A reflection from Anawim Home Team member, Gin Gin Diokno, on her time at serving with the Sisters of the Poorest of the Poor:
Destitute: (adjective) without the basic necessities of life. That’s according to the Oxford dictionary. In Nigeria, the word comes alive in the most raw representation I have ever witnessed.
For the Missionary Sisters for the Poorest of the Poor, the word is reserved for a certain group of people. They are not only lacking basic human needs like water, food, clothing and shelter; they have been the forgotten members of their society. These people, mostly adult men, have mental illness severe enough that they are not able to keep up with basic activities of daily living. They usually end up roaming in the streets looking for day-to-day sustenance. At times they become violent, thus the rationalization for keeping them chained in closed quarters. The more unmanageable ones are shackled to heavy pieces of logs which again gives a new meaning to restraints. I saw one young man strong enough to drag his log as he shuffled towards us. They are confined within a small compound of dark rooms. Mattresses seemed optional. Their mental problems are usually treated with traditional medicine which include herbal preparations and idol worshiping, at least from what we’ve seen. They are allowed to move more freely when they show improvement in their conditions. If they are able, they help with productive tasks like stripping leaves from stalks of palm to make household broomsticks. As elaborate as I can describe this unfortunate scene, there are no sufficient words Oxford can lend me right now to capture the stench of poverty and loss of human dignity.
Knowing I grew up in a third-world country, one of my team members asked me at one point if I have seen poverty like this. I have been to a community where they literally live on a landfill and sustain themselves with whatever they can scramble out of this “smokey mountain.” I thought I have seen some of the most destitute, but not until now. During our end-of-the-day reflection, one asked “Where is God in all these?” There was just silence. How can one attempt to even answer that question? There is one thing I know for sure I took away from this surreal experience. I saw God in the dedicated work that Sister Oresoa and her community of humble servants do. Her own family has taken a few of them to their home, sheltered them, and allowed them to work on their farm. Once a month or so, the sisters visit several of these compounds (take note there are around 15 in her own hometown alone) and share some of these basic needs. That day, we handed out plastic bags of rice, water and hard-boiled eggs which were very much appreciated. She prayed, sang and danced with them. She gave the caretakers encouragement for trying to do their job with the meager resources that they have. Her presence gives them hope that they are not totally forgotten and that somebody out there still cares.
That afternoon was probably the most intense and challenging part of my Anawim experience that I felt compelled to write about it, bordering on catharsis. It might have hit me in my gut but with it is a greater awe of Sister Oresoa’s commitment to truly serve the poorest of the poor and how much more love she still has to share. This difficult day of ministry just reminded me it always has to rain before you see a rainbow.
Destitute: (adjective) without the basic necessities of life. That’s according to the Oxford dictionary. In Nigeria, the word comes alive in the most raw representation I have ever witnessed.
For the Missionary Sisters for the Poorest of the Poor, the word is reserved for a certain group of people. They are not only lacking basic human needs like water, food, clothing and shelter; they have been the forgotten members of their society. These people, mostly adult men, have mental illness severe enough that they are not able to keep up with basic activities of daily living. They usually end up roaming in the streets looking for day-to-day sustenance. At times they become violent, thus the rationalization for keeping them chained in closed quarters. The more unmanageable ones are shackled to heavy pieces of logs which again gives a new meaning to restraints. I saw one young man strong enough to drag his log as he shuffled towards us. They are confined within a small compound of dark rooms. Mattresses seemed optional. Their mental problems are usually treated with traditional medicine which include herbal preparations and idol worshiping, at least from what we’ve seen. They are allowed to move more freely when they show improvement in their conditions. If they are able, they help with productive tasks like stripping leaves from stalks of palm to make household broomsticks. As elaborate as I can describe this unfortunate scene, there are no sufficient words Oxford can lend me right now to capture the stench of poverty and loss of human dignity.
Knowing I grew up in a third-world country, one of my team members asked me at one point if I have seen poverty like this. I have been to a community where they literally live on a landfill and sustain themselves with whatever they can scramble out of this “smokey mountain.” I thought I have seen some of the most destitute, but not until now. During our end-of-the-day reflection, one asked “Where is God in all these?” There was just silence. How can one attempt to even answer that question? There is one thing I know for sure I took away from this surreal experience. I saw God in the dedicated work that Sister Oresoa and her community of humble servants do. Her own family has taken a few of them to their home, sheltered them, and allowed them to work on their farm. Once a month or so, the sisters visit several of these compounds (take note there are around 15 in her own hometown alone) and share some of these basic needs. That day, we handed out plastic bags of rice, water and hard-boiled eggs which were very much appreciated. She prayed, sang and danced with them. She gave the caretakers encouragement for trying to do their job with the meager resources that they have. Her presence gives them hope that they are not totally forgotten and that somebody out there still cares.
That afternoon was probably the most intense and challenging part of my Anawim experience that I felt compelled to write about it, bordering on catharsis. It might have hit me in my gut but with it is a greater awe of Sister Oresoa’s commitment to truly serve the poorest of the poor and how much more love she still has to share. This difficult day of ministry just reminded me it always has to rain before you see a rainbow.
No comments:
Post a Comment