1979: The year began with a new boy from Paraná . How modest and awkward they are at first. He sits sideways at the table with the plate so far away that the way to his mouth is sown with rice and other food. The laborious path towards civilization begins: table manners, toilet use, cleaning up, etc.

You have to offer him every item of food, or he doesn't eat and then it seems to stick in his throat, so timidly does he sit there. As answers to carefully thought-out questions, all you get is a yes or a no. Like all newcomers he is extremely willing to work, but free time is that much more of a strain. They can't occupy themselves alone because they are never alone in their homes and normally free time there consists of football and television. We don't have a television here and Francisco can't always be playing football, if only because he doesn't know anyone here yet. He discovered the bicycle and enthusiastically practices equilibrium on it. When he sees me he becomes shy at once. When the other boys are around he is a bit braver and says something on his own now and then. It is strange how we so carefully feel each other out, neither knows the other, but this will soon be his home and I must like him and he must trust me. With the help of the other children and the daily rhythm of school and work, it will come relatively soon. Only the first days are so difficult.

Today is his third day in Sao Paulo. I was at the prefecture about the opening of the youth center. When I returned Francisco had just gotten home from work; he came up to me, took my package from me and smiled. The ice was broken. He talked the whole evening. Tomorrow we'll go to Volkswagen. Francisco, Otício, Antonio and Pedro from the favela will take the selection test there. If all goes well, they will take the three-year course there and learn a trade. Otício and Pedro passed the test. They start the course in April.

Several months later: What in heaven's name am I to do with Francisco? He stands around, his finger on his nose, and looks on as the others play, study, work. He only does something when I force him to. Recently when I came home from the teachers meeting at seven-thirty, he was sitting calmly eating supper. But his carpentry course starts at seven o'clock. He doesn't know how to play. His only games are fighting and tests of strength. He works at a snail's pace. His underwear is almost falling apart and would if I didn't have pity on him and sew and patch it. Recently he urinated in a corner of his room (probably he was afraid to go outside) - and left it to dry all day until I noticed the stink...

He seems like a bear, slow, awkward, good-natured (when he looks at me and his mouth slowly twists into a smile). But he also has a bear's strength, which sometimes erupts abruptly and out-of-control when someone angers him. When I ask him what Seu Paulo, the carpentry teacher, told them about his trip to Germany, he answers: "ele contou coisas." If you ask him what the doctor taught in his class, he answers: "Ele contou algumas coisas.", he told us some things. Then, however, he surprises us by bringing home relatively good grades from school. Is there any point in his staying here when you can't see any progress in five months?

The battle of Antonio seems to be won. Recently I asked who had left the bathroom in such disorder. I was looking more at Francisco. Antonio said: "I did." I couldn't believe my ears. Antonio knew I suspected Francisco. He repeated: "I did it." It was the first time he had told the truth and admitted to being guilty. I accepted it as normal. No praise. No fuss about something which should be normal.

And now he's always like that, tells the truth and excuses himself when he's done something wrong. Today he said: "I'm going to teach the mason to read and write. I feel sorry for him." And he left with a pencil and notebook. A victory: he's doing something for someone else.

This year, 1979, will be the year of Francisco. The battle against his slowness and his laziness in thinking.(1)

(1) Later he went back to Londrina and continues to do nothing. A failed attempt.

January 1979

The construction is in its final stage! Today seven strong men, former Waldorf School pupils, began painting. It's a pretty picture to see someone working through all the windows and doors. I had difficulty convincing them to stop and eat lunch. Afterwards we loaded their jeep with the remaining suitcases, crates and sacks containing our things to be moved. But then there was no room for people (I thought). But the boys were unconcerned. They sat on the cases and Stefan, our Tarzan, squatted on the hood and we took off.

Today was a good day. A large group of volunteers, boys and men, came to fence in the land of the youth center, paint, transport furniture and other heavier work. It's similar to the "International Civilian Service Camps", this sense of solidarity, getting tired and dirty together and the good feeling in the evening of having accomplished something.

Soon we'll inaugurate the Youth Center and the new school life will begin! Kindergarten, courses (sewing, carpentry, cooking, knitting, typing). Also painting, theater, festivals, excursions. And all filled with happy, serious, diversified life in the Escolinha!

February 1979

Today when I came home I found a nice mess: the children's and my rooms in the worst disorder with everything upset and upside-down... my first thought was for the dollars donated for the youth center. Gone! I rushed to the police. In eight copies my name, my father's name (very important) etc, were written down. Then I could leave. I asked if it wouldn't be a good idea if the police were to look at the scene of the crime. "Oh yeah, good idea." I should go to the investigation division on the first floor.

The process of writing down my name was repeated. "Can't you look for fingerprints?" "Oh yeah, good idea." I should go to the technical division. Finally we left the police station. I went to the bank to block the bank account just in case. In the meantime the police came and took fingerprints.

At home I looked around more carefully and realized that more was stolen than I thought, among other things the slides of Londrina. Only those of the Macumba were left by the thief, probably from fear. They must have made him nervous. The worst part is that I suspect someone who used to live here. I am tempted to give it all up. That was also the comment of most of those who heard about it. Ungratefulness, that's all you get out of helping the poor, etc. Peppi, an Austrian mechanic said to Mr. Blaich: "I don't underhand why Dona Ute associates with these people."

Blaich: "It's her life's work."

Peppi: "Well, if she hasn't found any other yet.. maybe she should give it up though. But maybe she'll go to heaven."

Peppi told me of this conversation and I had to laugh. Then I asked him: "What's your life's work?" He squirmed, smiled and didn't quite know what to say. His hands were full of motor oil, he was repairing a car's motor. But he has earned a house, a sitio, a car...

Mid-March 1979. Ambulatory Clinic

Today P.S., a factory owner who has often helped us, came by.

S.: "I would like to talk with you about the planned ambulatorium. I have other ideas about it".

U.: "Yes"?

S.: "Let's see if we can get it finished quickly. My workers can build the first rooms and then the favelados can do the rest".

U.: "Then they'll all wait for the second part to be built by others as well, and that's exactly what I don't want -- that the favelados are always waiting for help from outside and don't help themselves. The ambulatorium should be a way to mobilize the people. I provide the materials, the wood from Volkswagen, etc., and they do the rest".

A skeptical grin. Maybe he's right, but I want to try.

U.: "There is simply no point in treating people -- even if they're illiterate -- as objects"

S.: "Yes, I'm sometimes paternalistic."

U.: "I can't feel that way. I don't consider myself better than they are, on a higher plane, etc. I respect them as human beings -- even if they're uneducated and have no trade. Maybe they drink and have been coarse and uncouth during their lives. Despite all that I respect their humanity, their innermost selves. And therefore I want to help them to help themselves. Their human dignity is better protected that way."

It's difficult to convince the donors and others who help. The next day It's difficult to mobilize the people from the favela!

Everything went well the last two Sundays. A large group of helpers came and we worked hard leveling the ground, planning, etc. But today: What an arduous job! At eight o'clock I went to the favela. Arnaldo, our "construction boss", was already gone. I waited and waited. Probably he got stuck in some bar. Finally I went to the construction site. Around eleven two workers came. My impatience wasn't justified, I thought. We prepared mortars and set up some bricks for the piles. The building is to stand on piles. Then a new problem: the plumb-line. Arnaldo disappeared in order to get it -- and didn't come back. The others waited for their "boss". It was ridiculous -- he simply vanished. Meanwhile, in order not to sit around doing nothing, I recruited some boys to bring bricks in a wheelbarrow from the plot where we had once started to build. On the second trip the wheelbarrow broke. Finally Arnaldo appeared, somewhat tipsy, with the plumb-line and an enormous amount of huge leaves which one apparently can eat.

So the day wasn't very successful. Putting into practice my idea of furthering the human dignity of the needy is often very trying.

Money is always lacking, but the principle needs aren't alleviated with money alone. If a lot of money comes in the problem of distributing it remains. It is more important to convince the people that they must participate in the process of change. And that's harder than getting money.

A new heaven - a new earth.

To be continued…