The night was dark. The tent was white. Under the white tent was one old-school television, a set of stovetop burners, various cooking utensils, a pole rigged to a power line stealing the electricity, an eclectic array of lawn chairs, and the members of fifteen families. Fifteen grungy-looking volunteers piled out of truck beds bearing water filters, cups of soup, a guitar, and smiles.
We came to share dinner and the Gospel.
We served the soup and they shared with us their crackers and jam. Sleeping tents surrounded the main gathering area. Some were just mattresses covered by nets. These sweet people had lost everything.
I started talking to a fifteen year old boy named Angel who told me about his family and his sister who died of cancer. I talked to a 6 year old girl named Genesis in a Frozen t-shirt about Ana, Elsa, and Olaf. A look around the place threw me back to camping days in the middle of nowhere Arkansas. There was something almost homey feeling about it.
We began with a few songs enlisting the interest of the children and others roaming around. Every lawn chair was filled. All the Americans came in strong on the repetitive choruses that we could pick up on. The pastor began his message by asking how many thought they were going to die while the earthquake was happening. Every hand was raised. He followed with a gut punch, “And how many were certain of where you would go?”
The lesson was lost in translation to me, but it certainly touched those who needed to hear it. A message of hope and the path to salvation for many, I inferred by their passionate prayers and the pastor’s smile afterwards.
We did a demonstration on how to use the water filters and gave hugs all around as we left. Everyone around here could use a hug these days.
The smell was foul. The sun was hot. Amidst the mountainous roads of Ecuador were piles where the trash trucks dumped Portoviejo’s garbage. To dramatically enhance the scene upon our arrival, vultures circled overhead looking for something to devour. I wish they were the only scavengers. As our trucks pulled up with us fifteen grungy-lookers, even grungier appeared. From amidst the mounds of garbage came men and women covered thick in clothing from head to toe.
They smiled at the new faces and stuck out their hands for a shake. I smiled back and shook. Some hands were wet. Some were slimy. I didn’t care. They stay here everyday searching through the trash for recyclables for the profit of $4 per week. Most have families.
We had them form lines behind the trucks and explained the water filters again. We prayed with them, thanking God for providing this resource. We told them this was a gift, not from an organization but from God. They took them in an orderly fashion and made sure to save extra for their friends in other locations. The line reassembled for water bottles and food bags we had prepared with oil, rice, flour, lentils, and tuna. Samaritan’s Purse had donated several tarps that went like hotcakes. Those did not go so orderly because there were not enough to go around, and everyone was eager to provide a better shelter for their loved ones. We wished there was more we could do.
As soon as the handouts were finished, they went right back to their digging. And we hopped right back inside our trucks and drove away.
As I saw each in the rearview mirror, I had confidence we were leaving it better than we found it. At first glance, these were people with no homes. They had small children without roofs over their heads and lacked sources of clean water. At first glance, they were earthquake victims.
But their stories are so much more than first glance.
They live there in that tent city and in that trash city. I am sure they hope for more, but they were not too humbled by their meager means of living to welcome us. To offer us what they had, be it crackers and jam or a handshake.
They are more than survivors. They are mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, friends. They have favorite soccer players and favorite music on the radio. They have celebrated births and mourned loved ones.
Today, they have clean water. They have been encouraged and chatted in broken Spanish with a bunch of Americans who smiled at them and prayed for them. And that makes today better than yesterday.
