Hunger is Real

I just got back from my grandparent’s house, located in a “not so fancy” part of Santo Domingo called Barrio Los Frailes II. This is the place, same town, same house, where I was born and grew up to become the beautiful young lady that I am today (wink).

My family’s house is one of the oldest and nicest in the town, probably because we are one of the few people who travel and work abroad. My grandparents retired to Santo Domingo after over 20 years of living in the US, working ungodly hours in sweatshops, babysitting, pushing delivery carts in supermarkets for a tip, spreading flyers, cleaning college dorms and houses, etc. Without knowing more than a few words in English (which is still true today) they worked hard, and struggled more than I could ever imagine, judging from their stories. Together, they made enough money to raise their 4 children, and take them to the US where they could also earn a more decent living than they could at home even as [not well-connected] professionals.

Now that their faces are wrinkled and arthritis is kicking in, they are back home, living peacefully in the same house they built together in their 30’s, and raising chickens for fun. “It gets boring, sometimes, that’s why we play dominoes and I kill his chickens for lunch while he prays” says my grandma about my overly-protective-of-chickens grandfather.

Coming to visit every now and then, I have come to realize that not everyone in Los Frailes had the same luck. Hanging out with my grandmother on the front porch, we talked about Marina, a now old lady that took care of me while my mother left to “try out” the US. Her husband died, she has no job, and all of her 3 children along with their spouses and grandchildren depend on her. My grandma normally saves Marina a portion of lunch, which she takes home to eat peacefully every day (meaning, to share with the 10+ people waiting for her at home). 

“It’s incredible!,” my grandma expresses angrily. “That’s why she is so skinny… her children are so old, yet don’t make an effort to take care of themselves.” It amazes me too.

“A lot of people are hungry in this town. See the people next door? They eat whatever they can find around 11am, and their mother cooks at 4pm, that way they don’t have to make dinner,” says my grandma sadly. These “people next door,” are good family friends, people who I knew from when I was little, people who came to my birthday parties, people who I thought were like me…  “normal.” 

“My lady, you are one of the only families in this town that eats three times a day,” says Marino, the guy from the grocery store across our house.

Realizing this was a shock. Hunger is real, necessity is real, and it happens to real people, people we know, people we care about, people that matter. But the thing is, all people matter, even those that we don’t know.

Hunger is not just something happening somewhere in Africa, it’s something happening everywhere, to people we may or may not now.

The question is…what can we do? My grandma saves Marina lunch, my dad gives Raul (the Haitian doorman) dinner when he is home, a friend of mine takes his leftovers to go, and gives to the first rando that comes around, you…? 

I hope that one day ending world hunger will no longer be a concern, however until then, we can all play a small part affecting those nearest to us.

My grandparents playing dominoes 

My grandpa's chickens

Dirty Faces

I just got back from the southwest region of DR, specifically Azua and San Juan, doing “survey” for this summer’s AMIGOS program in the island (http://amigoslink.org/project/dominican-republic-san-juan). Along with the Plan International (AMIGOS’s partner agency here) officials, I visited approximately 8 communities in San Juan and about 10 in Azua. In some of them, we stopped, met active youth and involved community members, and talked about previous and future AMIGOS experiences.

All of the communities were quite poor. I took pictures of the different places we visited for my report, but to be honest, they all looked the same after a while: narrow unpaved roads edged by intercalated [once] brightly colored wooden houses and brown (less pretty) houses of similar architecture. They all had either zinc or thatched roofs, with a little space in the front for sitting under the shade of a tree during the hottest hours of the day. There was also the occasional (and random) castle-like construction, which usually belonged to someone from the community who had managed to move to Spain, New York, or Puerto Rico.

As I mentioned, I had to take pictures throughout this trip for my survey report. At first, I was a little shy. It didn’t feel OK to take pictures of places and people without permission, so I tried to do it when no one was looking (perhaps not the most ethical approach). The more I saw, the more I got into it- it just felt as if the whole place was a set: everyone looking so natural, going about their business in this perfectly still and picturesque rural area: carrying plantains, working in the field… looking poor, and so perfect for a post card, an NGO brochure, a Ministry of Culture newsletter, a political campaign poster, and so on.

One of the places I visited was the house of a young man who had volunteered nationally last summer, and was looking to volunteer abroad this time around. We chatted under a tree outside his house, and were accompanied by his neighbors: three cute little boys, with dusty faces, dirty clothes, and no shoes. There was that feeling again: I must capture this image! I asked politely if I could take a picture of them, and they excitedly said yes. As I got ready to take the picture, their mother yelled from inside the house: “Wait, they are dirty and have no shoes on!” Then the cab driver said, “let her take it, it’s the reality we live in.”

The mother was completely right. How many of us are usually looking sexy when hanging around the house on totally normal days? Even on not such regular days, are we always ready and willing to take a picture that could potentially be posted on Facebook, much less a brochure of some kind? NO. We take time, we get ready, and we try to look our best. Then, why must these “at risk” people look dirty and raggedy in ALL our photos?

Travelers, let’s take a step back, think about their perspective, and give our subjects a minute to look their best. I understand that it is sometimes necessary, but not every picture has to be a “Feed my Starving Children” pose.  Regardless of background and socioeconomic standing, we all want, and should, look our best for the world.

Btw. I took the picture anyway. 

A life of meaning

Today, as I entered my apartment building to have lunch, I saw a man that, despite having never seen him in my life before, I immediately grew to admire. I don’t know his name, his age, or his history; all I know is that he sells avocados. Sure, there are many men who sell avocados and other fruits (yes, avocado is a fruit) in the street, but not many are like this one. This guy, under the blindingly bright sun of noon (and probably starting from the early morning) walked up and down the streets of Santo Domingo, pushing a piece of wood with a wheel, screaming out of the top of his lungs, “AGUACATEEE!” again and again.

He was wearing a big blue, and dirty button down shirt rolled up in the sleeves, worn-out jeans, and crocks so wasted by the hot pavement that his soles touched the ground. He was a very dark man, with no hair, and missing more teeth than one is used to. He was a hard-working man, with a voice so strong that it bounced from tower to tower in the street with an echo, trying to reach the ears of the wealthy people eating lunch, and hopefully craving aguacate, in their expensive apartments.

I watched him from the moment I got off my car to the moment I entered the building… and my eyes teared.

The other day a friend posted on Facebook:  “Life is not about finding meaning, it’s about making meaning.” I wish I could change this man’s situation in a more meaningful way than buying him an avocado or two. But as much as I want to, I alone will never be able to change everyone’s lives. Life gave him lemons, and this man made lemonade and made his life, despite difficult, meaningful. Many of us have much sweeter fruits, yet can’t think of anything to do with them. I suggest we watch, learn, and start making smoothies to share with those who only got lemons. Giving, sharing, supporting can give meaning to our lives, and that of others.