Day 12-15: Hard Things

It's no secret that the Philippines is a third world county.  The stray dogs, garbage, and simple, unadorned homes come as no surprise to me, having spent some vacation time in Puerto Vallarta and Cozumel.  My eyes first opened wide to the true squalor in this country as we drove past shanty towns with their corrugated metal-patched roofs and bamboo and plywood walls built in rubble as we left the airport.  Our cab driver, William, informed me this week that, although Avis makes approximately $200 a day for the service, he only makes 442 pesos, or under $10 a day.  "Only enough for basic commodities" for his wife and two boys, he told me in very good English.  $10 a day is also how much "ya ya's," (house help/babysitters) make, with included room and board making it a coveted position for many women.

As mentioned previously, we usually go from one expat bubble to the next, but today we ventured out to see "Ice Age 4".  As we walked the short distance from the lobby of our high rise to the mall, a beautiful, skinny homeless filipino girl about Will's age smiled at us from a concrete ledge.  Her clothes were dirty and she had no shoes or parents that I could see.  We gave her some change and a Snickers bar and then walked on.  I spent the whole movie thinking of her and how little we'd done to help.  Where does she go for shelter when it pours during the rainy season?  How does she get food?  An orphanage teacher I met at soccer camp told me that many of these girls don't stay on the streets long as they get sold as slaves of the heinous kind.  My blood boiled with anger at this corrupt government that does nothing for its most innocent yet helpless citizens.

I resolved that we would look for her on our way back and at least buy her some dinner.  As we walked back along the same crowded road, we saw that a different shoeless, dirty girl had taken her place and was sleeping.  I asked the street vendor next to her who sold us some mentos if she knew he girl and if she had a mom.  She said she did, and I hope she told us the truth.  At this point tears involuntarily began streaming down my face.  Will asked, "Why is your face all red, Mom?"  We walked on a few paces and met the Snickers girl who was now accompanied by her older sister.  They were selling limp flower necklaces and delightedly gave us half of them when I pulled out a 100 peso bill.  "Thank you, mawhm," they repeated over and over again, as we gave them all the food in my purse and said goodbye.

As  we walked into our luxurious, safe, and air-conditioned apartment, Anna said, "I thought I'd seen poor people at home.  But this is real poverty.  In Utah the homeless are just men.  It's so sad to see kids that don't have a home."  I've since found out about some orphanages and we are going to volunteer at one later this week.  It feels like trying to build a dam with a toothpick but it's a start.