Sixto Adolfo

Let me tell you about the man in the photo below who has become a friend in the last five weeks. His name is Sixto Adolfo. He is 83 years of age (which is so rare here) and a memory as good as it gets except that all of his memories are different everytime you enquire. A storyteller in that great Irish (Ecuadorean) tradition.
I discovered him while visiting an impoverished invasion of cane huts lost in the middle of the parish one day. There he was as you see him. He told me a (true) and sad story of how he lives 24 hours a day in that little 3 by 3 cane shack that you see, how he cannot move from pain in his legs and other parts, arthritis I guess. His children have abandoned him, in fairness they do not have the resourses either but it is truly frowned upon in a society that values the family so highly. Local families take turns bringing him a bowl of rice every day and if lucky, an egg or beans. Last night (Friday) I bundled him into the truck without anyone as much as asking where we were going and off we went to a doctor-friend who kindly examined and treated him. An hour and a half later and after many tests and whatnot we made our way to the pharmacy to buy the prescripción, $6 it cost, an incredible amount to pay he remarked and away we went. Returning to the mucky, wet, mosquito-infested hut I knew we hadn’t saved the world that night but I like to think that even so, something of that God-given dignity that we all share was restored, that dignity that we have as children of God whether black or white, rich or poor, old or young, Irish or Ecuadorean. Pray for him as we try to find him a home.

Herlindas Story
Herlinda lives in this house, (pictured below, today is wash day) she is a charming lady, in her early sixties. She lives with Miguel, her husband, just around the corner from me where they have no running water, (notice the barrels) her bed lies directly on the earthen floor, surrounded by the remnants of a life spent in utter poverty. Last February she was diagnosed with “some” heart defect, (specificity costs money in these here parts) she was prescribed ‘some” form of blood thinner (again speciality drugs cost money in these here parts as in most parts) which she can barely afford excepto with the help of her extended family and people like you. I left in sadness one day, indeed I do many days, as they relate once again what it feels like to be dependant on a health system (disasterous as it is) that is founded on the principle that only the monied will survive, what it feels like to know that if you were born under a different sky, the treatment you needed would be readily available, what it feels like to read in the face of your doctors, “I’m sorry, but if you had $50, we would be able to do something”. The pain in her voice as she communicates the helplessness and abandonment she feels as she, from her own Calvary commends her life into the hands of her Maker. “Si Dios quiere” she says, “if God wants”.

Despite what “they” say. there is no shortage in our world but in the parish where I have the privilege of working in the slums in the north of Guayaquil, it is not so obvious. In a parish of 47,000 souls, the vast majority of whom live below the poverty line, some in extreme “absolute” poverty, at times you feel overwhelmed, at times helpless, at times downright angry and at times encouraged, encouraged by the inherent goodness of people and their willingness to stand up, be counted and say, “that’s wrong, what can I do to change it”. It is people like that that make the mission possible here in Ecuador. The Gospels tell us that the “ poor are the first ones to whom Jesus’ mission is directed (Luke 4,18-21) and ...the evangelización of the poor is the supreme sign and proof of His mission. (Luke 7, 21-23) To work among the poorest of the poor, to share their experience of abandonment while living in densely populated slums, to seek to offer hope to those in hope-less situations and find that you are the one who has gained is a extraordinary privilege, one that I pray we (you and I) will share for a very long time.

A brief word about the building projects, at the time of writing, we are busy with phase two of the parish centre which is to cost $85,000. It is a very necessary development which will be used by the doctor, and also to provide meals for the children and catechesis. Last month we started a soup-kitchen in one of the invasions areas of the parish called San Barnebé Apostol. There are 120 children feeding there everyday, Monday to Saturday. It costs between $5 and $6 dollars a month to feed one child. In another area of the parish we are, at present, working on a building which in January will become a medical centre, soup-kitchen and teaching facility (for kids and parents without the resourses to attend the schools in the city). That part of the parish is called Cerro Redondo. It is in a delapidated state, but given time, money etc. etc. The doctor (who treated Sixto) has agreed to come twice a week. His salary will be $120 a monthly. Now to find someone to pay him. A lot of time is spent now trying to source the funds to finance these projects and ensure that they become reality. Actually, these projects depend very little on me and almost completely on the generosity of people like your good self. Together we will continue to seek to improve the lives of those who live in extreme poverty in our world.

Greetings from Guayaquil.

Well, that was that, a few weeks at home is so short and yet does enough to energize and renew you for the next challenge. Settling back has, as always been

difficult but now that the project is up and going, the time is flying by. Everyday there is something, meeting with the director of the work to discuss the next phase of work, going to buy the necessary materials, taking care of the workers, I don't know what we would be like on the Olympic Village in London. But all is going so well. The only bad news is that the price of materials continues to increase very very fast. The project is set to cost 10-15,000 dollars more than projected before the holidays. But God does provide. It is so fulfilling to see a plan become reality and know the difference it will make in a short time to the lives of a very many people. Tomorrow, Tuesday October 7, we will also begin to put in place our plans for a "comedor" or Soup Kitchen, in another sector of the parish, "Cerro Redondo". That will be a slower project, depending completely on funds. After a meeting with the members of the community yesterday, Sunday, I was informed of the very real need for a "comedor" or soup kitchen and the possibility of serving almost 200 children every day. It is a fair committment and again dependant on funds from home. It would cost in the region of 16-20,000 every year to provide for that amount of children. We are to begin tomorrow and with the help of God...

La Pascua

Apologies to all for not being able to update the blog for quite a long time. Not my fault, well actually it is. Anyway, forgive me and permit me to share a few words about my first Easter in Chontamarca in the mountains of Ecuador. It was a fantastic time of renewal and celebration for all of us. Easter fell, as it does, in the middle of our winter and as I have already mentioned, the winter was a tough one. But surprisingly, the weather came good, well dry at least. We started our Holy Week celebrations on Palm Sunday with a bang. To say that Holy Week is important in Latin America is gross understatment. It is incredible, believer and non-believer alike. Everyone comes out for Holy Week. It is also, as expected, a very emotional and graphic celebration. On Palm Sunday, we began with our procession, you might get some sense of it in the photos. People processed from all parts of the parish to meet in two meeting areas from which they precessed to the parish church. It is worth keeping in mind that some of these communities are more that seven hours walking distance. From the two meeting points we processed in prayer and song, donkeys and mules, palms in hand, in praise of a God who gave all for us. Exhausted and dusty, we gathered outside of the church, we had a short blessing ceremony where we blessed the palms and whatever else presented itself and then processed into the church. With the servers I entered the church last and was barely able to make it to the sanctuary. A more life-giving ceremony I have rarely experienced.

Every day of Holy Week was attended and participated in with much energy and enthusiasm. On Holy Thursday night we had 72 apostles in the parish, six celebrations of Mass, not possible without the help of another Irish priest, Fr. John Keane from the Cork/Waterford area, although he had trouble getting to some of the Masses because the pathways were so bad. The main celebration was a very moving ceremony in the village of Chontamarca at 9pm. that night.

Good Friday started with the celebration of the Way of the Cross which went on to last two and a half hours. Again, very beautiful, very moving and very graphic. There were some forty five adult volunteers, mostly soldiers, such was their enthusiasm. We had the crucifixion at the local graveyard, a place of crucifixion for most of us at one time or another. The celebration of the Passion was held in the church at 3pm. Later in the night we processed in candlelight for three miles, again, singing and praying to our crucified Saviour, what a beautiful experience. That finished with a remembrance of the Last Seven Words of the crucified Christ. We finished, rather exhausted, at 2am.

The next morning, early, we prayed the "Soledad de Maria", the "Loneliness of Mary", which again, was very moving. And we finished our Triduum celebrations with our Easter vigils, again, very similar to home with the possible exception of the tangible excitment of all who participated.

On Easter Sunday, we celebrated our dawn Mass of the Resurrection at 4.30am. and went on to celebrate seven more Easter Sunday celebrations before retiring at 8pm.

Quite simply, the overwhelming energy and enthusiasm was something to experience. You really did sense being in the presence of a community who really understood that the tomb was truly empty. To witness a community with such poverty, with such an obvious presence of the Cross amongst them, it is something that will always stay with me, Resurrection.

And the rains did come...

I don't know how to describe the last two months to you. I had been warned that the rainy season in Ecuador could be tough (get the boots ready, padre) but this was not the image I had. We have truly experienced the most horrific consecuences of the worst "rainy" season in memory, (not one parishioner can remember worse). Every day, from lunch time until the next morning, constant downpouring from the heavens with a three of four hour reprieve in the morning as if to say "get the stocks in". In the mountains of Canar we have had terrible landslides, huge movements of earth - everywhere. Parishioners, especially elderly parishioners are living in a state of paralysing fear. I cannot tell you how many families I have been with who have just broke down crying having lost everything, land, home, (or what passed as) everything. I cannot describe the feeling of having someone stare at you through eyes of fear, fear at what might happen if that "abre" or "crack" in the earth, high above their home, fills with water that night. I have never witnessed the like.

During the past month I have managed to visit the majority of the thirty six communities in the parish, (some of them are simply incomunicado) and to witness a people already struggling with poverty, now have to come to terms with the destruction of the very little they have, of dwellings, lands and sometimes life. Three weeks ago, I helped some people recover the remains of José Zamora from the mudslide where he spent the night. He was 65 and was attempting to move his two cows from one patch of grass to another, fearing they might be washed away, they are still eating, God rest him. Some days later, we discovered the remains of a young girl returning to her family in the town of La Troncal for "La Carnevale". She and three of her friends were overwhelmed be a slide, they recovered, she is now at peace. They have been many such stories. Two friends of mine from the almost always incomunicado communitiy of Ciemientos, were helping out in a "minga" which would roughly correspond to the Irish "meatheal", a group working voluntarily for the betterment of their community. (A memory in my homeland unfortunately). Anyway, Olger and his wife Olga and their family were helping out to clear some pathways through the mountains of the mud of an earlier slide when their young son, Franklin, (5) was washed away. He was not found until late the next day, two metres beneath the surface. I suppose these stories give some sense of the tragedy, of the pain, of what has happened to our parish community in the last month.

I, Fr. John and some young people spent all day yesterday delivering rations of food to the most affected families. Last week, in a meeting of the Red Cross and Plan International (two international organisations with immense resourses) it transpired that help was not forthcoming, at least for some weeks. This, obviously, was unacceptable as many families in our parish were starving. We decided to try. Thanks to the support of my homeland and a very kind donation from Mary Keane in Youghal, ( sister of my colleague Fr. John) we found ourselves in a position to buy rice, sugar, tuna, pasta and flour to the tune of $5000. We gathered members of the central community together for many hours to make rations which would last two weeks for the families most affected. If need be and the Red Cross do not arrive, we may have to return to those same families next Sunday. God will provide as always, I'm sure. Tomorrow, Tuesday, we will visit another 110 families in a different community but also very badly affected, San Pablo, and again seek to help them in whatever way we can. (rations are being prepared as we blog)

To end, I very sincerely ask your support, spiritual or material, whatever form that may take.

Christmas in Ecuador, 2007.

Christmas was wonderful this year, my first experience of it in Latin America, replete with many of the old familiar customs but also with many new ones as well. But everyone tried to enter the spirit of Christmas in as much as they could. Obviously the expectations were somewhat less that in the "auld country" and Santa somehow never made it, delayed on way to Inver. But this did not take from the joy and hope that Christmas brings despite the circumstances of our lives.

One of the memorable experiences of this Christmas was the "Paso del Nino" or Journey with the Child. This was arranged in all of the communities with or without the "padre". I managed to make it to almost twenty of them which was thankful for. The who thing would begin at a meeting place some three miles from the "chapel" and the "jovenes", (young people), would very enthusiastically assume the roles of the main players in the Nativity scene, dressed accordingly and we would start with a short "paidir" and away we went singing every carol or "villansico" known to humanity. But y'know, there was something more than beautiful, marching along a old dirt track, with an entire community in the middle of the mountains of Ecuador, following these beautiful children who played their parts as if they were in Bethlehem, that night, two thousand years ago. Somehow you knew that He who was born that night long ago (in circumstances not too unlike these) was happy to be as present with us as we plodded our way to the shack that passed for a chapel. (of which they were so proud and which we hope to replace soon) There was none of the "what did ya get", just a joy about being able once again to celebrate the hope of that stable in Bethlehem.

One of the sadder experiences was to watch little children beg, rain, hail or shine, for sweets on the side of every road in the run up to Christmas so that they had something stored up for Christmas day. Many of the wealthier families in the cities would make their sanctimonious journey to the poverty-ridden communities of the parish to literally, throw sweets and biscuits in the air and watch as the poor children scrambled for them as for their lives (Colosseum style). You would wonder if their vast resources could not have been spent better in the provision of a school or clean water supply?

The Crib is of paramount importance. In the Chrurch, the entire community comes together on the ninth of December (Our Lady's day has to be celebrated in style first before we can even think of the Christmas) to build an almost life size version. Every family makes their contribution which makes it so much more special. The crib also has pride of place in all homes which is a beautiful tridition (even if some take on the appearance of a Las Vegas Casino with all the lights)

Despite the "distractions" of some sweets and a few too many lights, the focus always stayed on the real reason for it all which maybe was the newest experience.

Siempre Hay Esperanza

Somebody once said that, “ we can live 40 days without food, 8 minutes without air but just one second without hope ” and y’know, there is something that rings very true in that. Christmas is a time of great Christian hope and expectation, the hope that one day we will live in perfect Love, Justice and Peace.
But hopes and expectations differ. The circumstances of life can very often dictate the extent and limits of our hopes and expectations. If you were the eldest of a family in 1950’s west of Ireland, your expectations were more often than not coloured by thoughts or the necessity of emigration, the boat-train to Camden Town via Crewe where, if work was not pre-arranged, you would fall in line outside the Crown in Cricklewood, in the hope that Murphy, McNicholas or McAlpine would recognise your talents for digging. Trucked every day to a bleak, cold and wet building site, often from a bleaker, colder and wetter bed-sit, all in the hope that Mum and Dad could begin to provide for your siblings in the “auld” country and they, in turn, could begin to expect something a little bit better from life. Today, a trip to Camden by that same west of Ireland teenager would most lightly occur during holiday time from school or some other educational facility and would almost certainly involve the purchase of exotic music or wildly coloured clothing from the famous Camden Market.
As I write, I have the privilege of working in a large parish outside the city of Guayaquil, Ecuador, just south of the Equator. In the parish there are thirty-six communities, most of which are accessible by road but a number are accessible only by mule. Each community living an existence unthinkable in modern Ireland is very independently minded and each with the hope of one day having their own chapel and other facilities.(many of which we are working on at present) Eighty-five percent of the population of the parish are descendents of the Canari tribe who dominated the period before the Incas in this part of Latin America. They have maintained many of the ancient customs, they speak kichwa, wear beautiful bright colours (their own creations) and rear very large families. Unfortunately, the conditions they live in could not have been any worse for the Canari tribe eight hundred years before. They live often in atrocious conditions, dying very often from easily preventable diseases.
Expectations in most of these poverty-stricken communities are tragically low, especially for females which generally steer towards early pregnancy (15-16), subsequent marriage (if he stays around), often to a much older man. From there expectations nosedive into domestic violence (which sadly, is accepted as part of life), premature illnesses, familiar breakdown and often, the husbands emigration leaving her in a vicious cycle of poverty and hopelessness. When asked “when is he coming back ”, you are almost always met with a rather hope-less, “I don’t know” and sometimes worse.
Magdalena is a seventeen year old girl from one of the communities in the parish, Pomatoglla. Recently she has joined the catechesis team in her community and has offered to be catechist in a special programme for the 5-10 years old. It is a very basic programme but worthwhile and she is enthused about it. She is a very dedicated and faith-full person. Recently in conversation I enquired as to when she had finished her schooling. She told me she was about to turn ten when her mum asked her to leave school. She left because her father “emigrated” to the United States and left her mum with six children, all her junior. She left to care for the children and do the house chores while her mum looked after the hamsters (which they kept for food) and a very small number of sheep. Later, I was surprised (most do not value education) to learn that she had always retained the hope of returning to education to learn to read and write but her family never had the money. I asked her the cost and she told me - $25 to enrol and $21 for the three books for the year and I thought of the cost of the wrapping paper (not to mention the contents) that will be discarded this Christmas in homes in my native place. It cost $49, $46 for enrolment and books and $3 in buses but I will never be able to repay her for that look of utter joy as she screamed, “ I start in January ”. Thankfully now, she too can expect something better.
I write this facing Christmas away from home and loved ones, not to mention the turkey overkill but I write it too in the hope that together, you and I, can lift expectations; in the hope that together, we can help Magdalena and the many like her in my parish break the vicious cycles of poverty, violence and disease and simply come to expect more from life. I am forever haunted by the old Hebrew proverb which says, “ Those who close their eyes to the needy will one day themselves cry and not be heard ”. Hopes and expectations can differ this Christmas…but only with your help.