The Red House

Last Tuesday evening I stood outside a brothel and cried. I don't know why I was crying and when I finished praying as I walked away the emotion left me. It was a red house that is situated in the same road as The Salvation Army hall. I have passed it many times in the last year and I have always thought it was a student house because I often saw young men going in and out of it.

It was my turn to prayer walk the area around the hall. During a holiness meeting when we were praying for our community G. had told me that there are 4 brothels in our area, so I asked her to go with me so that she could point them out to me.

She set off at a great pace and I worked hard to match her steps as we walked up the road from the hall and turned a corner into the road where she lives. G. stopped outside a lime green house which was just two buildings from where she lives and we prayed. This was the first brothel that we prayed for that night and as we prayed I looked at it. I realised that it was different from the other houses and buildings because instead of a high wall and gates it had a low iron fence in front of it and the windows were completely blacked out. As we walked away two women left the house. Just a couple of minutes later we stopped outside another lime green house and prayed. This time there was a man standing guard at the door. I prayed that he wouldn't see that there were two women praying on the other side of the road and he didn't appear to notice us at all. When we had finished praying, we continued walking up to the hospital, and the man went inside the house. We prayed for the hospital and other buildings as we continued on our way. Once we were outside the hospital we had walked a full circle and were once again in the road where the hall is situated. As we approached the red house, G pointed out that a young man had got out of a car that he had parked in front of the house and when we stopped outside the house the man was waiting at the door. As we prayed, another man left the house and walked up the road looking back towards the house as he walked. From where G lives she can see this house and told me that some days she can see up to 40 men walking through it's front door.

We returned to the hall a few minutes after the prayer meeting had ended and there was no time to pray for the 4th brothel.

Our group of prayer walkers is growing and in a few weeks time we will have a meeting to share our experiences. I do not know what kind of work God has planned for us to do here but we will continue to pray on the streets of this area and ask God to open doors of opportunity.

Metro Rage!

I have never experienced road rage, either from me or directed towards me, or any other kind of 'rage' that we use to describe losing our temper with a complete stranger. Until now that is - now I have experienced metro rage.

The city of Sao Paulo has a wonderful metro system with lines going in all directions around the city. I can board a train in Sao Miguel Paulista and change from the train line onto the metro line at Bras or Tatuape and then travel to any part of the city by metro. Many lines converge at the stations of Se and Bras so there are certain times in the day when these stations are extremely busy. I have to travel on the metro twice a week in order to attend my portuguese language class.

Last week I was travelling home from my class a little later than usual as I had stayed to have a chat in the student cafe with two members of the class. So, when I got on the tube it was already crowded which meant that I couldn't walk further down into the carriage - I had to stay standing near the doors. When we stopped at Se the doors opened and, ignoring the fact that the carriage was already full, a great crowd of people surged onto the train in one mad push. Unfortunately, as they pushed me forwards, my rucksack, which was hanging over my right shoulder, got caught between two people who were getting off the train through the doors on the other side of the carriage. I felt like I was going to be carried off the train so I let out a little yelp, grabbed hold of a pole and tried to pull my rucksack back towards me. I think the people must have realised what was happening because I was able to retrieve my rucksack. However, at the same time as this was happening, the crowd behind me were continuing to push and I found myself pinned with my face against the pole that I had grabbed hold of. My back began to hurt and so I shrieked! I managed to turn myself around and face the people who were pushing me. 'Calma! Calma! I shouted and came face to face with three quite small looking women. One of the ladies immediately started justifying herself in portuguese. I gathered that she was blaming the people behind her for pushing her onto the train. I wasn't terribly understanding of her situation.

This is not an unusual occurance during the rush hour in Sao Paulo. I prefer to change trains at Tatuape where the people are a little more gracious and sensible. Last Monday I let 6 trains go by without getting on because they were just too full. However, I took a photo of three men who pushed and squeezed their way onto one train and watched as the third man's leg finally disappeared into the train as the doors closed (see photo on sidebar).

Bras is at the end of the line so when the train arrives it is always empty. For those who are determined to get a seat, they push anyone who gets in their way and throw themselves at a seat almost throwing a triumphant arm in the air. I have seen frail old men and ladies discover new strength as they charge towards the seats using elbows and sticks to make sure they get a seat on the train. I have never seen anything like it before!!

Well, this posting is probably more therapy than blog. Thank you for listening - it's been a great help to me to share with you my first experience of metro rage.

The Fainting Lady

So, we had just started the prayer walking and the hall had been full of young people pledging to be salt and light in the world the night before The Fainting Lady came to our church. A couple of weeks ago, after the Sunday morning meeting had finished, the Corps folk gathered to chat in the courtyard outside the front doors which were flung wide open as always. A lady caught my attention as she stumbled slowly around a car parked in front of the hall holding onto it as if it was the only thing holding her upright. She walked through the front gates of the church into the courtyard and then collapsed behind a group of chatting Salvationists.

Immediately, P, who is a nurse, bent down and took her pulse and then phoned for an ambulance that never came. I went into the hall to tell my husband, P. what had happened but he was praying with a member of our church who is undergoing treatment for cancer. I returned to the scene and saw that although she was still lying on the ground I could see that the Lady who had fainted was breathing. Members of the church were standing in a row to protect her from the sun. Having finished his prayer, P. came to see what was happening and the Lady began to move her hand and open her eyes. P. bent down and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. 'Are you ok? Do you need some help?' he said. With wild staring eyes she suddenly raised her arm to hit him. He quickly stepped back and she waved her arm in front of her eyes as if to swat away a fly. It looked like she was hallucinating, and to me, it was beginning to look like she had taken some kind of drug.

The Lady stood up and began to square up to P. and we could see that she was almost as tall as him. P. used all his conflict management skills to calm her down but any kind of movement set her arms waving around. We took the children inside the hall for Sunday School and a small group of church members remained with P. as he began to talk to the Lady along with our visitor from THQ.

Whilst in the hall I took a look to see if anything had changed outside. I felt a strong urge to pray into the situation and so I went outside again but unfortunately, my little boy, A. wanted to come with me. P. was talking to the Lady on the pavement outside the church grounds and she had her back to me. So, I stood behind her and prayed a binding prayer in the name of Jesus. Unfortunately, out of habit, I raised my arm to pray and the Lady caught sight of the movement of my arm out of the corner of her eye as I brought it down by my side. She turned round and hit my arm, not at all hard, but I left the scene again carrying A. with me and P. continued to calm her down.

The children went to their Sunday School classes and so I went outside again and was very pleased to see that everything had now calmed down. The crowd had dispersed and P. was talking to the Lady a little further away from the church building with the help of G. who was translating for him. Afterwards P told me that once she calmed down he was able to have a proper conversation with her and discovering she was homeless he offered her food and clothing.

How can I explain the events of that morning and how did the situation get resolved? Were our prayers effective, did the drugs wear off or were P's conflict management skills effective in this situation? I will probably never know but there is one thing that I have learned - don't raise your arm when you are praying for a Lady who is behaving in an unpredictable way.

Getting out there.

P and I have been working in Sao Miguel for just over a year now. We have spent the past year getting to know the people, the area, the language and the culture. The needs in this area are so vast it is difficult to know where to begin or what to do, so our hope for this next year is that, as a congregation, we will discover together God's vision for our church.

On Saturday 21st August a group of 10 members of our church met together with Major Joan Burton (Territorial Projects Co-ordinator) to discuss how we can engage effectively with our community. Our action plan at the end of the day was to, 'look for open doors by prayer walking the area around the hall'. We were inspired by the testimony of Major Estelle Blake (Kings Cross, London) who prayer walked her area and after many months she was able to extend her ministry as new doors opened up to her.

So now, every Tuesday evening, while our regular prayer meeting is taking place between 8 - 9pm , two people go out and prayer walk the immediate area surrounding the church building. Tonight will be our third night out and I am looking forward to it. Our eyes are being opened to what is happening in our local area and we have had many opportunities to pray into different situations. On one evening we passed a long bus that had a window smashed in. The driver and conductor were filling in accident report forms and my prayer partner, N, spoke to them both and prayed for protection and blessing for them and the bus in the future.
There is a hospital with an emergency department at the top of the road where our church is located and this is often a focus of our prayers. We pray that God will guide us and give us wisdom as we get out there and look for ways to engage with the needs of our community.

A walk down the Avenida

I can hear my footsteps echoing down the nine flights of stairs as I descend from my apartment on the third floor. I walk out of the front door, turn right and walk down the alley past the large exotic plants in the oversized plastic containers welcoming me to the outside world. My key turns with a click in the lock of the towering, metal gate and as I push it outwards my senses are assaulted by the sights and sounds of the Avenida.
The sun shines brightly and I feel the heat on my face. Loud distorted voices announce special offers from loud speakers attached to the top of moving cars, onibus after onibus rattles by pumping thick smoke into the air and I feel the familiar sensation of pollution settling down into the back of my throat. I move from side to side avoiding pedestrians who either do not see me or do not care whether they bump into me or not; they walk at a different pace and a different rhythm to me. Music thumps out of a furniture shop and I can smell sweetcorn and hot dogs mingled with a hint of alcohol from petrol pumping traffic.
And then there is another smell; it is out of place. Amidst the smell of pollution and food stalls the smell of urine is unmistakeable and shocking because it shouldn't be here, on the Avenida. Instinctively, I look for the source of this smell and almost 5o yards along the road I see a dirty, crumpled blanket huddled in a broken down doorway and underneath.....there is a human being, a child of God. I look closer and I see a face but I cannot tell if it is a man or a woman and I am not sure if they are young or old. Poverty has taken away the luxury of identity and they have been reduced to a crumpled blanket in a doorway. This person pulls the blanket over them as if to make themselves more invisible to the crowds who show no interest in them at all.
The Avenida continues to clatter and clang as I walk past but I do not hear it. I am unaware of the pollution in the back of my throat and I no longer hear the men shouting their adverts from the tops of cars as they chug by. What story does this person have to tell? Did they once run and jump as a little child. Did they have hopes and dreams, a favourite food, a best friend, a Mum or a Dad who loved them? I think of Jesus and I wonder where He is in this person's life and then I am reminded that I am part of the body of Christ and this is where God has sent me. I cannot speak the language well enough to approach this person without causing them some concern. I have nothing with me that I can offer as a gift. I say a prayer. What can I do Lord? Show me how I can help? Not just this person, but all the people I see, each day, living in poverty, living without the basic human needs that we take for granted in the western world.
My key turns in the lock of the metal gate. It shuts with a bang and I am now on the other side. It is quieter here but that crumpled blanket continues to invade my senses and disturb my heart as I climb the nine flights of stairs back to my apartment.

Learning portuguese...

A little bit of the language is a dangerous thing....! On Thursday (8th July) P came back from the office at lunch-time and announced that the house next door to The Salvation Army hall was up for sale. I was so excited - every time I walk past that house I pray that we will be able to buy it one day (I also pray for the land behind the hall as well). I went round to the house in the afternoon and got a telephone number. One of our soldiers phoned the owner on Friday and sent a disappointing e-mail to us. Apparently, we had completely misunderstood the sign - they are selling a mobile home and not their house. This isn't the first time we have got things wrong.

On 26th June we were invited to a wedding. It was a lovely way to spend our own 11th wedding anniversary. After the service we spoke to the father of the groom. I said to P wouldn't it be good if we could say something like, 'You must be so proud of your son'. We try to keep conversation simple as we are not at all fluent in portuguese yet. P was confident he knew the word for 'proud' so he spoke to the father of the groom who gave him a strange look and said, 'No' in a kind of embarrassed manner. Fortunately, P realised that he had got his words muddled up and correcting his portuguese spoke again to the father of the groom who then looked very pleased and agreed wholeheartedly. I am so relieved P was able to correct his mistake because he had originally said, 'You must be very ashamed of your son' - which would explain the rather gracious but embarrassed response.

This week we have applied to start a portuguese language course in Sao Paulo.

Day trip to Niteroi

When I wrote my last blog on May 6th I had no idea that I would have the opportunity to meet some of the survivors of the disaster in Niteroi, Rio de Janeiro. A few weeks ago I was invited to attend a training course called, 'Developing Tools for work in the Community' and during the week we spent a day in Niteroi. My group visited an old barracks where 415 people from Bumba (the favela that experienced the mud slides and gas explosion in April) are currently living until they are re-housed in more permanent accommodation which the government has promised to provide.
While I was there I had the opportunity to talk with a lady, J, who was sitting on the steps of one of the accommodation blocks. E and P were with me and P helped me with translation. I learnt that just providing shelter, food and toiletries is not sufficient although it is a good place to start. Each family living there is given R$ 400 a month from the government. They do not need to pay rent and all their meals are provided. This may sound like a good deal to western ears but living in community brings with it many issues. They have to eat meals together at set times and one of my colleagues spoke to a man whose work (taxi driver) meant that he often missed meals and without a kitchen of his own he was not able to cook his own meal.
J was worried about safety for her 11 year old adopted daughter and she said that she felt more secure living in her house on the favela than she does living in this community. She has considered returning to her home because only half of it was destroyed - the other half is still standing. She still feels very sad and often cries. She thinks about the children who died whilst waiting for their parents to collect them from the school - the children who were collected early are still alive. On that day J was at the bar with her husband when someone came and told her that somethng had happened to her house. Before the disaster happened she had told her friend that she thought something bad was going to happen and after the mudslide her friend remembered this. She said that she believed in God so we prayed with her before we left. After the prayer she thanked us for listening to her story and she asked if someone could come back to see her. This is possible because the officers and soldiers of Niteroi Corps were heavily involved in the emergency operation and have a long term goal to work with this community. On the same day we had the privilege of attending a public ceremony with the Fire Department where the DC of the Rio de Janeiro Division received a medal on behalf of The Salvation Army for the work of supporting the emergency services at the disaster area.
Please pray that God will open doors into this community for Niteroi Corps and please pray for J and the 415 people living in temporary accommodation.