Compassion Adventure #3 (Central/South America 2013): Visiting Josefa (Guatemala)

The first stop on my whistle-stop tour of Guatemala was 14 year-old Josefa. As usual, to get there required a three hour trip, from Guatemala City to just outside Quetzaltenango, in the west of the country. The journey was an eye-opener, and I drank everything in. We were deep in the mountains, and passed a volcano or two. The beauty was breathtaking, but I’m sure that it’s little consolation to the hundreds of people we passed who were just aimlessly standing by the side of the road, or ekeing out a measly existence selling random stuff at roadside stalls.

In Australia, when we see people walking or driving, the likelihood is that they have a purpose in where they’re going; that they have something important to do or somewhere important to be. That’s not the sense I got on this trip. We were in the middle of nowhere, in the mountains of Guatemala, far from the nearest large town. It made me think about those people: the old man with a bunch of sticks on his back, the woman with a baby wheeling a bicycle. What were they doing? What did their day ahead look like, and what did they see their future being like?

We finally arrived at Josefa’s community. Her family and the community is Mayan, so the clothing was extravagant, colourful and beautiful. I met Josefa and her family at the Compassion Project (Mama, Papa, two younger brothers, two younger sisters) and they presented me with a traditional Guatemalan men’s top, which I put on to honour them despite the stifling humidity. I would also get one the next day from Yeymi’s family – starting a collection.

There was nothing happening at that time because it was morning and the kids were at school. They would be back in the afternoon. We had a tour, and I would say it was one of the least resourced Projects I have seen, which is an indication of the status of the community. There were leaks, and the place wears the battle scars of earthquakes. However, I talked to some of the Project workers, saw the cupboards full of student records, immunisations etc, and I knew that God’s love was in that place. They are doing the best they can with what they have.

While we were there, a parade went past. I was told the Catholics celebrate a different saint each year, and this year the parade was in honour of "The Black Christ" (whatever the heck that is). The dancers wore masks which were quite macabre and creepy. People are also into self-flagellation, crawling to the church on their hands and knees from a long way away. The music was funky though :)

We walked to visit their extended family, which was an experience. It was the main street of the neighbourhood. We dodged the scary-masked dancers, cars, trucks, bikes and buses, and on the way back school had just finished, so we passed hordes of kids looking at me strangely. This was because I was wearing the traditional Guatemalan top that Josefa's family had presented me with, and probably didn't look much like a Guatemalan. I met Josefa's grandparents, aunts and uncles, and saw where they and her father eke out their income, making garments and selling them. Despite their circumstances, they were quietly content and joyful, and welcomed me into their home.

We then went back to the family's house and had a tour. I presented gifts and taught them about Australian football. I kept asking Josefa about how she helps around the house. Does she help in the kitchen? Does she help looking after her baby brother? The reply to both was “A little bit, but I don’t have time". I was appalled to discover the reason for that: Josefa and her 12-year-old brother both have to work 36 hours a week making men’s shoes, just to help the family and be able to afford to go to school. Somethin' ain't right with this world!

Josefa dreams of being a doctor. When I was at the Project, I saw Josefa’s school results. She is in either 8^th or 9^th grade, and her results aren’t that flash. I would “bet the farm” that those poor results would have something to do with having to work 6am – 12pm six days a week before going to school.

I just realised, some of you might be reading my accounts of my Compassion children’s lives, and be thinking “Gee whiz, he’s painting a pretty grim picture here. Where does this Compassion business fit in, and how does it help them?”

For all my advocacy with Compassion, I’m not for a moment pretending that it’s a miraculous quick fix. Poverty is disgusting and is not easily solved. What Compassion does is come alongside the family and supports them, in a long-term strategy for the family to lift themselves out of poverty. Compassion assists with (doesn’t pay ALL) costs associated with the child and family’s medical, educational, nutritional and spiritual well-being. It provides them with a sponsor in a far-away country, to come alongside them and offer words of encouragement, hope and love.

The Compassion Projects, or Child Development Centres, are often the only places where children feel safe, loved and valued. It’s often the only place they get a decent meal. The Project workers are almost all volunteers, and they literally give their lives for these children and their families, because they are sharing the love of Jesus with them. They partner with local churches, which gives the family a community to support and love them. Compassion spiel over, and I hope that clears it up somewhat.

For lunch I took the whole crew to Pollo Campero ("chicken country") where you can "Enjoy, Dream and Jump", and then we came back to the Project to meet the kids. We went around to each classroom, I introduced myself and took questions from the kids. The reaction varied from class to class. Some were wide-eyed and silent, staring at this big, white, bald, smiley stranger speaking a weird language, holding a weird red egg-shaped ball, and they didn’t know what to think. Others were jumping out of their skin to ask questions, and enjoyed having me in there. I made sure to encourage them that God loves them, and I was happy they were there in the Project where they could feel safe and loved.

The goodbye was gut-wrenching. We were going to do it out in the street in front of all the Project kids, but I wanted to do it privately, just in case I cried (I did). Josefa was incredibly affectionate. She was by my side the whole day, and was distraught at the end. I spent five minutes just consoling her while she sobbed. That will never leave me. The older kids have a different sense of how significant a visit from their sponsor is. Praying with these families is an incredibly holy experience, and the inadequacy that I feel is ever-present. But I was able to speak Words of Life over this precious family, and leave them in His hands.