Our Drums of Hope

Nations of rice and rum, of drought and storms,
Let us hear your song! Let us hear your song!
Nations of beans and corn,
Let us hear your song!
Nations of breadfruit and yams,
Let us hear your song!

The guitar is wounded with five sharp swords.
Oh, what a sad song! What a sad song!
A song of hunger and thirst,
What a sad song!
A song about premature night,
What a sad song!

The Mayan flute plays a mournful dirge.
Don’t play that song! Don’t play that song!
A song of yearning for little ones gone,
Don’t play that song!
A song of worry for those who don’t have long.,
Don’t play that song!

Once proud men sing songs of sighs.
Sigh no more! Oh, sigh no more!
Standing in dank, too crowded cells.
Oh, sigh no more!
Dreaming dreams of dreamlessness.
Oh, sigh no more!

The daughters of Africa sing as they weep.
.Dry your tears! Oh, dry your tears!
A song of angels of dust and children of fear.
Oh, dry your tears!
Of breasts that have no milk to spare.
Oh, dry your tears!


Wait! In the distance a faint sound is heard.
Come, come, sweet drums!
Don’t go! It grows louder by and by.
Ring true, joyful tambourines!
What song is this that dares disrupt despair?
That ebbs the flow of brackish tears?

Come, come, sweet drums!
Bring forth your songs of sturdy homes,
Of clear, cool water that does not kill,
Of books and art and useful skills.
Come, come, sweet drums!
Your song is now just born.

Come, come, sweet drums!
A Balm of Gilead is your song.
A song of fish and bread and work,
Come, come, sweet drums!
A song of dignity and hope,
So that all can dance along.

Come, come sweet drums!
So that our brothers and sisters
Will weep and sigh no more!

Hush, Ayiti’m – A Prose Poem For Haiti

I cannot forget you, Haiti.
As I depart from your weeping shores,
I steal your salty air in my greedy lungs.
I smell nothing
but the scent of your sorrow and suffering.
The memory of your unique cuisine
resides permanently in my mouth.
Your sovereign soil
deeply embedded beneath my nails.

Home… I’m home…
yet you continue to haunt me.
The lines of my ageing hands
remind me of your dous granmoun.
I picture the hypnotic eyes of your little ones
as I glance in the eyes of my own.
I look at my lovely Denise,
remembering the mothers
who have seared my soul with scalding tears.

Hush, Ayitim.
I have visions and I dream dreams.
I sit on my porch and rock
Looking deep into eternity.
I see your mountains green with hope,
Your gleeful boys teasing young coquettes
Who scream and laugh
Shaking the thousand sunlight ribbons
In their jet black braids.

Hush, Ayiti’m.
I see your aged ones praising God,
Singing, swaying, smiling,
Dancing towards the setting sun.
A new order reigns in Haiti then,
Love and peace…
Justice and prosperity prevail.

And I, dear Haiti, perhaps too feeble
To journey to your glory days,
Will continue to sit on my Cuban chair
And rock… and rest… and sleep at last.

dous granmoun – sweet elderly people Ayiti’m – my Haiti

Beloved Haiti

“Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, for they are no more.” (Mat. 2:28b)

Oh Haiti, your tears burn into my heart like fire,
Your mountains stand naked like your children,
Without hands, unable to hide their shame.

Yet, despite orange hair and swollen bellies,
Despite hunger and hardship,
Their beauty cannot be hidden.

Oh mother Haiti, although your tired breasts are dry of milk,
They overflow with endurance and hope.

Your children die of hunger, sweet mother,
Yet you have fed them well,
On a diet of courage and strength.

Oh Haiti, land enslaved by misery,
Land of tears and smiles,
Land of sorrows and eternal hope.

I will not forget you, Haiti,
Beloved Haiti.

I Thought of Jesus (Part 3 of 3)

PART THREE

Early on Wednesday morning we took off in our bus for Cite Soleil (City of the Sun), a place that experiences horrendous poverty that has often manifested itself in violence and unrest. This gigantic seaside slum is home to almost 400,000 inhabitants of Port au Prince.

The first place we visited there is truly a beautiful oasis amidst the ugliness of extreme need. Margherite Nassau includes so many aspects of support for this impoverished community that it’s difficult to remember them all. Once you enter the gates of this holy place, it’s as if you have accidentally stepped through a time portal to a different place. The buildings are clean and freshly painted, the gardens are manicured, the teachers have their students under control, the children are uniformed and impeccably groomed – order and discipline in the midst of chaos.

But the school is just the beginning. Their immaculately clean kitchens prepare a cooked lunch for the hundreds of children here, for some, possibly the only hot meal of the day. This complex also houses a nutritional center for severely malnourished children and a large free clinic.

Behind the school there are rooms for skills training. Here, the mothers of the children attending the school and those whose children are in the nutritional center are taught how to sew the uniforms that their children will wear. Their sewing skills are honed in this room and so the mothers end up with a skill that will allow them to earn an income in the future. In another room, other mothers are taught how to embroider items that end up being sold to visitors at a little retail area there – tablecloths, napkins, shirts, greeting cards, and more, all beautifully embroidered by these talented mothers.

These Sisters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul truly impressed me. Their age (some of the more mature ones had been there for more than 30 years) and distance from home (Spain, Brazil, Puerto Rico) have never dampened their enthusiasm for the mission.

They have recently hired a teacher to educate the mothers who are in the skills training room. Their rational being that they will learn a skill faster and more efficiently the higher the level of education they attain and, at home, it will be a boost for the children to have at least one parent who has broken the chains of illiteracy.

We saw a teacher outdoors, teaching the kids P.E., and we were exhausted just observing his great energy. The kids??? They were having a ball!!

From here we drove to the heart of the poverty of Cite Soleil. Here we have a feeding center that provides 5-7,000 people their only meal of the day. These are indeed the poorest of the poor – the least of His brothers and sisters. The faces of those in line to receive their servings of rice and beans betrayed the battering their lives had received from multi-generational poverty.

They would soon return to their shacks to share this modest meal with their loved ones – tiny structures of all-zinc with no ventilation other than the hole at the front where a door should have been. In the mid-day sun they swelter and sweat in what always gives me the impression of being a slow-cook roaster. The humidity from the often-muddy floors makes it difficult to breathe in there, particularly since the limited area is also shared with chickens and other animals. A family was kind enough to allow us to visit inside one of these – they would soon be receiving an FFP home.

Food For The Poor is building many houses there. We visited some of these. What a difference! Raised cement floors, concrete-block construction, corrugated metal roofs with hurricane straps, windows and doors… But the difference isn’t just one of construction, the amazing difference is the one that we so clearly saw in the people – more relaxed, easier smiles, their faces, particularly their eyes, spoke of reduced pain.

We walked through the winding back alleys of Cite Soleil, visited our school at Ti Haiti, saw the now-infamous clay cookies being sold and bought some for the speakers. Again, wherever we went, the desperate crowds seeking relief from their suffering surrounded Madame Pun. Again, I thought of Jesus. Back on the bus, one of the priests asked her if she ever got tired of this. “I wish I had a magic wand…” she replied, “but you can’t blame them… we are their only hope.”

I Thought of Jesus (Part 2 of 3)

PART TWO

Our afternoon began with a visit to our boy’s orphanage and school, Foyer de l’Espoir (House of Hope). This was the site of the soccer game between our boys from this home and the “visiting team” from Lynn University that had accompanied me on my last trip. Our boys beat them 6 – 4 and great was their jubilation!

At one point of our visit, the speakers were asked to sit in a shaded area under a large tree and the boys all gathered in front of them (Vicki and I sat to the side). They began to sing some hymns for them and they ended up raising their arms and blessing them. But the experience was far from over, he boys then proceeded to walk towards the speakers and place both their hands on their heads and bless them again, this time more personally, and pray for them. What a beautiful gesture… to bless and pray for those whose very calling is to bless and pray for others.

Suddenly, I saw a young man (not more than 10) walking towards me and, without giggling or losing concentration, he placed both his hands on my head and prayed fervently for me for 3-4 minutes. I wondered if the young man understood why the tears were rolling down my face as he so flawlessly performed this moving sharing. Hundreds, if not thousands of times, I have received the blessings of family, priests, bishops, cardinals and even popes, but none before humbled me or moved me to the extent realized by the blessing from this young and holy orphan. Wow…

But his was not the only occasion in which I would be humbled on this day. We walked next door to the FFP Home for the Elderly immediately afterwards and there, the hundreds of elderly who were once homeless on the streets of the capital welcomed us with warmth and love. Although most are well into their seventies and eighties and even more, they do not believe in just sitting there for a quiet visit. They already had their band (made up of staff members) playing some lively hymns and other music, and as soon as they saw us, they invited us to join them in the dance.

A lady, at least in her late seventies, by a process of geographical proximity, became my dance partner. We danced for what seemed to be a very long time, with my partner becoming more spirited (and more possessive) as I attempted to keep up with her “moves.” Finally, exhausted and drenched in sweat, I stumbled into one of the nearby chairs, as my partner quickly sought my replacement and continued to dance until our departure – half an hour later. Humbled and shamed by a lady at least 20 years my senior!

On the way home, we stopped for a quick visit to the Roman Catholic cathedral in the heart of downtown. Like the elderly whom we had just left, the old cathedral showed many signs of disrepair without losing its beauty, and, like the people of Haiti, it endures.
Archbishop Miot received the group at his residence across the street. He graciously answered the many questions of our speakers. The simplicity of his living conditions and the total absence of lavishness portrayed a deep understanding of and respect for the extreme need of his people.
That night, at the hotel, we had the first reflection meeting, where we discussed what we had seen, what had moved us, what had troubled us, and many insights that we had received during this first day.

I Thought of Jesus (Part 1 of 3)

On Tuesday, May 6th, a group of 19 of us – priests, pastors, deacons, the director of Speakers’ Bureau (Vicki Kaufman) and myself – departed from Fort Lauderdale to Port au Prince, Haiti. The humid heat, the “welcome” music, the crowds offering taxis and to carry our small pieces of luggage and the musicians in the parking lot were all happy reminders that we had arrived. Madame Pun, FFP’s Executive Director there, and Yvon, our highly skilled driver, were there to meet and greet us.

PART ONE

We went directly from the airport to our offices and distribution center. Here, we also operate the only free clinic in a very highly populated area of the city. We were introduced to some of the dedicated doctors and nurses who tend to so many on a daily basis. We also saw the many mothers there who brought their sick babies to be treated. I wondered what would become of those children if the medical care that we offered was not freely available.

I was happy to see that at the clinic they were distributing 2 very nutritional products for the children, many of whom were malnourished: The first was “Pampy-nut” – a paste with a peanut butter base that contains many of the essential nutrients for children; the second was “Akamil” – a meal of grains that makes a nutritious porridge. This last product was actually developed by one of our employees in our Haiti office.

From there we went next door to our own feeding center that supplies a solid hot meal (possibly the only one of the day), 6 days a week, to over 15,000 people in the area. As we entered, we saw a group of people preparing the vegetables for the next day’s meal (two mountains of spinach and egg plants) and I was thrilled to learn that the veggies for the daily meals are grown by our farming project at Santo.

Fr. Dave Delich and myself (adventurers by nature) decided that we wanted to have some of the lunch being served at the feeding center. The kitchen staff was so excited that we wanted to sample their wares! They ran happily to get us plates and utensils, and proudly served us some of the rice and the stew.

I marveled that they managed to cook 2,400 lbs. of rice in gigantic pots and it still came out loose. The stew, which was made with spinach and green beans, contained a base of some inexpensive protein (like pigs feet or chicken backs) and was well seasoned and tasty. I was happy that the staff took pride in their cooking, which added the ingredient of dignity to the meal.

When I stepped outside to the courtyard that is a second waiting area for the crowds that are standing in line to be served, I saw a lot of sadness in the faces there. Yet, there were 2 women who were so happy to see us! They approached us singing welcome songs and clapping their hands, with smiles that were truly contagious. I spoke to some of the people leaving the area with their plastic buckets or metal pots filled with food for their family, and that is when I saw her…

She was a young girl, pre-teen or early teens, and her poverty was more extreme than the others. The only thing she had to carry the food home for her large family was a plastic bag. I saw her struggling with the weight, as she was only using her left hand, with minimal support from her right. As she approached me, I realized that her right hand was incapacitated (I thought about Jesus and the man with the withered hand), and I observed that the entire arm was badly burned.

I engaged her in conversation, and found out that she had attempted to fill a kerosene lamp while it was still lit. The lamp exploded. A woman behind her showed me that it wasn’t only her arm, but her entire right side of her body was badly burned and scarred, right down to her legs. As I spoke to her I continuously caressed her right arm, as if to assure her that I was not repulsed… that she was not repugnant. I again thought of Jesus, and how he always saw the internal beauty in others and made them see the beauty in themselves. I hoped that, in some small measure, I had succeeded in doing this for her.

I grabbed her bag of food to help her and walked towards the exit. When I didn’t see her coming I looked back and saw a terrified look on her face – she thought that I was taking her food away. I pondered on how unaccustomed she must be to being helped and, between hand gestures and my bad Creole, I got the message across that I was just helping her lift it to the exit. When I got there with her, I gave her the bag and we said goodbye. She was totally unaware of how deeply she had touched my heart. 11 – 12 years old… tough life.

As the door opened to let her out, I caught a glimpse of the multitude of people waiting outside to be let in to this serving area. A guard has to stand there by the door for crowd control. I thought of the multitude of people standing out there, pasted on to one another, sweating, day after day, in the sun and heat, with that look of “quite desperation” on their faces… tough life.

As I turned back into the courtyard area, I saw Madame Pun, surrounded by the destitute, making their troubles and petitions known to her. She looked each one in the eye, attentively, sympathetically, patiently. They call her “Manmi Pun,” and indeed she has been a mother to so many. I again thought of Jesus, and how hard it must have been for Him to be constantly accosted with crowds in great need. I remembered the woman with the hemorrhage who touched His garment and he commented, “I felt the power come out of me.”

We then visited the Distribution Center, and it was a pleasure to see and feel the energy of the hustle and bustle in that place - containers being unloaded, trucks being loaded. Help going out to the poor - nothing stationary - everything dynamic. I feel energized!

We all went to the lunchroom for a delicious meal (my second lunch! :o) and I marveled at how much I had already experienced emotionally in just one morning.

The Rio Baqui Tilapia Project

For some years now, Food For The Poor donors have been funding tilapia projects of all different types and sizes in may of our countries. The tilapia is a hardy fish that matures quickly at a small cost and it has become very popular in the US and the world. For our purposes, it supplies the much needed life-saving protein that is often times lacking in the diets of the destitute (protein deficiency is largely responsible for the orange colored hair and distended bellies of the children who live in extreme poverty) while at the same time supplying a steady income to the families involved in the project. Our loyal friends from ICDF (Taiwan) are our partners in these ventures. They supply much appreciated technological expertise in all aspects of these initiatives. They also oversee the maintenance of these projects to ensure their longevity.
In a recent trip to the Dominican Republic, I visited the Most Reverend Julio Cesar Corniel, Bishop of Puerto Plata (and a wonderfully warm man), in order to inaugurate our largest tilapia project to date. It was truly an auspicious occasion, where NGOs, church, local and foreign governments and individuals came together to celebrate this truly magnificent project - the Rio Baqui Tilapia Project. It was a multi-faceted endeavor, for besides the tilapia ponds, Food For The Poor had constructed homes, completed a large water project, brought in electricity to the area and built a large community/skills training center.

During the ceremony, Bishop Corniel expressed his plans to have this project be of support to many other self-sustainable initiatives in many of the surrounding communities, as he commented that there was still much work to be done. As if to prove his point, a spokesperson for another neighboring community spoke and expressed her joy that the citizens of that area would now have clean water to drink. At the same time, she held up a 20oz. plastic bottle that once contained Coca-Cola for all to see. I looked and saw a liquid in it that was light brown, contaminated, filled with pieces of dirt, leaves and debris. She said, “This is the water that our people are forced to use to bathe, wash our clothes and cook. This is the water that we are forced to drink and to give to our children to drink.” The bishop was correct – we have much work to be done.

I have always wondered what Jesus meant when he said, “…if you have faith in me, you will do the same things that I am doing. You will do even greater things, now that I am going back to the Father.” (John 14:12) This project helped me to better understand His words. In the well-known feeding miracles of the New Testament, Jesus feeds 5,000 and 4,000 of his followers on separate occasions - miracles that have achieved a high degree of fame. At Rio Baqui, we have 29 large ponds that are each capable of producing 7,500 adult fish (of approx. 1 lb. weight) every 4 – 6 months. If you do the math, we are talking about a possibility of more than half a million fish per year. Here we have the miracle of the 500,000!!! This modern-day miracle does have much similarity to those performed by Jesus two centuries ago: Jesus gave thanks to the Father and blessed the food. Likewise we give thanks to God realizing that without His blessings and grace none of this would be possible. The donors, Food For The Poor, the church, other organizations, the missionaries and the poor, all come together in order to fulfill His will. God continues to perform great miracles through His people!

Buying Container Loads of Musical Instruments

For some time now, Food for the Poor, through the generosity of its donors, has been buying container-loads of musical instruments and sending them to the poorest areas of our countries, to schools and communities, hoping that the young people who receive them will choose a musical instrument over a knife or gun. The program has been successful beyond our expectations. On a visit to Cite Soleil, in Haiti, considered one of the most dangerous slums of the Western Hemisphere, a newly formed musical group, proudly brandishing their recently acquired instruments, played for us the most soulful rendition of the Star Spangled Banner that I had ever heard. It’s ironic that my most emotional response to our national anthem happened in the worst slum of the Caribbean. Amazingly, they had received those instruments only a few months before. Music victorious over violence; the sound of music conquering the blast of gunfire!

In my most recent trip to Nicaragua, we were welcomed at one of our Angels of Hope orphanages by a marching band of boys and girls from a nearby high school. It was amazing to look at the faces of the young people as they played their horns and drums. There was the fire and energy of passion in their eyes and great joy in their faces and smiles. The entire group that traveled with us felt truly welcomed!

Some weeks ago I traveled to Honduras and landed in the beautiful city of San Pedro Sula. My very first visit was my very favorite of the entire trip. We had sent a variety of instruments to this city and a talented musician and teacher called “Fonchin” (don’t ask – we Hispanics have a strange relationship with nicknames!) decided that he was going to use a number of these instruments and begin a music school for underprivileged kids. Anyone who knows of my love of the arts would realize how thrilled I would be with this type of project; particularly since that evening they were performing their first public concert in my honor. I felt like royalty!

Considering that we had sent them the musical instruments only 3 months before my visit, I was expecting to hear a few scales and at best some simple songs that could be performed with a few chords. Instead, they played Bach, Tchaikovsky, Brahms, Beethoven… I was stunned! Did they make mistakes? Many. Did they detract from the joy of listening to them? Not at all. There were solos, duets, trios and quarters that showcased the shining stars of their talent and the errors here were almost eliminated. Yet, my greatest joy was listening to the songs of the entire ensemble and seeing the look of pride and joy in their faces as they made every effort to entertain their appreciative audience. But that wasn’t all, immediately after the concert was over, the kids went directly back into the practice rooms and started practicing their respective instruments. Talk about devotion to their art! We are sending them some violins and kettledrums soon, as a complement to their existing instruments. These were kids that may never have had the opportunity to hold a musical instrument in their hands – and now they were music lovers and musicians!!!

There was something that truly saddened me, though. Before the concert, I was taken on a tour of the facility. The building is large, the walls are solid, but unfortunately the roof is severely damaged which caused many of the rooms on one side of the building to be flooded from the previous day’s rain. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The roof was made of materials containing asbestos. If it were in the U.S., the building would have been condemned, but in San Pedro, they had no other choice. I promised them that as soon as they sent us a project proposal for the replacement of the roof we would try to get one or more of our caring donors to save those beautiful children from that dangerous hazard. I have faith that it won’t be long…

La Chureca, The Garbage Dump Outside of Managua

Seven years ago, I visited La Chureca, the garbage dump outside of Managua, Nicaragua. There, I met a man of my own age (52 then) that had been working in garbage dumps since he was 12 years old - 40 years!! He looked 75... life had treated him so discourteously. He told me that he had lost the ability to dream. This simple statement was both incomprehensible and heartbreaking for me. It saddened me. I wondered what exactly had driven him to that dreamless state: was it the 40 years?… was it the horrendous stench of putrefaction?… was it the thousands of flies that force you to speak with clenched teeth?… was it the toxic smoke?… was it the rotting food that they often find and eat?… the hundreds of vultures?… the scavenging cows, pigs and goats?… was it the mountains of filth and refuse?… was it the sight of hundreds of people there doomed to the same fate?… was it the 13 year old girl that died there of chemical poisoning?… or the 6-week old infant that was crushed to death by a garbage truck?…

I thought of the scriptures… of the hell that Christ described as Gehenna, the garbage dump outside of Jerusalem. I thought of the words of the prophet Isaiah, “Without a dream, the people will perish.” Yet, I am grateful for that encounter, as it made me realize that our real mission is not to provide the poor with food, water, homes, medicines, educational materials, jobs, or training. No, our job is to provide those who are feeling hopelessly defeated by poverty with the ability to dream again.
Three weeks ago, I returned to La Chureca, now chosen as one of the “Ten Horrors of the Modern World.” I had never seen so many people in all my visits there. The conditions were no better than what I described above. The anger and frustration of the crowd were almost palpable. We were advised by our contact there not to go far from our vehicle. I had never felt threatened there before. I barely stepped out of our vehicle when I was surrounded, in close proximity, by a number of the men who work there and a couple of the women. I felt embarrassed that my hands were so clean. I wanted to hide them in my pockets… their hands and their faces were covered with a black soot that would seem to defy the strongest detergent or scrub pad. Their eyes expressed an indescribable mix of emotions – hurt, resignation, pain, fatigue, suffering, distrust, rage, despair…

They said that they had received countless promises by government and non-profits, but all promises had proven to be empty. Thirty-three non-profits are supposedly working in La Chureca, and yet there has been no help for them. A spokesman for the group described that many news agencies would come and take pictures and videos with promises to tell their stories, only to betray their trust and write negatively of them. Many have been offered training with job placement at the end of the training. One man was trained as an electrician and when time came for job-placement he said, “They were brilliant in their absence.” No one would hire him and he had to return to the hell of La Chureca.

They explained that until 3 years ago they were doing a bit better. They were being paid 8.5 Cordobas (approx. 42 cents) per kilo of recyclable metals. Then, suddenly, about two years ago, the prices fell to 1.5 Cordobas (approx. 7 cents) per kilo. “If the prices of food and other goods went down also, it wouldn’t have been so devastating,” one worker said. I tried to explain how difficult it would be to distribute goods there at the dump, as there could easily be chaos and riot conditions. They said that they were willing to take numbers and stand patiently in line, and they even suggested that we get the Mayor to lend the services of his police force to keep the crowds in order.

I asked them what they most wanted us to do for them, expecting the answer to be money, or food, or some other material goods. Instead, they asked if I would speak to the Mayor on their behalf. They told me that the garbage truck drivers were making 4,000 Cordobas every two weeks (approx. $100 p/week) and they have great concern because these drivers were picking out for themselves all the best recyclable items as they emptied the garbage into the trucks. They complained that the drivers were robbing them of their livelihood. The workers at the dump are now making approx. US$2 per day – less than was the case 7 years ago!

At the end of our visit, we prayed together, asking God to bless and help these battered people. I left La Chureca having absorbed the anger and frustration of its inmates. I promised myself that I would not return to that place without a serious commitment to help relieve their misery. My heart and mind have been restless after that experience, but I am not unhappy with that restlessness, as I also promised myself that I would not rest until we found some way to help them. I will not forget that promise.