Las Violetas

When I say slum, I wonder if you think of the movies like I had--do you think of District 9? Do you think of the Hoovervilles in Cinderella Man?

As we walked to el Refugio this morning, it was Heather who noted, "How beautiful this area was probably intended to be." She was referring to a lagoon type place, with weeping willows and a calm stream of water. The water is murky, and meets the street filled with bottles, other forms of trash, and the resulting hyper-green algae.

Along the side of this stream, the back way into the barrio, is a mud path filled with broken glass. We enter a side street made of cement block homes with unfinished walls. On these walls, names like Facundo and Josue declare their love for various girls in purple spray paint, only the girls' names have now been crossed out and unmentionable words are now inscribed.

The streets are clear. We saw our first taxi today, as it avoided a stray dog who refused to move from his resting point in the middle of the road. He stared the yellow cab down, only brave enough to come during the day I suppose. It is rumored taxis don't come to Las Violetas out of fear of robbers.

The gate screeches open as we enter el Refugio, because it scrapes against the ground and lacks WD-40. Described as a place for teenagers, children also find the Refuge as a safe place to get away from home. The teenagers have come to a point where they are well acquainted with life in the barrio, and many have assimilated to the rules of the land. Those who do come, only come Thursday, as it is a source of immediate income. The other workshops offered during the week have no monetary reward, so what's the point?

We greet everyone with a kiss on the right cheek, a "Cómo andas?" and I try to make a point to say everyone's name when we say hola. Gustavo, Davíd, Pedro, Chichillo (also known as Profé), Celeste and Maribel. Others come in and out near the end of our time together. We spend a quarter of an hour in Bible study in the patio in the back, but the teenagers are more interested in learning the few English phrases we can teach them when we return to complete our work.

I've been trying to assess the importance of college, or more colloquially called, university. I've heard of these kids not participating in school past our equivalent of middle school. For one, it's not offered with qualified teachers. Additionally, going to school is looked down upon by their peers.

Davíd (22) though, talked of his dream of going to school for dentistry. I was impressed, because many of the adolescents here, and not just in Las Violetas, have no sense of dreams, or sueños, for their future. Many shrug at the question of what they hope for. And in case you are surprised by the age and the word "adolescent" coming together, it has to do with cultural differences.

When I say goodbye, I try to say their names again. I try to say that I look forward to seeing them next week, or for some, the next day at church. We walk back to Las Palmas and see some of them again walking to their homes. Some of them have stray dogs now following them, and we all avoid the gifts the perros give to our paths. More people are walking the streets now, and we make eye contact with most, giving a "Buenos días." They respond with a smile and ask how we are.

Their clothes are worn. Two roosters cross our path. Several motorcycles will weave through us. Children pass us with cigarettes held between their index fingers and thumbs.

The church in Las Violetas is the last thing we pass before exiting through the back way once again. It's a large, orange painted, structure. The very top has a faded sign that says Jesus is the only way to be saved. I read it and pray, and then am interrupted when a truck from the 50s roars past and splashes the sewage that has collected on the street. Thankful for having avoided getting splashed, but saddened by the distractions of this neighborhood. We have passed panaderias that give off the fresh scent of baked bread, but then in a moment are consumed by the smell of dog leftovers.

In and out, in and out. Splashes of good, of hope, contrasted by the truly disgusting.

Chau.