Drive.
I sat squished in between two men. My head brushed against the ceiling as I tried to focus on the bass beats of the ‘JeepMe’ music. A JeepMe is the Philippine’s form of pubic transit. They are privately owned vehicles which look part Jeep, part school bus, and part Weiner dog. Once I counted 30 people in one JeepMe, when it should comfortably fit 10. Focusing on the tattooed arms of our Jeepme driver then looking around at the rest of the other 20 hard-as-steel faces, I felt pretty bad-a**. I then glanced over at my motion sick team mate and realized how much we stuck out as we drove into inner-city Manila… Three white girls going to pick up pre-teen street boys for a summer camp.
Reality.
After the 2 hour JeepMe ride we reached the Shell GasStation. Confused at where the kids were I quickly asked our ministry host if the boys were still coming.
“Yeah” he replied, “here they come”. Soon enough he was bulldozed by 5 thirteen-year-olds with tongue piercings and Justin Bieber haircuts.
Just like that boys began to show up in their wolf packs out of the woodworks of the inner city.
Between their normal preteen boy energy, their wanting to know our names, and their contagious smiles, I started to notice a couple other things about these boys.
My still nauseous teammate was going in and out of the bathroom at the gas station. Between her visits a handful of the street boys kept going in and out of the bathroom caring empty baby oil/hand sanitizer bottles between their knuckles (like X-Men). It took me a couple minutes to realize they were dealing solvents. As I looked closer I noticed that all ten of the boys were getting high off sniffing their doused t-shirts.
Release.
As we embarked on our long JeepMe ride back to the camp the sky began to turn grey.
Boys and I in the JeepMe
Huddled on top of each other in true wolf-pack fashion they broke out into a Filipino rap song. Like I said, their smiles were contagious. We only had two nights with these boys, and I already knew it would be two nights I would never forget.
One of my professors in seminary once told us “Poverty is not about money, it’ s about people who have had really bad things happen to them”. I knew these boys were going to teach me more in these two days than they would ever know.
As we stepped out of the JeepMe the sky opened up as the boys went sprinted through the rain to the camp (home). With their clothes drenched in water, they decided to find shampoo and take showers in the rain. Man I miss being a kid, I would just like to say that running around in the rain is still a very good idea. With clean hair, clean-solvent-free clothes, and smiles we were ready to start camp.
Just Be.
I didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into.
By this point on the race we knew how to work as a team. Do the fancy ‘song and dance’/ camp games. Something was different this time though. It was like we all felt in our spirit that was not what these boys needed. They needed people to meet them where there were at, play basketball with them, watch them and their ‘hardcore par-core’ jumping antics and join them by doing a messy cartwheel. Most of all they needed a space to be what they are; pre-teen boys.
Goofing off
Goosebumps.
As we sat down around the camp fire that night my eyes welled up as the boys talked about the Lord. Many said that they were thankful for what God was doing in their lives. Thankful He was keeping them safe.
My welled up inside. At their age, with their hardships, the unimaginable things that they have seen … yeah. It was a moment from the race that will never be forgotten.
I shared too. I told the boys about my overnight summer camp experience as a fifteen year old. That overnight camp was the first time I had really heard the gospel. Under a starry sky, my fellow campers were dozing off. But I was wide awake, in awe. I was finally getting answers. My camp counsellor easily talked about her relationship with Christ, like He was a friend. As she went through Jesus’s love through the cross, and what sin really was. I felt a softness in the air, like a ‘click’ it all made sense.
I finished by telling the boys that I would never understand the hardships they have had or will go through… But I pray that they remember the Lord “goes before, behind us, that He will never leave or forsake us”. I told them to hold onto their faith and to love. I knew some of my little speech would be lost in translation (literally, as their English was very minimal). Then everyone fell quiet. John-Mark, a sweet 11 year-old who was sitting next to me pointed up at the sky.
“Mel” He whispered, “Look at the stars” I looked up at the crisp, twinkling lights as goosebumps formed on my arm. With a whisper of the wind, God’s sweet love swept through me.
Refuge.
This was a place of refuge. That for two days a month they could come to this camp to be boys, eat three BIG meals a day, sleep in a safe place, and have someone who loved them.
Back to Reality.
The next day we drove them back to the inner city. This was possibly one of the hardest days on the race. As our youngest boy, 7 year-old Dagul, woke up from his nap on our ministry host’s lap he realized it was time to switch back to street kid mode. With the bkink of an eye his shoe-less feet were running through the bumper-to-bumper traffic behind us. We watched from our JeepMe as he went from vehicle to vehicle asking for money. Within 5 minutes, someone gave him food. The first thing he did was find a way back to our JeepMe and give the food to our other street boys who were still with us. If you want selfless, and giving away literally everything you have, Dagul has just that. He hopped away again, I was able to watch him for another 5 minutes running through the traffic. The last glimpse I saw of Dagul was him getting high off a rag he had somehow found.
Abby carrying Dagul on our way from camp to pick up the JeepMe
Dagul on our ministry host’s lap before leaving the JeepMe
Lament.
When we see something hard we are told it is not our burden to carry. Yes, this is true, and I never want to be a puddle on ground. It may not be my burden, but it is my passion.
“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter— when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard. Then you will call, and the LORD will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I. “If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.” Isaiah 58:6-10
