Food for Religion? Daring to Say What I Feel

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Today is "feeding day" in La Pinada. Sarah, Marg and I ask to spend one more day here to help Guy's group cook and serve lunch to the children of the village. School in Guatemala is only half a day. The younger children go in the morning and on their way home will come to eat.

For many, I am told, this will be their only meal of the day.

Hilmar Avila and his wife Carmen are the founders of Senderes de Luz Ministerio (Path of Light Ministry). They are the Guatemalan partner Guy and Shirley's group works with.

Hilmar imprressed me yesterday and he impresses me today. On our walk up and down the hillside, into people's homes and through their yards, he is greeted with such unabashed warmth by children and adults alike. It doesn't seem to matter that he has this strange posey of blue-eyed gringos tagging along.

We don’t paint this morning. This day is about being with the kids and getting to know their families. No, that’s not totally accurate. We see way more children than families….brothers and sisters and cousins perhaps, but no parents. I only meet three women. They are the cooks.  Mothers and cooks and so much more. Except for the masons and Hilmar, I really don’t see any village men.

Our day begins in the back of the truck again; inhaling exhaust and agonizing over the stark contrasts – unbelievably beautiful scenery surrounding roadways, alleyways and ditches thick with garbage, malnourished children living metres from gated lush gardens, one schoolgirl wearing a Burger King crown (that symbol of so much that is wrong in the “developed” world) while her classmate sports a basket on her head, the way her mother and grandmother carry items from place to place.

Walter drops us at the top of the hill. We wait for Hilmar to escort us into town, where we will shop for the food needed to do todays’  “feeding”.  Hilmar arrives on a motorcycle; a wedding gift given by a benefactor from the London Ontario area. We all walk to the stalls where women sell pineapple and potatoes, onions and avacodos. Shirley, Guy and Hilmar have their trusted vendors. Hilmar explains how he prefers to purchase from the hunched-over old woman on the corner because she needs the business more than the commercial-looking sellers across the street.  Guy and Hilmar buy ground beef and individually wrapped little wieners. (INDIVIDUALLY WRAPPED WIENERS IN A COUNTRY WHERE GARBAGE IS EVERYWHERE AND RECYCLING IS ALL BUT NON-EXISTENT!) Our last stop is for beans and rice. Lots and lots of beans and rice.

We carry our purchases back and give them to the three women. They are efficient on their big "estufa". Unfortunately, the stove is not nearly as efficient as they are. Throughout the morning I try to explain the workings of this stove, why the smoke is so dangerous, and what they can do to protect themselves from the smoke. Hilmar helps translate. I tell the women using my frustratingly limited Spanish. I tell Guy. I plead with them all to have the stove fixed.
The primary difference between the stove where pots of beans and burger, potatos, rice, onions and carrots are simmering is the stove pipe. A visiting Ontarioan had the stove built for this community.  The problem is that whoever built it did not ensure that the stove pipe, which vents the smoke to the outside, was properly affixed. The women popke and prodd at the base of the pipe, trying to get the smoke to exit. Indeed, most of the smoke is escaping from open burners and the open window. I explain that the burners must be kept covered, that the planchat (metal stovetop) should get hot enough without putting the pots directly over the flame. The women have jammed long peices of wood in to  the front window, so that it can't be closed. The window creates the draft, When it is closed the fire will burn hot and use less wood. I ask Hilmar to tell the women that the men of the village will provide them with smaller peices of wood to burn. He laughs and then they laugh.

Sarah works with them to peel tiny new potatos. They don't really need to be peeled, but we don't have the words to explain this so we say nothing. Guy has provided the women with 5L jugs of clean water. I help pour it as they make the tortilla mix.  Then Sarah, Marg and I join the women and another volunteer, in a huge tortilla-forming extravaganza!

The village women are incredibly patient with us. Actually, we provide them with more than a few laughs. Their tortillas are perfectly formed, smooth-edged, paper thin. Mine are big, clunky, thick and jagged edged. 

The kids start arriving just before 1pm. As they enter their hands are inspected. Shirley sends the obviously dirty ones to wash up. The water isn't running today so not everyone is sent. This is still a huge improvement. Hand washing doesn't seem to be a skill taught to Guatemalan children. Wendy puts a multi-vitamin in each little mouth and watches as it is chewed. Just under 70 children show up. My guess is that they are between two and 12 years old.

We have set the kitchen up with long tables, 10 plastic stools at each, and a serving table stacked with red and green plastic cups and utensils. Hilmar's boundless energy illicits everyone's attention. Our clumbsy movements accompanied by awkward Spanish singing entertains the kids, who belt out the songs with us. At first, I haven't a clue what I am singing. But then it hits me. They are "god" songs. Probably, they are songs sung at Sunday school's around the world.

Is this food for religion, I ask myself...

Clearly, though, there isn't time for my philosophical musings. These kids are hungry. And the reality of their hunger, their painful lack of nutrition, is what's really important. Because of the work of Hilmar, Guy, Shirley and a truck load of volunteers these children won't go to bed hungry today. Perhaps that is all that's really important.

The three village women dish out the food as fast as we present the bowls. I take trays and trays of bowls to the tables. The kids don't complain. They grab for the bowls, pleading to be first. Many eat with their fingers. They aren't accustomed to using utensils. I saw this in Penimaquim, where we were provided with spoons but  community members scooped up their beans with a tortilla or their hands. Others fill the cups with a kool aid type juice.

What I see next shocks me, but it shouldn't surprise me. At first I notice a little boy trying to descretely pour the remainder of his meal into a plastic bag he is holding under the table. Then I see a girl carefully and methodically filling a red plastic container. They are bringing food home for their families.

Sarah is excited about today. Like me she has been struggling with the religious undertones of this project. However, she is an artist and she chooses to focus on that. Hilmar tells us that these kids have never had an art lesson. Imagine! These kids have never had an art lesson!

 The kids exit after lunch and once the tables and floors are clean about half re-appear, anxious to participate in an activity. I have brought crayons and pencils from the Carp Ridge Learning Centre. Sarah went into Antigua after work yesterday and bought art paper. She distributes paint and markers and ideas.Each school aged child begins by putting their name at the top of the page. Later I learn that the Guatemalan school system doesn't encourage creativity. There are as many as 70 kids in each class. Rote memorization is what school is all about here. Like the country, the Guatemalan educational system is still a work in progress.

I sit down with an older group and make big, colourful shapes. They catch they eye of a girl across from me and she carefully mimics them. Next to me a boy, perhaps 5 years old, discovers paint. His eyes light up! I show him how he can mix colours to create a new colour (much to the dismay of the others using the paint). He dives into his painting. As he finishes, Sarah hangs them. Before long the white pillars we painted yesterday are full of colourful creations. And the room suddenly has the feeling of a Canadian classroom.

Sarah makes me smile today.

I'm tired when we get home, physically and emotionally.

 My observations of the day are these:

1.   It is nearly impossible for a well-fed Gringo to accurately guess the age of a Guatemalan (man, woman or child). Lucia looks 60ish. Her hands work quickly, minding a memory all their own. But her eyes are tired. She has perfectly formed a million little corn tortillas in her lifetime. Her friend Rosie—a wannabe American if ever I saw one—relays Lucia’s age as 37. They give a look of disbelief when I tell them my age. I would be a senior with few years left if I had been born into their world.

2.       Calling the place where children go twice a week for a free lunch “The Feeding Centre” really irks me. It seems condescending somehow.  I know that it‘s a commonly used term among those who work with the poor, but that doesn’t make it any more appealing to me. These youngsters are not animals being brought to a trough to fatten them up …or at least they shouldn’t be…They are little kids and they are here because their basic human needs are not being met.  It’s shameful that in a world with so much excess that children should be this hungry.

If I had a say in the matter, what would I call the “feeding”? How about something as simple as (translated into Spanish of course), “Fit and Fun” or  “Nourishing Me” or “The Together Station”?…they could eat and do some guided, fun exercises…sing about their bodies and health and the importance of good hygiene.

3.       But something about the singing bothers me as well. Hilmar is a bright, cheerful young man who is obviously much-loved and respected in this community. My sense is that people here look to him for guidance and support. He is one of them. He truly understands their struggles and their accomplishments.  I am hoping beyond hope that he is not just a vehicle for others to push their own agendas forward.

Before the children arrive and lunch is served Hilmar grabs his guitar and gathers the gringos around. He wants to teach us a few songs. I like the idea that we are the entertainment for the kids. This will surely make them laugh. And a good belly laugh would be good for everyone.
4.  The human need for creativity is universal.

There is more. I'm sure there is much much more.

Man, I am happy!