A Chapter-Long Letter from the Heart

Dear Mom and Dad

This morning you were both on my mind. I was wishing you could have walked with me and spent the morning doing what I was doing. It was a life-giving day, one that made me once again appreciate the life I have been given.

Do you remember a post I wrote months ago, about the hole

in a cement wall that lead me out of Lippo Village and into village life, a life that the majority of Indonesians live? Today I went through another one, and unfortunately, like some holes, it wasn't magical in any way. I went with 5 other ladies, organized through Karawaci Ladies, and we saw poverty again. Poverty is everywhere here, yet we so often just see it from a distance. Today we touched it, smelled it, and had it splash up our legs in the form of sludge, made up of filthy river water, garbage run-off, and quite possibly human waste.

Our morning started with the 6 of us ladies meeting at my house, and we

drove 2 vehicles to a regularly-flooded slum area, under the guidance of a woman who works daily with the poor, and especially with children. Her heart is huge and her enthusiasm is rather contagious. Between this woman and our group we had 50 bags of grocery essentials to hand out. Once we got there, local ladies packed into a really small room, coupons in hand, ready to be given a bag of food that might just be the mainstay of their entire week. The bags were handed out quickly, in a very organized manner, and the 6 of us were able to tour the small

village as we helped women pack the groceries to their tiny, dark, cement/brick/wood homes. Some of us ended up in one woman's home, Ibu Emi, and she and her 17 year old daughter told us of their situation. Like most people in this area, her husband was out of work, and they have no money. Even their rent of $25/month is steep for them. Fortunately, their eldest son works at a reputable bookstore chain that has a program where he can work and attend school as well. If you look at the photo of women sitting in a circle chatting, what you see is the entire home. The kitchen area is in the background, the living room (tv) is to the left, the bedroom (wardrobe, vanity) to the right, and the bedroom is right where we were sitting. The bedrolls were leaning up against the corner behind where I was standing while I took the photo. Noises from the home next door, which was divided only from the home we were in by a wood similar to plywood, made it seem like the neighbours were in the room with us.

After our short visit with these lovely ladies, we toured the village a bit, mostly to allow me to get a few good shots of the area.

One of these is a photo of the still water that lies around the village, gathered in-between floods. Another is of a young boy fishing in

a large, very fluorescent green fish pond. I'm not sure how healthy the water is, because although it is green, it is right next to the public toilets, which are 3 cement outhouses that run into the ground.

I have been blessed throughout my life to see a variety of villages in Mexico, the Philippines, here in Indonesia, and even a few really sad ones in Canada, that range from poor to dirty poor

to illegal-squatting, garbage-collecting slums. Blessed because I have had opportunity to move outside of my comfortable bubble, and blessed because I get to go home to health, comfort, food, and safety. This particular village is actually one of the 'nicer ones' that our hostess works in, yet it is still not a nice place to live. It is right on the river, and anytime it rains, the homes get flooded. In this photo of a classroom, our hostess shows us how high the water rises. At the back of the village the water rises even higher. I'm including a photo of Amanda standing on the bridge that connects this village with one across the river. The most difficult thing to hear was that during flooding, even in times of dire need, this is the only exit from the area for the villages. The hole that we used to enter the village is unavailable to the villagers

themselves, because it exits into a rather posh neighbourhood. Take a good look at the bridge; it's not all that sturdy.

As we were walking, two ladies were washing their clothes and dishes at a communal water faucet.

The river is directly behind them.

One final thing I saw that was new to me was a small 'bakery,' where the young men of the village are employed for $2-3 per day, making pancake-like 'skins' for some snacks that are similar to eggrolls.

They make thousands of them per month, and their boss sells them in the local markets. The entire room was covered in flour, their hair was flour-coated and their skin was white with flour dust. It is fast, hard work for a few dollars a day.

I thought of you on this trip, and I could picture you sitting with the women in their home, using sign language to try and communicate when your English just won't do. I could see you shaking men's hands and hugging the women and the babies they were carrying.

You may not be here but, as I told Ibu Emi, you are here with me as you look at the photos that I take.

I love you,

Kim

Thanks for reading.