Friday I attended the “procession” commemorating Jesus’ death and the events leading up to it. This gigantic march took place in the historical center of the city and was quite a sight to behold. There were lots of folks in purple KKK looking outfits (I’m told the KKK copied from this), men dragging crosses, people with chains around their feet, whipping themselves, painted on blood, and the grand finale, a huge Jesus statue pushed by people in business suits. After the statue passed, all the watchers joined in behind, many with umbrellas to block the fierce sun. See pics below.
(The original KKK. Not really of course, but striking similarity in dress.)
(Dragging the cross. This was a small one, some guys had medium sized trees! I saw one guy collapse from exhaustion. Then there were little children dressed as Jesus dragging mini-crosses.)
(The Jesus statue.)
Then on Sunday, that would be today – Easter, I traveled with Fernando (guard friend) and his family to visit Quinche, a famous church out in his neck of the woods. First though, we stopped at his house so he could shower and we could eat some breakfast. During this time I met Cliotilda’s father. He is 75-years-old and it was a pleasure to talk with him; older people often have perspectives on life that can’t be reached by a mere babe such as myself and this man was no exception:) Five months back he lost his left leg due to complications arising from diabetes. He hadn’t received treatment for his condition before his surgery (even though it had been diagnosed when he was 70) and isn’t taking any medication or insulin now either. He worries he will loose his other leg soon and confided to me if that happens he mind as well die. He had me touch his foot and said he couldn’t really feel it; very limited toe movement as well. Sometimes I feel so frustrated and helpless here. He did have a brand new wheelchair, gifted from a humanitarian organization.
(Me with 3 generations of Fernando/Cliotilda's family.)
From there we headed on to Quinche, 30+ minutes standing up in a packed bus from Fernando’s house. The church was impressive and there were lots of people everywhere, inside, outside, holding candles, singing, praying, begging, you name it. I saw a new food too, small water snails sucked out of their shells and eaten with lime-juice. I tried one and got a bad aftertaste.
(Quinche's famous church.)
We exited a side door and came face to face with a line of people begging for money to help their sick children. The people were out in the hot son, sick kids lying comatose at their feet. One had what looked like bad burns all over a lower leg, others with bad coughs, one just a year or so old. I asked them what had happened to their children (they seemed surprised at my approach), gave a quarter to each, and felt helpless again. I have trouble reconciling a just and all-powerful God with sick children.
(Poor people with sick children.)
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