population.
USD a day.
poverty.
As I climb out of the back of the car, it is hard not to gag on
the toxic mixture of fuel emissions and dust that hang thickly in the air.
Immediately, I look down. I feel my shoe sinking as I step from the car. Dark,
black sludge covers the bottom half of my shoe. It’s inevitable. Cleanliness is
thrown to the wind. The road beneath me is black, but not from pavement; it’s
unavoidable. Silently, Thank you Lord, I
chose to wear closed-toed shoes. The smell of warm, moist garbage and excrement are an
unwelcome greeting as we enter “Happy Land” for this morning’s Jeepney photo shoot. We begin walking down a busy side street. Children, feet black, run barefoot down the road. Dear Jesus, please let there be no glass or needles in their path.
Fruit vendors push decrepit carts carrying their precious goods, their
livelihood and hope for income that day. We turn down an alley. Before us
unfolds more of the heart-breaking reality . . . POVERTY; in its most raw form rears its
ugly head only to laugh at me and mock any feeble effort I might give to alleviate
anyone’s suffering.






to try to find some livelihood hidden beneath mounds of garbage. . .
to tame this roaring inward beast into something bearable. . .
when your streets are black from excrement and playgrounds, hazardous
to their little ones who are grasping to hold onto their innocence. . .
to what end will the church continue sitting idly by hoping for a plan B?