Venezuela
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Previous service projects- Mentoring and working with street children
- Youth ministry and counseling - Accompanying youth through sports and recreation - Teaching English at various levels - Community outreach and development |
national flag
languagesSpanish
capitalCaracas
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Often in the evening, at the moment that divides in half the time between supper and my bedtime, a rumbling of hunger is heard from my stomach. My mouth waters, my brain gives free vent to the most varied food fantasies. In fact it is a sensual hunger, not a need. The desire of having something tasty and juicy to wash away the salty taste of supper, allowing sweetness to accompany the dreams of night. In the amber and well lit corridors of the FMA Provincial House there is no one. Like a feline I walk towards the kitchen when without warning a small and curved figure walking in the opposite direction appears from behind the corner. I do not pay attention and go on my way, my mind is already envisioning the snack. Then I recognize her; it is Sister Celia. In the afternoon she had warmed my heart telling me how when she was little she would make her father happy by scratching his back. I do not know why but for some strange reason, the most simple and unattractive story when told by the elderly, with their eyes sparkling with nostalgia, always have an extraordinary effect on me. At any rate, I stop and between us, who had already become friends, immediately clicks a conniving look and an understanding greeting.
S: "Where are you going so alone?"
M: "I am going to eat something. I’m just a bit hungry... "
S: "Ah, that’s good! Would you like me to prepare something for you?"
M: "No thanks, you must rest...See you later. See you soon."
S: "Yes, it is true. You are already a man...Go, eat well, good night."
I left her behind and continued to walk. In the twilight of the evening, I thought about the strength of that woman, about her life, so hard, devout and chaste. To her legs that walk with such effort. To her will and her goodness—with the weight of old age, she was ready to go to the kitchen with me, to prepare and serve me what I desired, even a Christmas dinner if I had wanted It would have been enough for me to ask for it, I am sure.
The dining room was empty and dark, I approach the counter and I take one apple and two oranges. The hunger is gone. Sister Celia had already nourished me with the sweetest and most wonderful thing that I could ever find. I have an indigestion of love. In the moment in which my teeth first bite into the apple, a tear falls from my eyes.
-Marco G.