Ranae Parker
Growing up I saw the starving children
with swollen stomachs on the evening news. It was a fact of life but
far far away; it seemed irrelevant to my life. Obliviously I went
about my years in school, having a job, an apartment and then a
house. We had children, bought cars and took trips. We flipped
light switches and flushed toilets. And any time we wanted we turned
on the faucet for a drink of pure, clean, safe water.
Today we visited the poorest of the
villages. Others have been poor, but this one, Awal, was the news
broadcast in real life. Many children had those swollen stomachs
which I learned is both from malnutrition as well as parasite
infection. Some of the children had only one piece of clothing and
much of it was threadbare and the colors had been replaced by the
reddish tan of the surrounding dirt.
This was a sad village. Previously,
smiling villagers had met us up the road and escorted us to their
homes with singing and dancing. Awal had no music, no smiles, and,
it seemed, very little hope. We gave them seeds, worm medicine,
clothes, lots of teaching about health and sanitation, and they
served us Cokes: something I am sure they don't get themselves. So,
as we drive away I wonder: why am I here? What can I do? They need
so much; what could I do to help?
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