As promised, I will now proceed to give an account of the loss of the Colombianita kids, according to my point of view. I will not, however, claim any sort of objective authority for my statements. I am greatly uninformed much of the time, and heavily biased the rest.
From the moment we arrived in Colombia, it was made known to us that the Bogota municipal government was threatening to destroy the long, narrow city block of hovels known as “Colombianita”. At that time, this threat seemed far from immanent. As is somewhat customary in Latin American politics, the government issued a statement of intent with no visible signs of immediate, or even eventual, follow-through. Tentative dates for the destruction were consistently pushed back 4 month intervals, until no one really believed that anything would be done at all. This was, at least, my perspective until I was called upon to translate for a gentleman named Julian who had been with the ministry for some years.
After his lecture, I sat down with him over lunch, and began to share my skepticism concerning the issue when he interrupted me by saying, “Oh, it will be destroyed, be sure of that.” I enquired as to the sources of his confidence regarding the government’s ability to complete its promises. He proceeded to tell me the story of an infamous barrio ten times the size of Colombianita, called The Cartucha.
According to Julian, this is where the ministry really began its work. It was an enormous urban labyrinth of poverty and wretchedness that spanned several city blocks in the heart of downtown. Upon hearing its exact location, I confirmed that I knew the area, mentioning its proximity to an equally enormous, treeless park on First Avenue. “That park used to be the Cartucha.” He responded solemnly. My mind reeled with the thought. I had heard countless stories, seen photos…I even knew many of the children who were rescued from that area. Its new name is Parque Tercer Milenio, a well-groomed hectare of grassy hills and winding pathways, a harrowing monument to the government’s ability to eliminate anything it deems an eyesore.
It was not long after this blow to my optimism that we received the news. The government had issued another warning, but this one came attached to a work order. I am unclear as to all of the details, but it seems that, even though the residents of Colombianita were illegally squatting, the government offered to build them houses in the southern part of Bogota, an offer they accepted as recompense for the destruction of their current homes. While this seems to be an unusually altruistic gesture on behalf of the government, there were many factors involved, and a large chance that many of the families would, in fact, be worse off in the neighborhoods in the South.
When that time came, I would be mentally prepared for the move. I made plans to spend every free minute of the day in the neighborhoods where they were moving. I would rent a building to house an after school program, I would start my own school, I would stay as long as it takes, I would move down there, I would do anything. I was absolutely committed to making sure that these children had everything they needed. I thought long and hard about leaving the ministry, and staying with the kids for an indeterminate amount of time. I had found my purpose for living for at least the next several years. Meanwhile, I was enjoying my last few weeks with the kids as their teacher at Luz y Vida.
The move was scheduled for the end of May. May 30th came and went, and my kids were still here. My hopes were buoyed by the thought that this might be another empty threat, but there was to be no such luck. Early in June, the dump trucks arrived, ushering in the beginning of the end. Asking the children about their new homes, I was informed that the government was not going to be giving any homes, after all. They were receiving only a small government stipend. Frantically, I made phone calls and emergency visits to anyone who might have information concerning the future of these families. I found out that the government had grown tired of waiting for the houses to be completed, and that the atmosphere around Colombianita had grown violent in recent days. I went immediately to an internet café to find the telephone numbers of every newspaper in Bogota. If the government wanted to clean up the streets, I wanted everyone to know at what cost. I prepared a statement in Spanish describing what was happening, when, where etc., and read it to anyone who would answer the phone.
The next few days, Colombianita was slowly dismantled, and family by family, our kids moved away. Everything was falling apart. No newspapers covered the event, no answers were given as to the future location of any of the kids, and my great and virtuous plans for purpose were crumbling before me. I was heartbroken. Concerned parties with only the best intentions tried to offer me advice; they told me that there were thousands of children in Bogota who needed my help, that I had planted a seed in their lives, and that someday they will remember what I taught them and how it will help. They told me it was in God’s hands now, but none of that seemed to help. The truth is, my life is essentially relational, and abstract ideals like poverty and theology -while still appreciated- will always be overcome by the people that embody them.
A few months have passed, and I still have no idea where any of my children are. I doubt I ever will, but circumstances have forced me to move on. New kids are arriving (literally) every day, and, true to the given advice, they need Luz y Vida as much as every child who has passed through these doors. This fact, however, will never negate the love I had for my kids: Willie, Natalya, Angie, Didier, Andres, Karen, Jessica and Dayana.
Tyler
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
La vida no pare...
So, in an attempt to catch you guys up on the happenings here in Colombia, I offer up a post with no discernable rhyme or reason. These are a few of my memories from the fast few months.
The Mercy School
Every year, around springtime, when the birds begin to sing, and the flowers bloom, Formando Vidas mercilessly imprisons several international students within the confines of the Administration building. It does so under the pretense of hosting a special school that deals exclusively with Children at Risk. Hours of lectures, impossible homework assignments, and nightmarish practicums, and some people actually PAY for this. Weird, I know.
Actually, the Escuela de Misericordia (say it out loud, and you will understand why we sometimes call it the “misery school”) is really a good experience for the people that attend. Many of them stay on to help long after the classes end, and you get the chance to meet the most interesting people. I was (somehow) added to the list of official translators, so I was afforded the chance to learn from the speakers as well…in two languages.
For the month of Practicum that follows the class sessions, the illustrious Skip Bachman moved into one of our spare rooms, and became a temporary third roommate. Ol’ Skipper is a real cool dude who is starting his own street kids ministry in Cochabamba, Bolivia…a task not to be taken lightly. You can check his progress here:
http://skipbachman.wordpress.com/
Gerhart and Rosemary
So, every Sunday, I attend this quaint little Mennonite Church in my neighborhood. I quite like it. The Mennonites are known for being very active in the so called “social issues” of justice, poverty, and most of all, peace. This emphasis is made all the more intense by the very fact of being a Colombian church. (Remember, folks, there is still a civil war going on here.) But besides doctrinal issues, I also appreciate the simple, non-extravagant services, and the relatively small congregation. There are only so many people there, and one would find it quite easy to get to know them all, creating a wonderful “church-family” atmosphere.
One could…but that doesn’t mean I always do. Actually, I generally find post-service small talk somewhat awkward. For this reason, on most Sundays I simply greet those I do know, and make my way to the door. I know, it’s not the best attitude, and I’m not proud of it, but that’s the way it is.
Well, that’s the way it was until Wes showed up. He is much more intentional about meeting people in the church than I, so, after every service he would make me wait and stand with him while he schmoozed it up with the locals. Normally, I would slowly edge him to the door, but one Sunday, he and I got to talking to and elderly couple that were visiting from the States.
Their names were Gerhart and Rosemary, retired professors from the Mennonite University in Goshen, Indiana. We began talking, and they mentioned that they were here in Colombia to organize the Seminary’s library. I had no idea the Mennonites had a seminary in Bogota, and I was even more surprised to find that it was housed in the very same building in which we stood. Gerhart led us downstairs through a few sets of doors to the “Secret Mennonite Library”.
Browsing through the books, Wes and I both began to realize that much of the already impressive collection was in English! We ogled over books for about half an hour, and then Rosemary and Gerhart invited us to lunch. Wes and I bombarded them with questions about Goshen and the Mennonites and politics and anything else we could think of, and when we walked them home, we made plans to stop back by the library before they left. When we finally did stop by, Gerhart and Rosemary helped us buy glasses for one of our kids, and proceeded to show us even more incredible books at our disposal. Just one more reasons why the Mennonites have got it right.
Mundo Adventura
For those of you who translate my little Spanish phrases in some free online translator, the title of this paragraph will come out “Adventure World”. Hardly…but it IS a theme park, however meager compared to States standards. This past spring, we were allowed to take all of our kids out for a fun day in Mundo Adventura at a highly discounted price. I will say, even though some of the rides were laughable, it was the best theme park experience I’ve ever had. The kids were beside themselves, literally sprinting from ride to ride, and I was more than happy to be running alongside.
There was one moment in particular that stays with me to this day. Liz (one of the volunteers from the United Kingdom) and I were responsible for 4 children in particular, and we were forced to split up. Three of the kids wanted to ride on a toboggan ride that would result in soaked clothes for all involved. Leidy Katerin, one of our students who has recently been adopted into one of the ministry’s foster homes, was not too keen on the idea of being wet on a cold, overcast day, so she and I rode a pendulum-space shuttle ride instead. There wasn’t much of a line, so we rode it several times in a row. After about 2 or 3 rotations, what was once a thrill ride, became quite relaxing. Looking down at the child next to me (still screaming like a maniac in fear) and catching brief, rhythmic glimpses of the Bogota horizon against the blue-grey sky ushered in a spiritual sense of peace. It was difficult to think of the imminent departure of my children, but the thought was made sweeter by the simple pleasure of enjoying a piece of life they would not be able to experience otherwise. As they reveled at the marvels of their previously inaccessible playland, I tried desperately to soak up every minute of their bliss.
Colombia’s cold war
I’m not sure how much you, the reader, keep up with foreign affairs (frankly, I’m not even sure who reads this) but a little while ago, Colombia found herself in somewhat of a sticky situation, politically speaking. Apparently, we went 1 kilometer across the border into Ecuador to pursue some of the FARC guerillas. Ecuador saw this as an infringement of national sovereignty, and they mobilized troops toward the boarder. Now, that might have been a slight over-reaction, but it was nothing compared to what came next. Hugo Chavez, of Venezuela, in all of his infinite wisdom decided to do the same. While all of this was happening, Colombian troops had discovered a laptop belonging to one of the FARC’s head honchos, and it proved that Chavez himself was, in fact, funding this pseudo-Marxist guerilla army.
For those of you who are either lost or simply don’t care, I will summarize things. Everyone is mad at everyone, and we are on the brink of being invaded from two sides. It was a tense few days. Those from England were almost sent back home, and I was left trying to imagine what it would be like to work in a country involved in both a civil, and international war, simultaneously.
Well, a conference was held, the president of Argentina cracked a few jokes, and by the first recess, all the presidents were hugging…literally. Such is Latin American politics.
23 on the 23rd.
This goes down as the second birthday I’ve had out of the country, and they just keep getting better. The morning of April the 23rd I woke up, and made my way to Luz y Vida, just like any other day. I ran upstairs to the computer to check some birthday emails. Apparently, the bus that picks all of the kids up from their homes broke down a few blocks from the school, and Adrienne was forced to walk alone with all of them. When they finally arrived, I walked out to greet them, and they surprised me with a song and flowers they had picked for me on the way. School proceeded as usual until about 11. It was then that all of the teachers and kids left the school and we began a strange little march down the street. We headed for my favorite ice cream joint, and right in the middle of the lunch rush, with business people in designer suits all around, we sat and ordered each child an ice cream cone. The children were loud, obnoxious and disruptive, and I’ve never been more proud.
Besides the double scoop, each child received a packet of wax ropes for molding into figures. They all made models of themselves (with some assistance) and one by one placed them on my placemat, which I still keep in my “teacher” drawer at Luz y Vida. Then, when I returned home, I found a cookie-cake with matches for candles in my living room and dozens of foam stars hanging from my bedroom ceiling. This was all the work of Adrienne, whereas the ice cream was Ryan’s doing. We ate most of the cookie, and began to make preparations for the birthday dinner. After two failed attempts at finding a Thai restaurant in Bogota, we settled on some old-fashioned American burgers. Our gringo crew, Ryan, Luke, John, Abby, Liz, Adrienne, one of our homeless friends Camilo and I ate till we were sick, and finished the meal off with a small mustard fight. Birthdays simply don’t get much better than that.
Home
As many of you know, I came home for about 2 weeks, and split my time between my friends and family in Texas and my friends and family (that happened to be) in Illinois. I ate more food than most people should in twice that time, and I literally gained almost ten pounds...not that I don’t need it, but still. I sincerely loved being home with my family and my beloved daschunds, and the barbeque that my college friends threw me in Illinois has been one of the highlights of the last few years. It was both overwhelming and beautiful to be surrounded by so many people I love, and that love me. I hate to end my post on such a sentimental/nostalgic note, but I truly do appreciate seeing and hearing from you guys, and while I adore my life here in Bogota, I am quite excited to see/talk/play music with you guys when I get back.
Till next time,
Tyler
The Mercy School
Every year, around springtime, when the birds begin to sing, and the flowers bloom, Formando Vidas mercilessly imprisons several international students within the confines of the Administration building. It does so under the pretense of hosting a special school that deals exclusively with Children at Risk. Hours of lectures, impossible homework assignments, and nightmarish practicums, and some people actually PAY for this. Weird, I know.
Actually, the Escuela de Misericordia (say it out loud, and you will understand why we sometimes call it the “misery school”) is really a good experience for the people that attend. Many of them stay on to help long after the classes end, and you get the chance to meet the most interesting people. I was (somehow) added to the list of official translators, so I was afforded the chance to learn from the speakers as well…in two languages.
For the month of Practicum that follows the class sessions, the illustrious Skip Bachman moved into one of our spare rooms, and became a temporary third roommate. Ol’ Skipper is a real cool dude who is starting his own street kids ministry in Cochabamba, Bolivia…a task not to be taken lightly. You can check his progress here:
http://skipbachman.wordpress.com/
Gerhart and Rosemary
So, every Sunday, I attend this quaint little Mennonite Church in my neighborhood. I quite like it. The Mennonites are known for being very active in the so called “social issues” of justice, poverty, and most of all, peace. This emphasis is made all the more intense by the very fact of being a Colombian church. (Remember, folks, there is still a civil war going on here.) But besides doctrinal issues, I also appreciate the simple, non-extravagant services, and the relatively small congregation. There are only so many people there, and one would find it quite easy to get to know them all, creating a wonderful “church-family” atmosphere.
One could…but that doesn’t mean I always do. Actually, I generally find post-service small talk somewhat awkward. For this reason, on most Sundays I simply greet those I do know, and make my way to the door. I know, it’s not the best attitude, and I’m not proud of it, but that’s the way it is.
Well, that’s the way it was until Wes showed up. He is much more intentional about meeting people in the church than I, so, after every service he would make me wait and stand with him while he schmoozed it up with the locals. Normally, I would slowly edge him to the door, but one Sunday, he and I got to talking to and elderly couple that were visiting from the States.
Their names were Gerhart and Rosemary, retired professors from the Mennonite University in Goshen, Indiana. We began talking, and they mentioned that they were here in Colombia to organize the Seminary’s library. I had no idea the Mennonites had a seminary in Bogota, and I was even more surprised to find that it was housed in the very same building in which we stood. Gerhart led us downstairs through a few sets of doors to the “Secret Mennonite Library”.
Browsing through the books, Wes and I both began to realize that much of the already impressive collection was in English! We ogled over books for about half an hour, and then Rosemary and Gerhart invited us to lunch. Wes and I bombarded them with questions about Goshen and the Mennonites and politics and anything else we could think of, and when we walked them home, we made plans to stop back by the library before they left. When we finally did stop by, Gerhart and Rosemary helped us buy glasses for one of our kids, and proceeded to show us even more incredible books at our disposal. Just one more reasons why the Mennonites have got it right.
Mundo Adventura
For those of you who translate my little Spanish phrases in some free online translator, the title of this paragraph will come out “Adventure World”. Hardly…but it IS a theme park, however meager compared to States standards. This past spring, we were allowed to take all of our kids out for a fun day in Mundo Adventura at a highly discounted price. I will say, even though some of the rides were laughable, it was the best theme park experience I’ve ever had. The kids were beside themselves, literally sprinting from ride to ride, and I was more than happy to be running alongside.
There was one moment in particular that stays with me to this day. Liz (one of the volunteers from the United Kingdom) and I were responsible for 4 children in particular, and we were forced to split up. Three of the kids wanted to ride on a toboggan ride that would result in soaked clothes for all involved. Leidy Katerin, one of our students who has recently been adopted into one of the ministry’s foster homes, was not too keen on the idea of being wet on a cold, overcast day, so she and I rode a pendulum-space shuttle ride instead. There wasn’t much of a line, so we rode it several times in a row. After about 2 or 3 rotations, what was once a thrill ride, became quite relaxing. Looking down at the child next to me (still screaming like a maniac in fear) and catching brief, rhythmic glimpses of the Bogota horizon against the blue-grey sky ushered in a spiritual sense of peace. It was difficult to think of the imminent departure of my children, but the thought was made sweeter by the simple pleasure of enjoying a piece of life they would not be able to experience otherwise. As they reveled at the marvels of their previously inaccessible playland, I tried desperately to soak up every minute of their bliss.
Colombia’s cold war
I’m not sure how much you, the reader, keep up with foreign affairs (frankly, I’m not even sure who reads this) but a little while ago, Colombia found herself in somewhat of a sticky situation, politically speaking. Apparently, we went 1 kilometer across the border into Ecuador to pursue some of the FARC guerillas. Ecuador saw this as an infringement of national sovereignty, and they mobilized troops toward the boarder. Now, that might have been a slight over-reaction, but it was nothing compared to what came next. Hugo Chavez, of Venezuela, in all of his infinite wisdom decided to do the same. While all of this was happening, Colombian troops had discovered a laptop belonging to one of the FARC’s head honchos, and it proved that Chavez himself was, in fact, funding this pseudo-Marxist guerilla army.
For those of you who are either lost or simply don’t care, I will summarize things. Everyone is mad at everyone, and we are on the brink of being invaded from two sides. It was a tense few days. Those from England were almost sent back home, and I was left trying to imagine what it would be like to work in a country involved in both a civil, and international war, simultaneously.
Well, a conference was held, the president of Argentina cracked a few jokes, and by the first recess, all the presidents were hugging…literally. Such is Latin American politics.
23 on the 23rd.
This goes down as the second birthday I’ve had out of the country, and they just keep getting better. The morning of April the 23rd I woke up, and made my way to Luz y Vida, just like any other day. I ran upstairs to the computer to check some birthday emails. Apparently, the bus that picks all of the kids up from their homes broke down a few blocks from the school, and Adrienne was forced to walk alone with all of them. When they finally arrived, I walked out to greet them, and they surprised me with a song and flowers they had picked for me on the way. School proceeded as usual until about 11. It was then that all of the teachers and kids left the school and we began a strange little march down the street. We headed for my favorite ice cream joint, and right in the middle of the lunch rush, with business people in designer suits all around, we sat and ordered each child an ice cream cone. The children were loud, obnoxious and disruptive, and I’ve never been more proud.
Besides the double scoop, each child received a packet of wax ropes for molding into figures. They all made models of themselves (with some assistance) and one by one placed them on my placemat, which I still keep in my “teacher” drawer at Luz y Vida. Then, when I returned home, I found a cookie-cake with matches for candles in my living room and dozens of foam stars hanging from my bedroom ceiling. This was all the work of Adrienne, whereas the ice cream was Ryan’s doing. We ate most of the cookie, and began to make preparations for the birthday dinner. After two failed attempts at finding a Thai restaurant in Bogota, we settled on some old-fashioned American burgers. Our gringo crew, Ryan, Luke, John, Abby, Liz, Adrienne, one of our homeless friends Camilo and I ate till we were sick, and finished the meal off with a small mustard fight. Birthdays simply don’t get much better than that.
Home
As many of you know, I came home for about 2 weeks, and split my time between my friends and family in Texas and my friends and family (that happened to be) in Illinois. I ate more food than most people should in twice that time, and I literally gained almost ten pounds...not that I don’t need it, but still. I sincerely loved being home with my family and my beloved daschunds, and the barbeque that my college friends threw me in Illinois has been one of the highlights of the last few years. It was both overwhelming and beautiful to be surrounded by so many people I love, and that love me. I hate to end my post on such a sentimental/nostalgic note, but I truly do appreciate seeing and hearing from you guys, and while I adore my life here in Bogota, I am quite excited to see/talk/play music with you guys when I get back.
Till next time,
Tyler
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
A Bit of Catch-Up
Hello Again,
Although I am working very hard at Luz y Vida, life marches on, and as they say, "life is not just an old, renovated schoolhouse in Bogota." (ok… so no one actually says that). Much has happened since The Hawaii team left and Wes arrived.
Wes.
This country simply isn't the same without Mr. Wesley McKain. That's right, Colombia, with all of its flooding, earthquakes, violence, economic woes, and international troubles, is currently without one of its greatest commodities; a tall bearded white guy from Kansas City. Fear not, however, for it seems that Mr. McKain will be soon making his grand return to the great city of Bogota.
During his first tour of duty, Wes kept himself pretty busy. He spent most of his time at Luz y Vida teaching a 14-year-old-student named Karen. He would spend hours on homemade worksheets in an attempt to teach her the alphabet, and ultimately, how to read. When he wasn't teaching Spanish to a Colombian (pause a moment to let that one sink in), he was fixing the computers, cleaning, or helping Luke teach PE. To this day, the kids still include Profe Wes in their sometimes painfully long lunchtime prayers.
On top of this, Wes made it a point to befriend many of our colorful neighbors using the Spanish he had acquired over the course of his stay here. He became an integral part of our little group of volunteer/friends, and a familiar face to all those residents of the street that buzz our doorbell late at night. He has become a very dear friend of mine, and I cannot wait for him to come back.
The Texas Team.
In the United States, we celebrate Good Friday and Easter. If you are either Catholic, or just very liturgically observant, you might celebrate Maundy Thursday as well. Either way, it never usually adds up to more than an extended weekend. Here in Latin America, they have done away with the confusing individual titles, and named every day of the week leading up to Easter as Holy. That is, Holy Monday, Holy Tuesday, Holy Wednesday, and so on. Save for a few establishments run by modernistic heathens, the whole country shuts down. Honestly, I am surprised that the whole economic infrastructure of Colombia doesn't completely collapse every year around Holy Week. Camilo, who is much more experienced in these things than we, advised us to buy all of the groceries we were going to need, especially for Holy Weekend. He was right, the only places open were churches, and buying groceries from them can be difficult.
Anyway, during this unusual time of national holiness, a team of families from the illustrious First United Methodist Church in Carrolton came for their annual visit. Normally, teams like this would do some repairs, some cleaning, and play with the kids, but since there was no school for this week, it was a lot of the former two, and none of the latter. The first day, a small portion of the team (the others were held up in Charlotte due to inclimate weather) and a few of us “locals” painted the auditorium of the Other Way in preparation for the installation of a rock wall that took place later that week. The next few days, we spent up at the farm, fixing railings, securing the towers and preparing the zipline for another ministry that would be using our facilities. I took about a day and a half to get some well deserved rest and relaxation, and met back up with the team for a trip up Monserrate.
Story Time:
The team took the railway to the top of the mountain, but Wes, Fabian and I decided we would try running up. That proved to be a horrible decision. It was Holy Saturday, and half of Bogota was intent on seeing the miraculous religious artifacts found on the summit of the mountain. Somewhere in the midst of the crowd, I lost sight of Fabian (we were well behind Wes, who started about half an hour before us). I did my best to muscle through the crowds, but the road was completely packed. That is, until about 500 yards from the top when, mysteriously, a lane opened to the left. Having spent the past 6 years driving on American Interstate Highways, I naturally passed the human traffic on this newly found fast lane. I soon came face to face with a Bogota police officer. This alone did not frighten me. What did cause concern, however, was the angry mass of people that he was holding back with his nightstick. It was soon apparent that these people had been waiting to descend the mountain for some time, and as soon as the policeman allowed them, they were quite ready to trample me in the process. I quickly leapt into the correct, right lane. The group of college students that I found myself surrounded by did not take too kindly to “cutting” in line, especially when committed by an American wearing a shirt that says “I am Colombia”. Tensions rose, and I was looking for an exit. I backed up to a small cliff with angry mobs on two sides of me and a shameful descent on the third. In a rare moment of quick-thinking-ness, I scrambled up the cliff and wandered around in the forest for a bit, winding up on the backside of the mountain. I snuck past some policemen and safely met up with the rest of the team.
Soon thereafter, the Texas team departed without any more undue excitement, and according to credible sources, a good time was had by all. A very warm thank you to all those faithful Texas Methodists who support Formando Vidas and its staff.
Liz.
Immediately after the Texas team’s departure, another Texas resident (and FUMCC church member) landed in Bogota. Liz Dezeeuw, my very best friend of about 5 or 6 years came for an action-packed 5 day visit to my fair city. We started off with a visit to the Salt Cathedrals, saw an awe-inspiring pyrotechnic show in the Parque Simon Bolivar, and capped off the weekend with the biggest Futbol game of the year. In the interim times, I was showing her the best of Colombian restaurants and the magic of Fernando Botero’s paintings. Her visit was a very welcome taste of home, and I am forever indebted to her for making the long trip down here. She will be in Zambia soon, and for those of you that know her (or want to) she, too, has a blog, and I imagine she will be much better at updating than yours truly.
http://lizambia.blogspot.com/
Well, that will do it for now. Coming up in the next exciting edition: cloud forests, secret libraries and theme parks!
Love to all,
Tyler
Although I am working very hard at Luz y Vida, life marches on, and as they say, "life is not just an old, renovated schoolhouse in Bogota." (ok… so no one actually says that). Much has happened since The Hawaii team left and Wes arrived.
Wes.
This country simply isn't the same without Mr. Wesley McKain. That's right, Colombia, with all of its flooding, earthquakes, violence, economic woes, and international troubles, is currently without one of its greatest commodities; a tall bearded white guy from Kansas City. Fear not, however, for it seems that Mr. McKain will be soon making his grand return to the great city of Bogota.
During his first tour of duty, Wes kept himself pretty busy. He spent most of his time at Luz y Vida teaching a 14-year-old-student named Karen. He would spend hours on homemade worksheets in an attempt to teach her the alphabet, and ultimately, how to read. When he wasn't teaching Spanish to a Colombian (pause a moment to let that one sink in), he was fixing the computers, cleaning, or helping Luke teach PE. To this day, the kids still include Profe Wes in their sometimes painfully long lunchtime prayers.
On top of this, Wes made it a point to befriend many of our colorful neighbors using the Spanish he had acquired over the course of his stay here. He became an integral part of our little group of volunteer/friends, and a familiar face to all those residents of the street that buzz our doorbell late at night. He has become a very dear friend of mine, and I cannot wait for him to come back.
The Texas Team.
In the United States, we celebrate Good Friday and Easter. If you are either Catholic, or just very liturgically observant, you might celebrate Maundy Thursday as well. Either way, it never usually adds up to more than an extended weekend. Here in Latin America, they have done away with the confusing individual titles, and named every day of the week leading up to Easter as Holy. That is, Holy Monday, Holy Tuesday, Holy Wednesday, and so on. Save for a few establishments run by modernistic heathens, the whole country shuts down. Honestly, I am surprised that the whole economic infrastructure of Colombia doesn't completely collapse every year around Holy Week. Camilo, who is much more experienced in these things than we, advised us to buy all of the groceries we were going to need, especially for Holy Weekend. He was right, the only places open were churches, and buying groceries from them can be difficult.
Anyway, during this unusual time of national holiness, a team of families from the illustrious First United Methodist Church in Carrolton came for their annual visit. Normally, teams like this would do some repairs, some cleaning, and play with the kids, but since there was no school for this week, it was a lot of the former two, and none of the latter. The first day, a small portion of the team (the others were held up in Charlotte due to inclimate weather) and a few of us “locals” painted the auditorium of the Other Way in preparation for the installation of a rock wall that took place later that week. The next few days, we spent up at the farm, fixing railings, securing the towers and preparing the zipline for another ministry that would be using our facilities. I took about a day and a half to get some well deserved rest and relaxation, and met back up with the team for a trip up Monserrate.
Story Time:
The team took the railway to the top of the mountain, but Wes, Fabian and I decided we would try running up. That proved to be a horrible decision. It was Holy Saturday, and half of Bogota was intent on seeing the miraculous religious artifacts found on the summit of the mountain. Somewhere in the midst of the crowd, I lost sight of Fabian (we were well behind Wes, who started about half an hour before us). I did my best to muscle through the crowds, but the road was completely packed. That is, until about 500 yards from the top when, mysteriously, a lane opened to the left. Having spent the past 6 years driving on American Interstate Highways, I naturally passed the human traffic on this newly found fast lane. I soon came face to face with a Bogota police officer. This alone did not frighten me. What did cause concern, however, was the angry mass of people that he was holding back with his nightstick. It was soon apparent that these people had been waiting to descend the mountain for some time, and as soon as the policeman allowed them, they were quite ready to trample me in the process. I quickly leapt into the correct, right lane. The group of college students that I found myself surrounded by did not take too kindly to “cutting” in line, especially when committed by an American wearing a shirt that says “I am Colombia”. Tensions rose, and I was looking for an exit. I backed up to a small cliff with angry mobs on two sides of me and a shameful descent on the third. In a rare moment of quick-thinking-ness, I scrambled up the cliff and wandered around in the forest for a bit, winding up on the backside of the mountain. I snuck past some policemen and safely met up with the rest of the team.
Soon thereafter, the Texas team departed without any more undue excitement, and according to credible sources, a good time was had by all. A very warm thank you to all those faithful Texas Methodists who support Formando Vidas and its staff.
Liz.
Immediately after the Texas team’s departure, another Texas resident (and FUMCC church member) landed in Bogota. Liz Dezeeuw, my very best friend of about 5 or 6 years came for an action-packed 5 day visit to my fair city. We started off with a visit to the Salt Cathedrals, saw an awe-inspiring pyrotechnic show in the Parque Simon Bolivar, and capped off the weekend with the biggest Futbol game of the year. In the interim times, I was showing her the best of Colombian restaurants and the magic of Fernando Botero’s paintings. Her visit was a very welcome taste of home, and I am forever indebted to her for making the long trip down here. She will be in Zambia soon, and for those of you that know her (or want to) she, too, has a blog, and I imagine she will be much better at updating than yours truly.
http://lizambia.blogspot.com/
Well, that will do it for now. Coming up in the next exciting edition: cloud forests, secret libraries and theme parks!
Love to all,
Tyler
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