Barbara Dobilas and Vanessa Stahl completes their story about Mission 35.
Friday, two days before we leave. In the morning, we are headed back to La Chureca, the Dump to see the finished mural at the clinic. On our way, we entered the Dump from a different road than we had taken previously. We passed a spray painted sign that said “Wellcome to Hell”; it seemed very appropriate.
We drove through an alley littered with 10 feet of trash on either side. We passed more of the homes I had almost become used to, homes built with left-over rusted metal, cardboard and plastic garbage bags, all held together with tape and wire. Barefoot children walking in the dirt, women washing clothes in dirty water and hanging the clothes on barbed wire lines. Dogs everywhere, laying in the sun, so skinny they looked like they were dead.
As we drove further into the mountains of garbage, we saw people walking on top of the mountains pushing carts and carrying pails, all collecting what they could from the piles of refuse. Something to eat, something to use, something to sell. Garbage fires burned unattended everywhere, causing a caustic grey smoke to hang over everything like a fog.
I asked to stop the truck so I could get out and video. I suppose I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t, I was to determined to document what I was seeing. No one at home would believe this, I had to bring home proof. I began walking down the dirt road filming and narrating, often getting so choked up with emotion and/or smoke that I had to stop talking. People, children and dogs were everywhere. All were scavenging and digging through the piles.
As I walked further, I turned to film yet another house, and a young boy who looked to be about 10, started yelling, “Hola, hola!” while waving frantically at me, a huge smile on his face. He was wearing a dirty t-shirt, torn jeans and even filthier sneakers but at least he had shoes on. I came closer and asked his name which he said was Michelo and then I introduced myself. A man holding a half naked baby wearing only a t-shirt walked over from behind him. I asked if it was ok to take a picture – “Puedo tamar en photo?” He too was smiling, while holding the dirtiest baby boy I had ever seen, and walked closer so he could be in the photo himself. I asked names since it was my best Spanish sentence and continued to film. The smoke around was choking at the back of my throat and I could feel it burning my lungs every time I breathed in. Yet, the boy and his father seemed not to notice. They were friendly and polite and it didn’t seem to matter that we were standing next to a mountain of burning garbage.
Sr. Debbie came up and said this was the same little boy that had helped her when she stumbled on the Rim earlier in the week. There are over 3000 people that live in this place, no one has an exact count, what are the chances that we would find the same little boy among so many people? The boy followed us back to the truck where I gave him some candy. He then asked for some for his baby brother. The older children always seemed to watch out for their younger siblings, I had seen this many times.
We drove to the Clinic where Vanessa and the team were finishing up the mural. It was really impressive with large pictures of trees, flowers, birds and butterflies painted on all four walls. Vanessa and the kids had painted a ribbon running through the entire painting with words of hope. We left Vanessa there to finish her work knowing we would meet her back at the MOH compound for lunch and then our trip to the orphanage.
As we continued our drive through Managua, Sr. Debbie brought us to the Peace Memorial, a memorial built by the women of Nicaragua who had lost so much during the Sandanista Revolution. To make an unmistakable statement to their country and to the world, the women had gathered up the machine guns and rifles and cemented them directly into the walls. As we walked, bent and mangled guns pointed out at us silently from the walls, their message of “Never Again” perfectly clear.
We returned to the MOH compound and after lunch, we began our drive to the orphanage sitting in the back of the truck in the open air. It was exhilarating and fun to feel the wind and the sun and knowing that we would never get away with this in the States. Vanessa and I had decided to sponsor an orphan; we both agreed it was the perfect way to honor our trip together. The cost was a mere $140 a year, the price of a nice dinner at home. The money would help feed and provide medicine and clothes for the child, until she was of school age at which time, the money would be used to send her to school with the required uniform. MOH coordinates these sponsorships and this is one of the major services that they provide to Nicaraguan children. We had specifically asked for a girl. Vanessa and I both felt strongly that girls in this country were certainly not the priority amidst this desolation and we wanted to help where the government did not.
We pulled up in front of a rundown, dirty building sandwiched in between other buildings in the same condition in the center of Managua. There were a number of small children peering out from behind a steel security gate watching us unload the truck with the donated supplies we had brought with us.
We walked in and the stench hit us like a brick. The urine smell was so strong, it smelled like pure ammonia and was overpowering. The children were running around wildly, shouting and playing just like at any preschool but this wasn’t any preschool. There was no structure, no guidance, they just ran and ran and ran. There were 2 nuns in full habits – The Sisters of the Divine Face of the Resurrected Christ – watching the children with tired, solemn faces. While Sr. Debbie and Yamilette spoke with the nuns, Vanessa and I began playing with the children.
They were eager and friendly, and happy to play. While leaning down to talk to one child, a little boy with big round eyes and dark hair, came running over to me, threw himself into my arms, put his ams around my neck and said “mi mama, mi mama”. He then proceeded to sit on my knee and wouldn’t budge. I was stunned.
Vanessa and I took a tour of the rest of the facility with Sr. Debbie. I thought I had seen desolation up until now but this was surreal. I couldn’t believe that the children lived here. Old dirty cribs were lined against the walls, the back room held even more. There was virtually no ventilation, the floors were dirty, the ceiling cracked, the kitchen had plaster falling off the walls, the sink was full of dishes and a chicken walked through the middle of it all. Sr. Debbie explained that they might get an egg a day from that bird although I couldn’t see how that would feed very many.
Even Sr. Debbie was devastated as she said that the orphanage had deteriorated greatly since her visit in January. Later she told me that the nuns received no help, financial or otherwise, and that often there were only 2 aging nuns working 24 hours a day to care for these children. She felt that they must be completely overwhelmed.
Back in the front room with all of the yelling, running children, the nuns had sat the 5 orphans on chairs knowing that we needed to choose one to sponsor. I looked at Vanessa and asked “How can we pick only one?” As she and I struggled with how to make this choice, we saw that there was only one little girl of the 5 children. She was eager and alert and her little mouth, when not enthusiastically sucking on a lollipop, was shaped like a bow. Her name was Alison and since she was the only girl, the tough decision had been made for us.
I bent down once again to talk to a child and then out of no where, that same little boy, ran up to me, threw his arms around my neck and said “mi mama”. This literally knocked me over and as I sat on the floor, he again shoved his way in to my lap and was content to just sit there. I felt utter anguish and knew it was reflected on my face. Sr. Debbie looked at me sitting on the floor and reminded me that we needed to make a choice on which child to sponsor. I couldn’t pick one over the other, they were all so helpless, so I told her that we would just have to sponsor them both. Alison, the only girl and Rosmar, our little boy, who had obviously “chosen” us.
I was appalled at their lack of the most basic necessities and asked if I could give the orphanage money. I gave them what I had with me, $60 American dollars, about 1200 cordoba. I hoped this would help provide food and medicine. The nun accepted the money with the same solemn look on her face and nodded her head at me slightly.
Finally, we had to leave. I began my goodbyes to all of the children, giving Alison a kiss with tears in my eyes knowing there was nothing I could say to her that she would understand. I knew I was leaving her in squalor with no immediate hope of anything better. While our sponsorship money would help provide the barest essentials, there would be only a generic caring in a hopeless environment that would not foster her outgoing personality or encourage her to reach her potential.
I hugged all of the children and then found our little Rosmar. And for the third time, he threw his little sticky arms around my neck, looked me in the eye and called me “mama”. Then he placed both of his little hands on each side of my face and gave me a gentle little kiss on my lips. I was devastated and I left the building sobbing.
On Saturday, our last day, we went site-seeing. We left early for the Mumbacho Cloud Forest. Mumbacho is an inactive volcano surrounded by rain forest. It was pretty cold up in the mountains and you couldn’t see much because of the clouds so I was glad when we returned.
We spent the afternoon at a local crafters market. Ness and I had fun spending almost every last dime that we had. We had very little money left to get home, but we had bought some really great presents and had a lot of fun in the process.
We returned to the MOH compound. The compound is actually inside the El Nino de Jesus de Praga school where 160 children are sponsored annually through MOH. Each evening, the children of the area would return to play in the courtyard with all of us. Vanessa easily befriended many of the children and many of them wanted her to take a picture with them.
Earlier in the week, I had met a beautiful young girl named Norma. She was 14 and had a dazzling smile so lovely she could have been a model under different circumstances. Her complexion was flawless, her eyes bright and intelligent. She struck me as older than her years.
One night, while sitting outside with her, I showed her pictures of my family. She was thrilled to look through them, while other children crowded around us. I used my poor Spanish to point out my husband (mi espouso), other children (mi elle and prima, Alixandria and Rebecca), other family members and of course, our English bulldog Miles. The children loved the pictures of Miles especially when I said (with Vanessa’s help) “Miles tiene en grande boca” meaning Miles has a big mouth. Norma touched me deeply when she asked if she could keep some of the pictures. I said of course and let her pick the ones she wanted. I believe this was her way to help remember her new American friend once we left to go home.
Saturday evening, I said goodbye to Norma. I was crying as I told her to study hard, read as much as she could, learn English and that I would be back next year. She looked at me solemnly and sadly and then hugged me. I gave her $20, the last of our American money.
We said goodbye to our fellow Missioners, knowing that we might never see many of these people again. This week had been one of the most moving and trying experiences of my life and I know Vanessa felt this way too, as did many of the people we were with. But despite this, I am eager to start work on the many projects I have envisioned where I believe I can help. It is the only thing that makes me feel not quite so sad about leaving. This is just the beginning after all.
