The city of Cidad de Este sits on the Paraguayan side of the
river that borders the southern Brazilin state of Parana. Across the
“friendship bridge” into Brazil is the resort city of Foz do Inquacu, which is
an international destination for their amazing waterfalls and recreational
activities. I happen to arrive in Cidad de Este in time for their Monday night
street mission. Every community in the Fraternity has a night that they venture
into the streets and provide basic food to the poor. I knew where we would be
going for at least one leg of the mission. When we arrived that morning Sister
Magdalena pointed out the tarp villages as we walked from the bus station to
the sisters’ house.
The week prior the order celebrated its twelfth anniversary and
that modified their missions for the week. I had been traveling around with three
Americans from Kansas that I knew from the order. Kristin was in South America
to teaching lace making for priests’ vestments, Bridget was a visiting nurse on
vacation to help with her medical experience, and Sister Magdalena, my
spiritual mother, is in charge of the house in Kansas City. For a week we
traveled in Asuncion, the capitol city of Paraguay, to the exotic shopping
quarters, to the sites of the city, and to the events of Fraternity’s festival.
It was great to speak English, share experiences, and laugh at things that
amuse Midwesterners, but in my Provencal American way, I felt the need to get
back to work.
I traveled overnight
on a bus with Kristin and Sister, and we separated shortly after seeing the
nature wonders of the fall of Inqusu. I was alone in new city with people I
didn’t know. It was a good start.
I looked forward to the streets, and again was the only
America.
***
Brother Emanuel stopped the car in front of the large house
of the sisters. The wide open brick courtyard was visible through the high rot
iron fence and two gates stood in between brick pillars, one for a car and one
for people. The order had been renting it for only a short time and
construction materials were stacked in the yard a future project. The main
entrance to the house was plain with no overhang, and I noticed a second crude
entrance with a plywood door recessed across the courtyard. This location of the house offered a central
point walking distance from the areas where many of the indigenous native
people lived. I discover that the secondary entrance was a kitchen and dining
space for the meals they offered five days a week.
Inside the lay associates (legos) buzzed around making juice
and bagging bread for the mission that night. I was blocked leaving the kitchen
by Brother Junipero who introduced himself by singing me the start Aerosmith’s
“Crazy”. I joined in for a couple lines
and he became very excited. He had many English phases and spoke in a high
voice, pausing only to roll his eyes to remember the next group of words. He exhausted his English and fluttered off as
quickly as he came. Sister Veronica who is in charge of the house smiled at me
when I noticed she was in the room. She had a soft wide face with light
wrinkles of middle age, her eyes smiled with an understanding, and I felt her
large presence that contrast to her tiny stature. I smiles and asked to help,
she nodded to the things in a pile, and I took them to living room where
everyone started to gather. I watched the teenagers, parents, and religious
assemble with great energy, they had to be quieted from their conversations to
pray for a successful mission.
In South America when
you are in a group ready to go anywhere there is certain madness. Things are shuffled
about, side conversations in sue that have no bearing, points need to be made,
and voices are raised; it could be a simple argument or a mass of people yelling
to “vamos”!
I had the pleasure of walking with a family who daughter
spoke a little English. The girl was discerning religious life and was most
likely still in high school. She would speak phases very well and then get
nervous and browbeat herself in her native tongue for some small mistake. Her mother spoke in Spanish and said she was
very good at English, but was very shy. I complemented the girl in front of her
mother, and she blushed and turned to her mother. But her mother face turned
indifferent, “See, he thinks you are doing very well.”
We came quickly to the corner where the tent camp started,
the tarp houses lined the ditches that separate the fields and roads, and we
walked past the smudge pots and black figures siting in the dark. We didn’t
stop and I was wondering if we were going to walk passed the whole row, but the
street keep going and shelter crammed together never ended. In the distance I
saw a gathering point lighted by headlights and an institutional looking
building. The dark shadows closed the space and surround the parking area where
a rolling speaker stood. The female formandos started singing a cute song about
ducks and all the children came out of the crowd to quack and shake their tail
feathers. I helped unload the bread from the cars and was directed to
distribute bread to the now full parking lot, which was more long than wide.
Sister Veronica danced a baby in her arms around the lighted parking and I felt
a bit of peace that escaped me in the hurried assembly.
“Two pieces of bread.” Said one of teenagers
“O que.” I understood.
“Two pieces.” She took out two pieces and showed me. The
bread was hot dog buns and they had already been separated into twos. Her point
was very clear
“Yes,” I nodded again as she handed me the bag.
A little girl not more than five walked up and stood in the
front of the line and a number of people filed in behind her. The music stopped
and the sisters lead the prayer in Guarani . They crossed themselves to Tuva,
Ta’yra, Pytu Marangatu. Good luck with the pronunciation! It and Spanish are
the official languages of Paraguay, but the “Indian” population is not
educated, and does not go to school to learn either formally; it is a great
block to their joining the main society. The prayer concluded.
In the pause before we started to handle out food, I could
see how saturated with dirt the sons and daughters were. They had darker skin than
their more European appearing countrymen and their facial features made me
remember the artist drawings in history books for their ancestors the Aztec and
the Inca. Their dark features couldn’t
hide the sores and cuts unwashed about their neck and face. There was blankness
to all their eyes. The children looked as tired, as the adults. The adults were
little more than teenagers, some of the girls held babies in their arms, and I was
perplexed for a moment that the mix of ages didn’t include an older generations
aside from the very old men.
“Ok,” the girl helping me pointed to start. “Only one piece for
youngest ones.”
It made no sense to me, but handed the little girl one piece
of bread.
Another girl stopped me. “You need to give out two pieces of
bread per person.” She gave me a look of contempt that only a teenager can give.
I looked to make a case with the original girl who was
helping me, but she was nowhere to be found.
The lines widened to a semi-circle, and the young men were
pushing and shoving with their hands out and over the heads of the children. I
ignored eye contact and refused the men to help the kids first, but that didn’t
stop them. I felt a relief when the women and children were back in the middle
of the parking lot and dancing with the sisters. It was the first time I had seen
the discourteous throngs with little concern for anyone else. A boy came up and
went to pull the sack of bread from my hand, a number of men still behind him;
I jerked it back and went on giving out bread. We started to move on and the
same bold boy came back and I handed the remainder to him; for all I know he
may have wanted to take it to help his family or he was just that hunger.
We came to another
road in a more remote area, and still more lined the sides of the road. They
reassembled the sound system and mostly children came running out to dance.
Their smiles were bright and everyone was dancing. I even jointed in with the
group of ducks in a circle. We reached a point in which we had no more bread
and we ran out of plastic cups. The men seem older in this village and came
over calmly with trash bags loaded with empty plastic soda bottles and
proceeded to fill them with the juice. I looked about and couldn’t find a water
source. No river, no facets, no bathrooms.
A boy of 8 or 9 climbed the formando in front of me and held
out his hand to leap to me. I held him for a minute as he looked for another
target and a walked over to the circle of older teens in our mission and only
got within his jumping range; his body tensed and he bolted. After he found a
hold, he scurried lizard like across them and hopped off into a full sprint.
I turned to my left to saw a red haired teenage girl smiled
at me. She had freckles and I faintly recognized her from the sisters’ house.
Her name was Teresu and she lived as an Aspirante with the religious to discern
holy life. There were four at the house
and they all wore brown t shirts and long ankle length skirts.
“What are you doing here!? I was addressed in English in suspicious
and harsh tone. The smile disappeared.
“That is a good question, I don’t know if I can answer that.”
I spoke flippantly to her tone. I will confess I was punchy from not sleeping
on the bus the night before.
“What do you do?” She seemed attacking.
“I do nothing.” I felt no need to explain, and from my brief
reading of Kierkegaard I felt that a legitimate answer.
“No, why are you here?”
“Why are you here?” I deflected.
She became frustrated but paused and answer with a peaceful
tone. “I am here to service Christ.”
“That is a good response; I am here to see you.”
“What?”
“You’re making and choice to serve a greater thing than
yourself, that is one person choosing to serve something beyond themselves. Is
it important what one does, where one is, and what one wants? You said you want to service?
“Yes,” She looked inquisitive at me.
“That direction is what I see in everyone here. It changes
things without the need for personal obligation. It is joy and ease. They wear
it on their faces and give it away freely with no need to be somewhere else.
One person is affected by one person. One soul is awaked by one soul.”
The dancing and laughing continued and the crowd blurred into
one happy whirl of motion.
“That is why I’m here, and that is what I wish to
understand.”
She smiled looked at the dancing.
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