Rosalba

Probably you figured out that this is not a real tiger.

We have talked about our trips to the zoo in the past, but this is not so much about the zoo as it is the people with us at the zoo. The photo above is missing Rosalba, who is the link between us, but don't worry, there is a picture of her below.

About a year and a half ago we entered into what is possibly a most typical missionary dilemmas - do you hire someone to help you around the house? We do not have a big apartment, and for a year and a half we managed just fine. Okay, let's be honest - Richard managed just fine as he cleaned and I read him books (best.arrangement.ever). After Nora was born, however, we were feeling a little overwhelmed. We weren't sure what we were doing (and we had not yet acclimated to that perpetual reality), we were dead-dog tired, and we weren't feeling up to the challenge of the daily January dirt dusting that comes with the blessed breezes of the North Coast. In talking through things with someone from the church, she suggested Rosalba just come by and give us a hand one day.

I have never seen a person clean so thoroughly as Rosalba did that day. I have heard tell of people moving furniture to clean before, but I have not really had them take every item out of my kitchen cabinets, wipe down each item along with all the shelves, and replace everything (resulting in fun hide and seek games once she left, but whatever). Perhaps even this seems normal to you, but may I just show you one picture which further underscores my point? That cow (which is our water filter) had spots before Rosalba came. I am not kidding you. Richard painted spots on that cow with what we considered to be permanent marker. That was evidently inaccurate. When she left that day (approximately 10 hours later...) we marveled at how clean our home could be. We relaxed. We walked around barefoot. We went to bed early. We were hooked.

Rosalba

Rosalba usually comes once every 2-3 weeks (or just before our parents come to visit) to get the deep down clean that our (Richard's) sweep and mop doesn't quite cover. Over time we have gotten to be friends. I am finally not just "Señora" with a name too hard to remember. I have heard about her life and she has lived some of mine as she has watched Peanut grow up from 4 months on. I think the first real break was when we invited Rosalba and her two youngest daughters to the Nutter's birthday, getting that same invitation in return to her grandson's first birthday this past February. Every time she comes I make us all breakfast and for lunch she either tries out "an adventure" (read: what we usually eat at home), or I go buy something for us at the corner store that is more immediately recognizable.  Each of her kids has come to our house with her and played with Peanut, to her everlasting delight. We are grateful for their presence in our life.

And yet...because isn't there always an "and yet" to a dilemma?

And yet, Rosalba works for us. Can't get around that. She does not come clean out of the goodness of her heart (why would you do that?), and, apart from the meals we fix, we do not help her out while she is sweeping, wiping, mopping, etc. We have the luxury of paying her to come do what she also has to do at her own house because...well, it is her house. We live fairly simply, yet with a "home computer" and a "work/travel computer" while her kids (she notes) don't even know how to turn one on. We pay her better than she expects to be paid, but again, we can. We took she and her family out to the zoo just to have fun, because we can. 

I am not putting the dilemma forward very clearly I don't think, but it revolves around whether, if you can, you choose to ask someone else to come in and do work that you could do, or not. If not, we would have never met Rosalba or her wonderful kids. Peanut would have a smaller world, whether she knew it or not. And sure, Rosalba and her family would not have the still meager income we provide her twice a month. But because we do are in each other's lives doesn't mean we can pretend that making breakfast or a birthday invitation puts us on equal footing in the world or that other choices we make (or don't) serve to maintain or even widen the gap between us. 

And yet...we will still treasure our trip to the zoo

We are ostriches, can't you tell?

Stuck in the Middle with You

 

It is a big picture because it has made me think a lot.

This past Sunday, Peanut and I went with our church to visit another church outside of Barranquilla to celebrate their anniversary. We went on a big school bus singing songs and enjoying the wind in our hair. We wound up sitting by ourselves, but there were several empty seats and my long legs have trouble fitting, so we spread out a little. We all piled off to join the worship service that was ready to start, and Peanut and I settled ourselves on the floor so she could move around and not climb over everyone.

At 9th (our home church), Peanut gets special attention. All the kids are loved and cooed over, but everyone remembers Peanut's name, she made it on a new church banner, and she just does get something extra. Still, she is a known quantity. She is not new.

At Pital, she was new. She sat with my quietly keeping an eye on what was going on for a while. It is her way. We do not call her "the Observadora" for nothing. Still, after getting a handle on things, she inevitably makes her move. There are probably 30 kids or more at Pital, and they sit in kid-sized plastic chairs in the very front of the sanctuary, and Peanut decided she was going to go hang with them for a little while. There was not a place to sit (and she can't really climb up into a chair on her own so well yet), so she just stood in the aisle. From my spot in the back I saw hands begin to stretch out from chairs on all sides to touch her skin or her hair. At one point she had 5 sets of hands on her somewhere. She took it all in stride - walking back toward me when it was a little too much, but returning again to give it another go.

After the service we went to a church member's home to eat a big stew and share some fellowship time before heading back to Barranquilla. While the food was finishing we all sat together talking and playing ice-breaker games. Peanut hung out in my lap for a bit (watching), then made her move again. I took the picture above just to capture my sweet bean in the midst of so many kids, but after taking it I couldn't help but catch my breath. She is in the middle of everyone, but she isn't a part of anything. 

You may think it is a lot to put on one picture, but it was more the catalyst that put lots of pieces together for me than a commentary on this single moment. It is representative of a lot of Peanut's life, and of our lives, quite frankly. The thing is, we chose this adventure - Peanut, not so much. Right now it doesn't really matter. Peanut is little and she simply feels special I think, so the extra long looks, the patting of her skin, the remarks about her hair or her eyes don't make her self-conscious or worry her like they do me sometimes. I know that when people get to know her, they will love Peanut for the person she is because that is just how it works. Still, some day she will come to me with slightly sad and truly confused eyes and ask me why it is that people treat her differently (even if sometimes it is that they treat her "better"), and why can't she just be like everyone else.

None of this is to discount her privilege in this place, nor our own, but it is to say that same privilege can extract someone from community rather than bond them into it. And so somehow she is in the middle and on the margins at the same time. It is a funny place to be. It might be okay to visit, but I am thinking hard about how or whether she can live there.