Outside the Bubble of Comfort: Another Perspective on Rio

We have been in back in Brazil for about a month now, this time as legal workers.  It is taking some time to get back into the swing of things, but I am really enjoying the beautiful weather (the temperatures have cooled down into the 80s) and hearing the party sounds of a Brazilian band playing live music in the neighborhood this Sunday night. 

Yesterday was community outreach day at our school.  Seven teachers and twelve students bussed over to two different sites about an hour away.  My group visited a non-profit organization called O Cordeiro (The Lamb), located next to a drug lord-controlled slum of about 10,000 people.  We split into two groups; one group painted a room and the rest of us met a group of twenty children from the community, aged nine to fifteen.  They come to the site to take classes in Spanish, English, drama, karate, and Bible.  Since we visited during their Spanish time, we introduced ourselves in Spanish and then I organized an icebreaker game.  It was meant to be an opportunity for them to practice Spanish, but everyone quickly reverted to Portuguese.  After that, we broke up into small groups and spoke with the students in Spanish.  I came to briefly know a group of six pre-teen girls who were filled with life, a love of learning, and a love for God.  I prayed for them before we parted.  They did not seem in any rush to leave even though their Spanish lesson time had passed.  Another teacher told me that a boy in her group was nine years old and proud to say he was in kindergarten. 

After that, C, the leader of the ministry, took us on a walking tour of the slum.  Apparently, this is the slum that escapees came to during the recent police invasion of another nearby favela.  As soon as walked into the community, I noticed right away that there were horses.  One of the horses was so thin that its ribs and backbone were visible through its skin.  Then, down a side street, I saw a shirtless young man with a revolver tucked into the front of his board shorts.  He walked across the street behind our group and disappeared into another alley.  Young men in alleys were talking on walkie-talkies, which a high school student in our group explained was part of the self-policing network.  (Communities like this one are controlled by the drug trade and those in the network police their own community.  Government police do not even enter the favela because they will be killed.  This means that there are absolutely no government services, including enforcement that children go to school.)

Some girls in our group expressed their discomfort about walking any further into the community because of the possible danger, but C assured us that he had called the leader ahead of time to get permission for our visit and that they were expecting us.  We walked deeper into the community of flat, dusty unpaved alleys and makeshift dwellings.  Occasionally, we would see a familiar face--one of the children from our earlier visit carrying a baby sibling or idling outside their home.  We stopped briefly to say hello to a friend of C who was outside with a baby.  She was a young girl who did not seem older than the high school students we brought with us; I was unsure whether the baby belonged to her or whether she was just caring for it.  The baby had a hernia on his belly button, which looked like a large ball of skin.  Another teacher explained to me that this is caused by excessive pressure on the stomach, often from the wailing of a baby when it is not attended to.  According to her, these can only be removed by a surgical procedure.  I wondered if this baby would ever receive such care. (My brother-in-law, who is a pediatrician, kindly informed me that these hernias are actually quite common; some sources claim that one in six babies are born with one, and they usually resolve on their own by the age of four or five.)

As we walked on, I saw a number of pregnant women walking around or sitting, doing nothing.  They were difficult to miss because their enlarged stomachs were exposed; often, they would be wearing only a bikini top, probably because of the hot temperatures.  Every block, there seemed to be someone blasting Brazilian music.  Kids were playing out in the street, watching us go by.  I wanted to speak with them but did not know whether it was safe to do so.  I stayed close to our small group.  There were very few people in the streets that seemed to be over thirty years old, and they all seemed to be just hanging around, waiting for something to happen.

When the tour was finally over, I was relieved to be away from the community, but I saw the children we had met in a new way.  When we met them, they seemed like ordinary kids, not much different from the ones we work with every day.  Then, I learned that most of them do not have parents because they have died of drug overdoses or are so consumed by drugs that they abandon their children.  Some of them do not know how many siblings they have.  Life in that community of violence is all they know.  The ministry that C started provides a place for them to escape, to avoid the violence and crime of their dusty streets.  C explained that most of the children's families do not want them to grow up to become involved in drugs and crime, so they support his ministry, which equips them with skills to find good jobs in the future.  However, the drug network will remain a hindrance until the government can enter and begin to help.  This is only one community of many in Rio de Janeiro that is suffering. 

It would be easy to push the images from that community out of my mind, but I do not want to forget.  That would be convenient, selfish, living in denial of the fact that much of the populated world suffers like this community.  I was eager to speak to C again today at church.  I thanked him for the opportunity and he invited me to return any Saturday to help.  At least the school or we personally may be able to donate pencils and notebooks to the children there.  I feel great compassion for those children, and I know that loving them, teaching them about Jesus, and teaching them skills is something I would even love to do for full-time work. 

For now, I will continue to work with another population that also has great spiritual needs--the students at our own school.  No matter what community we live in, no matter what color our skin, no matter how much money or education we have, we are equal in the eyes of our Creator.  I will continue to let God use even me to love the people in my current circumstance and teach them who He is so that they might be transformed by the knowledge that they are accepted no matter WHAT.