The Road to My Chimbote FamilyBy Neil FaganIt was December 1979. As a group of uswere completing our first semester in theM.Div. program at St. John’s UniversitySchool of Theology in Collegeville, MN,we discussed how to spend January. Thecurriculum included a January Termwhen students could design a one-monthself-study course. Three classmates fromNorth Dakota suggested a group of ustravel to Peru to observe the work of apriest from their diocese. Father Kieran,OSB from the Benedictine Abbey at St.John’s agreed to be our instructor. Fr.Jack Davis , an alumnus of the seminaryfrom the Fargo North Dakota diocesehad been a student of his. Fr. Jack beganhis Peruvian missionary career in 1975and was currently serving a parish inthe coastal city of Chimbote. It was anopportunity to catch up with a formerstudent, but Fr. Kieran had many othercontacts working in Peru.The three guys from North Dakota, aclassmate from South Dakota, and Iwould be Fr. Kieran’s class. We flew intoLima and took a city bus to a conventof Dominican nuns where we wouldspend the night. They provided warmhospitality and shared their simple meals.The next day we flew to the historicInca capital of Cusco in the Andes. TheSpanish colonial architecture and culturedominated the city, but the presence ofthe Indigenous Quechua people was stillvery much present. Again, a convent ofDominican nuns served as our homefor five nights. We explored the manyInca ruins around the city and met lotsof local kids who hung around the ruinsseeking contributions from the tourists.It seemed appropriate to provide somemeager reparations for the centuries ofcolonial oppression. It was fun to play andtalk with the kids with whom my Spanishseemed more competent. We also visited theimposing Spanish churches and museums.The open Quechuan market provided aglimpse of daily life for the people whoselivelihood depended on tourism. It washere I was pickpocketed and experiencedfiling a police report in a language I didn’tspeak fluently. Somehow the stolen travelerschecks (remember those?) were replaced.16A day trip took us to Machu Pichu. In theupper ruins someone serenaded us playingEl Condor Pasa on a wooden flute. Whiledescending from the upper ruins we heardthe music from 2001: A Space Odyssey.At the lower level we observed a group ofpeople standing around an old Inca altarand spied the cassette player on the altarproviding the music for their worship. Iwonder if the people observing me atworship experience the same mixed thoughtsI had there. We continued to a smallmountain village where the townspeoplewere enjoying a bullfight in their smallmunicipal bullring. It was the scrawniestbull I had ever seen. It really didn’t seemlike a fair fight, and I’ve never wanted toobserve a bullfight again. I was glad wedidn’t stay long. Then it was back to Cusco.That evening we boarded an old bus alongwith many Quechua people and theirchickens and lambs. The larger animalsrode atop the bus. The overnight trip tookus much farther up in the mountains. Asthe air in the bus got warmer and warmerthe animal smell became more pungent.We opened a window and learned that theQuechua people are susceptible to chillingeasily. They graciously agreed to allowabout an inch of open window. It wasfascinating, but unlike any Greyhoundtrip I had ever been on. I was grateful thedarkness prevented me from seeing thesteep cliffs the gently rocking bus passed by.We arrived at a camp about midday.We were shown to a small dormitorywhere we could nap until supper. Thecamp included another small buildingwhere the local priest lived and one thathoused two nuns. From this encampmentthe priest and nuns traveled days-longtrips to congregations of Indigenouspeople scattered far and wide aroundthe mountain tops. We accompanied thenuns up the mountain to the home of aQuechua family. One nun was a physicianand the other a nurse. A three-year-old,the youngest child, had rolled into the firein the center of the floor. The nuns maderegular trips to care for her severe burns.It was difficult to listen to her screamsas the nuns did the excruciating work todebride her burns and redress them. Ihave great admiration for these womenand all who care for burn patients.After a couple of days, we descended to asmall airport and boarded a flight to Lima.From there we took a bus to Chimbotewhich was once a beautiful and wealthycity known as the honeymoon capital ofPeru. The shabby buildings on the seacoastwere once luxury hotels. The former wealthcame from tourism and an extensive fishingindustry. In 1970 a massive earthquakein the sea caused the fish to seek feedinggrounds elsewhere and the city plungedinto poverty. Only inedible fish couldbe caught. A factory opened that madefertilizer from the fish. The stench from thefactory hung heavily in the air throughoutthe city. No more honeymooners ortourists came, and the big fishers ofsought-after seafood moved elsewhere.The fish factory and a metal casting factoryprovided the major employment.Here we met Fr. Jack and learned abouthis ministry among the poor peopleof Chimbote. He had spearheadedmany projects for the people includingestablishing clean water and sanitation inthe city and a small vegetable farm madepossible by diverting some mountainrunoff water into the desert location.His passion was the congregation ofSt. Francis of Assisi Church, a thrivingcommunity of people who cared deeplyabout each other and their belovedpastor. A convent of nuns staffed aschool and provided pastoral ministryto families. I wanted to know more andasked Fr. Jack if he ever hosted studentsto help him in his work. The answer wasyes, and that summer I met my belovedChimbote family.I returned in May after the semesterended. Fr. Jack asked a family acrossthe street from the church to host mefor the summer. It is more than a gift tobe the recipient of radical hospitality.It’s an experience of heaven. The familyconsisted of mother and father, twoteenage daughters, a teenage son, twonearly teenage daughters, the father’ssister, and the son who stole my heart.Five-year-old Wendel was deaf at birthand had never learned to talk. The entirefamily doted on him, and he returnedall the love back fourfold to everyone.Could there be a happier child? He lovedto sit on laps and give free hugs.
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