| Cairo, Egypt - Sudanese City Overview Photo Gallery Director Bio Journals: · Jun 23 2009 · Jul 05 2009 · Jul 16 2009 · Jul 18 2009 · Jul 23 2009 · Jul 27 2009 Trek 2009 Home |
Empty Privilege
6/23/09
Cinco flautas de pollo, corn on the cob from that vendor on the street corner, and sweet mango jugo. That would be my last dinner before we departed Mexico City, I'd decided. I had about 200 pesos to spend and one night to do it.
Then Helyn said, “We are going to do the no-food diet tonight.”
Here are the statistics. One in six people in the world don’t have enough food to eat everyday. One in three people in Sub-Saharan Africa don’t have enough food to eat. That means there are about 963 million people on the no-food diet tonight.
Here is the irony. The amount of money it would take to provide food and basic sanitation for those in need is about 30 billion U.S. dollars. Let me put that in perspective. That is less than the amount spent on weapons each year. It is less than what Americans spend on their pets. It is less than what Americans spend on perfume. And it is less than what we spend on diets.
We sat there thinking about these statistics, struggling with turning the numbers into people. Thinking about mothers who learn how to trick their children to sleep because there is no food for dinner, mothers who feed their children crushed rocks in Malawi because that is all the dry earth has offered.
My stomach grumbled. The thunder rumbled outside. Sounded like it was coming closer.
We sat there thinking about irony, about privilege we didn’t realize we had, about responsibility, about the gravity of truth.
My heart beat a bit louder, with a bit more purpose in each ba-bump. The fans went chuck-chucka-chuck-chucka above my head.
We sat there asking, Why? Why God? And I remembered that God first cared. He has seen it all before us. He has called out for others to open their eyes. That is why we are here.
And I remembered the brown leathery hand of the old woman that spends the day walking the streets of Mexico City asking for change. I remembered the exhaustion folded into the wrinkles of her manos, her hands. And I knew that Jesus would have grabbed her tired hand in his, and looked into the abuelita’s eyes and she would know she was a person loved, and not a statistic. And she would have food for her spirit.
I cried. The heavy Mexican rain fell against the window and dripped slowly down.
Print
Email
