They say 11 is the lifetime average number of residences for a North American. I just did a personal tally and came up with 15 so far. How ‘bout you?

Every single one of mine has included the amenities of flushing toilets, beds with mattresses and pillows, mud-free flooring, well stocked pantries and electric fridges, weather-proof roofing, secure walls and windows, gun violence free neighbourhoods, multiple rooms, and comfortable things to sit on throughout. E, who’s the same age as me, isn’t able to remember just how many dozens of places she’s lived, but rarely has she enjoyed any such luxuries in the miserable, cramped spaces she’s called home.

The earliest ones were in rural El Salvador, where she was raised by an abusive and violent mother. Those houses were also the settings where various men began violating her, sometimes with the permission of her mom. None of those places were comfortable and none of her memories of them are happy.

As a young woman she made her escape across the border to Guatemala. Bouncing from one abusive relationship to another and through the chaotic series of temporary shelters they provided, she eventually began working on La Linea simply as a means to survive. Before long, she had also taken up permanent residence there, something very few other women do, for fear of their lives at nighttime. When we first met E in 2015, she had already been living in a tiny hovel of a room for several years, and by her expression, was “content” to live out the rest of her days in the nest she had made for herself there.

But then.

On May 27, 2017, a nightmare, even beyond what so many of the women fear, became E’s reality. She was attacked, raped, shot seven times through her arm, abdomen, groin and head. And left for dead.

There’s lots to tell of the days, weeks and months that followed and some of it was captured by Natalie’s posts during that time – Saturday Night, The Stranger Beside You, Bruised, Broken and Breathing (we referred to E by her working name, Lorena, back then – a name she has since laid to rest forever). The story eventually unfolded as a truly miraculous journey of recovery. Life has never been the same, of course, and once E was mostly healed and on her feet again, some of the most significant losses she grieved were her personal autonomy and the displacement from what she called home. Once again, she had no real place to live, and that was almost as traumatic to her soul as the violence done to her body.

So it was very exciting when, in 2019, with the generous help of donors, not least of which was North Point Community Church, Tamar’s Hope was able to purchase a small piece of land, just enough to erect a two-room wooden structure and invite E to make a new nest for herself. The arrangement we made with her was to eventually transfer the title to her name if she maintained the little house and paid a very small fraction (approx. $2700CAD) of the cost of the property in regular payments over the next few years. Five years on, we were so thrilled and proud to get the news she made the complete and final payment!

Off to the lawyer it was last week to sign and thumbprint (E does not read or write) the stacks of papers and all the fun it was to make it formal and legal. Home ownership was so beyond any hopes or dreams E had for her future. She may not know all the places she’s lived, but she is confident she’ll never need to look for another.

E is absolutely delighted. And so are we!

Is it odd that strolling into a brothel doesn’t seem strange?

Sometimes I wonder.

Last week, we couldn’t take our bus to La Terminal, so we went old-school and visited the ladies directly in their places of work. Out of nowhere a very drunk man approached me and asked in broken English, “Lady, what you looking for?” I smiled and told him I wasn’t looking for anything. But he kept insisting (I think he was worried that we were tourists who’d ended up in a very bad place) and asking. Finally, I said, “Thanks but I’m really not looking for anything. I work here. No, really I work here. I’m fine.” The look of confusion on his face was priceless and I really didn’t have the time to explain. So, somewhere in Guatemala City, there’s a confused man who thinks a six foot tall gringa is currently working in a very trashy brothel/hotel. Hey ho. My reputation is not my problem.

But on to more important things. Meet T. She is a sweet, shy woman who has been visiting the bus and saying almost nothing for the last few months. But when we showed up on her doorstep last week, she had lots to say. While she’s been sitting quietly on the bus, eating her lunch, she’s also been listening to endless encouragement/nagging about school!

Out of nowhere, this fifty-year-old lady from a remote Maya village signed herself up for an intensive primary school course. She’ll be doing three grades in one year! This is huge. And she is so proud.

It’s a big deal because in this country where so many experience immense poverty, education just doesn’t get the funding or attention it needs and deserves. Few people make it past elementary school and those who do have very few options available to them if they wish to continue their studies. In rural Guatemala, where the population is predominantly Indigenous, the percentage of people entering and completing elementary school is significantly lower than the rest of the country. T’s choice challenges everything she’s been told about herself, about women in general and Maya women specifically. Often we meet ladies who tell us they’re too old to study. They might be in their 30’s and it seems like a mountain that is just too high to climb. At 50, T is daring to do something very few adults are willing to try.  She is being so, SO brave.

While we stood around chatting with her colleagues, T hurried off to grab her books. She showed us every page she’s worked on so far and the chapters she’ll be doing next. The look of absolute delight on her face was just beautiful!

Hope whispers in so many ways. Sometimes it’s a nursing program, sometimes it’s high school or even university. But sometimes hope at it’s most beautiful and glorious is a middle-aged woman drawing shaky lines in a first-grade workbook.

We couldn’t be more thrilled!

Over the past year we’ve been privileged to welcome several new staff and volunteers to our Tamar’s Hope team. These are some seriously servant-hearted people and we love ’em lots. Just wanted to take a moment to show them off to you…

 

Roberta – Life Coach and Beauty Expert

Roberta laughs loud, hard and often. (Unless she’s stuck in Guatemala City traffic.) She’s as serious about education and professional development as she is about having fun in any crowd. As a teacher, entrepreneur, hairstylist and life-long learner, Roberta brings a full life skill set to share with her “sisters” from La Linea, modeling what life can be like on the other side.

 

 

Evelyn – Mentor and Hardcore Listener

A few years ago, Evelyn got a taste for learning and has since become a scholastic powerhouse with pursuits into formal high school education, theology and dressmaking. Life after La Linea has taken her all the way to a career as a sewing instructor and she brings her very patient and gracious teaching style to Tamar’s Hope to inspire many others.

 

 

Paula – Tamar’s Hope Volunteer

With all kinds of positive energy and quest for adventure, Paula somehow creatively juggles roles as architect, homeschool teacher, business owner, church leader and world traveler. And then occupies her “spare” time generously loving on the ladies at La Puerta once a week and helping Tamar’s Hope develop social enterprise projects.

 

 

Jackie – Tamar’s Hope Volunteer

Jackie is all about drinking good coffee, singing her heart out, improving her English, playing volleyball and hanging with friends on the beach – ideally all at once. She brings every bit of her enthusiasm for life each week to the ladies at La Puerta, leading Zumba classes, playing games and chatting soul to soul, all while drawing on her very helpful degree in psychology.

 

 

Vivi – Tamar’s Hope Volunteer

Vivi hates all bugs and stingy things, loves tending her exotic plants, makes quick friends with any dog or kitty, and would fight you for them with her mad karate skills. During the week she’s busy with her full-time job as a business administrator, but generously shares her every Saturday to laugh and live and love with the women on La Linea.

When is a sheet of paper a miracle?

When it’s a Mexican birth certificate; that’s when.

Some of you might remember the story, but for those of you who don’t, here’s a quick recap.

G is the mother of three adorable little boys. Her oldest, Y, was born in Mexico, eight years ago. Shortly after his birth, G’s abusive fella announced that he was going to kill her and keep the baby.  He wasn’t kidding. So, like any good mama, she picked up her baby and ran for the border, leaving her abuser and her son’s identity in a foreign country.

Guatemalan citizens are entitled to have kids born overseas registered here, but they must have a birth certificate to prove who the child is. Makes sense. But G had no papers and no way to prove her son’s identity. Technically, Y didn’t exist.

It was a mess. And the messiest part of all? No school for Y. Not ever.

That one missing sheet of paper condemned this little boy to a life of unemployment and abject poverty. No papers mean no job, no right to vote, no official programs of any kind. It’s a life sentence.

Gangs in this country love these scenarios. They snatch up hopeless, futureless kids and brutalize them with a twisted version of belonging that makes boys like Y believe that gang violence is the only place for them. They are terrifyingly effective recruiters.

Imagine G’s fear.  Her bored, frustrated little boy was becoming increasingly difficult to deal with.  His mind wanted to learn, but there was nothing to fill it. His body needed to move, but there was nowhere safe to allow him to play. He spent all day, every day, in a dark hovel with the endless screech of mindless cartoons his only diversion. It was a horrible life for all of them, and G knew the gangs were waiting.

The process of trying to get the papers from Mexico has been long and complicated. Turns out, it really is quite difficult to prove that a little person is who his mama says he is. Cuz, says who? There has been endless form filling, appointments at the embassy, new random requirements never mentioned in the past, and then even more appointments. Eventually, there was a prerequisite so narrow and specific that we believed we had come to the end of the process.  It seemed impossible.

Every week brought us closer to the date we’d have to sign him up for the next school year. But that wasn’t going to happen. The school did us a huge favour last year by allowing us to enroll Y in a pre-grade one program. We paid all the fees, but his attendance was unofficial. The school admin made it clear that this was a favour they couldn’t repeat. So every day saw him get closer to the day we’d have to tell him that school was over for him.

And then suddenly the pieces fell into place. The impossible requirement materialized. More appointments were scheduled, new steps were added to the process, and Shawn, G and our darling friend E stood in lines and smiled at officials. A winning smile can go a long way in Latin America!

 

Please enjoy the photo. I’m sorry you can’t see her beautiful, beaming face. G is beyond thrilled. Y exists.  He’s real. He has a birth certificate and now he can have all the legal papers the Guatemalan government would like to bestow on him. Next year he’ll officially start school. The paper that affirms his life will change his life.

We couldn’t be happier.