Dona Lourdes and The Making of Marcos

We’ve all heard of people who are called “Angels”, for one reason or another, but I want to tell you about a person who is the living embodiment of the word. People often say that they don’t help the poor because the problems of the poor are too big to even begin on, but that is a lie. That is like saying that Adolf Hitler had no personal effect on the world. Dona Lourdes Monteiro is living proof of that, and coming from Brazil, she is fighting an even bigger evil than Nazism.

If you are familiar with Brazil, you will know that it is the only country in South America that uses Portuguese as their language, and as the largest country therein, it is also the richest. Unbelievably, it is also the country with the greatest disparity between rich and poor, and the state of Alagoas has to be the poorest of them all.

Dona Lourdes Monteiro was born in Palmeira dos Indios, a small city in rural Alagoas, back in the 1930’s and her life has been one of admirable service and kindness to children throughout. If you knew her story, I’m sure you would want to help her as much as we do.

Alagoas is a microcosm of Brazil, lying in the far eastern tip that juts out into the Atlantic. The capital city is Maceio, its only claim to fame, other than endless miles of sugar cane plantations that keep the people forever tied to sugar production. Alagoas is the “Slave state”, where all the runaways from the last century tried to escape the persecution of their Portuguese masters.

At one time they were led by a giant black ex-slave named “Zumbi” who led a nation of hundreds of thousands. Then in the 1880’s the government decided that the existence of these rebels could no longer be tolerated, and they wiped out the fledgling nation in a swift military campaign.

Slaughtering hundreds of thousands of people, they at one blow eliminated the upstarts, and cast the people back into the slave mentality that still exists today.

In Brazil, EVERYTHING is based on color. If you are black, you are at the bottom of the totem pole no matter what your abilities are, and whites are always at the top. Their only escape is the "futebole", and even the old ladies follow the games with a gusto that shames other sport fans around the world.

.. Lourdes was born into a poor family, but her parents struggled to get her to school, where she excelled, and eventually became a teacher. When her parents died, she became surrogate parent for her brothers and sisters, and forfeited her only chance for marriage in order to support them. She gave up her own family and happiness in exchange for the life of a lonely teacher on a meager salary.

In Brazil, it is common for a semi-illiterate policeman to receive three times the salary of a teacher, and in such a place it is not surprising that a police state evolved.

After thirty years as a teacher, she finally retired on a tiny pension of about 300 Reais a month, which is equal to about 150 Canadian dollars. On this, she was able to manage with her frugal ways, but soon a problem came to her door which everyone in Brazil is aware of.

At that time, Brazil was ruled by a ruthless Military Government which had an unwritten policy to rid the streets of the many homeless urchins that roamed everywhere. They slept on the steps of the church and begged from the tourists, as well as stole shamelessly. The official solution was to round them up at night as they slept, toss them into the back of a large truck so they couldn’t escape, take them out of the city and kill them, quietly. As ever-growing numbers of these children began disappearing from the streets, their desperation also grew, and they sought refuge wherever they could.

One night, Dona Lourdes was confronted by a group of four little boys who had come to drink from her water tap. They were thirsty, and had no money to buy water, as most water in Palmeira dos Indios is not potable.

As they drank and played in the water, she came out and told them not to waste her water, and that they should go home to their own parents now. At that, she was met by blank faces and a universal chorus that they had no mother or father to go home to.

When she inquired if they were hungry, they assured her they all were, and frightened as well. It was a Saturday night, and this was the night that the Military Police usually made their rounds to clear the streets of its tiny inhabitants.

Pitying them, she gave them the remains of her supper, and made some soup to divide up amongst them. Not knowing what else to do at the time, she allowed them to stay for the night and sleep on her floor. At least they would be safe from the police. In the morning, she fed them a pauper’s breakfast and they were gone. The next night, six boys arrived at her gate, standing hopefully for her permission to come in.

You might think it strange and perverse, as I do, but in Brazil, many people will see a street urchin come to their gate begging and say, “give this poor boy some rice”, but if a little girl comes, they would say, “get away you slut”.

No matter what her motivation, Lourdes couldn’t refuse them, and for the second night she fed and sheltered them. With six young boys in her house, things could get boisterous, but she hadn’t been a teacher for thirty years for nothing, and she managed them just fine. Their needs were simple, which was good, because she had little to share.

As the days grew into weeks, her little flock of urchins became larger and larger, as more boys heard that at least here there was some refuge and sustenance for them. No one else seemed to care at all about their plight. Within six months, she was providing nightly accommodations for twenty boys, and things were getting out of hand.

Street children have a culture all their own, and trying to manage them all was more than any one person could do. She needed help, and soon her prayers were answered.

Help came in the form of a man named Jose’ Francisco. Jose’ was a poor man himself, and he knew the pain of poverty better than most. Somehow, he found the time, energy, and money to help her, and they made plans to expand their operations.

A worthless piece of ground on the edge of the city was found that would serve their purposes, and most importantly, the price was right. With all the boys helping, they picked up everything from Dona Lourdes’ house and moved into the new location, albeit nothing but an empty space under a mango tree.

With Jose’ Francisco clearing the bush and building toilet facilities, the place began to take shape, but there was still no decent shelter for anyone.

Jose’ and Lourdes tried to get the boys to help them in the construction of a house for them all, but it just wasn’t in their nature. A life-time on the street had made them much better at breaking things than building them, and progress was minimal. A fool could see that they needed help.

Dona Lourdes was already in her seventies, and she knew most of the people of Palmiera dos Indios. She was very gregarious, and was self-assured enough to introduce herself to anyone, and did not hesitate to illicit help from anyone who would hear her out.

As such, she was in constant search for some way to help the boys and girls that came to her every day, with greater and greater needs. Sometimes, she would even hire a local taxi-driver to drive her to Maceio to find wealthier contributors to FUNDANOR.

You can’t believe what those excursions could be like, cramped into a compact car, with most of the back seat space taken up by the huge Natural gas cylinder that is used as fuel in that part of Brazil. Often, there were neighbors, produce, and luggage stacked and packed everywhere, and that two-hour trip could be a nightmare of cramped legs, and frights caused by unexpected potholes and occurrences on the road.

A drunken man can sleep anywhere, and you will find them in every possible position in Brazil. Despite every hazard and infraction imaginable, Brazilian drivers are amazingly free of accidents, as they constantly assume the other driver has no clue what is going on. Often they are right.

On one of those many early-morning, mad trips to Maceio, she ran into a boy that she recognized from Palmeira dos Indios. He was sitting along the boulevard that ran beside the beach at Ponte Verde. There were many tourists and locals enjoying the fine surfing and swimming, and he squatted with a group of other vendors selling their wares.

These poor street artisans often group together for security, especially the younger ones, as Tadeo was. The black and white mosaic of the sidewalk seemed to accent the extremes of destitute children, peddling incredible works of art and craftsmanship.

Tadeo was like millions of other street urchins that wander Alagoas, but for two things. He had refused to succumb to the insatiable lure of the drugs taken by almost all the others, and he had begun carving as a way to make money, selling to the tourists on the beach, and even sometimes in markets.

Lourdes had struck up a conversation with him, and could see that he was carving beautiful figures, and more importantly, was not caught up in the drug culture. He knew about Dona Lourdes, and what she was doing at FUNDANOR, but he wanted to make money and become famous wood carver, and have galleria of his own.

By the age of thirteen he had achieved some local fame as being a notable wood-carver, and he hoped to finally escape the streets and the abject poverty that implies. He didn’t want to return to Palmiera and work for the tiny amount that Dona Lourdes could afford to pay him.

I don’t know why people choose to be altruistic rather than selfish, and I’m sure than if you had explained the term to him, even in Portuguese, he wouldn’t have understood it, but he did it anyway.

If you knew Lourdes, you would know that the poor lad really had no chance to refuse, as she gave him her best pitch, and he was soon hooked. He went back to FUNDANOR with her and before long they had a serious business going.

She enrolled him in school for the mornings and paid all his school fees, with what, I’ll never know, and he taught carving to the boys in the afternoons. It was hard to believe, but when they all got settled down with their wood and their knives, quiet reigned supreme, and you would never know that forty busy boys were working in the workshop. Lourdes knew that the divine spark of creativity existed within everyone, and this is what they tapped into.

Over the next year, they produced carvings of all kinds, from horses, saints, crosses, to cattle, nothing was missed. Some of Tadeo’s students even began to challenge their teacher, but their respect for him never wavered. He became the one solid event in their lives that could help them, and several went on to become professional artists.

By this time FUNDANOR had become a notable institution in Palmeira dos Indios, and people began to take notice of the work she was doing with the street kids. But, as in many poor communities, whenever one tries to get ahead, opposition isn’t far behind. It wasn’t long until they drew the attention of the military police.

Pacifico, commander of the police of the city, arrived at FUNDANOR one day, informing Lourdes that the boys would all be better off if they were trained in the military fashion. He felt that a little discipline would go a long way towards curbing their wild ways, and provide them with a future in the military. Reluctantly, Lourdes was forced to agree, and soon the boys were outfitted in fine new uniforms and were marching around like cadets.

They loved their new clothes and boots, but Lourdes didn’t like the changes that had come over them. They began to act like the policemen one saw on every corner, and the influence of a poor old woman began to fade. Some of the older boys had run away, unable to tolerate the restrictions of a military life. It isn’t easy to forget a lifetime of independent survival on the streets when you are being told what to do every minute of the day. Lourdes decided that she had to put this to an end.

She dismissed Pacifico, and made a change that would affect FUNDANOR forever. From now on, they would accept only small children to FUNDANOR. They would always provide food to any boy or girl who asked for it, but they had to concentrate on the young children, not yet addicted to the street vices. A sad choice, but one made out of necessity.

If you believe that God steps in on such occasions, then God did it, but if you are like me, I can’t accept that. If God would help Lourdes to find a benefactor, then where is he with all the millions of other children in the world that never receive a bit of help in their tragic short lives? It is a question that haunts me.

Two things happened then, which profoundly affected her life, and then later on, my life in turn.

Lourdes was in regular contact with the Canadian Priests and nuns that worked in the missions around Palmeira dos Indios, and she had worked very closely with Father Sylvester Vrigadoore. He had come from St. Peter’s Abbey in Muenster, Saskatchewan, which is very near my home. It is a wonderful college and many of their monks and priests had gone to Brazil to help the poor.

Padre Sylvestre, as he was called, had worked tirelessly with the poor of Alagoas for years, and he was known everywhere. He was instrumental in introducing the Acerola tree into the region, which had done wonders for the people’s health and prosperity. It grew well in the seasonally dry soil of the Sertao, or semi-desert, of inland Alagoas. He had helped Dona Lourdes as much as he could in her work with the boys, but there was always more need than assistance.

About this time Dona Lourdes began feeling uncharacteristically ill. She had no energy, and her appetite waned, so she began losing weight. At Padre Sylvestre’s urgings, she had gone to the hospital in Maceio, rather than in Palmeira dos Indios, and undergone some serious tests. The results were not very encouraging, and the Doctors insisted that she needed scans and tests that weren’t available in Alagoas at the time, especially to a poor old woman.

Through the undying charity of the mission, Father Sylvester was able to get her flown to Sau Paulo, for the treatment she required. After a week of intensive study, the doctors informed Dona Lourdes that she had a form of Non-Hodgkins lymphoma, and that treatment was next to useless.

Surgery would not help, as it had spread throughout her body’s immune system, and the chemotherapy at the time had a poor prognosis. Alone in a strange city she was devastated I’m sure, but she never lost her determination to go on as if all was well.

That night, she called back to Palmeira dos Indios and told Padre Sylvestre what the doctors had discovered. She planned to return home as soon as possible, as the children at FUNDANOR still needed her. Then, Padre said something that many people say at such times of shock and loss, out of genuine empathy and sorrow for someone else’s loss.

He said, “Oh Lourdes, you can’t die now, you have too much work to do at FUNDANOR. I would give my life so that you could continue your work.”



I don’t know how their conversation ended, but whatever farewells they said that night were to be their last ones. When Dona Lourdes arrived back in Palmeira dos Indios, it was just in time to attend Padre Sylvestre’s funeral.

He had been killed on his motorcycle the day after they spoke, on the road not far from the mission. His funeral had even been delayed so that she might attend.

After the service, she was given Padre Sylvestre’s watch, which she has worn faithfully ever since. It is now September of 2009, and Dona Lourdes is 83 years old, and as spry and agile as a woman half her age. Don’t ask me how to explain these things, but I must tell them to you, as they have begun to pile up, and I begin to question all my beliefs.

Some people would definitely say that God answered Father’s genuine prayer to take Lourdes’ place, so that she might continue her work with the street children. Wouldn’t it have been just as easy to heal her directly?

No, God didn’t help Lourdes, but The Rainbow of Hope for Children did. It came in the form a chance meeting with a very special man named Alphonse Gerwing (O.C.). He had an incredible energy and passion for social justice that few could hold a candle to, and believed that,” if God does good works, he only does them through human hands”

Before I go on with the story of Dona Lourdes, I must tell you how I met this man, and how he received the Order of Canada, the highest award given to a Canadian civilian. Al changed the lives of people wherever he went, sometimes in small ways, and sometimes in very big ways. I know he changed my plans in such a way that I barely recognize them as my own any more.

Back in 1995, my daughter had come home from school all excited about a man who had come to speak to her class that day. He told them all about the street children of Brazil, and he had a book for sale, with the proceeds going to help them. She thought it would be a perfect gift for my birthday, and asked for the money to get it for me. His stories and pictures had really moved my daughter, and she knew I would want to help them somehow too. The book was entitled, “The Philosopher and the Coconut Thief”

I received the book in October, and began reading it a bit each night. It was a deeply moving story of two young homeless boys, traveling across Brazil looking for place to live. His description’s of the slave-like conditions of the cane-workers was painfully accurate, I was to discover. Al really hated big sugar companies, for what they do the people and the land, and I have come to agree with him.

I was about half-way through the book when I heard of an up-coming production of THE SOUND OF MUSIC, to be directed and accompanied by a “Brother Thomas”, the founder of the St. Peter’s Choir in Muenster, Saskatchewan, of which I was a member.

They were looking for someone to play the part of Captain Von Trapp in the play, and I thought I might take a stab at it. “Bro. T.”, as every one called him in the area, had founded the choir in 1967, when he was working in the abbacy of St. Peter’s. He had been absent for a number of years, working in the missions abroad, and I had not yet met him since joining the choir.

This is where the whole story becomes unusual, and I struggle to try to express the feeling of being under a higher power, whatever it is.

It was arranged that I should come to Muenster and have an audition with “Brother Thomas” after a concert he was attending in the Abbey Chapel. My wife and I went to the concert, but I was unable to pick him out in the crowd, and had to wait until everyone had left. Finally there was no one in the church but my wife and I, and one tall man sitting at the piano, looking through some music with his back to me.

He was a big man, but not heavy set, bald on top, and grey at the sides. He sat very erect and peered at his music through wire framed glasses that he regularly adjusted for better clarity.

Uncertain as to how to approach, we quietly came to the side of the piano and stood waiting for him to notice us. This he did with a surprise, and stood up to greet us and shake hands. After introductions, he immediately sat down and told me to sing some scales for him.

I was to learn that Al never wasted time on unnecessary pleasantries, and preferred to get down to brass tacks right away. He was a very intense man on a mission, and would tolerate no foolishness, and I came to love him for it.

After a few scales he handed me the sheet of music he had been working on as we arrived. It was a hand written score of “Edelweiss”, and he simply said, “Sing this”.

Luckily I was able to satisfy his requirements, and after I was finished, he presented his conclusion with a diplomatic, “You’ll do”.

Much relieved and a little excited, I inquired more about the production, where and when, as well as who was to receive the proceeds.

We were scheduled to do nine shows at the SUTHERLAND Theatre in Humboldt Saskatchewan, over three weekends in October and November, and proceeds were to go to FUNDANOR.

All of that made perfect sense to me, except the FUNDANOR part. If you are like me, you probably have no idea what that is, and I didn’t either, at the time.

Inquiring further, I was informed that it was an orphanage in a small city in Brazil, called Palmiera dos Indios, and it was run by an old woman named Dona Lourdes Monteiro.

All those Portuguese names sort of confused me, but I did understand that it was in Brazil, so I mentioned the fact that I was reading a very interesting book at that very moment about orphans in Brazil, trying to find a place to live.

He immediately shot back, “Is the book named, THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE COCOUNT THIEF?”

A little surprised that he could have guessed it, I answered, “Yes, it is, how did you know?”

“Because I wrote it!” he proudly retorted. “I have more copies in the car. Would you like to take a few and sell them around Watson for me?”

Now I really was confused. This didn’t all make complete sense.

“The book I have is written by a man named Alphonse Gerwing”, I explained.”Isn’t your name Brother Thomas?”

“Brother Thomas was my name while I was monk in the Abbey, but I have taken my Christian name now”, he explained.

Suddenly a lot of things were becoming clear. In a flash of understanding I asked him, “Did you make a film about the poor in Brazil a few years ago? I’m sure I saw some sort of a documentary about this very thing”.

“It was called LETTERS FROM BRAZIL. My niece came down to Brazil and filmed the slums where the mission is working. It was aired on CBC NEWSWORLD, and on Saskatchewan Communications Network”, he explained.

I began to understand who I was dealing with, and prepared myself as well as I could for the role. I even bought a nice guitar and learned how to play it for the part in the show. This was just one of the many influences he has had on my life, and one that has gone on to make serious changes in it. From playing that one song on guitar, I connected with a musical immigrant Irishman, who has turned out to be a wonderful friend. We formed a Celtic band called “The Horse’s Mouth”, were soon joined by Margaret and a friend named Dave, we and have been together having musical fun for ten years, and playing all over our province, which is huge. Now…back to the story of Dona Lourdes.

...When she had met Al, he had immediately set to work in his unbelievably determined way, to garner help for the boys and Lourdes. Through his contacts with the The Rainbow of Hope for Children, he was able to find funding to begin construction of a main house and dormitories for the boys.

Within a year, a fine new building was completed and others started.

After everyone had a roof over their head, it was time to consider long term funding, and this turned out to be a problem which would never end. Brazil may be the richest country in South America, with far more resources and potential than even Canada, but still no one would help from the local community.

Their attitude towards the poor has always been, “Se Deus quiser”, which means, If God wills it. This is their answer to everything, and it effectively shuts out any argument that man should do anything to help his fellow man. They believe it is the will of God that some are rich and some are poor, and this stupid philosophy has them trapped in an unending cycle of poverty that keeps the country from developing. Only three percent of the people of Brazil own ninety percent of the land, and they WON’T SELL ANY OF IT!

The rich have no social conscience, and the whole country is doomed because of it. Brazil will never truly come out of its dark age of slavery until it rids itself of this one silly idea. I’m sure any of you who have been to Brazil, especially Alagoas, will agree.

Even standing on the beaches of Salvador or Rio, you will still see the endless stream of beggars and peddlers, struggling to make a living on two or three dollars a day, walking up and down the beaches, selling to anyone who will look their way. It is a horrible life without hope. Yet they are surrounded by wealth and fine homes, and a very self-righteous attitude towards them.



From then on, many more people got involved with FUNDANOR. By 1996 Al, or Brother Thomas, had enlisted my help as well, as I mentioned above. If you had known him, you would know I am not exaggerating to say, he was NOT a man to be easily denied.

After months of rehearsals the show finally began, and was a great success. We sold out every performance and could have done more. Al wanted to bring Dona Lourdes to attend the show, so he begged, borrowed and cajoled the funds from everyone he knew. By this time Al had given away all of his savings, and anything else he had worth giving as well, and was basically penniless but for his small teacher’s pension. I think he actually got help from some wealthy friends in Germany, who donated the money for her to come.

She arrived in time for the fifth show, in the middle of a typical Saskatchewan blizzard. She spoke no English at all, but thoroughly enjoyed the play, and spoke to the audience through a translator during the intermission.

Afterwards, the whole cast got to meet her, and through the translations of Sister Bernadine Fetter, I spent some time talking with her. During that short, stilted, conversation my whole life changed. Like so many other good things, they start in a small quiet way, and then turn into something big later.

While we talked, it came up that my wife Margaret and I had been assisting a small boy in a village in Brazil for several years through World Vision, and we had recently received a notice from them that this boy no longer needed our help. They had asked if we would like to sponsor another child, but we had inquired about the chance there might be a little girl somewhere she knew of that we might help.

As soon as Lourdes understood our question, she began jumping up and down excitedly and began repeating the name, “Maria! Maria! Maria!” I thought she was talking about the character in the play, Maria Von Trapp. After a few more minutes of rapid exchanges in Portuguese and English, I began to understand why she was so worked up.

It seemed that there was one girl, the only one at FUNDANOR, and her name, coincidentally, was Maria. She and her little brother had been rescued literally from the dump. They had been found abandoned in the refuse, on the verge of death from starvation and disease. Her little brother was unconscious, face down in the garbage, with the crows eating the flesh off one of his little buttocks. Someone took pity on them, and brought them to Dona Lourdes, the only person they knew of that would help.

Having never been married, Lourdes had no children of her own, and Maria became the child she never had. She was deaf due to congenital malformations of both ears, but she was a sweet and gentle child and soon they were inseparable.

As the only girl at FUNDANOR, Maria lived with Lourdes, rather than in the dorms, and her health steadily improved. Her little brother recovered completely and they were very happy together.

Lourdes took Maria to the Doctor to find out if anything could be done for her hearing, and discovered that although one ear was totally unformed, the other was only hampered by the closure of the auditory canal. A simple operation could be performed that would open the canal and she should be able to hear.

Unfortunately, the government of Brazil will not cover the expense of such an operation, unless the person has health insurance coverage, and no street child could ever have that. It is a simple fact of life in Brazil that if you are poor and get sick, you die.

This was the reason for her excitement when she met us. If we would pay the health insurance premium for Maria, she would be able to get medical help.

Of course we agreed immediately, and within a few months she had her operation, and her hearing was restored in one ear. Lourdes was ecstatic, as now Maria could go to school and have a chance at a future. A handicapped, illiterate girl has no hope in Brazil, and can only turn to prostitution and theft to stay alive.

Things at FUNDANOR progressed well for a year or two, but then funding again became a problem. With the assistance of the The Rainbow of Hope for Children, the local people considered FUNDANOR to be a wealthy organization, and would do nothing to help them. In fact, many times Lourdes was criticized by the townspeople as the organization grew. Envy can be a horrible thing, and even though the poor can be the most generous, they can also be jealous of anyone rising above their station.

During this time of financial stress, Lourdes decided to try to elicit the involvement of the local officials, and offered to set up a board of management for FUNDANOR. She would relinquish control to this board, who would oversee the operation, with herself as president. This idea had actually been suggested to her by Al and the Rainbow of Hope for Children.

Their long term plans always intend that the communities they help will eventually become self-sufficient. Her intentions were good, but no one could have seen what the result would be once the Promotores, and the “men of the ties”, got their hands on FUNDANOR.

Al decided that it was time to do some serious fundraising again, and engaged a professional play writer, James Brewer, to help. His plan was to produce a musical play about the life of Dona Lourdes, to try to tell Canadians about FUNDANOR, and all the work she had been doing to try to save the street kids Pal Meira Dos Indios. He called the play, THE ANGEL OF ALAGOAS.

I was again enlisted to help, and I was delighted to have my wife join me on the project. It would take several months of rehearsals and then two weeks on tour, but we couldn’t resist Al’s infectious enthusiasm for his work in Brazil. I was to be the narrator/story teller, and my wife was to have multiple parts as characters in the play, and as part of the orchestra, playing a number of instruments.

That spring was as busy a time as I can ever recall in my life, as we traveled here and there to rehearse. Saskatchewan is a huge province, and the performers were spread out over half or it, so we spent a lot of time driving, but it was worth it.

Al had recruited a large group of local children to play the parts of the orphans of FUNDANOR, and I don’t think he could have found better ones anywhere. They endured long hours of practice, missed swimming and friends, and never ever complained, argued, or missed a cue. We all fell in love with them, and the whole cast became like a big family. It was only fitting.

Finally in July of 2000, we were ready for the road. We opened in Al’s home town, Lake Lenore, Saskatchewan, to a full house and glowing reviews. Everything went off without any hitches, and by the time we hit our third show we were in the groove.

Once again, true to form, Al insisted that Dona Lourdes attend the shows, and somehow the arrangements were made for her to make the trip to Canada again. At least this time it was summer, and she didn’t have wear her coat everywhere, inside and out!

She was accompanied by one of the boys from FUNDANOR, who had grown up in her care, and who had also been depicted as a character in the play. His name was Jose’ Cicero Pinto, and he was a wonderful, talented young man, who really impressed us with his intelligence, and love for Dona Lourdes. She had rescued both he and his brother from the streets, and he was dedicated to her.

We did our last show in Watson, Saskatchewan, where my wife and I live. With Dona Lourdes and Jose Cicero actually present to authenticate the story, it was an emotional moment that still sends shivers up and down my face and neck when I think of it. There was barely a dry eye in the Watson Civic Center that night, as she sat with the cast, cross-legged on the floor, hugging all our “Street kids”. It was a magic moment for us all, but it was only the beginning of many more such events in our lives, influenced by not only Al, but Dona Lourdes as well.

After the performance, we all trooped over to our local Legion Hall for a celebration, and an unwelcome farewell. We danced and sang, and the orchestra played a few final tunes while everyone visited those last few precious hours away. Jose’ demonstrated some amazing Brazilian dances that proved their mastery of footwork is not limited to futebol(Soccer)! No one could even begin to copy his moves, and we were thoroughly entertained by his energy and enthusiasm.

My wife and I sat and visited with Dona Lourdes, with the assistance of one of the nuns who had accompanied her on her journey. These Ursuline Sisters are truly gracious, and true to their calling of caring for mankind. They have been working with the poor in Alagoas for more than 40 years, and have made a reputation for themselves as being the heart of true humanitarianism. We have come to admire and respect them all very much since then, are in regular contact with them.

That night, another one of those little “moments” happened that seem to have so often changed our lives. It, combined with several other developments, began a series of events that just have to be related in order for you to understand why we are truly begin to wonder at it all.

As Margaret, my wife, was talking with the nuns, she mentioned that she had just completed the academic requirements for her degree in Social Work from the University of Regina, and only needed to finish her four-month practicum in the field for her Bachelor of Social Work.

Margaret asked the sisters and Dona Lourdes if there would be any possibility that a person could do a Social Work Practicum at FUNDANOR, knowing that an International Practicum could be arranged with the University of Regina. She had received some money from her Grandmother’s estate, and she had squirreled some away to pay for her practicum.

I was a little surprised that she would choose to go so far away for such a long time, but I couldn’t help but admire her determination, and willingness to help in a field area that is very difficult, even in Canada. In Brazil, the poor are considered little more than refuse on the street, and women suffer even more than men, no matter what their age.

The decision was made, and soon a series of phone-calls confirmed that it indeed was possible for her to have her Internship in Brazil, and Dona Lourdes could supervise the official progress reports. Accommodations were available right at FUNDANOR, and she could focus her studies on the Brazilian Child-welfare system.

Before we knew it, the preparations were made, but not before Margaret had spent endless hours learning Portuguese, and gathering everything she would need for a prolonged trip to a foreign country. The list seemed insurmountable, but eventually she was ready, and in May, 2001 I took her in to Saskatoon for the flight to Brazil. We were both a little concerned about what she might find, but Margaret isn’t one to easily back out of anything she has started, and she gritted her teeth and boarded that plane.

A few days later I got a phone call to let me know she was alright. She was still adjusting to the culture-shock, but she was positive and excited, and seemed satisfied with the conditions. She had her own room, but it was surrounded by the constant goings-on of an orphanage of 30 or forty boys of all ages, and they could be a boisterous lot. Determined to stick it out and do her best, she bid me a cheerful goodnight.

The next few months were memorable for Margaret, and she really settled into life at FUNDANOR. There were so many kids that nobody wanted, and her heart went out to all of them. Although the boys were well fed and cared for at FUNDANOR, every child needs a home and a family, and a mother or father to hold them when they are afraid, or cold, or sick.

Dona Lourdes spent all day, every day with them, and got up with them at night to go to the bathroom, or when they were sick. No one could have cared for them better, or given more of her love, her time, and good training. She was a tireless worker that still amazes us with her longevity and ageless energy.

Being so close to the affairs of FUNDANOR, Margaret learned of the needs of many of the boys, and always did what she could to help. Sometimes it was helping with school work, supervision, feeding the chickens, teaching the pennywhistle, or helping to prepare for an up-coming Festa. Other times it was books, uniforms, and shoes for school, or financial help to someone who really needed it. Even when you know there is an unending stream of need, you can’t prevent the urge to try to do something at least, no matter how small and insignificant it may seem.

One of the more urgent cases she found out about involved a little boy of three or four named Marquinho, who constantly had a runny nose or a sore throat, as well as ear aches. Dona Lourdes called it “Curizado”, and she wanted to get him medical help, but couldn’t for the lack of medical insurance. Margaret had brought along a bit of extra cash for just such occasions, and she quickly volunteered to pitch in for the premium. We also continued to contribute to his medical insurance after Margaret had returned to Canada, so he could get the follow-up examinations he needed.

A few months later, Marquinho had his adenoids removed and was released from the hospital. Margaret was sent into Maceio to assist in watching over the children coming in for medical treatment in the city, and she got there in time to accompany him to some appointments. Dona Lourdes’ sister and brother-in-law had a small apartment in Jatioca Park, near the ocean at Ponte Verde. They were kind and generous people, who only used the apartment as a holiday house, so they let Dona Lourdes use it whenever she needed to. Sometimes it was crowded with people, and the cooking never ended, but it was close to the beach, and everyone loved a trip to the apartment.

One morning Margaret woke up early to the sound of giggling coming from the room where Marquinho was sleeping. A child laughing is a delight to hear anywhere, but as he laughed and roared at whatever was going on in the other room, Margaret was concerned. He had only just been released from hospital after an operation, and she knew he shouldn’t be shouting and yelling. Heading off to the washroom anyway, she popped her head into the room where the boys had been sleeping.

The others were still asleep, sprawled here and there in the room, but her attention was drawn immediately to Marquinho. He had found a balloon in the room after he woke up, and had been playing with it. As she walked in, he was balanced on his knees on the window ledge, reaching for the balloon stuck in the palm branches outside the window. The sliding windows were wide open, and there was no balcony. This was the second floor and there was only concrete below the window. As he leaned forward to grab the balloon, he was on the verge of falling out.

It was just then that Margaret stepped into the room, and was able to reach in and grab him and pulled him into safety. Gasping in horror at what might have happened; she shut the window, and warned him about falling out the window. The boys were always getting cuts and scrapes in their careless play, but this would have been a serious injury, perhaps even fatal.

Undoubtedly missing the point entirely, the child had happily gone on with his play, and soon the incident was left behind in the continuous battle to care for them all, and keep up the requirements of her class. Being a Social worker doesn’t usually mean that you have to live with your clients twenty-four hours a day, but if you do, be prepared to get attached to them.

One night, when she had about a month to go, Margaret called to ask me an important question. You always know it’s going to be important when they say, “You’ll probably think I’m crazy but…”

I must tell you that I was somewhat unprepared for what she proposed, as I was two short years from retirement after 31 years in the classroom, and I was looking forward to spending some time writing the book I have been working on for years. Leaning against my kitchen sink, I felt a little dizzy as she explained what she had in mind.

Living surrounded by such need, Margaret had been overcome by the urge to do something about it, and she wanted to adopt a child from FUNDANOR.

Margaret and I had married later in life, after we had both been married before. I had two children from my previous marriage, and they were grown up, but she and her first husband had never had children. When we married, we hoped to have our own child, but nature and time seemed to be against us, and despite all our efforts, medical and otherwise, we had missed the biological window.

Always an optimist, I agreed, and I haven’t been sorry for a minute since.

When the period of the practicum ended, she had to say many tearful farewells to a multitude of people that she had come to know and care about while she was there. The hardest kind of good-byes, are the ones to people you doubt that you will ever see again.

She finally arrived home tanned, thinner, and emotionally exhausted from her work and the whole experience. I was grateful to have her back, and enjoyed the next few weeks while she slowly unraveled the tales of her time at FUNDANOR.

She had become very attached to the place, and so many of the children, both boys and girls had touched her deeply. We talked about the place constantly, and soon I was as excited about it all as she was.

We began the process of trying to adopt in 2002, and Margaret turned into a very proficient interpreter and legal expert throughout the whole thing. She found that the first thing would have to do is to check if there were any children at FUNDANOR that were eligible for international adoption. For this, they must be registered at the C.E.J.A.I. in Maceio.

This was the Brazilian department of affairs concerned with such matters, and after several inquiries we discovered that there was only one boy that fit the requirements for an international adoption. It was a boy of four or five named Marcos, or Marquinho.

That name rang-a-bell somewhere in Margaret’s memory, and she hurried to find her photo albums of her trip to Brazil. Sure enough, she had a shot of him sitting in the middle of the kitchen at FUNDANOR, eating cus cus (corn meal porridge) with another little boy. It was the same child that had nearly fallen out the window in Maceio. We sat and looked at each other, as if trying to figure out if the other had noticed that something strange had just happened. “I don’t know anything, but now I know I don’t know anything!”

***If you would like to know what happens next.. Please let me know, and I'll tell you the rest of the story which is still unfolding!

Uncabobbert