Bo's Journal

Wednesday
Today was Mama Carmen day, in which we were to go to Guatemala City to her orphanage which houses approx 90 orphans of all ages up to approx 18. Guatemala has an estimated 100,000 orphans, made homeless by broken homes, mothers who can’t afford to keep them, prostitute mothers who use their children to enhance their revenue. Often the orphans are taken from their families by the DCFS equivalent after presenting to hospitals with unspeakable injuries. Others are found scrounging in the garbage dumps or living squalidly in the streets. Infants barely old enough to walk live in card board boxes with a tow or three year older sibling, unimaginable conditions to us. The ones we see are the lucky ones. Between Casa Angelina and Mama Carmen, there are 150. 100,000 orphans and we barely scratch the surface. We are humbled by these simple children, happy and laughing again, grateful to have a safe place to sleep, three meals a day and the privilege to go to school, so that when they turn 18, they will have the ability to care for themselves. We worry about giving our children designer jeans. They thank God for another day of not being molested.
But I digress. A great breakfast (yeah! Bean paste!) followed my run – I almost could do the entire circuit without stopping today. Ivan-the-terrible decreed that we should come to Casa Angelina for devotions (45 minutes in the opposite directions from Mama Carmen’s) before leaving for Guatemala City, so we all took one baby aspirin to prevent DVT. Jesus-in-jeans once again selected an intensely emotional group of songs. I thought Barbie (the stunning blond daughter of one of the group’s pastor) would wash off one of her false eyelashes. And, once again, we shuffled about, not knowing any of the words. Inspirational word followed – something about God’s breath. I’m sure Barbie’s breath from God gave her those double “D’s”. Properly chastened and subdued by the spirit, we hastened to the bus, hopeful that the thunder bolt to be cast at me would miss. Due to the late start from doubling back to Casa Angelina and cleansing our souls, we ate on the bus. To our relief, whoever prepares the meals showed an understanding for the need for variety, so we had chicken salad sandwiches. Sadly, no mongrel dog show was in store, but, thank you Jesus, Barbie had come with us. The trip to Guatemala City also displayed the national pastime – outdoor urination. One absent-minded fellow even forgot to turn away from traffic. Leighanne assured us he was not Jewish.
Arriving at Mama Carmen’s we quickly unloaded and set up. The dentist entourage was already, busy plucking out residual primary teeth, as well as a few rotten ones. A Row of chipmunked orphans greeted us, guaze firmly pressed on their extraction sites. With our assembly line assembled, we saw 50 orphans in 50 minutes. Most were well-child checks, the few that had scabies and lice had us all scratching for the rest of the day. Following the exams, we gathered for our annual group photo with Mam, whose age is known only to God, and we presented her with part of our meager fund raising efforts, which for her was not so meager and she was sincerely grateful. In our short time there, quiet, shy, Gary became attached to a number of these cute little urchins, wanting to take several home. If chocolate eyes and heart-melting hugs can’t move you, nothing will. However, I think Gary was also encouraged because he knew that none of them will ever be taller than he.
Boarding the bus, we once again entered the butt numbing transit twilight zone in which the time-space continuum came into play, eventually landing us back at Casa Angelina before 5:00. Stretching our legs for a few minutes we reboarded for the ride back to the hostal. Once again the Guatemalan social panarama provided poignant moments; new roof dogs, death defying pedestrian dartings between moving traffic, mamacitas in doorways promising Nirvana for $10, and fallen items in the roadways, introducing us to the first loose stools of the trip.
A Kelly approved supper of roast beef (which one of the runway cows was it?) awaited and we supped with great relish. Devotions followed, each to our own with Matt in search of more Gallo beer, still chuckling over the translation.
Thus ended February 18, in the year of lord 2009.