I returned late Friday night from Nicaragua...feeling worn out and very heavy. As I stepped off the plane, I noticed that my feet and my flip flops were still filthy with Nicaragua dirt despite trying to wash them off with baby wipes during our layover in Miami. The boys welcomed me in the best way imaginable...with the biggest hugs ever, kisses too many to count, and simultaneous stories of every detail I had missed the past week.
Saturday was spent, holding my boys, taking a (long, much appreciated) warm shower, holding and hugging some more, sleeping here and there when I could, and wandering around the house in a zombie-like state. Sensory overload does not even put it all into perspective. Sunday we all went to church and was I asked by several friends "Did you have a good trip"? I didn't quite know how to answer them.
Were we safe and healthy for the most part?
Yes.
Were there pockets of fun and joy?
Yes.
But I don't know that after witnessing such deep poverty and feeling amazing joy at the same exact moment can quite be described as a "good trip". It was hard, and uplifting, depressing, overwhelming, spirit filled, and brilliant all rolled up into one confusing package. A package that will take a long time to unpack.
On day 5, we visited La Chureca, the community of people living and working in the city of Managua's largest garbage dump. There are an estimated 1500 people in La Chureca and it is suspected that around 600 of them are children. The people that live and work there mine the garbage for anything that they can recycle and sell for money or to use for themselves.
We entered La Chureca and were immediately hit with the knock-you-off-your-butt smell of burning tires and trash. The flies swarmed the bus and I thought for sure the bus was going to get stuck in the muck left from the rain the day before. A boy was getting high on glue on the next to the entrance. Your first reaction is to put the windows up as quickly as you can, to shut it all out. But not one of us did. Knowing that there are people who live and work in this place, we did not want to miss a smell, a feeling, not a single moment of it.
After Irving, our amazing bus driver, backed the bus up a skinny little road we unloaded and were immediately greeted by children who took our hands and smiled up at us. We walked down the path a few feet to a small shanty and Joe introduced us to Ramona, La Chureca's unofficial mayor. She humbly welcomed us into her home and allowed us to speak to her. She told us that she had 16 children. We weren't sure if they were all hers biologically or if she had adopted some of them. After making a few jokes with Ramona and telling us that she had been an important woman in the Sandanistas in the 1980s and early 90s, Joe told her that she had a bunch of Americans standing before her. That we were going to go back to the US and tell all of our friends about La Chureca. And was there something speicfic she would she want us to tell them?
She told us to keep coming, not to stop, ever. Because when we reached out across the world and visited them, we brought them hope. She said to remember and to continue to tell their stories. Ramona said that that if we did not tell those we knew about the story of the people of La Chureca, then no one would know the people there ever existed. She asked us not to forget. So, the next week or so I will honor Ramona and the trip I took to Nicaragua by telling a few of the stories.
After leaving Ramona, we walked up a hill to get a better view of the massiveness of the dump. It was mind blowing. The trash seemed to go on forever. And yet, in a strange way, it looked similar to many other cities. There was organization, roads, movement and work going on. There was purpose in the people digging through everything the rest of the city had thrown out.
We also visited the school that our church is helping to make safer for the children who are attending. It was a small school, but happy and you could tell the kids loved being there and were eager to show us their classroom. We left the items we had brought for them (toothbrushes, soap, clothing, shoes, etc.) in one of the rooms. We left feeling a bit embarassed that when we were collecting these things, we actually thought that these modest gifts might make a dent in the need.
As a reward for good grades, we took some of the best students with us to Tip Top (think Chic-fil-a) for chicken, playtime on the playground and coloring. I got to know Carolina, a 13 year old young woman who wants to go on to college and study business. I asked her about her family, she asked about mine. She was an amazing. She spoke intelligently and even knew a bit of English. I tried to imagine what her life might be like. What did she do when she got sick? Were her parents good to her? Was she asked to prostitute herself out as a way to support her family like so many young women are? I quietly prayed to myself for God to protect her and her brothers and sisters.
A few minutes into the meal, several of us realized that most of the kids weren't eating their food. After questioning them, we discovered that most of them were not eating because they wanted to take their meals back to their families. So many of us gave the kids our meals so that they could eat ours and still have a box of chicken to take home. That seemed to do the trick and they ate like they hadn't eaten in months. We had to convince them not to try to take the ice cream home, that they needed to eat it right then so that it wouldn't melt.
Taking the kids back to the garbage, the drugs, the prostitution, and the increasing cases of HIV was hard. Really hard. I did not want to let such a smart, beautiful girl slip back into the mounds of plastic and paper, only to get lost. I knew I would probably never see her again. But knowing she at least had a family waiting for her made it a bit easier. I quickly placed a $20 bill into one of the crayon boxes that she was taking home, showed her where it was and told her it was for food for her family. I gave her a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. She handed me a wish list of school supplies she had written on the back of the picture she had drawn for me. And I cried and prayed all the way home on the bus. I will not forget that day. I will not forget Carolina or the promise we all made to Ramona that day. I will not forget their stories as long as I live.
More photos of our visit to La Chureca including the school
