Stepping out of the car the community looked the same. Graffiti, walls falling down, houses in different states of decay, and the ground an uneven mishmash of concrete and many attempts at construction woven together. As we walked down the familiar alleyways, paying attention to where we walked, I wondered if I’d see her. On our way we smiled and greeted young and old along the way, asking if she was still living in the same house, and the answer was “yes”, coupled with a friendly indication of the direction in which we were walking. Walking up to a small corner house, the door was shut, but we knocked on the door to see if she was home. Hearing affirmative sounds from within, we waited for her to come to the door.
Another walk was walking into the wedding venue. It seemed so long ago, yet not that long, that we met on the streets. Now the young man coming towards us was dressed in a grey suit with his hair styled, and ready to say “yes” to his bride. Seeing him again, and being present with him and his family on this day which would mark the rest of his life, was a privilege. As his bride walked down the aisle, he wiped tears from his eyes. Even though I didn’t ask him, I am pretty sure they were tears of joy. Our eyes also filled. Tears of thankfulness for the miracle we were witnessing, and tears of love for this boy we many times thought there was maybe no more hope for, and yet there is always hope...
As she opened the door I was greeted by her beautiful smile framed by her “just-woken-up” face. “Elisabeth!” A young girl stood by her side, quietly looking at us, while her mother went to find the key for the padlock to open the gate which created a little security for them in an otherwise not very safe neighbourhood. I gave her a hug and we sat down on the mattress in the little room. The space was sparse, and she had little to give the impression of “home” in the place she’d been living for the past 6 months. As we talked and remembered she started to cry. This time they were tears of grief, weeping over the loss of her sister a few years back. Her sister who had been her everything. Her sister who had been a part of raising her and keeping her safe, and helping her navigate streetlife. A life which started when they were only a few years older than her 3-year old daughter, who was quietly observing us visitors. We sat for a while talking and praying. She shared about her reality, which was the same as 12 years ago when I saw her last. And I wondered “where is the hope?”
After sharing vows and being declared husband and wife, the wedding celebration continued. Food was served and thousands of photos were taken. The wedding party even performed a choreography to the delight of those present. It was a memorable evening, and the start of a new life and a new future of the young couple. A couple with dreams and life ahead of them.
We bought gas for her to be able to cook on her stove (the other one she’d sold, which made me wonder how long this one would last). A small gesture to bring a little more dignity, although her reality is survival and her perspective is day-to-day. When asking what her dream would be, the response was: “to get out of this life and be able to care for my children”. I didn’t ask deeper, because I knew I was only there to visit, and couldn’t follow up any further. As we walked away my heart was heavy. Heavy because a girl, now young woman, I walked closely with for so long is still stuck in the same life, and is raising up the next generation in the same ways. I asked my friend I was with how he keeps going working in this reality, and he responded: “we love everyone, and invest in those who really want to change”. Wise words. I am not sure she wants to change yet, but I hope that if she stays alive, that one day she truly will, and it is good to know that then there will be good people to walk with her.
Two walks. Two meetings in Brazil connecting the past to the present. Two individuals who live in my heart, but with completely different paths of life ahead. Part of me knows that there is a time and a season for everything, but when someone has come to stay in your heart like family, it is hard not to feel. Feel her desperation and hopelessness and want to change that. And feel his joy and expectation, and rejoice. And I carry both of them home with me. Not literally of course, but in my heart and prayers. Hoping to see them again one day, and hoping that day will be a day of rejoicing over both of their lives.