Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Jesus from Lima
I´m different. Everyone is afraid of me. I was brought up by a dog.
I don´t remember my mother. I think maybe she loved me. I hadn´t done anything wrong yet. My father, they say, was an alcoholic and drug addict. He beat my Mother so hard and so often, that she finally died.
I remember Grandmother telling me that when someone told her that Mother had died some time before, she set out to look for me. She found me in a street in Callao, Lima´s cold and dangerous seaport. I was on the ground on a dirty piece of cardboard being nursed by a dog. I like dogs. One of them cared for me and kept me alive.
Grandmother was very poor and could not keep me and Angelo fed. Angelo was my brother, two years older than I. He was big and strong and good. We lived together for three years in the streets of Callao and Lima. He taught me not to steal like other street boys. We did odd jobs, usually helping street vendors in exchange for a plate of food. Then one night something awful happened.
A bus ran over Angelo. His body was picked up and taken to the big Cemetary. There is a “fosa común” – a common pit – on the edge of that place. Bodies of those for whom there is no burial are thrown in. In the “fosa” the fire never goes out.
When a street boy dies, there is no one to care, no one to cry. He leaves no trace or record of ever having lived. He is not even a statistic. That is the way it is with us.
For years I slept in the Cemetery. Many street boys sleep there. The police chase us as far as the gates, but they don´t go in. There we are safe. The dead are good to us. They are not like the living. They never harm us. I think maybe Angelo is still there, perhaps even mother.
I never steal. But I do other things some people say is worse. How can a street boy get food without doing something bad? Other boys are full of hate, especially for the police, and I guess for all grown people. Angelo taught me not to hate. So I just take the blame for everything. That way there is no one to hate but myself.
Pipo told me that there was a place called “Girasoles” – a place where big people are good to boys like us. He had been, and said it was true. So I went. I first noticed that no one insulted me. They didn´t even tell me how bad I was.
I come to “Girasoles” often. Marco has become my friend, even though he is a grown man. He has a kind look in his eyes. He talks to me as though I were his friend. He said that I am – even after I told him about myself.
Marco told me of another Jesus, one who loves me and wants to make me his. He says that this Jesus has other names too: “Counsellor”, “Wonderful”, “Prince of Peace”. Why would he love me? My street names are: “Dog”, “Thief”, “Piranha”, “Black One”. I don´t really understand. If he knew all about me, would he really care? Marco says he would.
I´m beginning to think that Marco is not lying.
I don´t remember my mother. I think maybe she loved me. I hadn´t done anything wrong yet. My father, they say, was an alcoholic and drug addict. He beat my Mother so hard and so often, that she finally died.
I remember Grandmother telling me that when someone told her that Mother had died some time before, she set out to look for me. She found me in a street in Callao, Lima´s cold and dangerous seaport. I was on the ground on a dirty piece of cardboard being nursed by a dog. I like dogs. One of them cared for me and kept me alive.
Grandmother was very poor and could not keep me and Angelo fed. Angelo was my brother, two years older than I. He was big and strong and good. We lived together for three years in the streets of Callao and Lima. He taught me not to steal like other street boys. We did odd jobs, usually helping street vendors in exchange for a plate of food. Then one night something awful happened.
A bus ran over Angelo. His body was picked up and taken to the big Cemetary. There is a “fosa común” – a common pit – on the edge of that place. Bodies of those for whom there is no burial are thrown in. In the “fosa” the fire never goes out.
When a street boy dies, there is no one to care, no one to cry. He leaves no trace or record of ever having lived. He is not even a statistic. That is the way it is with us.
For years I slept in the Cemetery. Many street boys sleep there. The police chase us as far as the gates, but they don´t go in. There we are safe. The dead are good to us. They are not like the living. They never harm us. I think maybe Angelo is still there, perhaps even mother.
I never steal. But I do other things some people say is worse. How can a street boy get food without doing something bad? Other boys are full of hate, especially for the police, and I guess for all grown people. Angelo taught me not to hate. So I just take the blame for everything. That way there is no one to hate but myself.
Pipo told me that there was a place called “Girasoles” – a place where big people are good to boys like us. He had been, and said it was true. So I went. I first noticed that no one insulted me. They didn´t even tell me how bad I was.
I come to “Girasoles” often. Marco has become my friend, even though he is a grown man. He has a kind look in his eyes. He talks to me as though I were his friend. He said that I am – even after I told him about myself.
Marco told me of another Jesus, one who loves me and wants to make me his. He says that this Jesus has other names too: “Counsellor”, “Wonderful”, “Prince of Peace”. Why would he love me? My street names are: “Dog”, “Thief”, “Piranha”, “Black One”. I don´t really understand. If he knew all about me, would he really care? Marco says he would.
I´m beginning to think that Marco is not lying.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Puerto Alegria
Week two brought me to the boy's home in Puerto Alegria in the Amazon jungle. The folks from Alabama, North Carolina, and I took an hour flight from Lima to Iquitos, which is a large city in the middle of the jungle.
From Iquitos we took an hour boat ride upriver to Puerto Alegria, which is a tiny tiny village on the Itaya River. The Itaya is one of the major tributaries to the Amazon river and I was told we were actually not too far from where it becomes the Amazon.
That night at the boy's home in Puerto Alegria, they put on a show that they had been preparing for months. This picture is a bit dark, but you can see the boys breakdancing.
I have to say that life in the jungle was awesome, but it's probably not for people who need lots of amenities. They boiled and filtered water for drinking, but all the other running water was pulled straight from the river. Therefore I did what seemed to be absolutely wonderful to me - I bathed in the river every day. You're fine as long as you don't have open wounds (piranha) and as long as you don't go in past dusk (electric eels). It was fantastic. Because I didn't have time to wash my clothes between Kawai and Puerto Alegria, I also washed my clothes in the river. They smelled a bit rivery when they dried...
We had rooms with mattresses and mosquito nets in the windows, but my room didn't have enough space for everyone so I did what I was probably going to do anyway, and slept under the pavillion in a hammock. It was awesome.
You definitely would not have liked Puerto Alegria if you don't like bugs. I needed a constant coating of deet to keep away the mosquitos, and I don't think it really worked all that well. All the bugs are about x2 or x3 the size that you're used to, and there are a whole bunch of new creepy looking ones too. It was wonderful when I was finally able to hide in my hammock under my mosquito net (donated by Stewart - thank you, buddy!).
One of the cool things about the work in the jungle is that one of my tasks was actually to clear away the jungle with a machete. How much does that rock. Aside from that, there was much more concrete, chopping down giant trees, and I will not soon forget the awful task of moving 100+ lb sandbags from the boat to the shore.
And speaking of sandbags, I have to tell you about the sandbag race between myself and Brian, known to the kids only as ¨Pastor... hahaha¨. However in order to tell you about the race, I have to tell you about a different, greater story about the bigfoot tribe.
So on the plane to Iquitos, Paul Clark told Brian a story about an unreached tribe in the Amazon that's only been contacted one time in history. Apparently they have no home and use no tools. They simply run through the jungle, killing animals with they're bare hands, eating them raw, and sleeping standing up under palm leaves. Brian decided that because he and I are currently pseudo-unemployed that we should try to reach the bigfoot tribe by training to be like them, and eventually joining them. The first step to joining them was of course sleeping outside in the hammocks (that's Brian in the hammock pic btw). The second was the sandbag race.
Brian and I each loaded a 100+ lb bag on our back and had a footrace from the river to the work site. Brian thought he had me smoked as he took the final turn, but I knew that pride was Brian's weakness, a la the hare from the tortoise and the hare, and the badguy from The Patriot (Mel Gibson, not Steven Seagal). So using the ¨slow and steady wins the race¨ technique, which is advised when racing with 100+ lb sandbags, I easily overtook Brian as he collapsed to the ground in the last corner. I won the race and the title of bigfoot chieftain.
The third step in becoming a member of the bigfoot tribe is eating wild awful critters. Mission accomplished - I ate a fried grub. It was delicious. I apologize that I don't have a terrible picture of them squirming around in the bowl in the kitchen. Unfortunately John stole my title of bigfoot chieftain by eating a LIVE grub. Congratulations to you, chieftain - you deserve it.
I hope you are enjoying the longest blog post in history, because there's much more about my awesome week.
Mid-week we got to take the boat back into Iquitos to see the slums of Belen and the medical clinic that Scripture Union has there. Here's a blurry shot of one of the guys bailing water from the boat. This was necessary for every trip...
We had to take little canoes from the boat to shore.
Belen is where most of the kids in Puerto Alegria are from. The streets are literally the sewer and the trash dump. This whole area floods when the river rises.
The Scripture Union medical program is doing something great here with their the clinic. We got a quick tour. They see about 30 people a day for dental and medical visits, and they say that they are in dire need of doctors and dentists to volunteer they're services (for all you medical professionals out there). Stewart is in this shot of the clinic.
This dog made an ¨I'm going to attack you now¨ noise as I snapped this photo. I peed my pants.
The world feels bigger in the Amazon.
This monkey was just kinda running around loose. I think it horrified one of the kids by jumping on his back after I left.
After we left the zoo, the boat's motor was broken, so we couldn't go back to Puerto Alegria right away. To kill some time we took rickshaws into the city for frozen lemonade. Riding in the rickshaws was like a psychotic amusement park ride that I want to do again as soon as possible. This is what they look like - a motorcycle with a cart on the back.
Ooooh... just found a picture of a giant praying mantis on Rebecca's hammock that I should have stuck in the bug section of this post...
One of the best things about Puerta Alegria that I haven't mentioned yet is that the boy's are amazingly good at volleyball. All I wanted to do there was to play volleyball. I only feel bad that the kids were forced to sometimes play with the awful awful gringos. Here's Elvis with whom I played lots of vball. He's kind of a jerk and talks lots of trash, but I love the kid nonetheless. Check out the beard... We lived without mirrors for a week...
Here's Jeffrey. He's smarter than me.
I really hope I can go back to Puerto Alegria sometime soon. I loved being there and I feel bad seeing the kids once, then leaving for so long.
Goodbye, Puerto Alegria.
Goodbye, Alabama and North Carolina gringos.
Stay tuned for what I'm doing this week - exciting life in Lima!
From Iquitos we took an hour boat ride upriver to Puerto Alegria, which is a tiny tiny village on the Itaya River. The Itaya is one of the major tributaries to the Amazon river and I was told we were actually not too far from where it becomes the Amazon.This is a shot of the street in Iquitos where we got off the bus and walked to the boat.
And the boatride... 
Houses without walls...
Houses without walls...That night at the boy's home in Puerto Alegria, they put on a show that they had been preparing for months. This picture is a bit dark, but you can see the boys breakdancing.I have to say that life in the jungle was awesome, but it's probably not for people who need lots of amenities. They boiled and filtered water for drinking, but all the other running water was pulled straight from the river. Therefore I did what seemed to be absolutely wonderful to me - I bathed in the river every day. You're fine as long as you don't have open wounds (piranha) and as long as you don't go in past dusk (electric eels). It was fantastic. Because I didn't have time to wash my clothes between Kawai and Puerto Alegria, I also washed my clothes in the river. They smelled a bit rivery when they dried...Here's my sleeping arrangements:
We had rooms with mattresses and mosquito nets in the windows, but my room didn't have enough space for everyone so I did what I was probably going to do anyway, and slept under the pavillion in a hammock. It was awesome.The stars in the Amazon - amazing. And you don't recognize any of the constellations because you're in the southern hemisphere. You can't really take a picture of the stars, but here's a sunset-esque picture.
This... is by far the scariest spider I've seen in the wild or captivity. It's probably hard to judge from my pics, but it looked like the venom symbol from spiderman and when we threw bugs into the web, it made quick work of them. After it killed/stunned it's prey, we watched it wrap up the bug in a web, reminiscent of poor Frodo Baggins. This was taken just outside the door to the dining room...
You definitely would not have liked Puerto Alegria if you don't like bugs. I needed a constant coating of deet to keep away the mosquitos, and I don't think it really worked all that well. All the bugs are about x2 or x3 the size that you're used to, and there are a whole bunch of new creepy looking ones too. It was wonderful when I was finally able to hide in my hammock under my mosquito net (donated by Stewart - thank you, buddy!).
One of the cool things about the work in the jungle is that one of my tasks was actually to clear away the jungle with a machete. How much does that rock. Aside from that, there was much more concrete, chopping down giant trees, and I will not soon forget the awful task of moving 100+ lb sandbags from the boat to the shore.
And speaking of sandbags, I have to tell you about the sandbag race between myself and Brian, known to the kids only as ¨Pastor... hahaha¨. However in order to tell you about the race, I have to tell you about a different, greater story about the bigfoot tribe.
So on the plane to Iquitos, Paul Clark told Brian a story about an unreached tribe in the Amazon that's only been contacted one time in history. Apparently they have no home and use no tools. They simply run through the jungle, killing animals with they're bare hands, eating them raw, and sleeping standing up under palm leaves. Brian decided that because he and I are currently pseudo-unemployed that we should try to reach the bigfoot tribe by training to be like them, and eventually joining them. The first step to joining them was of course sleeping outside in the hammocks (that's Brian in the hammock pic btw). The second was the sandbag race.
Brian and I each loaded a 100+ lb bag on our back and had a footrace from the river to the work site. Brian thought he had me smoked as he took the final turn, but I knew that pride was Brian's weakness, a la the hare from the tortoise and the hare, and the badguy from The Patriot (Mel Gibson, not Steven Seagal). So using the ¨slow and steady wins the race¨ technique, which is advised when racing with 100+ lb sandbags, I easily overtook Brian as he collapsed to the ground in the last corner. I won the race and the title of bigfoot chieftain.
The third step in becoming a member of the bigfoot tribe is eating wild awful critters. Mission accomplished - I ate a fried grub. It was delicious. I apologize that I don't have a terrible picture of them squirming around in the bowl in the kitchen. Unfortunately John stole my title of bigfoot chieftain by eating a LIVE grub. Congratulations to you, chieftain - you deserve it.
I hope you are enjoying the longest blog post in history, because there's much more about my awesome week.
Mid-week we got to take the boat back into Iquitos to see the slums of Belen and the medical clinic that Scripture Union has there. Here's a blurry shot of one of the guys bailing water from the boat. This was necessary for every trip...
We had to take little canoes from the boat to shore.Belen is where most of the kids in Puerto Alegria are from. The streets are literally the sewer and the trash dump. This whole area floods when the river rises.The Scripture Union medical program is doing something great here with their the clinic. We got a quick tour. They see about 30 people a day for dental and medical visits, and they say that they are in dire need of doctors and dentists to volunteer they're services (for all you medical professionals out there). Stewart is in this shot of the clinic.This dog made an ¨I'm going to attack you now¨ noise as I snapped this photo. I peed my pants.
After touring Belen, we took the kids to an awesome zoo that had a lake and beach attached to it. It was a really nice place. Whatever kind of jungle cat this is, it growled and spit on me when I took this picture.
The world feels bigger in the Amazon.This monkey was just kinda running around loose. I think it horrified one of the kids by jumping on his back after I left.After we left the zoo, the boat's motor was broken, so we couldn't go back to Puerto Alegria right away. To kill some time we took rickshaws into the city for frozen lemonade. Riding in the rickshaws was like a psychotic amusement park ride that I want to do again as soon as possible. This is what they look like - a motorcycle with a cart on the back.Ooooh... just found a picture of a giant praying mantis on Rebecca's hammock that I should have stuck in the bug section of this post...One of the best things about Puerta Alegria that I haven't mentioned yet is that the boy's are amazingly good at volleyball. All I wanted to do there was to play volleyball. I only feel bad that the kids were forced to sometimes play with the awful awful gringos. Here's Elvis with whom I played lots of vball. He's kind of a jerk and talks lots of trash, but I love the kid nonetheless. Check out the beard... We lived without mirrors for a week...Here's Jeffrey. He's smarter than me.I really hope I can go back to Puerto Alegria sometime soon. I loved being there and I feel bad seeing the kids once, then leaving for so long.Goodbye, Puerto Alegria.
Goodbye, Alabama and North Carolina gringos.Stay tuned for what I'm doing this week - exciting life in Lima!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Kawai Pics
Ok... I got a quick break in my work today, so finally...
Here´s a quick shot of the volleyball net and some of the bungalows in Kawai. They rent this part out to schools and church groups.
Here's bearded Jared with Bedro and I can't remember the other kids name... Remember this is a couple weeks ago...
Later in the week we were upgraded to the posh bungalows, as Kate from England calls them... We got wonderful warm showers here.
Here's how the construction looked after the first week. We started with nothing but sand. The waves in the background are enormous by the way. Unfortunately the undertow is too strong to safely swim.
La iglesia en Kawai - El Capilla del Camino.
Kawai from the top of the church.
Gringos from Alabama and North Carolina.
Looks like my lens was a little dirty for this one, but this is one of the favorite games of the kids in Kawai - grab a couple limbs and swing them in circles.
Here´s a quick shot of the volleyball net and some of the bungalows in Kawai. They rent this part out to schools and church groups.
Here's bearded Jared with Bedro and I can't remember the other kids name... Remember this is a couple weeks ago...Later in the week we were upgraded to the posh bungalows, as Kate from England calls them... We got wonderful warm showers here.Here's how the construction looked after the first week. We started with nothing but sand. The waves in the background are enormous by the way. Unfortunately the undertow is too strong to safely swim. La iglesia en Kawai - El Capilla del Camino. Kawai from the top of the church. Gringos from Alabama and North Carolina.Looks like my lens was a little dirty for this one, but this is one of the favorite games of the kids in Kawai - grab a couple limbs and swing them in circles.
Monday, June 18, 2007
My First Two Weeks
I finally have a little time to tell everyone about what I've been doing. Unfortunately the computer in this internet cafe is a bit antiquated and doesn't read my camera, so I can't post pics right now, but I'll try to come back later and insert them.
So after my first couple days to tour Lima and the Scripture Union center in Lima, I set off to Kawai with a church youth group from Alabama. Kawai is about an hour south of Lima on the beach. There's a home there for the boys and bungalows that rent out to vacationers and church groups for retreats. The bungalows raise money to support Scripture Union.
We started construction on a couple new bungalows on the beach. We spent most of our days shoveling sand, shoveling concrete, and moving rocks. Fun, fun, fun. Then the real work began... playing with the boys.
Most of the boys in Kawai come from the boys' home in Lima so they can live away from the city. I'm going to try to post more information later on why the boys are abandoned by their mothers and what kind of conditions they live in, but I'll just be brief today.
I'll just say that in Perú, a street boy is the lowest of creatures, more despised than prostitutes. They hide and sleep in places like sewage pipes during the day and only come out at night. They can be as young as 4 years old. With the unemployment rate at 50%, they have absolutely no chance of getting any kind of small job to pay for food, so they survive by either stealing or selling themselves sexually. The smallest boys of 4 and 5 years old, of course, have almost no chance of stealing from somebody and getting away. The police are responsible for getting rid of the kids, not helping them. If the police catch a street boy, the boy will most likely be thrown into a police "dungeon" and be tortured. The boys that survive come to believe that they are worthless and deserve the suffering that they endure. The only thing that they have experienced in their lives that they associate with love is that which they exchange with perverts for a meal. This is why it's extremely difficult for them to understand the concept of a loving God or even another person that loves them.
With all that said, I was a bit surprised when I began to play with some of the boys. I found out that they're just like the little boys that I know from the states. They just want to be loved. The group from Alabama gave the kids lots of love, throwing them around, wrestling, and playing soccer. I was amazed when I found out how smart some of the boys are. One night they were quizzing some of us on tough Bible questions and it was embarrassing that they knew far more than we did. It's sad to think how many amazing kids are out in the streets when you realize what great potential they have.
Aside from the kids, I got to know the folks from Alabama really well, and another fun group from South Carolina joined us in Kawai. We all traveled to Puerto Alegria in the jungle together, which I'll talk about in my next post.
Yesterday I got to go back and visit the kids at Kawai and they were really happy to see me, even though I can barely communicate with them.
Now I'm out of time and I haven't even proofread this post. Forgive me - I'll clean it up later and add some pics. Oh yeah, and the food here is delicious.
So after my first couple days to tour Lima and the Scripture Union center in Lima, I set off to Kawai with a church youth group from Alabama. Kawai is about an hour south of Lima on the beach. There's a home there for the boys and bungalows that rent out to vacationers and church groups for retreats. The bungalows raise money to support Scripture Union.
We started construction on a couple new bungalows on the beach. We spent most of our days shoveling sand, shoveling concrete, and moving rocks. Fun, fun, fun. Then the real work began... playing with the boys.
Most of the boys in Kawai come from the boys' home in Lima so they can live away from the city. I'm going to try to post more information later on why the boys are abandoned by their mothers and what kind of conditions they live in, but I'll just be brief today.
I'll just say that in Perú, a street boy is the lowest of creatures, more despised than prostitutes. They hide and sleep in places like sewage pipes during the day and only come out at night. They can be as young as 4 years old. With the unemployment rate at 50%, they have absolutely no chance of getting any kind of small job to pay for food, so they survive by either stealing or selling themselves sexually. The smallest boys of 4 and 5 years old, of course, have almost no chance of stealing from somebody and getting away. The police are responsible for getting rid of the kids, not helping them. If the police catch a street boy, the boy will most likely be thrown into a police "dungeon" and be tortured. The boys that survive come to believe that they are worthless and deserve the suffering that they endure. The only thing that they have experienced in their lives that they associate with love is that which they exchange with perverts for a meal. This is why it's extremely difficult for them to understand the concept of a loving God or even another person that loves them.
With all that said, I was a bit surprised when I began to play with some of the boys. I found out that they're just like the little boys that I know from the states. They just want to be loved. The group from Alabama gave the kids lots of love, throwing them around, wrestling, and playing soccer. I was amazed when I found out how smart some of the boys are. One night they were quizzing some of us on tough Bible questions and it was embarrassing that they knew far more than we did. It's sad to think how many amazing kids are out in the streets when you realize what great potential they have.
Aside from the kids, I got to know the folks from Alabama really well, and another fun group from South Carolina joined us in Kawai. We all traveled to Puerto Alegria in the jungle together, which I'll talk about in my next post.
Yesterday I got to go back and visit the kids at Kawai and they were really happy to see me, even though I can barely communicate with them.
Now I'm out of time and I haven't even proofread this post. Forgive me - I'll clean it up later and add some pics. Oh yeah, and the food here is delicious.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Back from the Jungle!
I'm back!
The last two weeks have been quite an adventure, and this post is going to be a huge tease, because I don't have time to put up much about the boys and what I've been doing because I'm leaving for another few days.
I just wanted to let everyone know that I'm still alive and there are many pictures and stories to come in a few days...
Thanks everyone for your support and patience. I'll be in touch soon
The last two weeks have been quite an adventure, and this post is going to be a huge tease, because I don't have time to put up much about the boys and what I've been doing because I'm leaving for another few days.
I just wanted to let everyone know that I'm still alive and there are many pictures and stories to come in a few days...
Thanks everyone for your support and patience. I'll be in touch soon
Friday, June 1, 2007
Sending Donations CORRECTION!
My instructions on sending donations that I posted earlier aren't correct. The donations will get here if you send them to Perú, but you won't be able to get a tax deductible receipt. To donate and get a receipt, send a check to the following address:
Latin America Mision
P.O. Box 52-7900
Miami, FL 33152-7900
Make sure to include a note on a separate piece of paper or post-it that says:
Billy and Yashmin Clark
Work Funds
The separate note is important because it will make sure the money gets to Scripture Union, and that you can get a tax deductible receipt. Sorry for the misinformation earlier.
I still plan to post a wishlist for donations of clothes and other necessities. They will best be sent to a mission team in the states before they travel to Perú. Mail to Perú is expensive...
Latin America Mision
P.O. Box 52-7900
Miami, FL 33152-7900
Make sure to include a note on a separate piece of paper or post-it that says:
Billy and Yashmin Clark
Work Funds
The separate note is important because it will make sure the money gets to Scripture Union, and that you can get a tax deductible receipt. Sorry for the misinformation earlier.
I still plan to post a wishlist for donations of clothes and other necessities. They will best be sent to a mission team in the states before they travel to Perú. Mail to Perú is expensive...
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