a roof

Earlier I had the pleasure of meeting a most delightful couple.
Warm, welcoming smiles. Though it was clear that there was pain and hardship and a struggle to keep the hope alive.
Good, kind, hardworking people.
A delightful couple who, due to circumstances beyond their control, find themselves calling this container home. 
They aren't feeling like they can see the light at the end of this tunnel. Who knows what they've weathered over the course of their lifetimes. But this is not what they'd hoped for after a decades of work. And this shouldn't be what they settle for. 
One could indeed argue that they at least have a roof over their heads. Better off than some. Better off, perhaps, than many.
But here on this island? How on earth can this be?

thankful

I had the pleasure of meeting this gentleman recently. 
The conversation with him typically begins like this:
"Good morning, sir. How are you doing today"
"Well, I'm good. Everything is alright. I'm thankful"
You can hear the smile through the phone, the joy in his voice. He truly is thankful for another day, for life, for health, for the love and support around him. There are a great many things that this lovely gentleman does not have. But he doesn't let that get in the way of how he feels each and every day.
Thankful. 

that old book cover ...

We're all pretty familiar with the old 'don't judge a book by its cover' line. It occurred to me that it's quite easy to drive around this little island and, even if some of the sights off the beaten track aren't close to perfect, decide that things are ok. That the house over there that may look somewhat run-down is still, in fact, an okay place to live. A roof over a head is a whole lot more than some have. 
Then I went inside. Inside one of those places that looks 'okay' from the outside. It is very definitely not okay at all. The first visit was just after it had rained for a few days. It was a challenge to find a genuinely dry patch of floor. Piles of wet towels here soaking up the water, puddles over there. The dreaded smell of damp. The mould covering the living room walls and ceiling. The feeling in my chest from breathing that in. The horror knowing that this mother and her little girl breathe this in constantly. From one space to the next, one sight after another, my heart sink further and further. That feeling of despair. That impossible feeling trying to imagine what this mother feels every single day. The ache in my heart listening to the mother describe the feelings of utter hopelessness and of just wanting to give up. 
All of this, hidden inside a cover that appears to be okay.  Never judge that book by its cover. There is simply no knowing what is on the inside. That inside hidden away from the eyes of all those who pass by. Never judge.

84 years

One delightful matriarch.
4 children. 
Special needs.
5 grandchildren.
Little money. Little support. Little food.
Optimism. Smiles. Hope for brighter days.
A well-worn Bible.
The vast majority of 84 years spent here. 
Raising a family.
Loving a family.
Accepting what is.
Smiling. Always a beautiful smile.

invisible

As I turn down yet another road that I've never traveled along before, on this tiny & incredibly wealthy island where I grew up, I am shocked by the neighbourhood that stands before me. Never mind that I'm shocked at what I see. I'm shocked and horrified that all this stands in plain sight, yet so well hidden. Just off the main road. Just behind a new apartment development. Just behind a business. Just behind a wall. Just behind some greenery. Just somewhere over there, hidden well enough to go largely unnoticed. Invisible.

life & joy

These beautiful kids are so full of life and joy and hope. 
They have never failed to greet me with anything other than a huge smile spread across their little faces. 
They are curious and interested. 
They ask all sorts of questions. 
They are a delight to chat with. 
Their home life isn't easy. Food is in short supply. 
But the smiles are always there.
And they never fail to add an extra dose of sunshine to my day.

the grandfather

I didn't have a grandfather living anywhere near me growing up, so my warm & fuzzy childhood memories of the grandfather are few. But the images that I do conjure up of grandfatherly love involve a chair that is warm and cozy, maybe near a window with a lovely view, or near a fireplace for those in colder climates. The images that I conjure up do not involve a chair placed under a crudely constructed shack, surrounded by piles of empty booze containers.

But that is exactly the grandfather that 4 beautiful and lively young children come home to. They seem too young to understand. Instead, they accept him and love him just as he is.

home

Home.
1 young single-mother.
3 very young children.
4 walls and a roof and not an awful lot more.
There are few options.
But there is caring. And kindness. And love.
And perhaps most importantly, there is hope.

a view

A spot in the shade. 

An optimistic attempt at an escape from the often oppressive heat. 

A view that isn't what most conjure up when they hear 'just another day in paradise'.

lonely

I spotted this at the end of an incredibly uplifting visit with a beautiful family.
The matriarch of this family has spent her entire lifetime struggling to keep a very simple roof over their heads. Struggling to be sure that there was food on the table. 
As the children grew, her struggle became their struggle. And may well become the struggle of her grandchildren.
They are a family with very little. 
But they are happy. And they are grateful.
And unlike this abandoned stuffed bunny, they are not lonely.
For they have hope, they have love, and most importantly, they have each other.

escape

It's cool. 
There's a breeze. 
It's calmer and quieter than it is inside the house.
So he chooses to spend his days outside in this make-shift dwelling. 
Watching his corner of the world go by, reminiscing about his days spent at sea exploring the Caribbean. Sharing the wisdom imparted on him by his grandparents. Wishing the world were a better place.

laundry

The laundry. It never actually takes very long to do, and really requires pretty much no elbow grease whatsoever. But it never ends. It is always there. As quickly as the clean stuff gets put away, the hampers are refilled with dirty stuff. Ugh. But then, I try to remember that I am actually extremely fortunate to have all this laundry to do. To have a family that needs caring for. To have a washer and dryer that makes the chore incredibly simple and speedy. Unlike so many in our community. 
This load of laundry soaking in a pink tub was yet another sobering scene in my week. Somewhere just out of the frame is a scrub brush. Now that way of getting clothes clean takes elbow grease! There are also long laundry lines hanging around the house. No convenience of a dryer here. A family to love and care for, but the hard way. I'm thinking that my feelings of never-ending don't quite compare to the feelings of never-ending in this house.
It is frustrating that so often it takes seeing what others do not have to remember just how fortunate so many of us are. Even when it comes to the never-ending chore of laundry.

grateful

Having to cook yet another meal doesn't sit especially high at the top of the list of things I love to do. Sure, cooking is fun & I enjoy it ... but not when it's a matter of battling against a clock that doesn't seem to have enough hours on it and the kids just need to eat.
This pot of very watery soup, particularly low on veggies or anything else especially nutritious, was a sobering reminder of just how incredibly fortunate I am to have a kitchen full of healthy & nutritious food to cook with. No matter how little time there is to prepare a meal, or how tired I am at the end of another long day, I am so grateful to have a variety of nutritious foods to choose from.
We should be doing all we can to see that everyone is so fortunate.

home ... soon

The purple colored structure was home. Though is wasn't more than 4 walls and a roof. It housed a young mother and her 3 very young children. A young mother who likely feels that every day is a struggle to see that her children do not go to bed hungry.
The trailer is where she will soon make a new home for her young family. 
It was given to her by the government, to help her. Though it was far from habitable when it was handed over. 
It has been many months of work, at every single turn an unexpected and unpleasant surprise. But with the hard work of an incredibly kind and dedicated man, the trailer is looking more and more fit to live in. 
More and more like the home it will soon be. 

a glimpse

Today I had an appointment to take a few photos of a little girl. I was waiting at her house when she arrived home from school. 
She is beautiful and chatty and happy and smart and loving. She wants to be a doctor when she grows up. She says writing is hard work. Math is good. And she loves the dancing that happens at school on Fridays.
We took the photos and her smile was radiant.
This is a glimpse of her neighborhood. 
A part of town that I wasn't all that familiar with until recently.
A part of town that a whole lot of people never see for themselves. Ever.