A rare moment

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Laura and the boys just chilling




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home visit to Chris

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I have to admit that I was a little nervous last Monday afternoon. It was my first time in a Brazilian Favela. We were going to search for Chris, to see how he was getting on, if he had made it to school yet, and to let him know there are still people who care for him. When we first arrived I was a little surprised the area looked a lot like the one we live in here, called Santa Monica, which was one of the worst Favelas in Recife 10 years ago, but now is more of a "community". The area we arrived in was even more developed than our community, houses were painted and tiled, they had pavements and there was no litter on the floor. But we turned down a side road, parked  up and entered a maze of shanty houses that were little more than a metre apart. People sitting in their doorways watching us go past. It felt very claustrophobic. I felt like an intruder, so obviously not from this part of the country. People sit on their doorsteps doing things together, it feels like you a
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I do admit that we haven't picked a simple path for our lives but this last few weeks has been unusually unsimple. Over the past few weeks 5 of the 12 boys at hope house have left. And for the others many new things are becoming part of their routine. One boy, who we knew was struggling since he got here 6 months ago, decided to leave, which is always hard on the staff involved. Then one of the o lder boys who had been in the house for years was visiting his parents for the weekend and was arrested for dealing drugs, they eventually decided not to charge him but he also left the house. Last week 2 of the older boys moved into the apartment block here on the base as a step towards independence which is brilliant! Also many of the boys who are old enough have started working with me in construction, which is going well and is a good step for them to become independent. I even have an apprentice who I am teaching to bricklay. Then last night one of the other newer boys, Christiano,
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Nutmeg and Orange infused Butter

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Monica isn’t going to know that it’s not nutmeg flavoured butter. I don’t want to be rude but she piles her plate high with everything all mixed in. Rice with gravy, turkey with beans.. Christmas dinner/ Brazilian barbecue carnage.  She has lived in a slum or on the street for most of her life so, understandably, food is more about quantity than quality. So when Tony rings me from the hospital at 11pm (another story) to ask if I would mind making the nutmeg and orange infused butter for the Hope House Christmas party tomorrow ( for which Monica would be in attendance) .. it wasn't just the nutmeg that I started to grind.  In my defense it had been a long day, Tess is ill, I'm a hormonal wreck with an earache and it’s so flippin hot. I’d spent my evening tidying up and trying to cram cupboards with mess to give myself a feeling of more tranquility and less clutter over the festive period. But in trying to cram everything in with tetris style agility I had left
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