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.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
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.
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.
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Sunset in the mountains of Ecuador
God in there somewhere.
A view of the famous "Salt Lake", the world's largest.
An active volcano on the Argentine border.
With the "Green Lake" in the foreground.
A typical home of the indigenous communities
This is the home of Carmen Saeteros. She has just turned ninty (she thinks). Very often they have difficulty remembering their date of birth. Her very simple house is typical of the indigenous community and made from clay and stray blocks (bloques de adobe) with the luxurious models having tin roofs, (many with stray). These homes are bitterly cold for a man from Belmullet used to the bit hearth full of good black turf. But these are a tougher people. Carmen sleeps on the floor on a large bag filled with animal coat. Inside it is just one room with a table at one end and her bag (bed) at the other. She survives on milk and eggs (dairy products in large quantities being bad and all that jazz, she must have missed that health supplement) With no shoes and no socks, the earthen floor can be well... Recently we have decided to "renovate" her local run-down chapel at a cost or between $2000-2500. She said it was the best New Year present she could have received. She (as the elder stateswoman), and the rest of the community of Rumiurco are very proud of their Christian Catholic faith. Say one for her, she is quite ill at this moment.
Our New Church at Cimientos
Ciemientos is a community in the wilds of the mountains of Ecuador, untouched until recently by the "outside" world. It is a community constituted entirely of indigenous peoples. They speak Kichwa and are intensely uncomfortable speaking in Spanish (as am I, so at least we have that in common). Thanks to the support of the people of my native Erris, Co Mayo, this chapel is nearing completion. Unfortunately because of the incredible effects of the "La Nina" and associated weather patterns, the inauguration will take place in the summer, probably September. But it is a beautiful chapel, built on the foundation of an old Inca structure. (Ciemientos means foundation) They do not rue the loss of the Inca relic because they are decendents of the Canari people who were subjugated by the Inca Empire in the thirteenth century. One back as it were, if not a little too late.
Here we are above the clouds at over 2800metres
