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.