Rayas de esperanza

Va a llover manana (It’s going to rain tomorrow)

“Everywhere there was the tendency to live, act, and think as if the real life is not here but there, not now but later. This tendency makes the formation of community so difficult, if not impossible. Community develops where we experience that something significant is taking place where we are. It is the fruit of the intimate knowledge that we are together, not because of a common need- such as to learn a language- but because we are called together to help make God’s presence visible in the world.”

Today we swept, washed, and swept some more the dirt, leaves, squished blackberries, that caked the sidewalk running from the dirt road, through the dirt field, to the community center. Last week there was a big storm and for a few days following the storm, the entrance to Providencia looked more like a muddy swamp than the dirt field that is used each Saturday for everything from soccer to dancing. When it rains, the only way to get to the building is by walking on this thin sidewalk…something that becomes essential when the only pair of shoes you own are the shoes on your feet . For this reason, the two of us spent about an hour spraying and scrubbing the dirt that had washed up to get it looking its best. Today it reached 100 degrees with 50% humidity and throughout this time outside I found myself wondering if this was really necessary, how much of a difference did it make if the side walk was clean or dirty. After the hour I took a minute to admire our work; the sidewalk was clean and despite my questioning throughout the processes, I found myself taking pride in our work and in the upkeep of the community center. Va a llover manana.
Yesterday I spent part of my morning at the hogar with Elena, one of the residents who has Alzheimer’s, and who I had come to know and love since my first day. When I walked into her room her face lit up and as we said hello with a hug and a kiss she asked me in English if we had met before. I told her that yes, we have, and in fact, usually we drink tea together each week. Elena and I sat looking out the window for about an hour. In our time spent together each day, Elena speaks to me in both English and Spanish, and her sentences are broken and often trail off after two or three words. I usually find myself quiet when I am with Elena, comforted by her hand in mine, as we both struggle to understand the foreign land that surrounds us. Va a llover manana.

On Wednesdays I go to Providencia to watch the kids of the women who participate in the women’s group. This past Wednesday the group celebrated mother’s day with a surprise Spa Day. I spent most of my time outside playing but whenever I walked inside I was struck by the transformed spirit of many of these women. The women walked into the center subdued and weighted down by their reality of poverty, violence, and oppression; however, an hour into the meeting there was lively chatter, genuine smiles, and a sense of dignity. Everyone got manicures, pedicures, haircuts, and facials while they enjoyed cake and soda. Women who I had come to know as sad, subdued, and overwhelmed seemed to come to life for maybe the first time since their meeting the previous week. Va a llover manana.

Va a llover manana. On Wednesday night after spending the whole afternoon at “Spa Providencia” Rosy and I shared a bottle of wine and bread outside on the patio between our two houses and reflected on the afternoon. Rosy works with three different community projects throughout the area focusing on either women, domestic violence, or both. She shared with me that sometimes she comes home exhausted and defeated after spending the day listening to women tell their stories, many of which are uglier than I had ever imagined. She shared with me that days like “Spa Providencia” are the “rays of hope” (rayas de esperanza) that keep her going. For one afternoon women of all walks came together and were cared for, planting the seed that we (all of the women present this afternoon) should be valued and should be treated with dignity as individuals with dreams, fears, needs, and capabilities. Yes, it is going to rain tomorrow, Elena isn’t going to remember who I am, the women of Providencia are going walk out of the community center into a reality where they are treated as discarded and forgotten individuals of society, and the mud and blackberries are yet again going to cover the clean sidewalk. BUT for one day, the sidewalk was clean, Elena and I didn’t feel so alone, and the women of Providencia came out of hiding to a shared space of dignity, value, laughter, conversation, and love. These rayas de esperanza are what help us rise in the morning and give us comfort as we prepare to go to bed each night.