This last week was spent navigating the streets of Cebu City; finding my purpose in a sea of shambles with hopeful faces staring out. These aren't your Rio de Janeiro shanty towns or American ghettos. Urban poverty, a kind that seems to go overlooked. A textbook definition of social stratification. A reality peaking through amongst industry and commerce. It can't be missed without an active ignorance toward a fellow human being. I cannot relay all aspects of this poverty. Some experiences cannot be given in just a few sentences or anecdotes. I also choose not to share all that I've seen. There is a rough line between teaching others of this reality and maintaining a semblance of dignity for those in these circumstances. They are human. A photo would exploit and possibly offer a laugh for those ill-informed. Hopefully my simple words can offer a glimpse into another world so close to us all.
The week varied from helping with a mobile school program to painting at a girl's home to outreaching to prostituted women. There were ups and downs to the whole experience. Saddened by the extreme poverty but my heart lightened by the cheerful children and the agencies working hard to better the lives of those less fortunate.
One of the mornings our group hopped on old, rickety buses donated from abroad to pick up young children for mobile school. We swerved between an upscale mall to an alleyway leading into the rundown nipa huts and children in torn, dirty clothes. Children boarded the bus and patiently awaited their destination, a lonely street called school. Although the attention span of forty young children isn't much, the ability to teach anywhere without many resources is remarkable. The children are given an opportunity to catch up, to learn. A right they all have.
Another day was filled with traversing small paths through a barangay to observe supervised neighborhood play. An overflowing garbage dump to my right and huts close to my touch on the left. The combination of sewage and garbage sitting in the hot sun was almost unbearable. An eyesore many ignore, but it is life for so many. Afterward, our training group visited a government-run home for neglected and abused girls. A few showed their trauma while others sang songs and danced within the safe walls of the compound. So full of life and love, making my troubles seem insignificant.
The most powerful immersion came next. A night in the life. I entered an underworld. A world full of desperation and greed. Mothers just trying to feed their children or young girls left to make it on their own, while pimps and mama-sans keep much of the bounty. I outreached with an agency whose focus is to offer resources and escape to women and girls who are trafficked and/or prostituted. We wandered a bustling barangay with unkempt children running around while men drink or do drugs behind a thin hut's walls. Their mothers, sisters, and daughters trying to repay debt through exploitation. I made small talk with women and children all around. I tried to be nonjudgmental and offer a kind smile in spite of the current scenario. I felt helpless, but hoped they realized there are people out there who care and are working for them.
The whole week's experience was eye opening. An understanding for populations I may work with. A reinforcement for my purpose to serve. Cebu City is my backyard and the front doesn't look so different.
The most powerful part of the week was our closing debriefing. Tired eyes and short tempers became focused on our technical trainer as he presented a simple diagram, the key to our success over the next two years. What I try to do and how I try doing it will never come to fruition unless I know why I am here. Amongst trials and frustrations, I must find my why everyday or I will not last. Why am I here serving? Why is my work important? My answers will be the fire keeping my passion alive.
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