line for food and juice moved steady. The calm of the people was striking and I remembered the madness in Cidad De Este in late October. The adults were behind the children holding the youngest children, who now chewed on little French breads and wriggled around to see the action that was going on around them.

When the line dissipated so did the space between us and new groups formed with the brothers now holding the babies. The children played alongside the road in a patch of mowed grass, and I was asked to take more pictures by the natives.

I was walking beside the largest group and a tall dark featured man spoke to me in English.

“Hello.”

I paused and said softly. “Hello.” I didn’t recognize this man and he didn’t come with our group.  “You speak English?”

“Yes, I speak English. Would you like me to help you talk to the people here?”

“I would, thank you. My name is Sean, what’s your name?”

“You can call me Rob, Sean.” He drew a breath,” You are an American and this man wants you to know about him.” He pointed to a dark skinned native man who stood very straight and was wearing a clean white shirt. “He speaks Spanish and I can translate between you.”          

I was still confused because I didn’t know this man, and wasn’t sure how he knew I was American, but he spoke softly with direct intension.

That is how I met the indigenous man Maximo who stood alongside his girlfriend Antonia, and they told me of the situation in this camp along the water. There are 125 people living in the long line of wood and tarp shacks that run into the darkness. Maximo came here a year ago without an option from the agency that assists natives call “the Institute of Native Affairs”. Much like the Native Americans the US, the Guarani peoples were displaced from their homes and enslaved for centuries. In this century areas in the undeveloped lands to the north became “reservation” like villages. The issue is compounded with little employment and a preference for the more European Paraguayans. One positive movement is the Paraguay’s renewed appreciate of its past heritage. This includes the language and the culture of the Guarani peoples, which has been embraced with great enthusiasm. The country has celebrated its improvements during their bicentennial, but social and economic changes remains slow.         

Still Maximo lives here among the many children and want for assistance. Like his people before him, he was living in another city to the north until he was unseated from his housing. His assistance ended and after losing his home he moved to Asuncion for work, but work is hard to find for many native people and he remains unemployed. He and the other adults claimed to have no problem with drugs or alcohol and I could see the genuine care for the children by their clean clothes and faces.       

I was amazed at the pride in Maximo’s weathered face and his clean blue shirt, for he had not given up, but knew he needed a voice, for his was not being heard. He asked me to speak for him to the people I knew in the United States, and he said that with a real faith.  Even still he is there without good shelter, power, and water beyond the faucet outside the hotel.        

 Sports Complex

 Shadows

 Native Children

 Clean Clothes and Faces

 Martin Helping with the Street Mission

 Maximo and Antonia

 Brother seraphim

 

The camp in the distance