I look into their tiny little brown eyes
And see all that they are capable of. The good. the bad and the ugly.
I've come to labor for them, so that they may have a school, and a chance at a proper education. so that they can break that poverty cycle.
I feel for them because I know how it is to be impoverished,
how it is to be looked down upon.

Here am I. An American. A white boy who stepped out of his comfort zone. or rather flew out.
I came here for adventure, and enlightenment, and found just that
on that beautiful mountain.
That one mountain
Cleansed my soul and completed the experience.
Yet most the people in the city never get to see this mountain like we guests do. They are to busy making a meager, over deserved living.
To busy making rice and potatoes, maybe a little meat on the side.
I'd like to say that I truly understand
but I still don't.
and neither do you
You have a love of a mother, the support of a father. you've never HAD to strike out on your own.
But they have. and their country doesn't care
and neither do you, come to think of it.
in fact you haven't given one thought about anybody in the Concrete jungle that is Lima
until now.
Or any body who's belly is sore in Africa
until I told you about it.
send a dollar send dime. do whatever you think will help, but until you work among them. until you've looked into their eyes.
you will never understand