Rice

I feel a common theme in this blog has been depicting many of the differences that Shannon and I are experiencing while living in Ecuador. A few times, we have touched on the socioeconomic differences that we have encountered. While it’s always fun to write about ziplining and hiking up volcanoes, I would be remiss not to tell whoever decides to read this of some of the more difficult conditions many people in Ecuador live in; things that are in our face every day.

We have detailed in previous posts the shanty towns comprised of homes made with spare plywood and sticks. We have shown pictures of crumbling cement structures with graffiti on them that resemble bombed out Dresden that serve as some of the “nice” places people here live in.

We have spoken a little bit about the children no older than 3 or 4 being forced to sell candy or vegetables at intersections instead of going to school just so they can help contribute a few handfuls of change to the family’s meal that evening.  

Something that I saw this morning while walking Howie the dog broke my heart. We frequently see people digging through trash to find recyclable bottles that they can turn in for a few cents. Today, I saw two women doing that while a little girl no older than 2 years old sat quietly behind them. She was covered in dirt and soot and wore a shirt that was stained and torn and probably also found in the trash. She looked at me as I passed without any expression.

When the two women she was with pulled out a styrofoam carton with some rice and vegetables in it, they gave it to her to eat and continued their search for old beer bottles. Her eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. There’s no telling how long this child had gone without a meal, or how long she would go before her next but in this moment cold dirty old rice in a carton covered in grease and coffee grounds made her day.

I’m not one to preach to other people. I’m not one to pretend that one short experience can define a person. I may forget about this girl two weeks from now. I hope not. I guess I’m just writing this as a way to show people who aren’t here what it can be like to live in a country where many citizens are forgotten. I suppose that isn’t a very unique story among many countries in the world but it was a unique experience for me. I guess I’m writing it for the same reason I write everything on this blog, so I don’t forget. The whole thing was over in less than 8 seconds but in that right now, in this moment, it has made a profound impact on me and I hope it’s something that I never forget. I’ve lived a very good life. I have never been in a situation where a cup of dirty trash rice made my day. I want to remember that for as long as I remember anything.