There are regulars, they are friends, and they love showing off, teenage banter and pop radio. As one might imagine I have been enlightened on many subjects; including how the U.S. (the whole country) is the Antichrist, you can find evidence on the dollar bill. I have been lectured on everything from the serious artistic value of musical acts such as LinkinPark to the joys of Nazism. (For grandmas and others, this is sarcasm.)
I also volunteer twice a week bringing bread and coffee to De La Vega, an open air market by day that turns into a homeless safe haven by night. This work is headed by Chile Solidario, a governmental organization, for those who are not well enough to make it to the Nuestra Casa sites. Volunteers such as myself take the information of those living in the streets and report health complaints (which are numerous) to the city health department. Mostly, we provide food and listen to stories.
Mari bears a striking resemblance to a young Winnie Cooper from everyone's favorite ,The Wonder Years, is 11 years old and lives with her aunt. I do not ask how they live because that and other questions go unasked because one can barely speak, muffled by hugs and eruptions of her hoarse voice jabbing through whatever crosses her mind at a particular moment. She thinks I am crazy for wearing t-shirts at night, "Sister arent you freezing!?" she exclaims, rubbing my arms and holding the warmth of her 11th cup of coffee to my bare arms.
Cristian is a 27-year-old man with amazing story that can be interpreted as sad or up-lifting. Up-lifting is always more constructive. Born in the Atacama desert in Arica, the city where it is so dry they must make paper flowers for the dead. "But we have the most curious flowers in the whole world on the graves of our dead--blue ones, even green ones," he says as he cracks a smile.
He moved to Santiago as a 15-year-old who didn't belong. "It was hard for my parents and small town to accept a boy who was more a little girl than anything," he declared with a flourish.
He wanted to be at the center of the art and theater that Santiago is known for. He had little money and experience. In less than four months he was on hard times, drugs and dabbling with prostution to make rent. Two years later he was diagnosed with HIV. Times were very black.
In the end, it was his creativity that lifted him to be the stately, beautiful and caring man that he is now, ten years later. He still lives in the slums, but is proud. "We have fought to be here," he acknowledged the rest of the crowd with a twist of his sinewy neck. "I strive to enjoy my life. Most of us around here do too. I sew in the morning, I sing and paint in the day. At night I spend time with friends, going out. I really can't imagine a better life."
Cesar is charismatic. He writes and is a cartoonist. He has many big ideas about how the social system should function and draws very well-executed cartoons about the silly things he notices. He hates it that people around the center hang around all day and don't work. He has two jobs but all of his money goes to support his wife and child in Concepcion, to the South. His daughter is in first grade. He has a picture of her smiling in her school uniform. His manner of explaining is almost a theatrical performance as he leans against the wall and crosses his arms, stands as a statue with a foot on the floor and one on a chair. He enumerates his many points with his hands and articulates his emotions with his face.
People love telling their stories. It's one of the first volunteer experiences of this type in which the people involved are not ashamed. Cristian explained it well, "These nights are the best," he said with delighted eyes surveying the people in the De La Vega market. "Everyone who is here is not just here to get food, but to share. We are with each other. The volunteers could have spent their night in their own houses watching television, but they are here. That means something."
Cristian is a 27-year-old man with amazing story that can be interpreted as sad or up-lifting. Up-lifting is always more constructive. Born in the Atacama desert in Arica, the city where it is so dry they must make paper flowers for the dead. "But we have the most curious flowers in the whole world on the graves of our dead--blue ones, even green ones," he says as he cracks a smile.
He moved to Santiago as a 15-year-old who didn't belong. "It was hard for my parents and small town to accept a boy who was more a little girl than anything," he declared with a flourish.
He wanted to be at the center of the art and theater that Santiago is known for. He had little money and experience. In less than four months he was on hard times, drugs and dabbling with prostution to make rent. Two years later he was diagnosed with HIV. Times were very black.
In the end, it was his creativity that lifted him to be the stately, beautiful and caring man that he is now, ten years later. He still lives in the slums, but is proud. "We have fought to be here," he acknowledged the rest of the crowd with a twist of his sinewy neck. "I strive to enjoy my life. Most of us around here do too. I sew in the morning, I sing and paint in the day. At night I spend time with friends, going out. I really can't imagine a better life."
Cesar is charismatic. He writes and is a cartoonist. He has many big ideas about how the social system should function and draws very well-executed cartoons about the silly things he notices. He hates it that people around the center hang around all day and don't work. He has two jobs but all of his money goes to support his wife and child in Concepcion, to the South. His daughter is in first grade. He has a picture of her smiling in her school uniform. His manner of explaining is almost a theatrical performance as he leans against the wall and crosses his arms, stands as a statue with a foot on the floor and one on a chair. He enumerates his many points with his hands and articulates his emotions with his face.
People love telling their stories. It's one of the first volunteer experiences of this type in which the people involved are not ashamed. Cristian explained it well, "These nights are the best," he said with delighted eyes surveying the people in the De La Vega market. "Everyone who is here is not just here to get food, but to share. We are with each other. The volunteers could have spent their night in their own houses watching television, but they are here. That means something."
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