Hard Work Pays Off

One of the things I spent a lot of time doing towards the end of my stay in Paraguay while in the office was translate documents. Pages and pages of documents from Spanish to English, to be used to solicit funding from other organizations. This didn't make it into the blog earlier because...it wasn't very exciting. Translation is tedious work (that I'll actually admit to loving) that didn't really seem worth mentioning. Well, Fundacion Paraguaya has been meeting with USAID over the past month or so and just recently received $500,000 from them for the Ikatu project! This is very exciting, and will do a lot of good.

All I did was translate things someone else had written and developed the ideas for, but it's still pretty cool to see it have direct results!
 
Here is an article written about this. Unfortunately for most of you, it's written in Spanish, but I thought I'd post it anyway for those of who can read it, if interested.

Another Take--Ikatu

One of the interns I worked with  sent this article along to me today. It is about the Ikatu project that I was working on during my time in Paraguay. I found it quite...interesting. I think many of you who have followed the work I described doing throughout my experience, will notice some discrepancies upon reading the article  You're not imagining it--you're right! Particularly things like the manner in which the indicators are measured, and the way the workshops are designed and the topics chosen. Quite fundamental differences, really. I'm curious as to where the author of the article got her information, and for what purpose it is going to be used, but I'm not sure I'll ever find out for sure!

Things are going well back in Boulder. I spent a week in Seattle right after getting back from Paraguay seeing family and friends, and am now all settled back in and starting classes tomorrow for the last year of my undergraduate education! There was a lot of culture shock and adjustment and processing that went on right after I got back. It was a struggle in a lot of ways, but ultimately I had a wonderful (that doesn't really even encompass it) experience, and I'm glad to be home.

Again, thanks so much for following along on this adventure with me!

Hello Mountains, I've missed you...

The mountains were out when I landed in Denver this morning. Everything went with perhaps the most ease possible for long international flights. My first flight was delayed by about an hour, but that was okay because I had an airport buddy in Asunción (another intern was leaving at almost the same time) and it just meant that I got to hang out in Sao Paulo for 6 hours instead of 7. No big deal. All of the rest were right on time or early. I met interesting people (including one flight attendant on my Sao Paulo-Houston flight who was then on my Houston-Denver flight, and then my bus from the airport to Boulder. Flight attendant Mary and I spent a lot of time together. And she was cool, so that is good.)

And there was no line for customs at 5 AM Houston time. None. That was good too. The immigration guy let me back into the country, based on my customs form, on which I was of course completely honest. I was in Paraguay just for tourism (I was Paraguay’s first tourist) and that cow I milked definitely does not count as contact with livestock….right?? Grabbed my bag, walked down a corridor, gave them back my bag, walked through security, got on another plane. I didn’t have to wait for my bag or a bus upon arrival in Denver. They came right when I wanted them to.

So that is all good. On the other hand, I feel like I have had a deer-in-the-headlights, what-the-heck-is-going-on look on my face ever since I landed in Houston. I think in heading to Paraguay I knew everything was going to be different than I was used to and had prepared myself for that. So, while I was learning every day and figuring the place out, I was expecting it. But this was supposed to be coming home, returning to the familiar. But it somehow feels so very unfamiliar and strange. Though I’m sure I’ll readjust quickly, for now I feel a bit off kilter…

Home?

I know, the title isn't in Spanish. Weird. But it's about time for me to start transitioning back into English, no?

I remember before I came realizing that it was soon when I could look at the 10-day weather forecast and know what the weather was going to be like when I arrived. Now I only need one more day past the 3-day forecast that automatically shows up until the weather here in Paraguay doesn't affect me anymore.

I'm leaving on Monday, so this is probably my last post in-country. The last week has been crazy and busy and wonderful. I have my final presentation in the office tomorrow morning, and then I'm done, and have the weekend to hang out with people and pack up. I'm excited to go home where the plumbing always works and I have my own bedroom and a job that I get paid to do, not to mention my family and friends, but...

I'm happy here. A deep-down, satisfied, comfortable kind of happy. And there's so much work left to be done. That's not to say they can't do it without me, of course they can. And this kind of work will never be done. Maybe I'm just not done. But life calls; school calls.

I will try to write a couple more times with more general reflections on my experience here, once I've had time to readjust to life back in the States and consider it all more completely. Thank you all for following along on this journey.

Sueños

I have heard my supervisors say to committees time and time again "It's not about money, it's about your life and your dreams." Recently, we've been trying to help the women develop specific goals and plans out of their dreams. And then, turn their goals into reality. But first, we had them write down some of their dreams. I thought I would share some.

"Mi sueños es acer un negocio de verdad y de conceguir en ayuda de ustedes y des dios" (For those of you who speak Spanish, forgive the spelling errors, I'm writing them as they did.) My dream is to have a real business and continue moving forward with help from you and from God.

"Mi sueño: dentro de 2 a 3 años sueño con este salon" My dream: within 2 to 3 years I dream of having this salon (There was a drawing of the salon, sorry I missed that.)

"Sueños: dejar a mi familia un futuro mejor: economicamente, moralmente, espiritualmente" Dreams: leave my family a better future: economically, morally, spiritually.














"Que mis hijos se casen y tener nietos" That my children get married and have grandchildren.
"Abrir mi propio joyeria en mi casa" To open my own jewlery store in my house.
"Me Gusta ayudar a todos..." I like to help everyone...
"Me gustaría abrir un peloquería en mi casa" I would like to open a hair salon in my house.

And a final thought:

Me siento linda. Si cambio, ya no voy a ser yo. I feel beautiful. If I change, I won't be me anymore.








What are your dreams?

Una Historia: Susana Zanate

A couple of weeks ago I shared the story of a woman that broke my heart and left me discouraged. Today I will tell you one that I found truly encouraging. They start the same:

A somewhat haphazardly constructed house too small for all it's members...

Incomplete walls in part of the house. (Imagine sleeping there when it rains...)

So, she too is in poverty. But that is where the similarities end. She was confident and easy to talk to. When I explained to her that I needed to take some pictures of her house for the Ikatu project and asked her if that would be okay, she said, "No, you don't need to take pictures. You just want to because you think my house is so beautiful! I'll let you." She was able to laugh at herself and at me. Well, mostly me, but the point remains: she has a sense of humor.

And her house was beautiful. Despite the missing doors and incomplete walls, it was beautiful.

There were details like dried flowers on top of her refrigerator...

Her land was clean and well kept...

She has plans. Her dream is to be able to start making her own compost and using her land for more, and finish her house. I believe her when she says she knows just how to do it. And I believe her when she says she will do it.

Para Manejar un Negocio

It’s hard to run your own business. People pay thousands of dollars to go to school for years to learn how to do it. And here I am, working with an organization who gives women in developing countries money to start their own businesses who are, on average, educated to the 5^th grade. And we expect them to know how to do be successful. Or maybe we just hope. Many of them do in fact succeed, but not all of them. We give them capacitaciones every time they take out a new loan (every 3-4 months) but they can’t learn everything they need to in those 30-45 minutes.

We’ve been giving our first round of workshops of the Ikatu program (setting and reaching goals) this week, and this will continue into next week. In the meantime we’ve started writing our next workshop, which will be on planning and budgeting. It seems like a simple thing to you to know whether you’re earning more money selling something than you’re spending on the raw materials used to make it, but that’s because you were educated past the 5th grade.

I tried to explain to a woman the other day the difference between her sales and her profit—that she wasn’t earning everything she was given from selling her empanadas because she had paid for the ingredients that went into her product. This was a difficult concept to get across, and it had nothing to do with my Spanish.

These women are not stupid. I want to emphasize that. They just haven’t ever been taught. This is where we come in. We have two hours to teach them how to make and keep one budget for their business and one for their family that allows for some savings and provisions for emergencies. And in each comité, there are one or two women who don’t know how to read and write. This is where drawings come in. We’re still working out how to teach this effectively to women who have no previous knowledge of the idea, in a way that will serve its purpose but not be overly complicated.

But it is so hard to change behaviors, to create habits. At the end of these, I often go home wondering, Are they actually going to do what we’ve just taught them?

Iguazú

This weekend, Katherine and I went on an adventure. The plan: Iguazú falls. These are famous waterfalls on the river that creates the border between Brazil and Argentina. The bus that goes there from Asuncion takes you all the way to the Brazil side, but Kat didn't have a visa for Brazil, so we were told we had to get off in Ciudad del Este, the city just on the Paraguay side of the border.

So, we followed the rules and got off of our bus at the bus terminal in Ciudad del Este though I'm pretty sure no one would have cared if we just stayed on...where we proceeded to wait for another bus that would take us to the Argentina side of the falls, where you don't need a visa to get in and we would be able to spend the night. The bus never came. (The lesson: don't get off your bus unless someone makes you.)

So, instead we just found dinner and a hotel in Ciudad del Este, drank some wine...

                           ate some chocolate...

                            played some cards....

and talked about life. Sorry, no pictures of that.

And then I asked Kat to throw cards in the air for me. I know I've found a good friend when I find one who will indulge my photographic whims with a smile...

And then we slept. In beds much more comfortable than the one I've been sleeping in for the past two months. Wonderful. We woke up bright and early Sunday morning, drank some cocido and ate some bread in true Paraguayan fashion, and decided to hop a bus into Brazil, having heard that you don't need a visa to go just for the day.

So we got on the bus and kindly asked the bus driver to drop us off at immigration, which he did. But the border people weren't too keen on letting visa-less Katherine into their country. The lesson: don't get off your bus unless someone makes you. Are you noticing a pattern here? Well, we're either slow learners, or else someone has drilled it into our heads far too many times that rules need to be followed, at least when it comes to immigration.

What do you do when one country won't take you? Go to another, of course. So we walked across no-man's-land and right back into Paraguay...

...where we hopped a bus to Argentina instead. By this time we'd learned our lesson: don't get off your bus unless someone makes you. Well, this time someone made us. But Argentina was happy to let us into their country. Thank you, Argentina.

Unfortunately, the gray and gloomy weather didn't seem to scare off the other hoards of people. As hypocritical as it may be, just because I'm an English-speaking, camera-toting white girl, doesn't mean I want to hang out with other English-speaking, camera-toting (poncho-wearing) white people. Okay, so a good number of them were from Argentina, but the point remains: tourists.

But anyway. Then we saw some waterfalls. And they were beautiful.

And then we got on a bus that drove us through Brazil  to get back to Paraguay, and five-billion more buses (I exaggerate) to get back to Asuncion. But everything worked like clockwork this time. Buses even came when people said they would. Which, quite frankly, is a miracle. It turned out to be a good adventure.

Pensamientos

Just some errant thoughts from a week in the field...

School uniforms. I have heard women say more times than I would like to relate that the reason they don't send their kids to school because they can't afford to buy them new uniforms and shoes every year. How many more kids would be educated through at least secondary school if they were allowed to wear whatever they have? Latin Americans in general seem to think that uniforms will add to the pride the children get out of their education or any other number of things, but I can't help but think that it's quite difficult to have pride in an education you never got just because your shirt was the wrong color.

Sombreros are not a lucrative business. Many of the women make sombreros by hand, which they later sell. But here's the thing: most of them are only breaking even, some of them are even losing money doing this. In most cases, they have been doing this since they were quite young, and their mothers before them... you get the idea. There's a lot of tradition and perhaps a bit of sentimentalism involved. But maybe when you don't have doors or enough clothes, there are things more important than tradition. Or maybe not, it would appear.

Childcare is a wonderful thing. Many women end up leaving businesses they've been developing for quite some time when they have another child because they can't both take care of an infant and work. It seems to me that if someone would start something like a child care center, even out of their own home, they could make some money off of it, and more women would be able to work. Everyone would be better off. I'm not sure why this doesn't happen. And while I'm at it, birth control is a wonderful thing too. I struggle to imagine that anyone actively chooses to have 15 children or 12. I met one woman last week who when asked about her bedroom situation answered thus:
"How many bedrooms do you have?"
"Two."
"And how are they divided?"
"The boys sleep in one room, the girls in the other."
"And where do you and your husband sleep?"
"He sleeps with the boys, I sleep with the girls." She followed this up with, "we can't afford to have any more kids" like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Also, it is cold. That is all.

Finally, I am leaving in just over two weeks now. That is hard to believe. I'm not sure I'll be ready.

¡Corrí!

This really has nothing to do with the work I'm doing here or even the fact that I'm in Paraguay at all, but the fact that it happened while here makes it fair game: for the first time in the three months since I injured my knee, I was able to go for a run the other day! Again in the spirit of honesty, I'm going to qualify that statement: according to my wonderful Physical Therapist, for the first week I'm allowed to run for 8 minutes every other day. Next week I get to run for a whole 12 minutes every other day. And then 15 minutes two days on, one day off the following week. You get the idea. Not much running really, but hey, you have to start somewhere, right? Right. And I'm pretty excited about it.

In other news, Winter has finally arrived here in Paraguay. It is cold. It was 37 degrees when I woke up this morning, and here's the fun part: neither the office nor our house are heated. Both have air conditioning, which I'm sure is actually more important considering how hot it gets here in summer, but heat feels pretty important too right about now. The solution? Lots of clothes and lots of tea. Mostly lots of tea. Paraguayans like tea almost as much as I do. Almost.

Blanco y Negro

Libros

Well, I've been working close to 50 hours each week, though some weeks more and others less. As it turns out though, when you don't have any homework or any other obligations upon leaving work other than sitting on the porch with your co-workers (which I do a fair amount of too--my life is hard, huh?), there's still a surprising amount of time left. And, if you know me at all, you can probably guess what a crippled me who still can't run or anything might do with all this free time when it's dark out (which it always is after work--due to this Southern-Hemisphere-Winter thing). Yep. I read. But this is somewhat problematic, since I'm hardly more than halfway through my trip and I've already finished all the books I brought with me, as well as several books other people brought with them. Oops. Miscalculated on that one.

So, I wandered into a bookstore the other day that I had seen while walking to a café to try to find a new book that I could read in Spanish. Well, nearly all of them were either translated Tom Clancy novels or the like, or....ready? In English. Which is not what I was looking for. Also, it was a used book store in which the books cost, on average, about $10. There's a used bookstore close to my home in Boulder in which I could have gotten similar books for $2. This is the one thing I've encountered thus far that actually costs more than it would in the States. When I asked around about this, everyone gave me the same reason: People just don't read around here, so in order to make any money at all, book stores need to charge high prices for the books they do sell. It's pretty basic economics, I guess, but I wonder if people would read more if the books were more affordable? Either way, it's a pretty unfortunate phenomenon.

Puesto de Salud

Last time I went out to do surveys with team Ikatu, Tim and I only had one to conduct, while a couple of others had two or three. So, when we were done with our one, we wandered around the town to see what we could learn. During our wanderings, we happened upon the health center, and decided to stop and ask some questions. It was a very informative experience.

The health center. (And Tim)

Some fun facts for you:
As you can see from the sign, the health care center is open 24 hours a day.
All services are free. But... (there are always "but"'s in the developing world)

There is never a doctor on hand. There are only nurses, and one medical student.
They never have enough medications for the month. For example, while they offer free vaccinations, they are currently out of Hepatitis.
They also offer free family planning, including birth control pills and condoms. Apparently they don't run out of these, like all other medicines. But that's only because no one takes them.
There are no emergency services. For those, you need to go to Asuncion. They have an ambulance that can take you there, but to use it, you have to pay for the gas in advance. If you can't, they won't take you.

Despite these downfalls, it seemed pretty clean and organized. It's a start.

Escuela Agrícola

Tuesday and Wednesday two other interns and I worked two consecutive 16 hour days to prepare for a meeting on Thursday with the Director that would decide the fate of Ikatu (it survived!). So, we were given Thursday and part of Friday off.  We decided to leave our computers and phones behind so we couldn't be reached and go out to the Escuela Agrícola (Agricultural School) which is run by the Fundacion, to see what that was all about.

It was great. There are 150 15-18 year old students who live there and take classes and work the farm. They rotate so they're in class one week and working on the farm the next. They learn about farming, obviously, but also about things such as hotel management (there is a hotel on the grounds), as well as the business side of running a farm. Many of their families own a good deal of land, the majority of which is not being put to use, so many of the kids hope to be able to begin using those as farms when they are finished with school.

Many students go on to University when they're done there, and the others apparently have no trouble at all finding jobs upon graduation, as they have such high levels of vocational training. It was amazing to see the way they used all natural pesticides and fertilizers, solar energy, and the like. The school is completely sustainable and self-sufficient.

We were just visiting, so we got to enjoy the experience without being interns, for a change. Here is some of what we saw:

Pig's noses. We saw pigs too, but they're not nearly as cute as their noses.

Coffee. They don't harvest it at the school, there was just a plant hanging out. Oh, South America.

Baby goats. Katherine wanted to take this one home.

And then I milked a cow. I know, you can't tell it's me, but it is!

Kiddos weeding. Fun, fun!

Stars. Lots of them. Scorpio is high in the sky in the Southern Hemisphere. Ah, to be away from the city!

Went for a little bike ride. Life is complete, now...

But in all seriousness, I may have found my calling in life. I could be happy as a farmer. Between a farm and stars and a bike ride all in one day...I dare you to try to wipe the smile off my face. It's all about the little things.

La Copa Mundial

I'm going to apologize in advance for all those I might offend with the following statement, but in the spirit of honesty: I don't care one bit about soccer. What I mean by that of course, is that while playing can be fun because it means I get to run around with some people I probably like, I'm not convinced that sitting on a couch watching other people run around with people they like is quite so much fun. But, South Americans do like them their soccer. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do," right??

One thing I do really like about the World Cup: it means a two hour break from work. Yes, I do like my job, but no matter how much one likes their job, I think breaks are always welcome now and then. During the Paraguay games, everyone from all of the Fundacion's offices gather together to watch and yell and eat traditional Paraguayan food. (And we are not the only ones. Committees won't hold meetings during the games. Schools decided that unlike during the last World Cup, they wouldn't actually close, they would just watch the games in school instead. You get the idea.) And let me tell you, it's crazy. Especially when Paraguay wins. Which they seem to be doing a good bit of, actually.

Some employees after the first game (Thanks for the picture, Manuel!) I think everyone in the country owns a jersey...almost.

Yesterday, Paraguay beat Japan. This is the farthest Paraguay has ever made it in the World Cup, and it's a big deal. When we went out into the field right after the game, everyone was driving around honking their horns waving flags out of the windows (or in some cases, they were doing the hanging out of the windows themselves...or riding around on the tops of their cars or any number of other things that are undoubtedly illegal in the States). And I'll be honest, despite the fact that I just claimed not to care about soccer at all, excitement can be contagious. Mob mentality, anyone? Sure thing.

Saturday, Paraguay has another game against none other than Spain. I should mention that with four people, Spain is very well represented in the intern house. This should be fun...

Una Historia: Laura Nuñez

I haven't lied in this blog. I haven't attempted to soften the truth of the things I've seen since I've been here. I have, however, mixed in stories of smiles and weekends and funny anecdotes to lighten things up. And even in the harder stories, I've been optimistic. I've been able to see that if I were to visit these women again five years from now, their lives would be better. That the work the Fundación does truly improves their lives. Today though, I'm not sure. Today, I'm going to break the facade and give you the brutal truth of one woman's life. I'm going to share my broken heart. Maybe this time it's more about me being able to organize my thoughts and take it all in, but maybe as I go you'll learn something too. Maybe some perspective, if nothing else.

This is Laura. She is part of Comite Nanopytyvomba.

Laura's house. There are no doors. The roof is incomplete.

She has no bathroom. She has to get her water from a neighbor because there is no running water in her own house. She cooks over an open wood fire. There are two roughly full sized beds all in one room that her six family members sleep in, somehow. 

These are the things I can show you, the facts that I can list. You can see for yourself that she is poor. But it is so much more than that. Because the physical things can be changed and improved. What I can't show you is that Laura is one of the most timid women I have ever met. When prompted, she admitted that she struggles to talk even within her own Comité, the place she is supposed to feel the most supported. When asked how she felt about the classes she has taken through the Fundación over things like communication and budgeting, she had no recollection of them. One of them was just last week, and I can attest to the fact that she was there.

She has four children, the oldest of which is in seventh grade this year. She's not sure if she'll be able to send her back to school next year, because her youngest has to start and she doesn't know if she can afford to have all four kids in school at the same time. With this said, Laura struggles with reading and writing herself, and knows nothing of even the most basic math. During the interview her five year old was drawing on a piece of paper that already had a drawing on it because there was no blank paper left, using the four colored pencils she had. I longed to give her my pen and a blank piece of paper from my notebook, but we can't do that because we're not here to give them things. We're only here to teach them how to get these things for themselves.

This is Ikatu, as it was meant to be. To measure poverty beyond its most basic, physical forms. Well, it's measured now. Laura is now a column in one of those excel documents I showed you a few posts ago. But all those red squares don't begin to explain it. Because while it's an important step in the process, the ultimate goal is not to know how poor she is, but to help her overcome poverty. But what can we teach a woman who can't learn? What can anyone offer a woman who is afraid to speak up about what she needs? A woman who has only a vague concept of what it is she needs to begin with. Can you imagine such a life?

But even these words feel empty. They don't encompass Laura, as she truly is. You would have to see that for yourself.

Es la primera vez que...

(It's the first time that...) 

...I ever opened a bottle of wine. Family, you failed me.

...the boys ever tried to light the grill without Osmar. I'm just surprised they weren't all crowded around it together. And then Osmar did show up to save the day. Thank goodness for Paraguayan boy scouts.

...Iker has ever been so happy. Well...maybe.

...I have no idea. But I'm willing to bet it's a first!

We had a cook-out last night. It was great fun and great food...that we didn't end up eating until midnight. Such is life in South America.

And today, nearly everyone is out on a hiking/rappelling/rock climbing/zip-lining adventure. So what am I doing writing a blog right now, you ask? Well, despite the fact that it's kind of nice that the house isn't swarming with people, I still only have one thing to say about the whole situation: damn knee.

Guaraní

Last week, one of the committees I went to visit was named Ñañopytyvomba. Now, try saying that out loud. Let me know how it goes.

That is Guaraní. That is one word of Guaraní. And no, I don't know what it means. Now imagine hearing a whole conversation of words like that. Good luck.

This is Comité Ñañopytyvomba, as well as jefe and me, and I'm willing to bet you can find us. We stand out. He, because, well, he's a man. And me, because I'm ginormously tall in this culture. Really really tall. And white, I suppose.

I was the only intern at this particular committee meeting, and therefore the only non-native Spanish speaker, and the only one who spoke no Guaraní. Before the meeting started, the women were having a very animated conversation which involved a lot of looking at me and laughing. Eventually Rodrigo (jefe) decided to fill me in. They were discussing whether I preferred blonde or brown-haired men. Frankly, I have a feeling there was more to it than that, but I'll never know for sure! But then I had to give them an answer. I tried to get away with telling them I didn't have a preference, but they weren't inclined to let me off so easily. Alas.

On a perhaps more culturally interesting note: Guaraní is very commonly spoken among the indigenous communities, and any who don’t live in big cities. Many speak both Spanish and Guaraní, and from what I understand, this is best for Paraguayans. Those who speak only Spanish can also be successful provided they live in a city. There are however, groups and communities in which only Guaraní is spoken. These groups are heavily discriminated against both socially and politically. I don't know much more than that, but it seems like this is generally true of indigenous communities around the world. Que lastima.

Resultados

We did our first round of the Ikatu survey last week, and have done a good bit of data analysis. This week we are going to administer the survey to the remaining 110 women.

Here are some of the results from the survey of the first 18 women. (My formatting is very imperfect; if there's an easier way to put things like Excel documents in a blog, feel free to fill me in! I think clicking on the images should make them bigger/more readable??)

But, in case my formatting is as bad as I'm afraid it is, a little information to help you get the idea more visually: each row is one of the 50 indicators, each column one of the interviewed women. Each green square means a woman who is at a level three of that particular indicator (out of poverty), a yellow square means a level two, and a red square a level three (extreme poverty). There's a surprising amount of green, no? This is a good thing.

However, a couple of notes. First, the committees that are being given this first round of surveys were chosen for the pilot program because they are the most successful committees. So, there are many committees that are worse off than they. Also, when we say a woman is at a level three, this means she is out of poverty. This does not mean she is not poor anymore, as you and I would define it. To give a more specific example, I have added a picture of Noemi's (one of the first women we interviewed) main room:

On the right of the photo with the curtains hanging over the doorways are the two bedrooms in the house. Noemi is at a level three for the "separate bedrooms" indicator. The requirements to be at a level three for this indicator are 1) no children sleeping in the same bedroom as the parents, and 2) adolescent children (12 and older) sleep in bedrooms seperate from the younger children. So Noemi and her partner (whom she has been with for 26 years but has never legally married, as is quite common) sleep in one of those bedrooms, and her three children, all under age 12, sleep in the other. The same can be said for some of the other indicators. For another example, to be at a level three for bathrooms, a home must have an enclosed (walls and a roof) bathroom that has a water cistern (basically just means the toilet can be flushed, as opposed to a hole in the ground.) And that is all. And that is all many of them have.

You might say we should redefine the levels of poverty if what you see in the above photo is considered out of poverty, but it's quite shocking actually the number of people who have so much less than Noemi. It is hard for you and I to imagine, I'm sure, but she truly is doing well. Relatively. Everything is relative. There is a certain perspective that one must adopt to avoid being perpetually heartbroken, I think. You need to convince yourself that this woman is lucky. And she is.