Kids At Risk: Going to the Favellas (Slums)
Of Sao Paulo

It seems that whenever you go to a house in Sao Paulo, you drive down some narrow street with businesses and narrow sidewalks on each side, and then you turn into what looks like an alley that leads to more and more alleys. They aren’t really alleys, they’re streets. They look like alleys because they’re even more narrow than the regular streets, and have pseudo-garages facing them. Most (middle- to upper-middle class) houses have no front lawn, a driveway just long enough to park a small car in (all the cars are small) and where the driveway meets the street, there’s a gate that is closed and locked. And you can only enter the house through the driveway so the house is secure at night.

Anyway, we drove into one of those ‘alleys’ and parked. We went a little way down the hill and turned into a narrow corridor about 3 feet wide. There were clotheslines crisscrossing this space with entrances to favellas on each side. This corridor was several hundred feet long and served as an entryway for at least a dozen families. We turned into the first favella and met our first of Paulo’s friends.

This favella was a concrete and brick structure with 7′ ceilings, about 10 by 20 feet, a bathroom with a toilet and shower, a kitchen and two bedrooms. Paulo explained that a couple of years ago it was plywood, but they had poured cement walls over a period of time. There were holes in the walls, no glass in the windows, and it was simply a stark, cold dwelling. In the kitchen (about 6′ square) there was a sink, a stove and a washing machine with a naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Paulo said that no one in the house was employed, there was no father, and they probably earned about $60 per month from begging and selling items in the markets.

A Paralyzed Son, A Despairing Mother, And A Spiritual Struggle

A woman and her children lived there, and her 20 year old son was laying on a bed in the first bedroom. He was paralyzed from the waist down from a drug-related shooting last year, and ever since, his mother has been in a state of depression and despair. She was visibly worn and lethargic.

We spoke to her son for a few minutes and he asked me to pray for him. Now I have a hard time explaining this, but it’s such a humbling experience to witness such circumstances. I almost felt like HE should be praying for ME. Perhaps he should pray for me, that somehow in the course of my cushy, yuppie life that I would still manage to develop real courage, character and perspective.

Although I don’t believe that there’s any intrinsic value in suffering per se, I have certainly seen that those who deal with trying circumstances can become far wiser than those who don’t. So it felt odd.

But I did pray for him. I prayed that God would protect his family and that God would bring a miracle and heal him of his paralysis. The juxtaposition of his poverty, my comparatively palatial life and yet our collective helplessness in the face of his paralysis and God’s power over all things brought the essential truths of Christianity into sharp focus.

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John describe a compassionate Jesus who healed people just like this young man. A Jesus who looked over a spiritually impoverished city and wept over it. A Jesus whose anger burned against those who dared to manipulate a system designed for worshipping God into an opportunity to oppress and use people for personal gain.

After I prayed for him we asked him if he would play his guitar for us and he obliged. He used to play in a band before his accident and I suspect he’s had many hours to practice that guitar since. He sang a lovely Brazilian song and thanked us for visiting.

On the way out, Paulo stopped and prayed for his depressed and despondent mother, upon her request. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but I could see that he was asking for power to overcome her depression and she was resisting. For whatever reason she didn’t want it, and it seemed to me that she was more afraid of the unknown of being liberated from this, than of the familiarity of living with it. Paulo said she did not yet want to accept any spiritual help.

A short distance away we met kids from another house. A couple of them come to Paulo’s prayer group regularly. The mother wasn’t there-she works as a cleaning lady and makes $120 per month. This house was considerably nicer than the previous one.

Even though it was at the very end of a narrow corridor, the boys took pride in their home and they showed us the tiling they’d put in the kitchen and bath. They had done a very nice job and were working to improve other parts of the house. It was about 14′ square with abedroom, bath and kitchen.

It had a stairway going up to the roof with no doorway or other protection at the top. They were planning to build more on top. Paulo said that they came to everything he put together: school, training classes, outings, summer camp, and were soaking in everything they could. We enjoyed our visit with them and took their picture before we left. The youngest boy -about 15 years old and very smart- had been the manager of a drug selling street gang, and had been making good money with it, but had decided to quit after coming to the Bible clubs Paulo runs.

How To Make A Kid’s Day With 35 Cents

When we went back to the car, it was time to pay a little boy for watching it for us. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a coin, which was R$0.50 (about 35 cents). He was visibly excited when he saw it because he expected R$0.10 or 0.25. He ran into the store up the street and bought some Guarana, a flavored drink. Where else can you make a kid delighted for 35 cents?

Go On To Next Page >>>

(Click here to donate to Paulo’s ministry to street kids in Sao Paulo)