Chechu's real name is Sergio. He's a young man from our boys' institute that we visit each week. Chechu is very aggressive. In fact, he has the inability to control his behavior at times, and will just break out very Hulk-like, into extreme rage. I was told that one time, he had to have 4 people hold him down.
Chechu also has poor eyesight. He often has to bring things very close to his face in order to distinguish, well, anything, but mainly he looks for the color of things. Since his eyesight is so poor, he often gets frustrated and just feels for things around him in order to toss them. Or hit them. He even hit the other girl volunteer at one time, and all the other boys scolded him for hitting a chica.
I wonder very much about his life, how frustrating everything must be. No real home, such limited physical abilities. The friends around you are only your friends because they have nowhere to go either. That last part may or may not be true, but I think there's an element of truth in it. Is his main goal each day merely survival? What is his hope?
I don't know much more than I give myself credit, but this young man is now on my heart so much.
We (our team of volunteers) are currently praying for his eyesight. We are inquiring of a local eye doctor who is part of a foundation that works with cataracts and might be willing to perform surgery on Chechu's eyes for free. If this is God's will, we pray for the opportunity to swiftly approach!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Irish taxi 4
It was getting on Irish taxi number 4 that I got a glimpse of the harder side of Dublin. Ariel and I had watched some of it one Sunday evening as it was the first time we had ever seen that many older women wasted, and being pulled by (we hope) their husbands to walk straight to get home. But the morning of my departure, at the ungodly hour of 4am, revealed even more.
Wow. I just realized that I don't remember this taxi driver's name. Nonetheless, he was probably one of my favorites. He carried my luggage into the trunk while I gaped at across the street. Hundreds of taxis lined the streets where hundreds if not more teenagers and young adults were walking, stumbling, up the street.
I questioned the driver if it was true what they say, "Are there really more taxis in Dublin than in NYC?"
"Ay," was his response. "We have 28 thousand of 'em."
New York City, as I had just been there to find this number out, has 13. Ter-teen tousand, if you're Irish.
We continued on and the usual small talk ensued. But with me, it's never small talk, as some of the first questions was where I was going and why. When I explained that I was a youth worker, the driver said, "Oh! That's great. Must be a very rewarding job!"
He then proceeded to tell me about his life. One that began with the high hopes of being a professional football player. He was even drafted (is that the right term?) for the English Premier League when he was 18. When he took some time off, he ended up breaking his leg, which stopped that dream.
"But you know?" He paused. "I wouldn't be who I am today if I had played." (Oh how I wish you could hear the rhythm and intonations of my friend the taxi driver.)
"I wouldn't be married to the woman I am now. She is a wonderful woman. And I wouldn't have the kids I do. i would take this life over that one any day."
That's quite a lot coming from a taxi driver. It made me think of my summer on the couch with a torn ACL and so I told him about it. We agreed that there are a lot of things that happen not the way we planned them, but they happen for a reason. I even got to share with him my story about the loss of my cousin and the adoption of my brother, trying to make sure I explained that I knew Jesus loved me and worked out the story for His glory. I even briefly mentioned the circumstances that allowed me to go to Argentina. Some things can be heart-breaking, but we need them.
He then told me about the sickness of his father. He said he's starting to believe that God really does care about him because of the comfort his father is receiving. We arrived to the airport about this time and couldn't go on, but he said he was so grateful he got to take me to the airport. I was just as if not more grateful for him, so I gave him a nice tip.
Wow. I just realized that I don't remember this taxi driver's name. Nonetheless, he was probably one of my favorites. He carried my luggage into the trunk while I gaped at across the street. Hundreds of taxis lined the streets where hundreds if not more teenagers and young adults were walking, stumbling, up the street.
I questioned the driver if it was true what they say, "Are there really more taxis in Dublin than in NYC?"
"Ay," was his response. "We have 28 thousand of 'em."
New York City, as I had just been there to find this number out, has 13. Ter-teen tousand, if you're Irish.
We continued on and the usual small talk ensued. But with me, it's never small talk, as some of the first questions was where I was going and why. When I explained that I was a youth worker, the driver said, "Oh! That's great. Must be a very rewarding job!"
He then proceeded to tell me about his life. One that began with the high hopes of being a professional football player. He was even drafted (is that the right term?) for the English Premier League when he was 18. When he took some time off, he ended up breaking his leg, which stopped that dream.
"But you know?" He paused. "I wouldn't be who I am today if I had played." (Oh how I wish you could hear the rhythm and intonations of my friend the taxi driver.)
"I wouldn't be married to the woman I am now. She is a wonderful woman. And I wouldn't have the kids I do. i would take this life over that one any day."
That's quite a lot coming from a taxi driver. It made me think of my summer on the couch with a torn ACL and so I told him about it. We agreed that there are a lot of things that happen not the way we planned them, but they happen for a reason. I even got to share with him my story about the loss of my cousin and the adoption of my brother, trying to make sure I explained that I knew Jesus loved me and worked out the story for His glory. I even briefly mentioned the circumstances that allowed me to go to Argentina. Some things can be heart-breaking, but we need them.
He then told me about the sickness of his father. He said he's starting to believe that God really does care about him because of the comfort his father is receiving. We arrived to the airport about this time and couldn't go on, but he said he was so grateful he got to take me to the airport. I was just as if not more grateful for him, so I gave him a nice tip.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Irish taxi 2 and 3
Colm. Pronounced call-um. Rhymes with Gollum, but no relation. Trust me.
This was our driver in Killarney to surfing at Inch Beach. Obviously, much of my thankfulness for this man was taking me to an adventure I had been anticipating for many weeks now. Nevertheless, he was also a man very proud of his part of the country, making sure we knew about the horticulture and area through which we drove. We had talked about some of the rules for Gaelic Games, and on our way back (since he also made sure to pick us up after a few hours of surfing), he showed us a Gaelic field--140 yards long!!!
What made him fun was his accent required a bit more concentration. The country folk do not always end their words, which, added to the Irish accent, can be difficult to comprehend. At the same time, he also put me to sleep with how lovely he sounded. haha. Or maybe I was tired from surfing. I dunno.
I laughed harder later that day with our taxi driver named Donal (see? no ending "d" to that name either). I noticed he had the same last name as Colm, that is, O'Donaghue. "O yes, we are related!" he proclaimed.
Earlier that day, we had asked Colm about his family and he responded that he is the youngest of brothers.
Donal, however, said "O no, I am the youngest!"
This was our driver in Killarney to surfing at Inch Beach. Obviously, much of my thankfulness for this man was taking me to an adventure I had been anticipating for many weeks now. Nevertheless, he was also a man very proud of his part of the country, making sure we knew about the horticulture and area through which we drove. We had talked about some of the rules for Gaelic Games, and on our way back (since he also made sure to pick us up after a few hours of surfing), he showed us a Gaelic field--140 yards long!!!
What made him fun was his accent required a bit more concentration. The country folk do not always end their words, which, added to the Irish accent, can be difficult to comprehend. At the same time, he also put me to sleep with how lovely he sounded. haha. Or maybe I was tired from surfing. I dunno.
I laughed harder later that day with our taxi driver named Donal (see? no ending "d" to that name either). I noticed he had the same last name as Colm, that is, O'Donaghue. "O yes, we are related!" he proclaimed.
Earlier that day, we had asked Colm about his family and he responded that he is the youngest of brothers.
Donal, however, said "O no, I am the youngest!"
Irish taxi 1
Kieran. Pronounced kee-rahn, stressed second syllable.
This man was very kind to us. We got to talk about all sorts of things, but seemed to focus on a certain sport known only in America as soccer. The day he took us to our hotel was the day we had tickets for a futbol match, so Kieran volunteered to pick us up later that day. This was a common theme among cab drivers in Ireland--something I loved dearly.
He picked us up for the 40min drive to Tallaght Stadium. Kieran laughed at how much I couldn't pronounce the name of the stadium, so I just continued to pick on how much he couldn't pronounce my name. But then I still lost as it turned out the game, excuse me, match, began at 8 instead of 7. No worries, Kieran just drove us to a nearby mall so we could have dinner.
As if all this weren't enough, he also insisted on picking us up after the match. He had to get special permission to pick us up from a certain spot, and was impressed that we found him. On the ride home, we had a great time talking about the sport some more, and even getting to know him. I was very thankful for Kieran.
This man was very kind to us. We got to talk about all sorts of things, but seemed to focus on a certain sport known only in America as soccer. The day he took us to our hotel was the day we had tickets for a futbol match, so Kieran volunteered to pick us up later that day. This was a common theme among cab drivers in Ireland--something I loved dearly.
He picked us up for the 40min drive to Tallaght Stadium. Kieran laughed at how much I couldn't pronounce the name of the stadium, so I just continued to pick on how much he couldn't pronounce my name. But then I still lost as it turned out the game, excuse me, match, began at 8 instead of 7. No worries, Kieran just drove us to a nearby mall so we could have dinner.
As if all this weren't enough, he also insisted on picking us up after the match. He had to get special permission to pick us up from a certain spot, and was impressed that we found him. On the ride home, we had a great time talking about the sport some more, and even getting to know him. I was very thankful for Kieran.
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