Forgive me as I write this I'm still half in a state of shock, and the other have is having trouble writing in English.
I never really told people about this, but a while back I agreed to helping The Forgotten International, put together their book, Living on a Dollar a Day. Currently, I'm helping the producer and journalist gather stories and translate testimonials about the hardships people go through everyday just to survive. I will get the privilege of working with a Pulitzer prize-winner photo journalist, but after the thing's I saw yesterday, I'm having trouble seeing the excitement in anything besides breathing.
I'm not sure how to describe where I went yesterday or what I saw, but I feel that it's important to write down these thing as a therapeutic outlet, rather then letting them get to me at times when I need to remain strong for my own sake and the sake of those I'm interviewing. In a nutshell, As we drove around the outskirts of Lima, Peru I saw the pain-stricken faces of poverty and domestic abuse at its absolute worse.
I walked through a small shack strewn with garbage as a family of one father and four kids sorts through the trash to recycle in order do make a dollar to feed themselves. They told me stories of how they went hungry and how their house is falling down on top of them, but they don't have time to fix it because one minute spent not sorting through trash to recycle means possibly another day of not eating. I looked into the eyes of 4 beautiful and inquisitive children who all gathered around a dusty dirty corner to shake my hand and kiss my cheek. They looked at me as I was there to save them, but I know I couldn't do what they so desperately wanted...another chance at life. All I could do was hear their story, translate it to the producer and promise to return in order to take pictures and compensate them for their time.
Figuring out the best way to pay these people for these stories is the most complicated part. Food on the table for a week might do, and money isn't always the best solution because many times it leads to buying alcohol just to numb the pain for a little while longer. This is the hardest part because as much as I wanted to rip off the own shirt off my back and give it to someone else, I know that I have to be professional.
As we continued to visit other slums the dark reality of how bad it really gets sunk in. We talked to mothers whose abusers and children stood in front of us, dead pan and unemotional to these womens heart-breaking stories of violence and abuse. As I left one house we confronted one of the abusive husbands and thanked him for his time. We did this for the sole reason that we did not want him to go back and beat his wife for telling such a graphic story of his violence against her.
One woman grabbed my hand and told me of all her physical suffering so I went to the car to at least grab her some Advil for the pain she couldn't afford to treat. Blind and crippled she clutched my hand and held it tight with tears in hear eyes and begged me to help her. This sent me over the edge. I quickly explained to her children that she has to take the medication with food and I ran out the door sobbing uncontrollably. The producer understood that I was being told things I couldn't possibly translate because....how does one properly translate the pain and suffering these people are going through?
I finished the rest of my day at the womens shelter/school where I taught my ESL class. These children also come from psychologically and physically abusive family situations. The mothers either fled with their children and are living in extreme poverty, or are still living with their abusers. However, the innocence of these children is not lost yet. Mama Victoria's founder, Nelly, who was once a victim of domestic violence herself, will not let this happen. She believes that through education we can change these childrens futures so they understand that with love we can conquer all obstacles. Nelly's strength and drive puts me back together and I manage to interview her without a tear in my eye.
As we left the school we drove Nelly back to her house and she held my hand, knowing that I had seen some things that day I was not used to. As I got out of the car to drop Nelly off she looked at me and said she loved me like a daughter and she was so happy I was volunteering at Mama Victoria. I told her I loved her too and shed another mountain of tears.
As I laid down from a long day I cringed at my comfortable room and all the material possessions I got to call my own. How could I could I ever justify wanting anything new again after the things I had seen? Moreover, how could the forces that be tolerate the pain and suffering of so many, just so they could have another beach house or a fancy dress shirt that will be tossed out when next season's trends come?
When I look at how eager these kids and mothers want to learn English for a shot at a better future, I am truly humbled. However, I can't help but think about the bankers, accountants, lawyers, and politicians just up North who are finding yet another excuse to swindle another bonus, even if it means putting a family out of their home. These thoughts have consumed me before and I realized you can't not focus on the things that are tearing apart the world, you need to focus on the people that are desperately helping to put the pieces back together. I am not saying in any way, shape or form that I am one of these people, but I do believe I am in good company.
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