first try

Well here I am, typing in capital letters for the first time in....a while....maybe because I feel like this needs to be official, posting my first blog as it were about my experiences in Bogota, Colombia working with the Street Kids of Colombia ministry. I arrived the 12th of September, to the business of Latin American culture, and the chaotic streets of Bogota. A far cry from the humble roads and clean air of Holmes County where Amish buggies and beautiful farmland vistas are the norm. Something I miss already.

A few weeks have passed and I"m begining to feel more at home. I'm begining to remember again what its like to be in a Spanish speaking culture, and becoming reaquainted with the city. Last week I began my orientation with the ministry by spending time at the "Otra Camino" or "Other Way". Here I'll refer to it as the later. The Other Way is the entry point for the ministry that currently works with about 25 kids from a recycling community called Colombianita. All members of the community in one way or another contribute to the gathering, sorting, saving, and selling of trash found on the streets of Bogota. Colombianita could almost be considered a village in of itself that takes up about 2 square blocks. Made up of scrape wood and metal, some houses two stories tall, it's packed full of workers, parents, about 500 kids, and the "trash" that makes it all posible. Many of the kids are able go to a normal public school and come home to some kind of family environment. Not all bad and not all good, but somewhere in the middle. I've noticed that many of the kids that we pick up and drop off everyday return to hugs and kisses by a smiling mom or sibling. Unfortunately its never been a father.

The kids at the Other way are so full of life. And courage, as I saw on the playground last week. About ten of the kids that are currently part of the Other Way are somewhere between the ages of 0 a 2 years old. The other day at "recess" I was blown away by the complete lack of fear possesed by these kids. Barely being able to walk, and still in diapers, without hesitation every one in the group climed what must have seemed like a mountain high series of steel bars to the top platform of the playground. With tiny legs and arms hardly long enough to reach from bar to bar, they hussled their way right up. Pretty sure I would have been fired by any public institution and then sued by the parents if this were to take place in the US. But they seemed pretty intent on making it, and with smiles on their faces and the eagerness to accomplish something so impressive, how could I not let them. After all, childhood is all about testing limits right? So up they went with the occasional slip, but with me right there to catch their mistep. Hanging on the parallel bars is another sport they really get into. Five feet up in the air they hang on with all the might they can muster, until gravity takes over and they fall.....to where they are exactly sure, but for some reason they place enough trust in me to risk their life. They would do it all day if I let them.

Testing limits....there are certain kids that like to test every limit posible. One of which is named Ferne. He's eight years old and was abandoned by his mom a few months ago. Apparently his mom was kicked out of the Colombianita community by her husband, who decided he prefered life with his new girlfriend. So, forced to the streets with 4 kids, she decided Ferne was the one that had to go in order to make life posible for the rest of the family. This kid is bright, fun, full of love, desires to be loved, full of energy, but like I said, likes to test every limit posible. Reason I mention Ferne is because he is the classic example of the type of kid that the ministry has been able to work with over the past 15 years. No one wanted him, or atleast couldn't afford to want him. Last Monday as we were droping the kids off at Colombianita in the afternoon, his mom came to the side of the bus where Ferne was sitting. Apparently she still comes to work with the recyclers during the day. Ferne stood up in the chair, stuck his head out the window as far as posible and cried. Cried to his mom who 2 months ago left him at the corner to fend for himself. She stood there, I couldn't hear what was said, but the fact is nothing was DONE. She stood underneath him by the window for what might have been a minute, and only words were exchanged. No contact, no hug, nothing but a broken helpless kid being abondoned by his mother yet again.

Ferne may play a part in why I'm here, and I'll write more about that as things develope. This week I'll continue spending time with the various extensions of the ministry and attempt to figure out where I should be.

Till next time - ciao.