Yesterday we went to visit another neighborhood here in Managua. The neighborhood is made up of about 8000 individuals or about 900 families (according to the census the average family has seven children). We went accompanied by a pastor and his wife and five other adults from the community and a teenage boy, with the motive of getting to know the neighborhood where they work better. The pastor and his wife have lived in the neighborhood for years and are well-known by many. They are respected members of the community, such that when there is a domestic violence call to the police or the like, the police stop by their house first to ask them to accompany them and provide counseling to the people involved.
The pastor’s wife walked close to my side the whole time, explaining more about their work and also about the people they interact with almost daily. Many people stopped to greet her along the way or to walk a little bit of the way with us.
We came to one house where we were told that 11 people lived, 7 children and 4 adults. The grandmother was very welcoming and gave us each a seat. They told us a bit about their family and a few of the children that were not too shy came and shook our hands. The house sat perilously on the edge of a large open water drain/canal, called a ‘cauce.’ Not only did the back of the structure lead to a steep drop, the whole structure was built on a hill. It was hard to imagine not only how many people lived in the tiny quarters but also how they manage to operate on such an incline. We’ve also heard and read stories about the danger of these houses built along these sometimes cement, sometimes dirt pathways for rain water (and sewage and trash), especially in the rainy season when every year a number of them collapse along with the houses built on the edge of them.
As we carried on walking, the pastor’s wife reminded us about a boy she had told us about on our first visit. She had recently heard that he had been hospitalized and so wanted to see how he was doing. When we reached his house his father was outside, and when we walked by he welcomed us in. He greeted Jacques in English (he’s from the Atlantic Coast). As we entered the gate the boy’s mother saw us and she quickly removed a metal chain that was tied to her son. She quickly explained, “If we don’t keep him tied up he’ll climb on the roof.” Eliezir is 9 years old. The hospital has diagnosed him with ‘cerebral dysfunction’ and his mother described (and showed a picture) of how he was as a normal five-year old, and then told us a bit about now. She says she has to keep him tied up or else he is a danger to himself. In fact, while we were there he said he needed to use the bathroom and his mother let loose of her grip. He went to the back of the house and a few moments later we saw smoke. He had set something alight. His parents shared some of their worries – about how they don’t know what to do, about how the medicine that helps calm him down is much too expensive for them to buy. It’s hard to imagine the life of this 9-year-old tied to a bed, hard to imagine his parents and their feelings of desperation, and the conflicting emotions of Eliezir’s two younger sisters. We told them we would keep them in our prayers and hope that you will too.
We continued walking, further down the hill and on the other side of the ‘cauce.’ The pastor and his wife had shared about their vision to have a fence built along the waterway and walking on this path we could see why this need exists. Walking on a narrow dirt path lined with houses on one side one could imagine a child running and accidentally falling in or someone taking a wrong step at night when the path isn’t lit. The church works alongside a number of different people in the community, all whom are working to make it a better place to live. We met one such lady in front of her house who explained passionately about how they are all a team. We continued on the path meeting a few children on the way, including two young girls, aged 8 and 9 who have never been to school and don’t know how to read or write. We met another girl who is 12 years old and came to greet us carrying her 2 month old brother. Their mother left a few weeks ago to pick coffee in the northern part of Nicaragua and the 12-year-old remained responsible not only for the tiny infant (who she says doesn’t cry too much), but also for four other younger siblings.
PS We didn’t have our camera with us but these old photos from La Prensa will give you a bit of an idea of what the ‘cauces’ look like (they get a bit bigger if you click on one).
