turkeys and tin can cars

When we visited Arequipa this past November, the orphanage director Jose asked me to do him a favor. He had written up a few stories about life at the orphanage and wanted to get them translated into English so that he could pass them along to an American missionary friend who supports the orphanage. Would I have time to translate them? Time, yes. Ability on the other hand... Let's just say your translated stories won't be winning the Pulitzer anytime soon.

This is Jose. He grew up in an orphanage himself and has spent his entire life caring for abandoned, mistreated and orphaned children. As a single guy he used to take food to the street kids in Lima and bribe them to go to school in exchange for a meal. Since getting married, Jose and his wife Gloria have started several orphanages and always have at least a few kids living with them. He has a great story about all these street kids showing up to their wedding loaded down with gifts like nice watches and cash. Turns out the kids had stolen the gifts! Jose and Gloria are beautiful, inspiring people.

My good friend Google Translate and I did our best to translate Jose's stories into English. I loved the glimpse into the day-to-day lives of our future kids, and the stories made me laugh out loud. Well, two of them made me laugh; the third made me cry. I'll save that one for another post, but for now here are the two amusing ones.

Story 1: “Cuchinsqui”  
This year we did not breed turkeys to eat at Christmas. In past years our turkey was called “Cuchinsqui,” and we had bred him especially for Christmas, but no one dared cook him. Pedrito was the only one who helped me to sacrifice the turkey. All the kids were like 10 steps away from Cuchinsqui. Suddenly Cuchinsqui started running around the house without his head, and he collided with Pedrito. Pedrito grabbed him with all his might and when he wanted to calm Cuchinsqui down, he realized that he had no head. Then he ran faster than Cuchinsqui! Some days ago when I was going to give food to Cuchinsqui, I found a necklace on Cuchinsqui’s neck saying: “Turkeys do not like Christmas!” Another day: “Stop the violence!” On the day of Christmas dinner, nobody wanted to eat, so Pedrito and I ate the turkey.  

This is Pedro, the fearless turkey eater. In Spanish, you can add -ito or -cito onto the end of the word to make a small version of it. (pan = bread; pancito = little bread). It's also tacked onto the end of a name as a term of endearment. That's why Jose refers to Pedro as Pedrito in the story.

This photo was taken back in 2011 when we lived in Peru. I'm not sure, but I'm guessing that's Cuchinsqui the turkey to the left of the slide. You may also notice the big bird cage, the chickens, the pair of turtles on top of the bird cage, and the puppies in the photo above... We're thinking we might have to get some pets for these kids to help them feel at home! 

Story 2: “Don Lata” (Mister Can)  
When I was writing this letter, God spoke to me that he had kept his word that says, “He will cover you with his feathers and under his wings you will find refuge.” Psalm 91:4 

For a long time the car we had helped transport the 30 children from one place to another. But I think the car was too old to run. The children affectionately call him “Don Lata” (Mister Can) because it is a bit old (from 1964), and almost no spare parts exist. Every time that it breaks down, I have to look for parts in many stores and sometimes I find other old Volkswagen parts that no longer work.  

On one occasion “Don Lata” was running as fast as possible: 50 kilometers per hour (31 mph). The children were very excited to see Don Lata run because Don Lata is very slow. But 15 minutes later, I felt cold air on my feet. When I saw my feet, there was a gap near the gearbox and the shifter had fallen. Don Lata continued running. I looked for a place close by and there was only the hole in the floor. Suddenly children said, “Papa Jose! Look! There goes your gear shift.” We saw it lying on the road falling behind. So we stopped to pick up our lever. A week later, the same thing happened. My accelerator had fallen. But this time no luck! Several trucks ran over our accelerator! So we had to go to church accelerating with a rope, and it was difficult for me to sing the hymn in this moment: “Peace, how sweet the peace.” All the brothers and sisters in church were raising their hands and singing. And I crossed me arms and squeezed my chest, singing, “Peace? How sweet peace?” 

The children did not want to travel in Don Lata because they were ashamed to have to push the car down the street. After 6 or 10 blocks at the most, the motor would stop or something would happen. The interesting thing is that without warning the engine would stop and wouldn’t start again. The younger children were my faithful helpers because for them it was fun to push Don Lata in the middle of the road. They took great pride in giving signs and hand signals to the other cars. (“Broken down car! Pass on the left!”) The other drivers laughed at our very old car, and girls who are 10 to 15 years old were embarrassed and got away as fast and as far as possible from Don Lata so that no one would realize that this car belonged to them, too. I loved to see the faces of the girls when the engine stopped. You can imagine the surprise on their faces as they looked for the fastest way to lose Don Lata. However, the younger children each would get ready to announce “Broken down car!” and get get into position to push.  

All of this we endured with the joy of God that says to be happy in every circumstance, and we would have continued in this way if it wasn’t for the last time that Don Lata didn’t revive or start anymore. We tried everything: prayer, pushing, laying on of hands, deliverance, exorcism. But nothing worked, and Don Lata died. From that day on, the children didn’t want to get in the car, and I said, “Now are we going to transport everyone?” I took the car to a mechanic and he told me that he could repair it. I paid him and bought a lot of spare parts, and they said that it was ready, but when I test driving Don Lata the day after he had been repaired, he caught on fire!  Now I think I understand that it was God speaking: You are no longer obligated to use this car that has already finished his life cycle. Later, when we were traveling to church, we had to take a “combi” (a little bus where the people are packed in like a can of sardines).

After much prayer, a pastor friend of mine came to visit after it had been many years since I had seen him. He said that he had an extra car that he didn’t use, and God told him to deliver it to the orphanage. When he saw me, he told me “Jose, take the keys to this car. God told me that you will use it for His work!”

Shortly after we got involved with the orphanage back in 2011, we had the delightful experience of piling 28 people into a 15-passenger van for an outing to the mall. I don't know if this van we were in was the extra one given to Jose by the pastor friend in the story or if it was "Don Lata." If it was Don Lata, I'm glad that we were blissfully ignorant at the time.