“Courage,” I once read, “is not the absence of despair and fear but the capacity to move ahead in spite of them.”

Of all the photos I had taken in Chimbote, Peru, this particular one strikes me as a powerful testament of hope in the midst of despair. Children seem to have that resiliency.

A group of us travelled early this January from the sprawling beautiful colonial city of Lima to visit Fr Jack Davis, a priest of our diocese, who has been working in this poor area for almost 30 years. Even though I had supported him financially for many years, it was the first time I would meet him. We arrived in this “barrio nuevo”, the polite name for an emerging “poor area” on the doorsteps of the new economy.

These children were living in a new “invasion”. “Invasion” is a strange word to use but this was the name given to describe newcomers or “invaders” in a vacant area. These were poor families who set up reed villages on government land. There were about 10,000 new “invaders” in this location.

We were suddenly thrust upon this family without fanfare. The poor have no need for long polite introductions. Old reed walls had to be broken down and replaced. We had no time for revulsion and sadness. We were on mission to serve the poorest of the poor!

As Pope Benedict advised at Christmas 2006: “Serve the poor to better know God.” Service in this particular instance had no time for all the niceties we associate with in our modern world of planning. Help was needed and we had come. The mother of the household was away working, we were told, in one of the world’s oldest professions.

We remained silent. The semi-disabled father was in his own words, “muy contento con los gringos”.  We cleared old and battered reed walls and debris scattered all over in the back of his tiny home with its rough dirt floors. We were at first confused and bewildered as curious neighbours gazed at us with our shorts and digital cameras. Even with our primitive tools to dig, to pull out, to replace tattered walls, we seemed over dressed. This was no summer camp.

The father complained of water running into his dirt floors. Water came from a broken faucet and when it flowed, it lasted only three hours a day. The new reeds, wire and poles arrived, bought by Fr Jack from a local manufacturer.

We five gringos set out to work while the four gringas spoke to the crowds of children outside, hovering around to see the excitement. As we began our repair work, I noticed one of the gringo priests almost ready to vomit.

He could not handle the smells of the family latrine nor the dogs running in and out of the dirt floor of the invaders’ home. Bravely he caught himself and all of us armed with pikes and poles proceeded to build two walls. Two farmers accustomed to modern tools and at least a couple of nails found this a challenge to their skills. The children kept running in and out to see the gringos with their cameras and shorts!

Removing the front wall of their modest home, the three children begged me for a photo. Normally I wouldn’t. I personally find taking photos of people in their poverty offensive and robs them of their dignity.

But the kids were pleading for a gringo photo and I reluctantly agreed. It was my best shot. I thought perhaps later I could use this photo to solicit funds from the area where I worked in the US.

The kids were pleading for a gringo photo and I reluctantly agreed

Even with our primitive tools to dig, to pull out, to replace tattered walls, we seemed over dressed

For those of us who have at least one hot meal day, we are wealthy. For those who have nails on their walls, we are rich. For those who have cupboards or armoires to hang or store their clothes, we are well off.

The father gingerly prepared a meal for his three children over a small wooden fire. He was embarrassed that he could not offer the gringo priests even a glass of bottled water. I saw his sad eyes.

With $1,500 our host Fr Jack can feed 1,000 people for one month. At least one day a week, some of the poorest of the poor can have a nutritious meal at one of the four soup kitchens in his parish.

While the children were jumping on their parents’ bed, the four gringas realised that they also needed a new bed. We had already purchased 30 new beds made by the small workshop of Kelvin, one of Father’s workers, who uses pallets to create comfortable beds and eye-catching furniture.

Amazing what one can do from discarded wood! The gringa ladies thought we could give two of these beds to this family. In the midst of this frenetic activity, a child came up to Danny and said, “necesito zapatos” (“I need shoes”).

Bewildered by a child asking him for shoes, my priest-friend took her name down. He stood there numb. Before long, children were surrounding him begging for a new pair of shoes.

Trying to find more paper and a pen, one of the mothers began writing the names of the children and shoe sizes. We were both baffled. We have each known poverty in our individual lives in the Caribbean and Croatia.

We both come from humble origins but dirt floors and children living above them and all the diseases associated with childhood flooded our spirits. We were humbled. We collected 92 names and decided the least we could do was to purchase a brand new pair of shoes for each child.

Shoes may never solve all of problems of the poor but for one day in their lives, they will have something brand new. The next day accompanied by a local parishioner, we headed uptown and bought 92 pairs of brand new shoes! Certain things stand out in my mind about this trip and this is one of these moments in time. Only love can make the despair of life easy.

I have learnt much from this trip, this mission into a world far removed from mine in a country that is so mesmerisingly beautiful. I would like to visit again and to reacquaint myself with a people who have endured so much pain and suffering from the 15th century conquistadores to the 21st century politicians of their time.

But of all the faces of hope and despair that have touched me are these three children. All children love to jump up on their parents’ bed. They were no exception. And while we never hang up our clothes above our beds, we know we live in a paradise compared to many who are poor.

Their voices, their songs, their sadness, their laughter are infectious. There is a song called the Parting Glass and it speaks about a man sitting beside the road and weeping for all the songs he didn’t sing and the promises he didn’t keep.

Life is full of such songs and promises. Some we sing. Some we don’t. Promises we keep and promises we don’t. My promise to these kids is not to forget them. I want to appeal to all those who have one hot meal a day to consider sending me a donation to feed 1000 people for $1500.

I choose not to forget the children’s songs and laughter. Their chapels are filled with people with choirs that could be the envy of any parish community here. These wonderful people have courage and a capacity to forge ahead despite unbelievable problems.

I have decided not to wear “tired eyes of despair” for when one’s eyes are tired, the world is tired too! And thankfully, my fellow priests and I can honestly say: “we had a powerful experience and didn’t miss the meaning for to serve the poor is to better know God!”