Healing in the Slums

Journal Entry 1

Dirt roads and polluted rivers, the sound of poverty and sickness takes over and it is all I can hear. The slums in the Philippines are worse than I expected. The church missions group sent me here in hopes of being able to use my healing powers within the city. My doubts overcome me and I am filled with anxiety and fear. Kids, ages 4 to 14 are sitting on muddy cardboard beds, coughing and wheezing. Young kids, sticks for arms, sitting on the sidewalk, with goosebumps imprinted on their frail bones. My head is pounding, mind racing, and hands trembling. It is time to make a difference in these slums. I call my mom and have instant regret. She is livid that I am down here and worries I will bring back disease. She doesn't understand what I can do for the people here. I look around once more, seeing the views of trash everywhere and blankets filled with grief hanging over the shacks these people call home. My heart splits into two pieces.

Day 1

I head for the province, Lanao Del Sur today. The inside of my chest beats faster and faster with every step I take. How can people live here. A grey cloud hovers over this town, I need to help this place. My foot steps upon a tattered string, knitted and knotted with a bunch of other strings. I pick it up, ready to toss it in the garbage when she walks up to me with watery eyes. Mena. Mena with the curly hair, knotted and tangled. Her hair is dirty and looks like a birds nest. It hasn't been brushed in years. She is six years old with dirty hair and a smile stretching from ear to ear. The hope in her is found within her spirit.

"That is my blanket" Mena whispers unsure of herself and darts her squinted eyes to the strings in my hand. I realize that this string, that I call garbage, is this beautiful young girl's source of comfort. My heart yearns. I hand over the blanket to her and she smiles, a sad smile. I brought extra supplies in case of situations like these. I search inside my duffel bag and pull out a red fleece blanket. The soft fur on the 10 by 20 size blanket feels feathery. I know she'll love this. As I pull the blanket out and give it to her, the size of her eyes expand and you can see the glimmering light within them. She has never been given anything new to call her own. She held the blanket in her arms and suddenly tears flowed down from her eyes to her cheeks to the ground. Her arms spread open, offering me a hug. She holds onto my neck and doesn't let go.

I spent the rest of the day with Mena. She showed me the hut she called home and I met her 8 siblings. Each live in the small hut together with little to eat. This is when I learned that Mena was going very ill from lack of food. The shortage of food in the family's home due to poverty has been slowly killing her. Her digestive system was broken and it was now hard for her to keep any food down. Her family is silently awaiting her death. This news was incredibly heartbreaking. My bond with Mena was very important to me now. I felt love for this little girl. I'm going to help her. So that night, I headed back for my stay in the better, more profitable part of the Philippines. Mena stays on mind and I start mixing a drink for her.

There are three active ingredients for this drink. It's coconut milk, water, and my secret recipe. I discovered the recipe during the end of last year. I was looking through my great grandma's old boxes in her attic and saw one with my name on it. I placed my hand over it and it flew open. Inside was a bottle with powder that never runs out. It was my grandma's job to make sure I got this and I did. Now I have remixed it and made it my own recipe. It has cured many illnesses so far and no one has found out about it besides my church minister.

In the morning, I walk to the train station and head for Mena. She wakes up at four o'clock to help gather fresh drinking water from an hour away. When I get to the tent I see Mena's family huddled in a circle. I walk to get a closer look and see Mena is passed out onto the floor. Her family pronounces her dead and their cries are tormenting me. I get into the circle, almost forcing my way in. My body drops to the floor where Mena is. I've never tried doing this to someone who was already called dead. This has to work. I clasp her hand with mine and take the water bottle, filled with my grandma's secret recipe, and pour it onto her hands and slip a spoonful into her mouth. The oils in her hands and mouth should soak into her body and produce healing.

There's no sound, no movement, just the vigorous sounds of winds blowing past the town like hissing and roaring from a dragon. Menas mom falls down in tears and hugs me. She is broken but still thanks me for coming. I can see where Mena lived in her heart. As everyone quiets down, Mena's eyes flutter open. She moves her hands onto her moms and smiles that signature big loving smile. Her mom cries with glee and hugs Mena tight. Mena lives and they are thanking me and rejoicing. Mena looks at me with love in her eyes. She felt me as I took her hands with the drink. It's a healing potion I made in order to help the people in my town. I never thought I would end up here. My grandma knew this though, I am understanding that this is what she wanted.

Journal entry 2

My room is freezing and I feel dizzy. I walked home from Mena's slum and although I helped bring her back to life, there is still a big part of me that is grieving. I can't understand why. I gave her back to her family. Shouldn't I feel accomplished?

Day 2

I wasn't able to get a lot of sleep last night so I awoke early and brought the food that the church has donated, for me to donate to the people of the slums. Food is low here and if you are able to have at least one full meal in a week you're considered lucky. I have apples, pears, oranges, veggies, and meats. I also brought lots of watermelons and water to make smoothies for the people. I am unloading all of these goods into the provided truck of the church when I hear the shrieks of a little boy. At first I feel fearful but that quickly vanishes as I feel the presence of my grandma within me. The sound of misery from the boy's shrieks become louder and louder with each passing second. Although my first instinct is to just leave with the food, I know what I have to do. I dig into my backpack and place some of the oil containers into my packet. I follow the shrieks and see the little boy, shriveled and curled up into a ball on the cold dirt ground. He has skin falling off his body and is bruised like a year old apple that has been sitting out in the sun. I knelt down and tapped his shoulder, almost afraid that if I tap him too rough I'll break his bone. He turns over and looks at me. His eyes are swollen from crying so much and his once white shirt is torn. I sit with him in the dirt for as long as I have to. I let him get comfortable and allow him some peace. At least an hour has passed when he is finally ready to speak.

"It's cold..." he says as he rubs his exposed arms. I hand him my thick sweater and place it against his frail body. He begins to tell me about how he ended up outside. He was walking home from work when he was taken and beaten up. He was left on the ground surrounded in a pool of blood and all his money had been stolen. He returned home and was banned out of his house for not providing anything. He walked home with an excruciating pain in thigh. When he rolled up his pants a gash was exposed and looked heavily infected. After hearing this, I quickly pulled out the oils and told him to take a drink of it. He did so and then placed some onto his thigh. Minutes passed and his sniffles calmed down. In no time he was healed. His gash practically disappeared and his pain was gone. I stood him up to walk and he was able to pull himself up and walk. He was healed. He cried in thankfulness. He handed me back my sweater but I politely declined. He needed that jacket, I wanted to provide him with it. He was about ready to walk into his house when I ran to my van to grab him some food. I pulled out some granola bars and clean water. I also handed him some money and a blanket. To some people, that might be nothing, but to these people, It means everything.

End of Journal

Elena lost her journal during her trip. She searched high and low for it but it was nowhere to be found. She was forced to leave home without it. Although Elena was devastated by the loss of her beloved journal, she soon let it go and hoped that someone would read her writings and share them with more people. What she didn't know was that the young boy who didn't say much had found it years after her departure. He had never forgotten about her and what she had done for him the night of his horrible beating. When he found the journal he began to feel the presence of Elena's grandma. Today, he lives to continue Elena and her grandma's legacy in healing within the slums of the Philippines.