The Challenge of Language

When I arrived here at NPH, it was clear to me that my first two priorities had to be getting to know the children and learning their names, and improving my Spanish. The people a priest is ministering to need to feel like he knows and cares about them, and knowing their names goes a long way towards demonstrating this. In addition, a priest needs to communicate well if he is to be effective. I have made a lot of progress these first three months learning names- there are about 350 kids living here at NPH, plus about 140 employees and 20 adult volunteers.  I do not think I am particularly gifted when it comes to learning people’s names (some people have an impressive talent for this), but I do work hard at it and have found that sustained effort usually pays off. People are appreciative if they see that I am at least trying.

Language is another matter. My Spanish before coming down was passable- I managed to read the prayers at our Spanish Mass at St Alphonsus, and could write a homily that made sense (even if it was on the simple side). Conversationally, I could keep my head above water but I missed a lot. The greatest difficulty of my first weeks here was the exhaustion I felt at the end of each day after working hard to concentrate and understand what people were saying. It really was taxing trying to follow conversations and make sense of what was being said. Gratefully, after a month or so I found that I did not have to work so hard to keep up, and now I am at the point where I can pick up most of what I hear, even if I regularly have to ask people to repeat themselves. Both the kids and the adults have shown great patience with me, and I notice that it is getting easier and easier as time goes by.

Speaking continues to frustrate me. While those here tell me that I am doing fine, I am conscious of the fact that what is coming out of my mouth does not always match what I am thinking in my head. Casual conversation is not as much of a problem, but preaching and teaching religion class is a real challenge. I manage to say something, but it is not always what I want to say or the way I want to say it. I have come to realize just what a gift it is to be able to express oneself with language. There are a couple of kids here who are deaf-mutes, and my struggle to communicate has given me renewed empathy for them and for others challenged by this disability.

An image that has come to mind is that of those who have suffered stokes, leaving them unable to speak, or unable to speak properly. I have known many who clearly were able to think straight and formulate thoughts, yet were left struggling to formulate words and express themselves as they wanted to. Intensive therapy can sometimes help to regain speech, but it is a long road. The frustration is clear in the expressions on their faces and in their eyes. A sense of isolation settles in when they can hear and understand, but are unable to respond as they wish. Sometimes when I have visited people in the hospital after a stroke, I did all of the talking and just asked questions that they could respond to with a nod or a blink of their eyes. One woman I visited before leaving for Guatemala seemed to have her language skills intact at the beginning of the conversation. But it became quickly clear to me that she had lost a lot when she responded to everything I said with just the few stock phrases that were left to her. And while she used the same phrases for everything she wanted to say, her eyes and hand gestures communicated the rest.  

As I say: I manage to communicate for the most part, but it really is frustrating when what I say does not have the richness or accuracy of expression that it would have if I were speaking in English. Also, it seems like my personality in Spanish is not the same as my personality in English. And so a similar kind of isolation has settled in, which serves to motivate me to continue working hard to develop my vocabulary and grammar skills. I have a new empathy for immigrants others who struggle at home to speak English.  

Another issue for me is my pronunciation. My accent is not too bad; however I have never been able to manage the pronunciation of the Spanish “rr”- a unique letter in the Spanish alphabet that is pronounced by trilling the tongue. I butcher the pronunciation in such a way that it is not just an American accent, but an actual speech impediment. I am reminded of those who speak English with a lisp or who cannot pronounce the English “r” sound. These people are often mocked or looked down upon. Children who suffer from this are often taunted by their classmates in school. There are some aids on the internet that I can make use of to work on this, but I fear I may need to just accept that I have this impediment.

Accent reduction is something that foreign seminarians and priests are encouraged to work at. Because communication is so important, poor communication results in lots of missed opportunities. Also, it is easy to stop trying to improve one’s accent once one feels one is getting by. But I have always felt that Church communities deserve for their priests to continue trying to speak better. I want to keep this goal in front of me, even if my vocabulary and grammar improve to the point where I feel like I can say what I want to say the way I want to say it. Lots of American parishioners complain about the accents of their foreign-born priests. I hope that I will keep this in mind in the future, and continue to focus on sounding as much like a native speaker as is possible.

In the meantime, I am reminded of a saying attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi that seems apropos to my situation. He said: “Preach the Gospel; use words if you must.” To some extent, my ability to preach the Gospel here is compromised by my inability to express myself verbally as I would like. But I can focus on my actions, and try to communicate the message of Jesus and my interest in those here through my demeanor, my effort to learn to speak, and through my personal outreach. And I can thank God for the patience and understanding of the kids and adults at NPH.

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Holy Week is upon us, and there is a lot going on here. I will post some reflections and pictures as soon as I can afterwards.

Chapel update: We have begun to formally talk about this now, and after Easter I hope to connect with an architect to at least get the schematic design of the chapel drawn up. We know where the chapel will be built, and once we have some drawings I can proceed with the fundraising and develop a more accurate budget. 

Challenges to the Mission

When I first learned about Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos, I was powerfully drawn to the vision set forth by the founder, Fr William Wasson. He was convinced (and this was confirmed by the famous psychologist, Erik Fromm, who studied this place in the 1970’s) that his model for an orphanage offered kids a healthy environment to grow and develop into well-adjusted adults. A fundamental pillar of his vision was the insistence that the family in the home be the family for all who live there. To that end, he only accepted children whose mothers had died (realizing that an institution can never “compete” with the relationship of a child to his or her mother). Also, children were only accepted if all of their siblings came as well. Visits from members of the kids’ extended blood-family were very limited. Many kids came here after been passed around from relative to relative after parents’ death, and NPH was intended to be their “last stop.” Children were never sent away except in very rare cases and for the most serious of reasons. During the years of the bloody civil war here, there was no shortage of children whose parents had been murdered. Continued drug trafficking to the United States, and the gang and cartel activity associated with it, means that families continue to be ravaged in a society where 80% of the population lives on less than $2/day.

Yet changes have come to Guatemala, and the reality here is much different now than when Fr. Wasson first devised his program. Some here are unhappy with UNICEF, which certainly does wonderful things in the world. However, I am told that the Guatemalan government, under pressure from UNICEF, has made it impossible for NPH to carry out its mission in full compliance with the vision of its founder. Recent years have seen a dismantling of institutions in the human services sector. The majority of kids here truly are orphans. However, many others were placed here by the government after having been removed from high-risk family home situations. Most of the kids must leave for six weeks or so in the winter for their school vacation and stay with extended family. (Many return somewhat worse for the time away, having regressed to an earlier stage of social or emotional development.) There are regular on-site visits of extended family. In addition, those children (about 70% of the kids) who have parents or extended family meet regularly with a judge to ascertain the possibility of leaving NPH and moving to the home of an extended family member. The constant possibility and regular reality of being sent to live with extended family or returned to parents has made maintaining the image of “family” here a kind of fiction. Maybe that is putting it too strongly; however the fact is that the kids never know which of their NPH brothers and sisters will stay and which will go (last year the turnover was about 20%). One thing that has not changed: the kids are not adopted out. Yet, given the changed nature of the “family” environment here, I cannot help but wonder whether opening up to international adoptions might be worth considering.

The morale of those on our staff who themselves grew up at one of the NPH homes seems challenged by the situation here. They mourn the loss of the way things were as they watch some of the pillars of Fr. Wasson’s model morph into an approach that is less and less recognizable to them. These “Hermanos Mayores” had the kind of large family experience that is simply not available to the kids now. The “pequeños” here now have the option to leave, and that completely changes the atmosphere. My own conversations with the kids confirm that while they are happy in many ways, they feel somewhat isolated from and distrustful of their peers. One Hermano Mayor lamented having heard a number of kids respond to a news reporter who was here doing a story. They talked about the food, the education, the nice campus, the good fortune of having a roof over their heads. But not a single child talked about having an experience of family here. And this was heartbreaking for those who grew up in NPH, for whom the sense of family was the most important gift they received from Fr. Wasson’s model.

The change in the model has also affected fundraising. Much of the support of the homes comes through individual sponsorship of children. (There is no government funding; all comes from individuals or private organizations.) The kids can each have up to ten sponsors, who each donate about $25/month. The sponsorship dollars are pooled, but many sponsors develop meaningful personal relationships with the kids via letters (and even, sometimes, visits). When a child leaves NPH, the sponsorship relationship ends, and the sponsors, who feel understandably “burned,” are unlikely to sponsor another child. 

We at NPH Guatemala are in the process of initiating a program we hope will help develop a greater sense of family among the kids and those on staff. There is evidence of some lingering sense of family in the older kids who remain connected with NPH. The forty or so in Bachillerato who are over 18 years of age are legally free to leave and do what they want with their lives. So are the thirty at the university. Yet they stay, enduring significant limitations to their personal freedom (the rules of the house are pretty strict). Sure, they receive financial support, but it is pretty meager and I have written earlier about the loathsome living conditions (at least in Bachillerato). Clearly, they retain a sense of family and belonging that remains important to them, which is why, I suspect, that they stay. Our hope is that if we can be more intentional about cultivating an increased sense of family among the kids and the staff at the main campus, we might manage to instill at least some vestige of the experience that formed so many for so many years. And while things here can never be what they once were, perhaps we can adapt in such a way that ensures our home will remain recognizable as based on Fr. Wasson’s vision.

The bottom line is that the model I was attracted to and was looking forward to learning more about no longer exists, at least not in its “pure” form. That does not mean that I am unhappy with my decision to come here. If anything, the kids have a greater need since now they are at even greater risk- since the model with the proven success formula has had to be partially dismantled.