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A
Chance The 16 boys of the Sí A La Vida house were once castaways, floating through the rough streets of Managua. But they were given a home, an education, a chance, and are now indeed a spirited bunch. The day we met, Roberto and Santos fervently smacked a deflated and dusty tetherball. Their shouting was drowned out by booming music. Tumba-la-casa, tumba-la-casa, tumba-la-casa-mami. Moving with the beat, Alvaro showed off his smooth dance skills. Henry and Juan Ramón conjugated English verbs while Orlando swept the floor beneath them. Little Osmel thrust his hand out for me to shake. Through large open windows in the main room, I gazed out at a green expanse of large-leafed plantain trees that are the project’s livelihood. Besides providing a steady income that covers some of the boys’ needs, they all learn valuable life skills by harvesting the fruit. Through their own hard work they create a hopeful future. This is a miracle. The boys were homeless at the same age most children in the U.S. learn their multiplication tables. They scrounged to find food or baby food jars filled with glue to escape the physical and emotional pain of street life. The survivors that now live at the Si A La Vida home have endured more than their share of ugliness, yet have emerged with spirits intact. They greeted me daily with big hugs and an enthusiastic " Ana" or "Anaconda". The affection they give after living nearly devoid of affection astonishes me. At times, they seemed remarkably untouched by their own histories. However, their struggles were quickly apparent Carlitos is among the youngest of the chavalos* and came to live at Casa José María the day after I arrived. He is eleven years old, but with his small frame and quiet voice he looks 7. The first day Carlitos came into the computer room, he balanced his skinny body on the tip of the chair eagerly. In order to start the program, he had to type his name. When prompted, he glanced first at the keyboard, then back at me questioningly. I was ashamed at my assumption. Can it be? I prodded him hopefully. Dónde está C, Carlitos? His hands did not move. They have so much to overcome. The boys are many grades behind their peers in school. Catching up is enormously frustrating, and starting the second grade at age fourteen is humiliating. Some may have learning difficulties as a result of past drug use or neglect. They do not know if they will ever be reunited with their families. Many still struggle with their addictions. Even today, their caretakers must avoid exposing them to anything with heavy, toxic fumes, like the oil based paint used on the walls of the house. Some struggle with behavior problems. Yecsi was often disruptive, one day he blew into a toy whistle repeatedly. I was speaking with one of the educators, Doña Yolanda, and was having a difficult enough time understanding her fluid speech. Every few seconds Yesci would toot on his toy, much to the chagrin of all. After Doña Yolanda told him to put the toy away, Yesci walked up to my right ear and blew as hard as he could. The shrill stung my eardrum. I jumped up quickly, wanting to yell at him, wanting to punish him. All I could say was, "Yesci, porque ( why) ?" He could not answer. He only knew what we all did; a life of neglect left him unable to control his impulses. Among the staff of Casa José María, patience is a requirement. Doña Yolanda somehow managed to end her admonitions with "mi amor". Jonathan’s patience was seemingly infinite. He rarely raised his voice, even when the boys fought or were disrespectful. I attempted to adopt his zen-like demeanor, though at least once every day I lost my patience. When Jonathan arrived every evening, the boys would cluster around him as they would Santa Claus. They echoed his name. " Jonathan, puedo escribir treinticinco palabras por minuto! ( I can write 35 words per minute)" shouted Alejandro. " Jonathan, mira mi pulsera* nueva!" exclaimed Juan Carlos. They were desperate for a moment of attention, desperate for love, desperate for a true family. To them, Jonathan is their father. Somehow amongst the cacophony, Jonathan addressed each one with a calm, comforting voice. He congratulated Alejandro on his feat. Then he pulled Juan Carlos closer to admire his new bracelet. He loves them all and respects their individuality. He knows them down to their shoe sizes. The boys hovered around Jonathan as he examined their pulseras. They are woven by all. By selling them, to classmates or students in the U.S., they earn spending money. By making them, they learn to focus on a task to completion. I watched often, entranced by their weaving. They focus deeply, undaunted by thread tangling into knots around their fingers. Flicking their thin wrists, they organize colored strands into lines and diamonds and words. Their hands turn chaos into beauty. At Si A La Vida, the boys have the luxury of releasing tension through creative expression. Carlitos often used the "paint" program when he worked on the computers; decorating the screen with multicolored lines and shapes. Sometimes we would practice typing letters. We would set the font to his favorite color, blue, and I would dictate the letters of his name. He searched for them on the keyboard with index finger poised. The process was often painstaking. I just wanted to end his frustration by holding his slender finger and pushing the correct key. For the first time, Carlitos attended school. He brought home his work and sat in a sunny corner of the main room, copying his sentences diligently. One day, I peered over his shoulder out of curiosity. His assignment was to copy the ironic sentence "mi mamá me ama" ( my mom loves me ) twenty times. After a couple of weeks, the keyboard games of hide and seek became more fruitful. He found the letters C, then A, R…the letter L was the toughest, with good reason. On the keyboard, the letter I looks exactly like a lowercase L! At last, triumph. C-A-R-L-I-T-O-S, he typed. We were both ecstatic, and slapped high fives. "Mira Ana, CARLITOS" he exclaimed, pointing at the screen. With his newfound power as a wordsmith, he saved all his drawings under his name: "Carlitos 1, Carlitos 2, Carlitos 3…". He began practicing new words by copying signs, boxes, labels; anything he could find. Words were no longer foreign, mysterious objects. He was so excited and proud, calling me over to see that he typed the word correctly. Just the memory of it brings tears to my eyes. Hope grows when you give children a
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was an amazing, difficult, heart-wrenching, and heartful time. Thanks to Jonathan for giving me an opportunity despite lackluster Spanish skills. Adan, Alejandro, Alvaro, Arnoldo, Carlitos, Henry, Jonathancito, José Angel, Juan Carlos, Juan Ramon, Nelson, Orlando, Osmel, Roberto, Santos, Yecsi, you are my nica brothers. To all that donate time and money to the Sí A La Vida project, I thank you with all my heart. Spring 2002 |
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