Walking Through Asseque

You just want to buy some onions and it turns into a whole adventure. People yelling “amiga” or even “chinesa” or “branca”, wanting us to wave hi, acknowledge them. Foreigners walking through the barrio. Sometimes a wave or a good morning is enough, sometimes not, and they keep yelling or start to follow us on our journey through the dusty neighborhood. People yelling “give me money”. “Give me your shirt”. “Help us”. “I’m hungry”. And you have to just walk on. And stop complaining about your own life. About how you don’t have well water these days or electricity or that you’re tired of eating funge and beans everyday. About how hot it is, about the cockroach that you just discovered in your bathroom, or the rat crawling around your room. Because a few yards away there is a swollen belly of a malnourished child, a roofless home approaching the rainy season, infections, disease, desperation.