Saturday, March 5, 2011


The poverty in Cambodia is heart wrenching.  Children on every corner selling and begging for their next meal.  A little boy followed me along the river path this morning, smiling and putting his fingers to his mouth.   Yes, I comprehended he was hungry.  Hungry in a way I've probably never experienced.  I gave him a dollar and he continued to follow me further until we came upon his mother and three siblings.  The woman and children didn't speak English, but it was clear they were destitute.  A near by tuk tuk driver translated, her husband left her with the children and now they're alone on the street.  I went back to my hotel, ordered some food and brought it to them.   The children squealed in delight.  The mother did not partake.  I saw gratitude in her eyes, but she pleaded for more.  She unwrapped the scarf from her head and communicated without words, the hard cement is their home, their bed.  The one scarf is not enough to keep them warm or cushion their frail bodies.  I walked to the closest stall selling scarves and bought several.  I found myself debating over the colors, as if it mattered, as if it could change their plight.

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