Then we’re on to another village. By now it’s nearly dark but the children crowd around me and speak to me in quiet voices and I take picture after picture just to show them their face, maybe for the first time. These children are hungry. Their hair is tinged with orange and their bellies are swollen. I carefully record each of their ages in my notebook, sometimes doubling the age I initially guessed. “Who are you?” they say. “I am from
I want to stay in each village for a week, a year, but as quickly as we come, we’re off again, flying over potholes into the depth of night. My head rings with the answers to our questions.
“We walk 30 minutes to the river to get our drinking water and to bathe and to fish, but the river’s running dry.”
“We have no water to irrigate our fields.”
“We collect food from the forest and sell rattan from the forest too,
but the forest is disappearing.”
“We can’t afford to take our children to the hospital
unless we think they’re going to die.”
“There are more people now than before.”
“There is less food now than before.”
They are poor. With enough time and resources, we could find work in each and every village we visit. As it is, we must judge the depth of their poverty and be selective.
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