I watched her with curiosity, to see how she would react to the man with his two young kids panhandling the crowd. While he shared his sad story, she kept her eye on them between bites of her meal. She herself is as poor as any I have known. Earning just $50 a month from the government ‘bono’ and having to supplement the rest by working the streets. It’s all she really has left to give anymore.
Unable to count on them
Just last month, she made her way down on check day to collect her bono but they told her to wait another week. When I asked why, she had no understanding of any specific reason, just that she was told to come back. She would have to find a way to survive for one more week. Considering she just learned to write her name in the past few weeks, her lack of insight into the why is not surprising. How could she have any real understanding? Living in extreme poverty, being illiterate, means everything you are told is taken literally for face value, rarely a question. An ignorance that runs generationally deep.
She returned a second time for her bono and was told the very same thing. Defeated, she made her way to my place to tell me with uncertainty in her eyes; this time they said on the 10th of December it would be there. She repeated those words sounding more hopeful than confident. Again, I asked why and again she simply shrugged her shoulders. I could see resignation; a submissiveness that comes from people that are continually beaten down by life.
The 10th finally came along and I saw a hopefulness in her eyes. First, she had to head down to the public health department for an unrelated reason before making her way to the government office. Surely today is bono day; it had been nearly 3 weeks without money. She returned to the car to tell me she had to wait there now and get the COVID vaccine or they won’t give her the bono.
Whatever it takes
Without hesitation she agreed to the jab so she could feed her child this week. The streets are increasingly dangerous, to her, it was an easy decision. What choices does she really have anyways? Does she have a full understanding, informed consent, does she even know what type she was injected with? All that matters to her is that $50 gets into her pocket. She has been forced to do much worse for far less in her 42 years of life: to her this was a no-brainer. The taxi driver simply said; ‘that’s against her human rights’ as we drove away.
She gathered her money, purchased some simple basic food for her home; stuff that won’t spoil as they don’t have a fridge. She made her way to my house as we had plans to go together to see the Christmas tree and lights in front of the municipal office.
Later that same night…
As we sat amongst the street vendors to share a meal, a man and two children arrived to panhandle the crowd with his sad story that he shared loudly from the center of the group. They were two young girls, maybe 5 and 8 years old. Thin, pale, in less-than-optimal clothes and you could tell this routine was not new to them.
This particular night, I didn’t pay as much attention to this man’s story as I normally would. In fact I tried to avoid eye contact as I had given out nearly all my coins to various other lost souls that crossed my path this evening. As this man spoke, I ate my ribs and watched her as she watched him. She listened to his story, she kept looking over from her meal, her expression was hard to read. At one point, she grimaced and shook her head no. Was it disgust, was it sadness, anger? I could only guess what it meant. Did she think he was lying, that these children were props to get money from unsuspecting souls. Did she think he was a drug addict, a drunk? What does one street person think when they see another?
I witnessed humanity
Her daughter, a very streetwise young girl of 10, was also taking in the scene. Sitting across from me looking at the man and his girls, then to her mom and then over to me. I finally said in my best broken Spanish, with my saddest face: ‘ I wish I had enough money to help everyone that struggles, but I don’t’ . She smiled at me, and we all keep eating.
A few minutes later, the man finally stopped sharing his story, gathered up the two girls to leave; not one person approached them to help. They, like me, likely had already given to numerous sad stories this evening. There is only so much one can give.
As the man and two girls walked away, their heads down, they nearly reached the road when the mom reached into her purse, hands her daughter $1.50 and tells her to quickly run and give this to the man. Without hesitation, the young girl races over to them, shouts and they stop. She gives them the $1.50 and hugs the two girls. I wanted to cry.
This woman, with nothing, took what little she had left and shared it with this stranger. I knew how much she struggled to get the change in her purse. I watched her anguish and uncertainty as she waited for bono day to arrive; the date kept moving. I understood the danger she was in on the streets once this money was gone.
It all came clear…
That grimace I saw from her earlier, the one I could not read, I then understood it came from a place of deep understanding. I learned something about this woman’s soul that I did not know existed. I witnessed first-hand just how people living in extreme poverty survive. They rely on each other, they rely on us, but they do not rely on government. Without each other, they simply don’t stand a chance. I witnessed a Christmas Miracle on the streets of La Libertad 2021.
Merry Christmas Everyone
