Where you are born and what you are born into

Yesterday presented an array of emotions as we continued preparing for our departure from Guadalajara. In the morning we borrowed a truck, loaded it up and drove the main highway out of Guadalajara until it turned to a beat-up dirt road that spits out at the brickyards or Los Hornos (The Ovens). I hated that all I could think as we drove into the area was that I felt lucky I could leave, and that I was sorry for those who had to stay. Because it is the rainy season, this shanty town now sits in a sea of puddles and mud. Feral dogs and cats run rampant. At one point I saw a pitpull with his fur torn from his throat exposing raw flesh. The people that we were going to visit are now on an island between muddy streams and when we parked as close as we could get to their houses without getting stuck in the mud, they navigated over between puddles and swarmed the truck. It was good to see people and it felt so wonderful to give them our towels, clothes, dishes, shoes and bicycle. But I felt sick as we left again, knowing that those items would soon grow old and dirty, or break, and they would still be stuck living in a place where there is little hope for betterment.