Well, it happened. You know, that moment every missionary talks about. The one they say will cause you to never be the same. It’s a moment that the reality of these people’s lives is so overwhelming that you literally cannot grasp it. It takes time to process, and still it’s not clear that these people actually live every day of their life this way. Even with all we have in the U.S. we aren’t always happy. But, these people have nothing and they never fail to have a smile on their face, no matter what their teeth look like (if they have any at all). I can say that I have officially experienced that moment.
Four of us girls had the wonderful experience of taking a four day “vacation” to visit another part of the ministry here. It is called La Quinta Esperanza (The Hope House). This wonderful home away from home is about twenty five minutes from where we actually live. Not only is La Quinta filled with tarantulas, scorpions, jumping spiders, and sheep that run faster than anything I have ever experienced, it is filled with amazing people who perform amazing ministry.
After an awkward afternoon of confusion, language barriers, and wondering, “What have we gotten ourselves into?” I decided to put my Spanish to the test. I started talking to Juanita, a humble, loving, “mother figure” at this home for children and teens whose families cannot afford to take care of them. She shared with me the schedule for the next day, but after the second thing she said my selfish thoughts had taken over. “Breakfast is at eight o’clock and be ready at nine for barrio visitations.” I immediately thought to myself, “We do barrio visitations at la Nueva Vida, can’t we mix things up?” But I smiled and nodded. The four of us headed back to the room to later find a tarantula in our bathroom, but that is another story in and of itself!
We rolled out of bed the next morning exhausted; especially after trying to sleep, all four of us, in the same bed due to the tarantula escapade. We had breakfast and then gathered at nine for barrio visitations, but something was different. The teenage boys who lived at La Quinta were carrying rakes, and shovels and brooms while the teenage girls were carrying cleaning supplies. It was so encouraging to me to see these teens so eager to help people in their own community.
We walked for maybe a half hour when we arrived at our destination and this is when it hit me. Two women, sisters, who could not have been much older than me with five kids all under the age of six living in a house no bigger than my bedroom back in the states. No husbands, no men, just women and children. Two children of which did not walk, so they sat, pant less in the dirt. Not only was this house tiny, but it was made of sticks pulled out of the neighboring jungle and plastic which was at one time someone else’s trash. This particular house was on the corner of the barrio so when the rain came, their “yard” (which was made of dirt) trenched and all the dirty water and trash from the rest of the barrio ended here. Not to mention their house had already been knocked down once due to the rains.
The four of us felt very awkward when the teens from La Quinta quickly started working and we had no sense of direction whatsoever. Hesitantly, I asked what we could do. The answer was to start picking up the trash around the home. Wrappers were sticking out of the dirt, paper shreds were everywhere, and broken shoes filled the property. I had my hands full of trash when I asked a teen for a bag to put the garbage in and his answer was one I will never forget. “You just throw it over the edge here.” Their house was on the edge of a hill and when I looked where the boy was pointing, down the side of this hill, it was filled with trash. If that didn’t break my heart enough, watching two little girls swinging on a branch and sliding down the dirt hill into the piles of trash hurt even more.
After throwing trash over the edge of this hill and not feeling one bit okay with it, they asked if we would be interested in washing dishes. We quickly agreed. However, their idea of washing dishes was a little different than ours. These mounds of dishes must have been sitting for weeks. Slime filled the bowls and hundreds of flies flew around our feet and heads as we stood at this wash basin. The water we were using was dirty and who knew dried palm branches made wash cloths? My heart was being torn apart little by little. Once again, I could not grasp the fact that these people live life this way.
I can honestly say I knew that coming to a third world country would stretch me. I knew my eyes would be opened to things I have never seen before. I also knew I would experience pain for the people here. However, there is no preparation for what I have experienced. Nothing can prepare you for the feeling that overcomes you when you witness these things first hand. As I lay here in my bed with my head on my pillow, the only thought that comes to mind is that I cannot even begin to put myself in these peoples places. I have never experienced sleeping on a dirt floor in a fly infested home with my babies at my side. I have never experienced my house getting knocked down by rain. And I have certainly never experienced wondering if I was going to find food the next day.
It happened. I experienced culture shock, and I can honestly say I will never be the same.
