blood

Bolivian hospitals never cease to amaze me.  I don't know how they accomplish anything because the system is so backwards and the staff is incredibly unorganized.  I spent most of this week at the hospital, and every time I go, there seems to be some new ridiculous thing that blows the other ridiculous things out of the water.  Last night, I found myself cutting through dark hallways carrying an open vile of blood, which was resting precariously inside a hole on the top of a cardboard box that was wrapped in shiny, "happy birthday" wrapping paper...

Yesterday evening, I came across one of the girls who I hadn't seen in a few days and noticed that she was really sick.  She was complaining of excruciating pain in her feet, her back, and her joints and could barely move.  So I took her to the pediatric emergency room because she's only 14.  She was running a fever of 104 and had an open, bloody throat infection that every doctor in emergency wanted to see.  Two hours later, the doctors finally give her something to lower the fever, which helped her joints start to loosen up.

One of the ladies from the night shelter is taking the girl back to the hospital today to pick up her blood work and get some specific treatment. We're hoping to get her into a girls' home, but we were told we'd have to wait until Wednesday because this weekend is Carnaval.  

This girl is only 14 but is already smoking crack cocaine on a fairly regular basis.  Her mom ditched the kids and took off to Buenos Aires a little over 2 years ago, so she and her sister are both on the streets in Cocha.  Both sisters come and go from the bridge quite often.

The girls are definitely more transient than the guys.  They come and go every few weeks or days but tend to stay in specific areas. I really need to get a foot in the door with some other groups in different parts of the city where the girls stay.  The problem is that some of those areas are incredibly dangerous, and I can't just go barging in.  So I'm praying for open doors.

a police station with a pool?

It's weird how crisis situations become everyday events down here...

Yesterday, I went out to a home for street couples to visit some kids I know there and to find out some information about one of the missing girls, whose boyfriend and son are still at the home.  The last time I saw this girl was about 3 weeks ago when she showed up on the street, having escaped from the home because her boyfriend was strangling her.  Nobody at the home had any information about where she might be, and in fact, they were all hoping that I had come with news.  

I remember meeting two of the couples who are at the home back when they lived down by the bus terminal in the spring.  They're older and really rough (seriously, they used to scare me), but I'm really happy that I'm becoming friends with them.  I was talking with the girls and searching for some info about the 2 girls that I'm trying to locate.  Thanks to all their experience on the streets, they were able to give me a few different locations on the south side of town where the girls might be.  But they told me that I shouldn't go, especially at night, even though that would be the best time to find the girls.  One girl said to watch out because there are rapists around there and that a guy tried to rape her one time not too long ago.  Great...  The girl's boyfriend and one of the women want to talk to the director of the home and see about getting out for the afternoon to go looking for the girl.  If that gets worked out, then I'll tag along to some of these scarier places, but I'm not planning any solo rescue operations.

While we were talking about all that, I got a call from another girl on the street who I've bee helping for a few months.  She was hysterical, because her boyfriend had just beaten the crap out of her.  So I left the home and jumped on a bus back to the city.  I got to the corner where all the kids were right in time to see a police SUV come speeding up and squeal to a stop.  She had finally called the cops on her boyfriend, because it was a little different this time.  He wasn't high or drunk when he beat her up; he was just mad.  So he punched her in the face 4 or 5 times and broke her nose.  Then, he kicked her in the back when she was down on the ground.  Unfortunately, he escaped on a bus just a split second before the cops arrived. 

The kids have had so many run-ins with the cops in the past few weeks, that I was immediately on edge.  But thankfully, the two cops that showed up were only interested in helping the beat-up girl and didn't harass the kids for loitering on the bank lawn or having obviously concealed glue bottles.  I rode in the back of the police SUV with her to the Family and Women Protection Brigade to file a denuncia (a police report that also serves as a restraining order) against her boyfriend, which I've been trying to get her to do for months.

Bolivia never ceases to amaze me, and this visit to the police station was no different.  The building was dump built ages ago and never kept up, with sagging ceilings and creaking, loose floor boards.  Florescent lights had been added at some point, and the walls were painted pastel pink and covered with dirty hand prints and yellowed signs.  And the cherry-on-top was an old, empty pool in the courtyard/parking lot.

Before they would interview her, the police sent us out to buy a manilla file folder for the paperwork they were filling out.  That's right.  They don't provide file folders in Bolivia.  Out by the front gate, we found a little tienda selling candy, coke, gum, and...manilla file folders.  

So after she talked with the cops and filled out paperwork, I took her over the hospital to get looked at.  We found out that the forensic doctor she needs to see, as per police orders, wasn't in, but the the doctors in the emergency room were able to give her a shot for the pain (after we went across the street to the pharmacy to buy the vile of pain medication).  

So I still need to figure out how I'm going to get down to where the the 2 missing girls are.  And in the meantime, I have to find a way to juggle all the craziness with the other girl and her abusive ex-boyfriend.  

I'm planting some seeds in her head about relocating to Santa Cruz...

hole in the wall

The police in this country have no grace for the kids on the street.  

This morning, some of the guys from the bridge were roughed up by the cops, taken to the police station, and then released a few hours later.  I'm really not sure what purpose it served...  The whole thing frustrates me because the police were harassing some of the better guys- ones who are trying to work and improve their lives.  

Based on the events of this morning and on all the rumors about police round-ups that they've heard, the kids decided to abandon the bridge for a few days.  And since kids living on the streets are often quite ingenious, I wasn't surprised when I stumbled upon a group of guys packed like sardines and hiding from the rain in an ATM booth under construction.

The hole in the wall.

11 boys and 2 dogs

85 stitches

I was going to start this off by saying that I've been working really closely with one girl from the streets for more than a month now, but I don't like the term "working."  To me, this isn't a job; it's life.  And she isn't a project; she's a friend.  And her life is incredibly important to me.  

Like all the kids on the street, she's hurting.  Her life has been a difficult one, full of poverty, abuse, and drugs.  It's enough to harden anyone's heart and fill it with bitterness.  But despite all that's happened to her in the 20 years of her life, she somehow still has a kind, caring spirit.  She is such a blessing to me!  

Nevertheless, last Sunday, she hit rock bottom again and cut up her thighs with a piece of glass.  Thankfully some police found her bleeding profusely and called an ambulance to rush her to the hospital.  She ended up getting about 85 stitches. 

She wants to get away from the bridge and has started actively seeking out rooms for rent.  It's a long, up hill battle, and the reality is that the streets are addictive and have kept her in bondage for years.  But I'm not going to lose hope that maybe this time we can really help her move forward in life.  

Please keep her in your prayers - even though you don't know her name. 

hope

The gospel frees us from being passive recipients of whatever fate somebody else decides for us.  

It's almost like their fate was chosen for them when they were born into poverty, abuse, and neglect.  It's not a big step to go from sleeping on a straw mattress in a one-room, adobe house with a dirt floor to sleeping under a bridge and sniffing glue to numb the hunger and cold, especially when it means escaping sexual abuse and beatings.   

I feel like I'm always just a few steps away from the thick cloud of hopelessness that surrounds the kids and shrouds from view any real possibility of change.  If it weren't for the gospel that allows us to step outside the restricting circumstances of our lives and live in freedom, these kids would have no hope and no future.  

What do you if you're 20 years old and have lived on the streets since you were 14?  What kind of vocation are you going have without any education or training?  

puppies, police, post office, & a park.

Busy week.  

I'll be leaving for church shortly, but I want to post an update before I head out for the beginning of another busy day.

I only went with Barbara to the bridge once this past week because I ended up doing a bunch of extra things at the girls' home.  

We went up to the bridge on Tuesday and were hoping to find some of the girls that live there, but they had all wandered off. Apparently, the pregnant girl we had talked to last week at the bridge had given birth to her second child and was staying with her mom temporarily. Her first child lives at an orphanage, and this one may end up there as well. Given the situation, it's the best thing for the baby.  

So we hung out with the boys that were busy "cleaning" their house under the bridge.  They were sweeping out piles of trash and straightening up but stopped everything to talk with us and sniff their glue.

They have 2 dogs that they take care of, and so went spent some time talking about the dogs and watching the tricks that the boys had taught them. Then, one of the boys mentioned something about puppies and crawled back into the canal under road. He emerged a couple of minutes later with 2 little, tiny puppies that were only about 3 weeks old. 

After a while, the guys had gotten pretty high, and we just couldn't understand anything they were saying, so we left.

That night, we tried to go hang out by the bus terminal with the girls that live on a hill called La Coronilla, but nobody showed up. There was a group of police standing in the exact location where the girls normally sit to sniff glue and sell themselves, which is where we normally hang out with them. The police presence was obviously keeping them away, so we walked around for a while, hoping to run into one of the girls or some of the street boys, but all we saw were cops. It was obvious that we weren't going to be able to see anybody, so we called it a night.

Wednesday afternoon, Barb and I went into town to meet up with one of the girls we know from the terminal to take her to an OB-GYN and then out for tea. We sat at our planned meeting spot outside the post office (which, by the way, is back in business after a long hunger strike) for an hour and a half, but she never showed up. She had given us a cell phone number, which we called repeatedly, but no one answered. So after sitting and waiting on the concrete step and listening to an hour and a half of funk music on Barb's MP3 player, we gave up.  

Not a successful week.  At least we're consistent.  

Thursday was a holiday, so I went with the girls from the home to a park for the day (See my photo gallery for pictures). They had such a good time playing on playground equipment, hiking around the grounds, and sliding down a big, concrete halfpipe. The tias (aunties) that work at the home had packed a lunch for the girls so that they could stay until about 5pm. I took off in the afternoon to get some things done and pack a bag for my overnighter at the girls' home that night.

Because it was a holiday, the tias had the night off, so I stayed overnight with another volunteer at the home to take care of the 22 girls that live there. With the exception of 2 bed-wetting incidences, it was a great night. We were up by 6am to make breakfast and get the girls who have school in the morning out the door by 8am. It was a good night, and the girls were really great, but I don't know how the tias do it everyday. I was exhausted all day Friday! 

I'm doing the majority of my Spanish classes on Mondays and Fridays now, and so that filled up the rest of the week.  

Friday night, we had a disco party (hence the funk music on Barb's MP3 player) in celebration of Kimber's birthday. Thanks to the amazingly huge used clothes section of La Cancha, the street market, I found an awesome, original 70s, polyester dress for 5 Bs. (about 75 cents)! I'll put up an album of photos on my web gallery soon, so check back later this week.

Today, after lunch, I'm heading over to the girls' home to help out because the tias have a special tea in honor of Mother's Day, which is this coming Tuesday. It should be a fun afternoon.

on the streets.

A large part of my new work down here takes place on the city streets in some pretty unpleasant locations with the groups of kids and teenagers that I used to be fearful of and avoid at all costs. I've not been going out alone but have been tagging along with one of the other volunteers with NCV, who has been working with these kids and teens on the streets for over a year. I'm still just beginning to get to know them, and it will take some time to build friendships and trust.

Here's what I'm learning...

Glue sniffing is a large part of life on the streets, and all of the street kids that I've met are cleferos (glue-sniffers). They spend most of the day only semi-conscious with a bottle of glue held up to their noses.

It's their escape.

In order to survive, the guys wash car windows and juggle at traffic lights and pick-pocket. Many of the girls have prostituted themselves, aborting unwanted pregnancies in back alley clinics or by drinking "witch's brew." And many have had babies that the government has taken away and put in orphanages.

There are some horribly corrupt police officers who mistreat and beat the street kids (we heard of one little boy who was beaten to death by a cop less than 2 weeks ago) and who have been known to rape the girls.

If this is the life that they have escaped to, how bad must their "home" life have been?

In the afternoons, I've been going with my friend Barb up to a bridge on the north side of town where a group of teenagers live. The bridge is over a mostly dry canal, about 6' wide and 5' deep, that runs under a very busy road and is home to a group of a dozen or so teenagers. I went up there a couple of weeks ago for the first time, and I want to describe that experience.

As we were walking up the hill toward the bridge, we saw a few heads pop up from the concrete canal to see who was heading their direction. They recognized Barb right away and called us over. So we walked to the edge of the canal and saw that there were about 10 teenagers hanging out and washing their clothes in a dirty puddle surrounded by slimy, green moss. And we were really excited to see three girls (one of whom is pregnant) that Barb has known for a while but hadn't seen in weeks.

So we jumped down into the canal, and within just a few seconds, everybody had come over to talk with us. They all held plastic bottles of glue up to their noses, and in such a tight space with so many people, even Barb and I were breathing in heavy fumes. And so we hung out in the dirty and incredibly smelly canal, breathing secondhand glue fumes and straddling garbage and piles of feces (probably both animal and human but equally unpleasant).

I'm still an outsider, but the kids were really friendly and open to talking to me. Likewise, I'm not intimidated to talk to them or bothered by the fact that they're high.

This work is amazing and heartbreaking and fulfilling and overwhelming all at the same time, and I'm still so new to everything....