Journal Entries from a weekend in the province of Limón, Costa Rica.
9/21/12 Friday.
Homeless. Hungry. Violent. Dangerous.
The words that come to mind as I walk the streets at night in Limón. By "night" I mean 8:45. People close up shop by 5:30 or 6 and head home to escape nightfall. By 9pm on Friday night the streets are empty. Only a few stragglers and those that have nowhere to go remain in the streets. People approach me asking for food. I want to buy food for everyone. I hate saying no. I hate looking at the tiny, small frame of a man or woman asking-betting for food and not doing something. I buy some of them food and I take others to the grocery store, but I don't have enough money to help as much as I want to. I never will.
Buying them food brings me such bittersweet feelings. I start to wonder who is helped more by such food donations-the giver or the receiver. The giver feels good about themselves for a week. The receiver is hungry again the next day.
We leave him alone in the dark with a coke and some chicken. A friend looks at me and says, "we can't help them all". It doesn't make me feel better. We part from the darkness and head to our air conditioned and comfortable hotel rooms.
I don't feel better. I feel worse. The idea that we can't help them all makes me uncomfortable-nauseous even. I'm convicted of every penny i've wasted here.
9/23/12 Sunday
It's 3pm. We've been sitting in the stopped van on the way back from Limón since 1:30. Up ahead, ther is a car wreck with two confirmed dead. My heart is heavy. So much tragedy. 30 people in our van and a couple of hundred cars sitting in traffic on the road from through this mountain.
I can't stop thinking about the two fathers/mothers/sons/daughters/sisters or brothers that won't return to their family. As I sit here listening to the rain and the people in the van playing card games, I struggle to think. This weekend has been very overwhelming.
Poverty. Excess food. Death. Life abundant. Two extreme cultures.
My thoughts are lost. My heart is heavy.
9/21/12 Friday.
Homeless. Hungry. Violent. Dangerous.
The words that come to mind as I walk the streets at night in Limón. By "night" I mean 8:45. People close up shop by 5:30 or 6 and head home to escape nightfall. By 9pm on Friday night the streets are empty. Only a few stragglers and those that have nowhere to go remain in the streets. People approach me asking for food. I want to buy food for everyone. I hate saying no. I hate looking at the tiny, small frame of a man or woman asking-betting for food and not doing something. I buy some of them food and I take others to the grocery store, but I don't have enough money to help as much as I want to. I never will.
Buying them food brings me such bittersweet feelings. I start to wonder who is helped more by such food donations-the giver or the receiver. The giver feels good about themselves for a week. The receiver is hungry again the next day.
We leave him alone in the dark with a coke and some chicken. A friend looks at me and says, "we can't help them all". It doesn't make me feel better. We part from the darkness and head to our air conditioned and comfortable hotel rooms.
I don't feel better. I feel worse. The idea that we can't help them all makes me uncomfortable-nauseous even. I'm convicted of every penny i've wasted here.
9/23/12 Sunday
It's 3pm. We've been sitting in the stopped van on the way back from Limón since 1:30. Up ahead, ther is a car wreck with two confirmed dead. My heart is heavy. So much tragedy. 30 people in our van and a couple of hundred cars sitting in traffic on the road from through this mountain.
I can't stop thinking about the two fathers/mothers/sons/daughters/sisters or brothers that won't return to their family. As I sit here listening to the rain and the people in the van playing card games, I struggle to think. This weekend has been very overwhelming.
Poverty. Excess food. Death. Life abundant. Two extreme cultures.
My thoughts are lost. My heart is heavy.
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