So, to all of you placing bets as to how long my tummy could go before it gave up the fight, the answer is a little under four months. But have no fear-- I'm kicking the moocher out as we speak with some lovely round yellow pills. Take that!!
I just realized that I haven't given y'all an account on La Chureca, where I spend two to three mornings a week. It is the home to the 46 precious kids in our child sponsorship program who are at risk or have been diagnosed as malnourished. One other detail about Chureca-- it's Managua's municipal dump.
Most of you have already heard (or experienced) this, but the emotions I feel when I go into Chureca are hard to put into words. Before we drive in, we roll up the windows to keep the smell from getting into the microbus, as it tends to linger days after our trips. In so doing, we make a barrier between us and the entrance, where truck drivers blaze past pedestrians and solicit young girls for sex and glue sniffers stare at us blankly, their noses covered with baby food jars. Yes, this is a part of the reality of Chureca, but it is not the Chureca that I have come to know.
The Chureca I know consists of Erick, an eight month old baby boy who has his mother's huge brown eyes. It consists of Zayda, who refuses to do anything you ask her, but whose little body throws itself into seizures if she doesn't take her meds. It consists of Josue Daniel Chavez Ortega, who just might have the craziest Communist name ever but is just so cute that you forgive him. These are the faces and the stories that keep me coming in, despite the smell and the parasites. Bring it on... I'm Erin and we've got mouths to feed.
My love to all of y'all,
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