So I’ve seemed to settle myself into life at the mission. I’ve got my own room, which hasn’t happened since I’ve lived at home, but the boys come in and say hi and meander about scrounging food and hassling one another. At first glance they appear to be typical teenagers and are expected to be a somewhat responsible member of the family. The dynamic of which is an interesting production around here. Given their stories, I’d have imagined bundling so many broken hearts under one roof would spell disaster, but what I’ve found is a family of sorts. Hard to see at first, it becomes easier if one applies the brilliant wisdom of my father, “Embrace the dysfunction.” To prove my father’s theory of happiness and stress-free living we’ll take another hike.
When I arrived the boys were on a break from school because of the independence holiday on the 16th. One of the days they were off Pio, Jose and I went on a hike up the Sleeping Lady. La Muchacha Duermio is a small mountain behind the mission that looks like a lady lying on her back. We headed across the grounds till we were into a neighboring cornfield, beyond a small creak and on the way up. We scrambled up some rocks then into a little gully where we followed a stream, hopping from rock to rock. There was a path but we kept meandering from it, making things a little more difficult for ourselves than it had to be. Each time we deviated from the path I thought we would be moving on from the trajectory only to return a couple steps later. Then it dawned on me that Pio was leading. Pio is virtually blind. His eyesight is like looking through waxed paper. He plays computer games with eyes inches from the screen and reads with his nose literally in the pages. It was the blind leading the sighted, but even so we made it up to a beautiful waterfall and then eventually back safe and sound.
For my official duties I go into town with Habakuk, the new pastor to build the new church. So far we have been digging through concrete to sink new posts that will suspend the roof. The first day with sledge and crowbar in hand we cracked and smashed, swung and scraped some puny wholes that we would come back to finish the next day. I weakly suggested how much easier this would be with a jack hammer, to which Habakuk responded, “Yeah, we have one. We’ll bring it tomorrow.” His response puzzled me, as I’m sure the look on my face puzzled him. It did seem odd and that we would spend time and energy doing what was going to be completed in another manner anyway. I told this story to my sister later that afternoon to which she said, “Welcome to Mexico Nick.” No further explanation was needed. Wheedling the jackhammer was no walk in the park either, as it turned out. I’m sure our job is not to code. I didn’t bother to ask. Tasks are accomplished not with speed or procedure but simply accomplished. Our operation doesn’t possess the means, manpower, or resources to worry about such luxuries, and I think they are just that.
There is also dysfunction that can be embraced, but will not be tolerated. Not surprisingly, cleanliness, or lack there of, is one such catalysis for punishment. My sister, on more than one occasion during my short stay to this point, has foolishly complained to me, her brother who is not very clean either, of her kids messy closets and dirty rooms. Of course I’m shocked to hear that all ten teenage boys are not perfect housekeepers. After she vents to me there is a silent anticipation until the poor guilty child returns or is hunted down, conditions permitting.
Worse than general filthiness, is malicious messiness. On more than one occasion, one of the boys has booby-trapped another’s bed or shoes with dirty dishes, old food, or other readily available munitions. The culprit is easily weeded out by punishing the entire group for the offense. Nothing like a little social Darwinism to strengthen the bonds of brotherhood, but it works. The offender was given the choice of eating the festering food that was planted or relieving the victim of their chores for two weeks. The food must not have been this morning’s breakfast because the chores were more appealing.
Finally, seeing as how there are ten boys and only two sets of eyes to watch them, they are expected to be where they know they should be. Case and point? Pio. I went to the market after church with Ricardo, Pio, Fide, and Jose. The market was wonderful, beautiful sights and smells everywhere. There were interesting people and crafts, clothes, and wares. We walked to the end and then bought what we needed on our way back. At one point, Pio was missing. Apparently partial blindness is no excuse, because he got a talking to when he was found. Finally we were finishing up and Pio was gone again. Hopefully he would be at the car. He wasn’t. We left. Its about 4 kilometers back to the mission. I was assured he would be able to make his way back.
To embrace the dysfunction is to cope. Embracing the dysfunction takes care of ten boys. It feeds some sixty orphans three meals a day. It triumphs over tantrums, injuries, disputes, and bad days, but at some point this wise and sound philosophy crumbles under its own inadequacies. It is for profound and fundamentally dysfunctional homes and families that many of the kids are here. Many will carry it along with them for a lifetime, and its not that they have chosen to embrace it either. It was always there. Another adventure for me in another land with more interesting people is a struggle for these kids. Every day is a new story of another kid.
I’m sorry, I don’t really know how to turn this post around, and it’s getting pretty late. We’ll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings us.
Oh, if you’re worried about Pio, he’s fine. He walked cross-town to join up with his friends from the mission and the youth group where they were selling hamburgers to raise money for an event they are going to put on. When Ricardo and I picked them up the other boys sang songs in the van on the way home of how he would be in trouble when he got back to Andrea.
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