There is no smell like home. Most people cannot describe what their home smells like, but when you enter into your home every fiber of your being recognizes the smell. My childhood is filled with comforting smells: grandma and grandpa Wild’s log cabin home, particularly at christmas time. Friends houses that have been second homes for me: the Heck’s, Jake’s, the neighborhood crew and all the cousins’. Each carries a particular scent that I know so well, but cannot put to words. Nuestro Hogar III holds one of those particular smells, except this smell is different, it has a name: garbage.
Today as the doors of the 51 bus opened I was greeted by the familiar scent. It was particularly strong today. The breeze helped carry it from the active trash dump that resides next to the neighborhood. Some days it is faint, like when you let the garbage go an extra day or two before taking it out. Today it was wretched. The smell of a rotten garbage can being opened again and again. The wind carried the stench directly into our faces as we headed toward the capilla.
We trudged toward the town center, squinting and sneezing, not because of the smell but because of the sand and dust carried by the wind. The only time Hogar III is free from thick dust clouds is after a heavy rain, which replaces the dusty landscape with trash filled puddles reminiscent of the liquid that flows to the bottom of garbage bags.
Today the smell didn’t bother me. Nor the dust. Today was a good day. The first confirmation to ever take place in the neighborhood. The streets were alive. People playing music, buying what they could from the few kioscos that line the road. Even the motos, which often are a source of fear for their tendency to carry thieves, were not threatening. It was a day of celebration.
We arrive to the capilla and are greeted by Lourdes and Martina, two of the more than 70 young people making their confirmation. Ale arrives shortly after and greets us with hugs and kisses. This is why I came back to Córdoba. To wish Ale a happy mother’s day and watch her two beautiful daughters be confirmed.
The celebration was not elaborate or over the top, a simple celebration of religion and family. I thought back to my confirmation, and even more to the confirmation of my brother Peter that I missed this past year. My mind filled with conflicting thoughts of the place I was in, and my home back in Minnesota.
In 2013 I spent a semester in Córdoba. Nuestro Hogar III was a huge part of that time. My decision to return to the city was fueled by my desire to return to Hogar III. The reunion has been beautiful. Also challenging. Sad. Inspiring. Disheartening. And filled with conflicting thoughts and feelings. Its taken a few weeks for me even to attempt to articulate these thoughts.
For Catholics, confirmation is a coming of age ceremony. It is the time when young people make the conscious decision to continue with the church. The culture of Argentina has been largely formed by the catholic church. It is often difficult to distinguish the lines between religion, culture and tradition. I will not speculate on people’s faith, but I will say that today is a celebration that transcends the church. For many of these families today was a celebration of life. The young people of Hogar III have no guarantee of adulthood.
I have resisted describing the reality of Hogar III. I have resisted describing it because of fear. I have feared that when I describe the filth, the insecurity, the severe poverty- when I explain that the community consists of people who settled here, on an abandoned landfill, because they had nowhere else in life to go- or that when I share the countless stories of young people dying of cancer, or the fact that people here are ten times more likely to develop cancer- when I admit that the water is toxic and that thousands of people drink it all the time, if I explain that the main source of employment is brick factories, where people are paid in bricks instead of money, or that people live in constant fear of being robbed of the few things they possess- I have feared that you will see these people as dirty, poor, illegally existing, cancer filled criminals. Not as people. Or worse, you may do as the government has done here, and write them off as less than human. For what government can officially label an area uninhabitable for human life and then continue to allow people to live there, feeding them toxic water and dumping their trash where people lie their heads at night. Introducing people in this manner leaves out so much of who they are and what their lives’ consist of. I also fear that it will perpetuate negative ideas about Latin America, and Argentina in particular as a dirty, underdeveloped nation. For communities such as Hogar III exist in the states as well. And there are certainly people living very well here in Argentina.
However, I have decided that this is precisely why it is necessary to share the reality of Hogar III. Every city in the world has “dangerous”, “dirty”, “illegal”, forgotten people. Every time I mention Hogar III here people tell me to be careful, that I will be robbed or become sick. The same happened when I told people I worked on the west side of Chicago. We fear what we do not know. But the problems of Hogar III far transcend negative stereotypes and the solutions are anything but clear. I am still struggling to understand how this place came to be, what it is like now, and how it will/ could look in the future. But to tell no story of the place, however incomplete, is even more unjust to the people.
Coming back has been a firm reminder that this situation is not temporary. My liberal education has left me with a naive hope that all will change. But when I return to this place and am greeted by wafts of decaying waste, clouds of dusts, and mothers younger than me dying of cancer I am forced to admit that these are the lives people are living, and for the time being will continue to live. I must be clear that I do not support this environment. No person should ever live in these conditions. But viewing their situation as temporary denies the lives that these people are living. Yes, things need to change, but in the meantime life goes on for the community. Ale wasn’t waiting for her daughters to be confirmed until they were in a nice house with clean water and a freshly painted fence. In fact, some people in the neighborhood could afford to live elsewhere, in a cleaner, safer neighborhood, but this is where their life is. Life continues here and now.
Today is a day of celebration. Much like the residents of the neighborhood, I do not know what tomorrow will bring. The period of uncertainty, feelings of confusing, and overall lack of understanding are far from over, but for the two hours we stood outside under the sunny, dust filled sky, breathing in the heavy scent of trash, it was clear to me why I had come back to Hogar III.
Bringing an iPhone into Hogar III isn’t the best idea, so I did not take any photos of the event. But Ale did, so here are her pictures. Eventually I will get some of my own..
To Be Determined 