Degrees of Poverty
Last Monday I walked through an indigenous South American community. The walls were plastered with fear and regret. The people lay strewn about wide-eyed mud plastered mud on their hearts to keep them warm. I saw poverty. It’s old song.
Normally, on almost a day to day basis, I see poverty, and poverty sees me. Does it take comfort because I can no longer go out to restaurants or have a brand spanking new car like I once did?
Poverty has many faces.
I walked through an indigenous community and I saw that helping is just a selfish deluded fantasy that makes me feel good.
I met a kid, he led us around. As we were making our way out of the community he fell behind and I paused to look back. Young Wilfredo was taking his shoes off. Why? He had just borrowed the shoes from his friend.
Poverty led us out of its mist barefooted and smiling.
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