Lunchtime at Casa de Esperanza is Feliza’s specialty. It is an important time of connection for the women, children and staff.
They say my grandfather was a terrible man. He was a greedy hacienda owner, and all the villagers in our town hated him. Once, when I was young, my dad stumbled into the house bloody and nearly dead. The villagers had thrown him into the river, simply because they hated my grandfather.
After that, my father’s legs swelled up and got worse and worse for the next two years. My grandfather hired bodyguards to shoot at anyone who got too close to the house. But one night, a friend came and warned us, “The villagers are coming to burn your house tonight. They’re going to kill you all!”
As the mob of villagers came toward the house with sticks in their hands, my mom hid us all under a tarp in the back of a truck, and we were able to escape. We traveled the whole night in silence, until we came to a small village. My father was too sick to continue, so he checked himself into the local hospital for months, while my mom washed clothes for other people so she could buy us food. By the time my dad was finally released from the hospital, the bill was so large that we couldn’t pay it. My oldest sister became the payment. The last time I saw her, the doctor was taking her away in the back of a truck.
We kept running. It seemed like we were always running from something. Eventually we arrived in El Alto, which was then part of Bolivia’s capital, La Paz. While living there, we met a poor Christian family. They collected damaged fruit to feed their pig, but when they learned we were hungry, they would let us pick through the fruit before they fed it to him.
When I was 9 or 10, a wealthy woman told my father, “I need a girl to be my daughter’s companion, because she’s alone all day.” I was in third grade. By then I had five other brothers and sisters, and my parents couldn’t afford to care for all of us. It seemed like a good decision for me to go with this family, and the first few days were beautiful. I had food and a bed, although I was lonely and missed my mom and siblings. But after a few days, the rich family’s maid left, and the family started making me do housework. “You’re going to do the dishes, and sweep, and wash clothes,” they told me.
I guess you could call it a kind of child abuse.
I was never allowed to eat with them at the same table, sometimes not even the same food. It wasn’t until all their children were married, and they were alone, that they gave me a little more freedom, a little more worth.
I was so bored. I was always alone — completely alone.
There were nights when I saw Jesus in my dreams. Somehow, I knew through my dreams that I was a sinner and that Jesus could save me. It didn’t matter that I was a poor country girl. I knew God could use me.
Once I dreamed I was on top of a mountain where there was a brothel. I can’t remember what Jesus was telling me, but He pointed to a very thin road. Beside it was a wide road where there were drunks and a brothel. I was trembling in front of Him, but I thought, “God loves me! That’s why He’s showing me the narrow road.” Because of this, years later on my first brothel visit with Word Made Flesh, I wasn’t scared. It was as if I had been there before.
The family had told my mother that they were going to send me to school, but they kept refusing to send me. I kept begging them, “You promised my mom that you’d send me to school.” One year they finally did. I was 23 years old. At graduation, my professor made me dance with him. This family did not approve and started yelling, “You’re a loose woman. You’re probably already pregnant. How can we have a woman like you in our house? Get out!”
So I finally left that house. I started working as a cook for a church. Later I met my husband, and we adopted a daughter together. We went to live in Peru with his family for a long time, but there was no work. I told my husband, “We should go back to Bolivia. There will always be work in the church. God will always provide.”
After we moved back to El Alto, I went to a Baptist church. There was an announcement that the Casa de Esperanza was looking for a cook. I kept saying to myself, “It’s not for me; it’s not for me. I haven’t been to church for 13 years. This job is for someone more faithful.” But God knew I had more to give than I thought I did.
I didn’t come to the Casa de Esperanza by my own strength. God brought me. And now I’ve learned that we can be blessed by the people we serve. Jesus told us that we need to love the people we serve. We’re all just instruments of God, really.
When the girls come to the Casa de Esperanza for lunch, I feel full. When they don’t come, I feel empty. I always wish they would come. I love to feed them. I would like to do a lot more for them that I can’t do.
Translated and edited by Cara Strauss.
Feliza’s constant smile never hints at her difficult childhood. As the head cook at Casa de Esperanza, she miraculously stretches the food as far as the loaves and fish, and has a fierce hug waiting for anyone who ventures close.