After almost 11 years traveling overseas with Compassion International. I’m not sure how to put yesterday into words. I’ve seen a lot of rough places in my life. Walked the streets surrounded by the meanest and deadliest gangs in the world and protected by them because their kids are educated and cared for by Compassion.
I’ve been in the largest slum in Africa, Kibera. One million people living in a 3 mile by 6 mile plot of land… and walked on the human waste that fills its streets and covers its area in the most god-awful smell.
But nothing prepared me to see people living in a cemetery. Literally. Their houses are built of whatever wood, cardboard, or alumni they can find. If they need to use the side of a tomb for a wall… they do.
In my head, I know the bones they sleep on, walk on, hang out on… play on are just that now… bones. No souls.
But I’ve always had a deep respect, as must do, for where the dead are buried and the meaning their lives once had in the lives of their friends and families.
But to live a life where your only place you can now live is a grave site… It just doesn’t make sense.
None of the poverty I’ve experienced in my travels ever truly makes sense, but I’m used to the order in which people live in poverty,there’s a loose code within these communities but still….
I think for even those living in extreme poverty, a cemetery would be a deal breaker.
I’m writing this in a very stream of consciousness kind of way. I’m processing at the same time I’m writing.
My thoughts, the way I feel, the reason behind what I’ve seen isn’t quite formed except to say… I don’t get it.
If you have seen what I have seen then you could probably relate. If you haven’t… well… just know… It makes no sense.