Thursday, March 20, 2014

BUS RIDE FOR A HEMORRHAGING CHILD


Last Thursday was Spectrum's workday in barrio Laguna.

Mari was glad to get the free vegetables but really needed a couple of dollars to pay transportation to visit her boy in Tijuana's General Hospital. She threaded her way through the crowd contacting several of the missionaries telling them about her son Victor in the hospital. The day before he was vomiting blood where she took him, by bus, to the General Hospital where they quickly operated on him. She simply needed a little cash for bus fare to visit him. Several prayed with her but none offered her any help for transportation.

Then one lady pulled Mari aside and said, "go find Hortensia, she'll help you." Word gets around.


Well, that just what she did, and Hortensia listened to her story. Mari has four young kids and her husband is crippled and can't work. He gets a pension of about $90. a month. She earns a little extra by selling candies, tortillas and nopalis (cactus) When Victor, 9, had his attack, they took him to the hospital, but then she had to return home to the young children.

Alone in the General Hospital isn't a good place for a kid to be. No mother would want to leave her son in a Hospital alone. She wanted so badly to visit him, but had no money to get transportation. One or two dollars would do the job. No one it seemed had the money to give her.

Well, Hortensia did give her the transportation money plus some food money for the family.

I met Victor last Saturday, the day he was discharged from the hospital. He had lost a lot of blood. Victor was a little shy but let me pull his lower eyelids down and I saw he was still anemic. He needed good food and some red meat.. (Iron)  So we made it possible for her to buy the food the doctor prescribed. In this case the proper diet was essential!

We appreciate those of you who make it possible for us to help in cases like this.

Friday, March 14, 2014

TIJUANA BLOODBATH


The kids woke up when they heard the screaming, ran out of their little shack and up the hill to a neighbor's house. Alex, a drug addict and local pusher came early in the morning with a machete to teach his girlfriend a lesson. He burst into the shack angry and high on crystal ... the more Sara, his girl friend, screamed the more he hacked her.

Her two sisters and 70 year old mother were in the room too and tried to intervene. They were yelling and screaming for Alex to stop cutting into Sara. The more they all screamed the angrier he became; In a rage he started cutting them all! The neighbors said the screaming went on for more than an hour.

It ended up a bloodbath!

By the time the police arrived two women were dead and the others were severely cut up, Grandma is still in the hospital.

And Alex, known in his barrio as "El Tigri (The Tiger);" ... he escaped down the canyon side.

The people are staying inside these nights.

On several occasions we've helped Sara get food for the four kids. Last night; in quiet contrast to the Monday before, the funeral was held. We placed flowers near the caskets and we'll help pull what's left of these families together, especially the kids.

We can always use your prayers for protection as we work these needy yet violent neighborhoods.

Thursday, March 06, 2014

MY KIDS! WHAT ABOUT MY KIDS?


Unfortunately, this is a true story.

Patricia lives in Tijuana, is dirt poor, has several little children and no man in the picture ... and hungry they are.

A week and a half ago, she was so excited because she got a job working in a factory, but transportation to and from work took from their little stash of food money. In a factory job, you have to work two weeks before you get your first pay check. Translated; hungry time!

Half way through her second week she thought of a little scheme. At break time she would go through her fellow workers personal lockers and take their lunches; mostly tacos and burritos. She pocketed them and took them home.

When workers discovered so many lunches were missing, management took a look at their surveillance cameras and Patricia was busted. She didn't know about surveillance cameras.

Yesterday they called her into the office where four policeman slapped cuffs on her and told her she was arrested for stealing. One cop told her "you'll be going to prison for this." They drove off with Patricia sobbing and asking "what about my children?"

Management carefully checked all the affected lockers for what was taken. Only food was taken, no purses, no phones, no money ... just food.

People are hungry.

Today the Tijuana newspapers are reporting a growing increase in shoplifting in grocery stores ... what are people stealing? Food! Just food.

Getting food is now taking first priority, trumping education, rent and medical needs. No food stamps in Tijuana

People are hungry!

Saturday, March 01, 2014

WHERE'S YOUR FATHER?


Victor is big for thirteen, Last night I asked him if his father was at home. "my father?" He said, and he drew his finger across his neck. I didn't quite get that, so ... Victor continued, "My father is dead, they cut his throat in prison." I mentioned I was sorry. He seemed indifferent.

I often ask the boys about their father, most have a different yet painful answer about their father. Many simply don't know and they don't seem embarrassed about it.

"Where is your father Daniel?" "He's in south Mexico somewhere." "How long has it been since you've seen him?" "Oh a long time, I think I was three or four."

"Efren, where is your father?" "He's dead, I have a step-father and I hate him, he beats us when he's high; he beats my mother; they're always fighting!"

"Michael?" "Oh, my father? He's with his girlfriend in another barrio."

Some years back I brought a happy load of teen boys home from our camp down from Ensenada. Everyone in the van was chatting happily. As we pulled into barrio Trinchi, Jorge 14, and his younger brother were last to get off. Their little shack was in a canyon below the road. The boys took their blankets and ran down the hill only to find that their father had hung himself that morning. Jorge came up and gave me the news. I walked down to the grieving family, I noted the rope the father used was still on the porch. I brought Jorge back up to my van and we talked for a time.

In barrio Trinchi, men don't cry, but I could see Jorge was fighting back the tears. His father wasn't a good man, but he was all that they had. I prayed for him and pressed a hundred dollars in Jorge's hand and told him he now was the man of the house ... and the money was to help with the funeral.

I could fill several pages with "Father Stories." Unfortunately most of these stories would be a tear-jerker. These are teen boys that have seen too much of the wrong kind of father

The unfortunate thing is that in many cases these kids are growing up to be what they have learned to hate ... a father.