Category: Blog

I was asked to drive for the teen club. At first I would only pick up and bring two kids. Very few teenagers had come from San Nicolas this time. But in the end two girls still had to be brought home to San Nicolas. And so I had four kids with me on the van. I quickly delivered the boys to our house in Savaneta and went on to San Nicolas. The first girl was soon home. With a short greeting she disappeared behind the gate of the house. I was left with fourteen-year-old Anna^[1]. She lives in the very back, close to the cunuc^[2], about a 10-minute drive from where we were at the time. It was quiet for most of the ride. I asked her to show me the way, which she literally did; finger to the right when we had to go right, and finger to the left when we had to go left. We arrived at her house; dark, no one home. She didn’t have a key, checked the door and windows anyway. I promised to wait. She came back with no result. “I think I know where my mother is,” she said. I said, “That’s fine, we’ll drive there.” It was quiet again and the finger pointing ritual was repeated. We drove back largely the same way as we came. I asked, “Are you worried about your mother?” “Not always,” she replied. She let out a sigh as she said it. “We’re going to find her,” I said. She didn’t answer.
A little later we arrived in the Village, down the street from an auntie. First she saw her slightly older brother walking there. “Hey, what is he doing here,” was her response, followed by: “I have no business with him.” And so we continued. 
Her mother turned out not to be with auntie. But auntie thought she knew where her mother was; at her stepfather’s place. So we got back on the bus, the finger pointing ritual repeated itself once again. Back on the way to the back, even closer to the cunuc. 
At stepfather’s house it turned out that her mother’s car was indeed parked in front of the door. Anna visibly breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said as she half stepped out of the van. I told her, “I’ll wait until you get inside safely. Go quickly.” And off she went.

^[1] Fictitious name. ^[2] Cunucu stands for outback farmland.
Image from Pixabay.

After the church service we were chatting over coffee for a while. I brought my cup back to the kitchen one of the women drew my attention; “Can you help us? My sister still has some shopping to do, but her car is broken.” I asked her how they got into the church. “Pastor has picked us up”. At first, I notice a brief hesitation in myself, but something told me to help. “Why are you asking me?” I answered. I was amazed to hear that she has a hard time trusting men, that she normally wouldn’t ask, but that God had told her that she should ask me. And so, on Sunday morning I got the special opportunity to help heal her betrayed confidence a little bit. I am honored that she asked me. And the pastor who already does so much, got a moment of rest as a gift. What an unexpected blessing for all of us. God puts beautiful puzzle pieces in their place.

Our detergent had been stolen overnight. From the laundry room. We once had that experience before, but now it happened three nights in a row. Reason to stop this for the future. And so, we came up with all kinds of nefarious plans. The movie Home Alone was nothing like it. We’d get this squared away. Push comes to shove, I decided to place an alarm on the door of the laundry room. That alarm would only go off thirty seconds after activation, but still. Of course, that wasn’t enough. So, I decided to make a deep fake detergent bottle, filled with a little Windex for the color and lots of water. I also added chlorine in the bottle so that we would recognize our thief in the street if he managed to circumvent all measures. For the extra effect, we tied four rattling cans to the bottle. Perhaps the sound of these cans would wake us up. Enjoying all the preparations we went to bed that evening. My phone and front door keys were ready, along with Blue’s belt in case I saw danger. But of course, nothing happened during the first night. The second night it hit. The alarm went off early in the morning at a quarter past six. I was immediately awake and saw through the window an elderly man fleeing to our gate, which was slightly ajar. I quickly turned off the alarm and went after him. He saw me coming, tried to find another way out, but knew he had been caught. The adrenaline still going through my body, I clearly told him not to try doing this again. I took a nice picture of him with my phone (great preparation) and told him that I would call the police next time. He was shocked, which I found endearing. Fortunately, he understood the lesson, he has not been back. Who knows, maybe he will buy his own detergent in the future.

Sometimes I meet special people who stand head and shoulders above the rest. This week that person was Ron^[1]. We were having coffee at the Hub and he had just introduced himself. He had a cheerful appearance. What a nice man, I thought, and I inquired about his life. He told me his wife had passed away from Covid two months ago. But he had decided to keep going and not give up. Here he was at the age of 70. He had been an addict for 20 years and had been off drugs for 30 years. He wanted to be an example for the people around him. So, he decided visit older people and drink coffee with them. He told me he never arrives empty-handed, because his wife had told him that if he wanted to continue the missionary work they had been doing, he should always bring something small for the people he wanted to visit. He is one of the beautiful people on the island, who have become wise through trial and error, wanting to be an example to those around them. Tomorrow, he has to go to the hospital for a minor operation. Later this week I’m going to have coffee with him. And I will not arrive empty-handed.

^[1] Fictitious name. 
Photo by Fred Kearney on Unsplash

Saturday, I brought some kids home with our YWAM van. They had been going to the teen club and I took them back home to San Nicolas. San Nicolas isn’t exactly safe at night, but hey, the kids lived there, and I was eager to help the teen club leaders. So, I went, with a full van on the way, crisscrossing San Nicolas. One street even smaller than the next and even though the teenagers regularly mixed up left and right, we got them all safely to their destination.

When they were all taken home, I stopped the bus to see where exactly I was. But when I looked up, I saw a grinning teenager with a spud lifted walking towards us, coming out from one of the gardens. Behind him came two more grown-up boys who were clearly on the warpath together. I just hit my gas pedal and spinned away. Fortunately, we were back on familiar ground at the end of the street. Thank you, Lord. I learned my lesson. Next time don’t stop in an unfamiliar street.

Every Saturday we go to the Hub. This community center then opens its doors to people who need it. Often people come without a home or without food. Occasionally there are also women who survive for their families. By going there and having coffee together, we hear their stories, and they have a good moment. They also get bread, soup and some fruit or chips and that helps to take the heaviness of life away for a while.

Take John^[1]. He uses drugs. He is honest about it and does his best to stop. But he hasn’t been able to for years. He likes to come over for the company and something to eat. He likes to have a conversation about God over a cup of coffee and think deeply about it. For example, he told me a few weeks ago that the problem in Aruba is that people no longer set their hearts on God. So, I asked him: “You are Aruban, you know much better what is needed here than I do. So, what do you think it takes to get Aruban people to turn their hearts back to Jesus?” He didn’t know the answer right away, but he did think about it he said, because it was a good question. We drank our coffee, I prayed for him, and we went our ways. He was back two weeks ago. He remembered the question and was eager to discuss it further. No, he didn’t know the answer yet. But thinking about it together also helped. I hope to think that it was clear to him that Aruba and himself need Jesus very much.

^[1] Not his real name.

I think she was about eleven years old. She was brought back into the church hall by her arm. No longer tenable in the crowded Sunday school. She was placed in the front on one of the few empty seats, all by herself. Less than five seconds later she was already signaling backwards to her friend who had also been given a special place. In the minutes that followed, she continued to signal, despite all the actions of the adults. She simply didn’t think of what other people thought about the situation. I decided to sit next to her. She didn’t want to hear about it and turned around. A moment later she tried to signal again, but I was clear towards her and so she turned her back to me again. When I wasn’t paying attention for a moment, she ran back to tell tanchi^[1] that she was going back to Sunday school. But tanchi was resolute, so she sat down next to me again, picking at a wound on her arm. I asked her if it hurt. “yes” she said. I said I was sorry. She looked at me and I looked calmly back into her dark eyes. She saw that I meant it. I asked: “What’s your name?”. “Sarah”^[2]she said. I said: “My name is Erik”. She looked at me again and I looked back calmly. The pastor said “Amen” and told us the children would sing another song they had learned in Sunday school. She was allowed to join, and I disappeared to the back row again. As she stood there in the front, she saw me standing in the back. Suddenly she smiled and waved at me. And I, I smiled and waved back gratefully.

Many of the children from San Nicolas grow up without perspective and without parental authority in their lives. Father is not present, and mother works hard to make ends meet. Children are often alone and go from household to household, sometimes with grandma, sometimes with an aunt or a neighbor. One of the churches here has a kid’s ministry. Every Sunday a number of these children are picked up to come to church and Sunday school. We love coming here and we hope to make a difference by being there.

^[1] Tanchi is Papiamento for aunt.
^[2] Sarah is not her real name.
Image by Antoine de San Sebastian from Pixabay