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Do you know what it is to be hungry? Not to be hungry for your dad’s famous juicy steak grilled to perfection on a lazy summer afternoon, or for grandma’s signature raisin cookies made with love and care, or for a delicious ice-cream cone with sprinkles and chocolate syrup from the corner dairy stand, but to be hungry for anything at all. Have you ever had the feeling of emptiness in your stomach because you did not eat yesterday, have not eaten today, and do not know when you would be blessed with the next meal? Have you ever felt the piercing pain as the digestive juices ruin the stomach lining because there is no food to digest?[/FONT][/SIZE]
I have never confronted this issue personally, and only my wild imagination helps me understand hunger and poverty. Hopefully you are another blessed one like me. Just imagine, a little child, born into the world of poverty, hunger, and disease, who lives right next to you, on the same planet and struggles to survive in the hope for a piece of rotten fruit, potato peels, or molded bread…
The issue of poverty and hunger touches and concerns me deeply; especially after an episode that happened years back that I will never forget. Even though it happened so long ago, I remember it like it was yesterday.
My mother and me lived in Russia at that time. I was seven years old. A happy child, blissfully ignorant of all the injustice of the world, I smiled and went on with my life. My mom took me to the farmer’s market one day to buy some fresh meat and produce. I just had breakfast or pretended to have one just to please my grandmother. It was a daily routine for her to make me eat and no mealtime story could help her.
I remember that day I stubbornly sat at the plate with thin buttery pancakes and homemade strawberry jam and waited for my grandma to turn away. A brief moment, when my mom walked in and distracted my grandmother, was enough for me to repeat a well-practiced trick and give the food to the omnivorous dog, readily waiting for the treat under the table. Everyone was happy: my grandmother fulfilled her daily routine of child feeding; the dog devoured the unscheduled treat; I was finally allowed to leave the table.
Freedom! Why at all do people have to lose their time eating when there are so many other important things in life to do? Finally I could go with my mom, we would first go to the farmers market and then to a store to get a new set of chairs for a living room of the dollhouse my mom made for me. My friends would come and we would play dolls again. No trouble seemed to cloud the idle blue skies of my happy childhood.
Having completed the grocery list, we stopped at an ice-cream stand. A girl of about my age, squeezed in between us, pulled my mom by the skirt and whispered: “Please give me some money, just a little bit…”
I peered at the girl not understanding what was going on. Why was she asking my mother for money? The girl was small and thin, dirty arms and legs were hardly covered by the dress that was supposed to be white but never had a luxury of being washed since day one. Its indefinite style made me think that it was made out of a pillowcase. Fear fogged her watery black eyes, pleadingly gazing at my mother. She seemed so afraid of my mother that she was ready to run away any second. Her strangely pale skin, as if hot July sun did not want to lay the rays on her and give her any lively tan, could not hide a few fading bruises.
My mom put the grocery bags down and looked at the little beggar, “Are you hungry?”
The girl sobbed, lowered her eyes, and nodded.
“Where is your mommy?”
“She is sleeping.”
“Did she give you any breakfast today?”
“She came home drunk again. She wasn’t home for four days or maybe six, and there is nothing to eat at home. I just wanted to buy some bread for myself and for my brother. He is waiting for me at home; he is little and cries all the time.”
A weird dry cough ripped my mom’s chest; she squatted down and pulled out a plastic bag from her purse. Quickly, as if she did not want to be late with her help, she started to fill it with food. Soon, a large loaf of bread, ham, a pack of hot-dogs, and some fruits and vegetables were neatly placed into the plastic bag. She gave it to the girl and told her, “Now run back to your brother.”
The girl grabbed the bag not believing her luck and rushed away, hunched under the weight of unexpected treasures. She turned back a few times making sure my mom wasn’t following her with an intent to take it all back. My mom looked at her little figure an sighed, “Poor thing.” Then she looked at me and forced a smile to her face, “Sorry, sweetie, we’ll get the furniture for your dollhouse next week, we have to go back and buy some more food for us now.”
When we came home, Grammy waited for me with a steaming plate of soup. I sat down, still thinking about the girl and then asked impulsively, “Mom, does that girl have soup for her lunch?”
“I don’t think so, honey, not everyone is as lucky as you are. Oh, God, help that child.”
Tears ran down my cheeks, dropping right into my plate and diluting the pretty golden rounds of broth fat. I grabbed the spoon and started to eat, not paying attention to the stinging sensation in my mouth as the soup burned my tongue. I took mouthful of soup, meaning to eat not just for myself but also for that girl and her brother, and for every child who was hungry and deprived of something so simple, that was so underestimated by me.
I am now in America, a beautiful, rich country. Resources are enormous; wheat fields are spread across the country; herds of cattle graze in the meadows, providing healthy meat and dairy products for the people; and food factories operate round the clock to please the most exquisite tastes of the consumers. Public assistance system works hard to help the needy ones to satisfy their basic nutritional needs. Looking at all that, you would think that it is absolutely impossible to die of starvation, but people still do.
Outside the abundant lands there are places on earth that are like deserts of starvation and disease. My dear reader, please do not turn the television off when a commercial about donating to the people of Africa and other needy countries comes on. Saying that it is too hard for you to watch what these people go through is not an excuse. If your soul is not blind, you would see pain in the eyes of the children who cannot even cry because their tear are gone; who suffer from starvation; and for whom today’s day may be the last day of their lives. They look at you with hope. I have an idea of how you could help.
I’m offering something simple that schools and their students could do. One does not have to be rich or make any money at all. How about give up a lunch at least one day during a week? Let us bring a basic lunch to school: a simple sandwich, yesterday’s dinner leftover, or something simple yet nutritious, not to enjoy the meal but to appreciate the very fact of not being hungry. Let us collect the money our parents give us for lunch that day and send it to the fund aiming at fighting the world poverty. Every little donation counts like every drop in the ocean. If one school does it, the little drop that one contributes adds to the drop that the other gives, collecting one big pond. If all schools in one district follow the example, maybe it would be enough to feed one child for a week! If all schools join in the fight against world poverty, it will teach great values to the kids, bond them, and it will help one more person to survive. To give a gift of life and become more aware of the world issues, what can be better than that?
Many people are aware of the United Nations' Millennium Development Goal Number One to halve the share of poor and hungry people. Politicians and public organizations are a doing big and great job. We, children, minors, students, can help too. Let us help bring awareness to this issue, and unite the people from all over the world in the battle against poverty and hunger. So, who’s with me?
Do you know what it is to be hungry? Not to be hungry for your dad’s famous juicy steak grilled to perfection on a lazy summer afternoon, or for grandma’s signature raisin cookies made with love and care, or for a delicious ice-cream cone with sprinkles and chocolate syrup from the corner dairy stand, but to be hungry for anything at all. Have you ever had the feeling of emptiness in your stomach because you did not eat yesterday, have not eaten today, and do not know when you would be blessed with the next meal? Have you ever felt the piercing pain as the digestive juices ruin the stomach lining because there is no food to digest?[/FONT][/SIZE]
I have never confronted this issue personally, and only my wild imagination helps me understand hunger and poverty. Hopefully you are another blessed one like me. Just imagine, a little child, born into the world of poverty, hunger, and disease, who lives right next to you, on the same planet and struggles to survive in the hope for a piece of rotten fruit, potato peels, or molded bread…
The issue of poverty and hunger touches and concerns me deeply; especially after an episode that happened years back that I will never forget. Even though it happened so long ago, I remember it like it was yesterday.
My mother and me lived in Russia at that time. I was seven years old. A happy child, blissfully ignorant of all the injustice of the world, I smiled and went on with my life. My mom took me to the farmer’s market one day to buy some fresh meat and produce. I just had breakfast or pretended to have one just to please my grandmother. It was a daily routine for her to make me eat and no mealtime story could help her.
I remember that day I stubbornly sat at the plate with thin buttery pancakes and homemade strawberry jam and waited for my grandma to turn away. A brief moment, when my mom walked in and distracted my grandmother, was enough for me to repeat a well-practiced trick and give the food to the omnivorous dog, readily waiting for the treat under the table. Everyone was happy: my grandmother fulfilled her daily routine of child feeding; the dog devoured the unscheduled treat; I was finally allowed to leave the table.
Freedom! Why at all do people have to lose their time eating when there are so many other important things in life to do? Finally I could go with my mom, we would first go to the farmers market and then to a store to get a new set of chairs for a living room of the dollhouse my mom made for me. My friends would come and we would play dolls again. No trouble seemed to cloud the idle blue skies of my happy childhood.
Having completed the grocery list, we stopped at an ice-cream stand. A girl of about my age, squeezed in between us, pulled my mom by the skirt and whispered: “Please give me some money, just a little bit…”
I peered at the girl not understanding what was going on. Why was she asking my mother for money? The girl was small and thin, dirty arms and legs were hardly covered by the dress that was supposed to be white but never had a luxury of being washed since day one. Its indefinite style made me think that it was made out of a pillowcase. Fear fogged her watery black eyes, pleadingly gazing at my mother. She seemed so afraid of my mother that she was ready to run away any second. Her strangely pale skin, as if hot July sun did not want to lay the rays on her and give her any lively tan, could not hide a few fading bruises.
My mom put the grocery bags down and looked at the little beggar, “Are you hungry?”
The girl sobbed, lowered her eyes, and nodded.
“Where is your mommy?”
“She is sleeping.”
“Did she give you any breakfast today?”
“She came home drunk again. She wasn’t home for four days or maybe six, and there is nothing to eat at home. I just wanted to buy some bread for myself and for my brother. He is waiting for me at home; he is little and cries all the time.”
A weird dry cough ripped my mom’s chest; she squatted down and pulled out a plastic bag from her purse. Quickly, as if she did not want to be late with her help, she started to fill it with food. Soon, a large loaf of bread, ham, a pack of hot-dogs, and some fruits and vegetables were neatly placed into the plastic bag. She gave it to the girl and told her, “Now run back to your brother.”
The girl grabbed the bag not believing her luck and rushed away, hunched under the weight of unexpected treasures. She turned back a few times making sure my mom wasn’t following her with an intent to take it all back. My mom looked at her little figure an sighed, “Poor thing.” Then she looked at me and forced a smile to her face, “Sorry, sweetie, we’ll get the furniture for your dollhouse next week, we have to go back and buy some more food for us now.”
When we came home, Grammy waited for me with a steaming plate of soup. I sat down, still thinking about the girl and then asked impulsively, “Mom, does that girl have soup for her lunch?”
“I don’t think so, honey, not everyone is as lucky as you are. Oh, God, help that child.”
Tears ran down my cheeks, dropping right into my plate and diluting the pretty golden rounds of broth fat. I grabbed the spoon and started to eat, not paying attention to the stinging sensation in my mouth as the soup burned my tongue. I took mouthful of soup, meaning to eat not just for myself but also for that girl and her brother, and for every child who was hungry and deprived of something so simple, that was so underestimated by me.
I am now in America, a beautiful, rich country. Resources are enormous; wheat fields are spread across the country; herds of cattle graze in the meadows, providing healthy meat and dairy products for the people; and food factories operate round the clock to please the most exquisite tastes of the consumers. Public assistance system works hard to help the needy ones to satisfy their basic nutritional needs. Looking at all that, you would think that it is absolutely impossible to die of starvation, but people still do.
Outside the abundant lands there are places on earth that are like deserts of starvation and disease. My dear reader, please do not turn the television off when a commercial about donating to the people of Africa and other needy countries comes on. Saying that it is too hard for you to watch what these people go through is not an excuse. If your soul is not blind, you would see pain in the eyes of the children who cannot even cry because their tear are gone; who suffer from starvation; and for whom today’s day may be the last day of their lives. They look at you with hope. I have an idea of how you could help.
I’m offering something simple that schools and their students could do. One does not have to be rich or make any money at all. How about give up a lunch at least one day during a week? Let us bring a basic lunch to school: a simple sandwich, yesterday’s dinner leftover, or something simple yet nutritious, not to enjoy the meal but to appreciate the very fact of not being hungry. Let us collect the money our parents give us for lunch that day and send it to the fund aiming at fighting the world poverty. Every little donation counts like every drop in the ocean. If one school does it, the little drop that one contributes adds to the drop that the other gives, collecting one big pond. If all schools in one district follow the example, maybe it would be enough to feed one child for a week! If all schools join in the fight against world poverty, it will teach great values to the kids, bond them, and it will help one more person to survive. To give a gift of life and become more aware of the world issues, what can be better than that?
Many people are aware of the United Nations' Millennium Development Goal Number One to halve the share of poor and hungry people. Politicians and public organizations are a doing big and great job. We, children, minors, students, can help too. Let us help bring awareness to this issue, and unite the people from all over the world in the battle against poverty and hunger. So, who’s with me?
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