Gypsies in Thailand... part 3

Each day in Bangkok was a kind of decompression from the stress of western society.
We found ourselves letting down and relaxing more and more.  We slipped into a comfortable
routine soon after arriving.  We had decided to stay in one central location for our stay,
rather than trying to go everywhere and do everything as many travellers are encouraged to do.
The simplicity of unpacking once and feeling like you had a home base was preferable to rushing
from place to place.  Apart from our frequent dental appointments, we moved through our days
without set agendas.  We outfitted ourselves with a guidebook and a couple of maps and ventured
off in search of all that is unique to Bangkok.   But mostly we simply lived there!
We absorbed the smells and sounds and sights.  We became attuned to the rhythms of the city.
One of the first things we noticed was our way of moving through our surroundings.
It was a vivid caption of how we were moving through life.  By comparison, we moved fast,
forcefully and in a hard and defensive way compared to the Thais languid, easy pace.
By contrast, we seemed always be in a rush even when trying to relax!
It was an adventure in itself just to slow down and try to match the pace of life that flowed
around us.
When you slow down you feel your body in a whole different way.
In fact, you might discover that you haven't been feeling your body very much at all in our
fast-paced society.  You begin to breathe a little and ease up on the gas pedal.
Everyone around you is relaxed and reasonable.  The very atmosphere begins to pull you
into a better space.  People tend to smile more...even at strangers.  It is part of their gentle lifestyle.
You slowly begin to soften and become like them.

Thai massage is likened to "a thousand gentle waves'.  Thai culture is very much like that, as well.
It washes away layers of stress, hardness and separation.  It brings with it a felt sense of repose
and good will toward all.   Often the hardest part of coming back to the states is that people do not
smile or even look at one another.  When they do, it is often carefully measured and superficiall
It was a good experience to let down and be our naturally soft and sweet selves.

There were so many kindnesses shown to us along the way....countless gestures and smiles.
It was so amazing to be treated so well everywhere we went...

Some people are tempted to unthinkingly take this lovely treatment as their due,
rather than valuing it and learning to emulate this better way....to pay it forward to others.

It has been my experience that one exposure to Thai culture sparks a life-altering process of change.
if you are open to it.   It gentles the soul and eases the mind.
It brings you back home to your best self on a very deep level.
All that is best in you is unearthed, dusted off thoroughly and affirmed.
It is a return to innocence and a chance to begin anew....  

The Gypsies in Thailand continued...

We were in a state of high excitement in the months leading up to our departure.
Heading to Thailand to get our teeth fixed was such a lark, but it also made good economic sense.

It made sense on another level, as well.
Experiencing Thai culture is a valuable part of the journey.
Thailand is justifiably called  'the land of smiles'.
There is an air of gentleness that pervades the land.
The lifestyle is modest and easy-going.  Everything is reasonably priced.
It is an easy place to be...  Thai people are patient, cheerful and fun to be with.
Their values are less materialistic and they are far less stressed than we are.

Life is meant to be enjoyed, but struggling financially within our present greedy system
robs people of much of that enjoyment.  People feel increasingly helpless and enslaved
to a cold system that values personal wealth over the common good, especially in the
realm of health care.
I was tired of living by those standards.  I have my own ethics and standards.
I prefer a kindler, gentler way, a more generous and heart-felt way....the Thai way.

In upholding one's ideals, sometimes you have to vote with your feet!
It would be good to go back to that 'home of my heart'.

                                         ***

As our plans were finalized, we had excellent communication with our clinic and guesthouse.
As part of their service it is customary to help with airport transfer and your hotel room.
We would be landing late in the evening after some 30 hrs. enroute, so we welcomed a ride
to a comfortable small hotel for the first 2 nights.  That would give us time to rest, acclimate
and find our way around our new neighborhood- the place we would call home for the next 2 weeks.

Amazingly, everything we needed was within walking distance of our guesthouse.
Our dental clinic, a hospital, and Thai massage were all within an easy mile.
Walking around, discovering everything was a delight!
We were staying in an area that is culturally quite diverse.
Within a few minutes walk, we found the African and Arab quarters, Korean and Japanese
neighborhoods, old canals lined with teak houses on stilts and ornate temples were
jostling for space with modern malls and other western trappings.

Bangkok is a visual feast...a gastronomic one, as well!
We wound our way through streets lined with food carts laden with delicious foods, fruits and veggies, many of which we had never seen before. The aromas were so amazing!
Really good food was cheap and plentiful around the clock.
Tiny shops filled every available space.  Pop-up markets!
Here was a whole nation of small entrepreneurs setting up and breaking down every day.
Melissa, who sets up booths at art fairs, was enchanted!  They made it look so easy!
One of the markets we discovered was set aside for deaf people.  They were a cheery bunch,
signing away and clowning with each other.  Making the most of life!

There were hi-rises interspersed with old traditional neighborhoods where chickens still wandered
the dusty lanes.  Everything was a patchwork of old and new, garish and sleek, homely and modern.
The streets were crowded with bright nail polish hued taxis, tuk tuks, motorbike taxis, buses and cars. Traffic jams in Bangkok are legendary. We were constantly surprised at how amiably traffic flowed ...
no one got impatient or honked their horns. People calmly made way for others to get where
they were going safely.  The contrast is amazing!  This is the way to live!

The feeling of freedom and good will that pervades Thai culture was heartwarming  to our gypsy souls.  Joking, good-natured haggling over prices, smiles all around, easy-going days are the norm here.
It was so good to shed the stress of western life and to immerse ourselves in the Land of Smiles.
It always feels like a homecoming to me.

People watching is as varied as it gets. Thais mingled with Europeans, Americans, Aussies
and Africans in their variety of native dress.
Arabs, Chinese, Indonesians and Indians were living side by side in an array of cultural
and religious styles.  It is dizzying for a first-time visitor.
Somehow, Bangkok manages to encompass and make space for them all.

One morning we wandered the Arab quarter and had breakfast in a Yemeni restaurant.
The Muslim owner quickly surmised that we were Americans and told us that they had all been praying
for us as Hurricane Sandy approached our shores.  He addressed us as 'my sister' and 'my daughter'.  
Arab women were stand-offish as a rule, but not always.  How we need to break down these
judgmental stereotypes...

We walked miles each day between dental appointments, squeezing in as much sightseeing as possible. Every other evening was reserved for a good 2 hour Thai massage.  When we were too
bushed to trudge on, we hailed taxis or tuk tuks for a dollar or two... a luxury that could not be
easily afforded back home.  Eventually we mastered the wonderful skytrain and subway systems,
as well.  It was all quite fun!   Lots of exhaust fumes, though!

So...on to the dental part of the story!  We had appointments at the same time for our initial
check-ups.  After a gentle and thorough exam, a treatment proposal was given to us.
Prices were plainly marked and various options were listed.  Less expensive crowns, mid-price and higher priced were discussed, for instance.  We had time to ask questions, confer and make decisions.

A deep planing and cleaning would be handled in one visit, not 4, as is done in the US clinics.
Melissa was advised that her gums and teeth were not as horrible as she had been told.
Her situation was straightforward and easily remedied without expensive add-on treatments.
We were amazed!
Cleanings such as these can be painful and nerve-wracking...but not in Thailand!
The dentists and staff were so gentle, non-alarmist and supportive that we actually found ourselves
falling asleep during the cleaning,  Our people are so rough in comparison...and rushed.
Appointments followed efficiently day by day with some allowance for our holiday schedules as well.
We were greeted warmly every day by the smiling staff.  'Hello Miss Robinson!  How are you today, Melissa?!"   They made us feel like family.  The clinic was one of our 'homes away from home.' 

We never imagined looking forward to going to the dentist, but just that's what happened!
They took so much time with us, making sure that every detail was perfect.
They were so delicate, gentle and patient.
It was dental heaven!

The prices were just as friendly!  Melissa's treatment and prices are listed below:

Thailand                                                          US______________________
$53.21 -  initial visit with 4 x-rays                 Initial visit  $120
$263.82 - 5 cavities (7 surfaces)                                        $936 
$260.56 - Root Planing for 4 quadrants                             $1186 ($800 uninsured price)     $577.59   total                                                          $2242 ($1856)  total
to be continued...

The Gypsy Ashram goes to Thailand

Well...in a completely different vein...

A few months ago, one of our gypsies called me about some problems she was having
with her teeth. She is a young, uninsured, hard-working artisan struggling to build her business.
Like many young people starting out, managing a roof over your head, finding a reliable car
(and mechanic), buying insurance and all the other necessities of American life can be quite a juggling act. Paying off college loans, travelling to art shows, buying supplies and equipment
all make for a lean existence at times. One must also pay for the occasional dance class
and splurge on something beautiful to wear now and then, too.

She had called several dentist offices for quotes and recommendations for care over a 2 year period.
The estimates she received were open-ended, higher than what she could afford, and to make matters worse, she was pressured into all sorts of expensive add-ons wherever she went. She was given to understand that her teeth and gums were so bad that she needed to commit immediately to lengthy
and high-priced treatments. In the interim, she was surprised to find that no one would even clean her teeth or fill her cavities until she had her 'disease' treated. Prices continued to rise as did her fears.
Each attempt left her more demoralized and with feelings of being misled and manipulated.
It was time to do something! I suggested dental tourism.
I had been putting off dental care myself for a few years. I could afford it with some effort,
but I felt that prices were exploitatively high and I just didn't want to participate in our system.
I have dental assistant friends who have shared some inside information about the marketing courses
they are forced to take. Sadly, their jobs have become as much about aggressively up-selling unnecessary services as caring for patients. The tactics that are employed are blatantly manipulative.

Going somewhere like Hungary, India or Thailand where prices are far lower, without sacrificing quality seemed like a good idea. As we talked things over, Thailand was the favored choice for both of us.
We could get our dental work done, receive a lot of great Thai massage and see the world through the microcosm that is Bangkok.
The next day a woman told me that her elderly mother was quoted $1650 for a crown at the dentist
in my neighborhood.  Heavens!!  Things were worse than I'd thought. That sealed the deal for me!

I searched flight fares, dental quotes from Bangkok clinics and sought out an old favorite guest house
and Thai massage school. Wonderfully, I found that for the price of that crown that we could pay for
a return flight, our guesthouse, meals and still have a little left over for affordable dental work!
I also felt that the Thai dentists would take more time and be far more gentle and patient oriented.

Without any further thought, we chose a clinic, booked our flights and then competed with each other
to pack the smallest bag. Gypsies travel light and on short notice, after all! We are not bound by cultural mandates and are free to make our own way in the world.

to be continued...

Raymond Buckland ... continued

Raymond Buckland is a sprightly 78 year old gentleman with a wide ranging reputation
as a metaphysical researcher.  His interest was sparked early in life when he came across
a relative's library of spiritualist writings. He was hooked and it became his lifelong passion
to learn, experience and share what he discovered with generations to follow.

His father, also a writer, was a king of his gypsy clan.  He married an English woman
and became one of the first 'settled gypsies' in England.  That caused no small friction
with his Roma mother and other female relatives. The new bride suffered rejection
and harsh treatment at their hands.  He knows what it is to have a foot in both worlds...
that of the Roma and that of the gadje (pronounced 'gowjoes') or non-Roma.
He gew up in an age of transition within their communities.
Young Raymond published his 1st article at 12, but he was 35 when his 1st book was published.
Since then he has written over 50 books on a wide variety of  metaphysical topics.

His first lecture provided an overview of Roma history with a few new insights that were
clearly the views of an insider rather than a cultural anthropologist. Along the way, he made
few apologies for some of the questionable attitudes and activities of his people, but he was able
to lend a humorous and compassionate understanding to the picture.
We were treated to a great slideshow of early photographs of the travelling Roma.
Mr. Buckley described the lifestyle, customs, beliefs of his people.  He also gave a good history
of the vardos or wagons with all their various styles. For those of you who need a vardo 'fix'
now and then, this is my favorite site..  http://gypsywaggons.co.uk/varsuk.htm 

In the later lectures, we practiced various forms of scrying, meditating, use of crystals
and various other methods of developing communication with your higher self and with
the non-visible world.   His experience is vast and covered not only Roma techniques,
but the various methods of spiritualism.  He told stories about how it took him 50 years to
make contact with his own father after his passing.
His friend, famed psychic John Edwards worked hard for 3 years to reach his own mother.
It's not often that you get to talk with someone so honest and knowledgeable about these topics.

In passing on his experience, one of the most memorable things he shared was that
"Spirit speaks first".   What he means by this is that as we notice our thoughts and impressions
throughout the day or when we ask for help, the first lightning-fast, fleeting impression
comes from spirit.  All subsequent thoughts are coming on a slower vibration.
Information from the spiritual realm is characterized by its swift and subtle quality.
Meditation helps us slow down, clear the mind and listen.
With time, we learn to discern these messages.

In all, Raymond Buckland was an inspiring guide and fascinating personality.
He was not a stereotypical Roma by any means, but he is a good historian
and a living link to his heritage.
We were grateful for all he shared with us...

Raymond Buckland, an English Gypsy

Back in 2000, I was living on a houseboat on Lake Lanier near Atlanta, Georgia.
That is a story in itself which will be shared in time, but for now, let me say that
it was a perfect gypsy set-up.
It was cheap, easy and when you were ready for a change, all you had to do
was turn the key in the ignition, cast the lines and go wondering on the water.
When you found an island with a sandy bank, you would just beach your boat there,
tie off and live till your supplies ran out.  Sleeping under the stars, revelling in the simplicity
of life.  No electricity, complete freedom, back to basics.
My old houseboat afforded just enough shelter, but it was spare enough to leave you living
close to the elements.   It was heaven!

A houseboat existence also left me with a bit of a home base...not too much, not too little,
from which to travel.
That summer, I indulged a long-held fascination with Spiritualism and it's roots.
Spiritualism is the belief in the continuation of life after the transition we call death.
150 or so years ago, it was a movement that swept America and England.
What remains of it in today's America are 3 communities: Camp Chesterfield in Indiana,
Lily Dale in upstate New York and Cassadaga near Daytona, Florida.
I decided to go visiting, one by one.
What I found was a quirky and wonderful assembling of psychice, mediums, healers
and investigators.  The camps are visited by all manner of interesting folk, as well.
I went as a bit of a curious and somewhat skeptical observer.
Having had plenty of unusual expereinces myself over the years, I knew that these things
are real and I wanted to spend  a little time among these people.  In particular, I wanted
to interview some of the older folks who had been born with gifts of healing.
My plan was to go to Camp Chesterfield and spend 3 weeks-3 months there,
observing and writing.
That was 12 years ago.  I am still here.  An unexpected chapter of my life unfolded here
and my beautiful boat days came to a close...
All good Gypsies must stay flexible, lightly attached and open to the call of Spirit.

There are what is called 'settled Gypies' and roaming ones.
I find myself somewhere in the middle...and it works pretty well.

So back to the story... Raymond Buckland was coming to give a series of lectures at
Camp Chesterfield and I was excited to meet this half-Roma son of a Gypsy king,
prolific writer,  and avid psychic investigator and teacher. 

to be continued...

Serbia and the Gypsies continued....the Aftermath

 At this camp, I witnessed the most inhumane living conditions of the Roma 1^st hand. 

I was so incensed and upset by what I experienced that I could suddenly think of nothing else. 
I had come looking for answers and I was choking on what I found.   
But there was no doubting  that I needed to witness this for myself. 
The scene burned its way into my psyche, branding it forever. 
My driver tried to take some of the edge off the experience by taking me on a long drive.
He turned off his meter and we drove slowly back to the old city.  He started to share many things. 
"I know where a Gypsy Museum is.  Would you like to see it?" 
"I remember an interview with a Roma teacher...I think I can find his place."  
We spent several hours together finding the places and people.   
It was a valuable experience in many ways.
He opened up and we began to talk in earnest about the situation from various perspectives. 

"In the time of socialism, everyone had a job, an apartment,  education and security. 
Despite differences, we lived as equals.  When Tito died and our system crumbled, factories closed,
the economic changes were too much, the war took place and we lost everything.  Society is
still struggling for even basic necessities.  I myself am 40 years old, and I still live with my parents.
I am on a long waiting list for an apartment.  My girlfriend and I cannot marry and raise a family
as a result.  I work 2 jobs, long hours to make ends meet.  This is the case for many Serbians now.
If apartments were given to Roma ahead of Serbians, there would be turmoil.  We are all waiting.
This camp has been here for 2 years.  Most of these people are recent arrivals from Kosovo,
hoping to find a more hopeful situation in Serbia..  They would be at the bottom of the list for housing.  They might wait many years for help."  

The situation was complex and difficult, yet this was insufferable.  I had only a few hours left
before flying back to the States.   I agonized over what could/should be done.  My first thought
was to find a way back to the camp and give my extra cash, but there was no way to make that happen. 
A part of me wondered if it would be received as an insult.  
I was deeply moved by their plight, but I couldn't find my place in the situation. 
Everything that I tried to do was blocked on some level.  I would have to wait for guidance. 

When guidance came, it was not what I expected.
I wanted to DO something...and quickly.  Instead  I was told to do nothing but pray...for now...
and to pray hard!    I was reminded that that is the most powerful act.       
I put all my heart and mind into it.  I prayed that the government would no longer turn a blind eye
and that it would move these people to shelter that was decent and safe. 
I thought of nothing else for many days. 
I returned home, a bit heavy-hearted, but with a sense of force and determination.
Prayer has many times turned impossible situations around. 
I went back home and back to work with their situation pressing in my mind and heart.

Just 7 days later, as I was scanning for news articles on the recent International Roma Day.
I stumbled on camera footage of the very same camp! 
On that day, the camp made headlines around the world.
It was being dismantled by order of the mayor of Belgrade!    Incredible!

People were being  registered for services of all kinds and they were being moved into various kinds of housing and otherwise resettled in safer conditions.   I also found that there were many NGOs, media and welfare organizations on the scene, monitoring the situation.    Though there was some criticism of decisions made by the government, the evidence bore out that the Roma were given new housing in many cases and that they were well-treated.  They were given money to live as well as funds to rebuild homes in their old villages. Families remained intact and were carried by buses.to their new homes.   Army trucks and personnel came to load their goods and transport them to new locations.
They still faced struggle for sure, but at least this burning garbage dump was behind them.

To all my readers, thanks for your patience these last months.  This was a difficult chapter to write.
There is still much to understand and learn...

warm salutations to all the good Gypsies...

next. post.:.a weekend with Roma author, Ray Buckland... and.meeting some unexpected Gypsies!

Belgrade and the Gypsies

One of the aims of this visit was to find the Roma enclaves in and around Belgrade.
I had done a little homework prior to the trip.  News reports had turned up 3 settlements
on the outskirts of the city, but I knew there had to be others.
According to some reports Roma make up 7%  of Serbia's population.
Approximately 500,000 people in all.
I would have to rely on the locals for more information.

One of the things I like to do when travelling through a city like Belgrade is to take
local busses or trolleys to the end of each line...to the outskirts of each suburb.
That is often where the Roma are to be found.
In this way, you get a glimpse of real life of a place...you get to see the outlying
neighborhoods far from the city center with all its tourist attractions.
I find that while I love the architecture, museums and other cultural accoutrements,
I am a people watcher at heart.
Nothing else interests me more than the people...their faces, moods, their daily lives...
They are the living history of a place.
I perch myself in the middle of the trolley and wonder what kind of job each one is
rushing to, what their lives are like.  The neighborhoods they emerge from,
the environments that shape their lives.
I explore the various neighborhoods and districts, getting my bearings...
getting a feel for the place and its people.

Serbia's history lies heavy in the people..
It is better to be a discreet observer than to ask many questions.
People will tell you what they want you to know.

Their history is difficult, to be sure.  Belgrade itself has been razed to the ground 44 times
throughout its history.  Such conflict.  Unimaginable to us.
The people have a resiliency and strength that defies logic.
Somehow they manage to live around that legacy.
I remember walking past various buildings and getting cold chills,
only to find later that they were places of horrific carnage.
The building that housed my hotel felt haunted by restless, disturbed spirits.
Belgrade, for all its glitz, would not be an easy place to live.

Over the last few years  I have spent time in what was the former Yugoslavia.
After seeing the landscape still bearing the scars of the conflict in the 90's,
layer after painful layer emerges. It is such a strange conflict on several levels.
One wishes that everyone could find a way to get along.
But time spent in Croatia and Bosnia and now Serbia, showed me that
there are distinct differences in these people.
Their bloodlines, though sometimes mixed, have ancient roots.
Their bodies are different as are their temperaments.
They inhabit the same region, but, by nature, they are unique.

Perhaps that lies at the base of much of their natural struggle.
I'm not sure that it is wise to impose any 'solutions' on these things.
Each culture is quite beautiful and extraordinary in many ways.
If those distinctions could remain intact, perhaps some cooperation would naturally result.

Once I got my bearings, I began to ask delicately about the Gypsy neighborhoods and camps.
More than once, the subject was shifted toward tourist attractions.  "A monastery, perhaps?"
"An ethnographic museum?"  "Why would you want to see THAT?"  "What Gypsies?"
"Oh no...there is nothing to see."   The degree of discomfort was palpable.
I assured them  that it was just idle curiosity on my part.
There were no takers... 
I finally befriended a young tourist guide who told me confidentially that there might be a place
near the Holiday Inn in new Belgrade.  Bingo!   I had heard of this one.
The camp was in the shadow of the fancy hotel.
No cabbie, though eager for business, would take me there, however.
I was tired of being stone walled.  I resolved to take public transport and walk there
early the following morning. 

I was excited about what the next day would bring.  I went to bed early to make the most
of the next day.  Tomorrow I would surely find the Roma settlements for myself.

But that night a strange thing happened while I slept.  At first, I thought I was dreaming.
I smelled something really horrible in my 'dream'.  An almost unimaginable stench seemed
to take up all the air in my room.  It was suffocating and vile.  It woke me up out of a dead sleep.
I thought the building was on fire at first, but everything was quiet around me.
The stench was so strong that it almost had me in a panic.
I opened the window to the street below and gasped for air.
I surveyed the street and all was peaceful.  No fire trucks, no smoke.
I called the front desk.  The sleepy clerk assured me that all was well.
For the rest of the night, the noxious smell literally hung over me.
I eventually realized that the acrid smoke smelled like a garbage dump fire.
Horrible!!   And strange....

As the sun came up, it subsided.  It had been a hard night and I was glad to get up and move around.
I was strangely unsettled and my nerves were on edge.  I took a long shower trying to get the stench
out of my nostrils.  Once dressed and leaving the hotel, I looked all around, but there was no evidence
of anything out of the ordinary.  The morning air was fine.
I checked my map and headed for the Holiday Inn.  My map was far from scale and I walked for an
hour or more without much visible progress.  Finally a businesswoman helped me trick a cabdriver
into taking me to my destination.  He assumed that I wanted to go shopping at the market
near the hotel.   I went along with the plan.  My driver spoke reasonably good English and we began
to talk about Belgrade on the long drive.  I was able to tell him my real reason for going there.
He was a bit mystified but he offered to guide me and wait for me as I would not be able to get a ride
back from that neighborhood.  As the area came into view, I could see he what he meant.
Literally in the shadow of the modern hotel ringed by construction sites, was a shanty town of
dilapidated shacks thrown together with cardboard, old planking and corrugated metal.

I asked my driver to slow down so I could really see it.  His inclination was to race by and rush me
back to the city center.  I rolled down the window to see more clearly and was immediately assailed
by the smell of a garbage dump.
It was the same smell that had filled my room only a few hours before!!!

I took a closer look.
The shantytown was burning!
Smoke curled around all the hovels and I saw that these people were living on an active
garbage dump!
My God!!  No human being should be forced to live like this!
People in the Balkans treat street dogs better than that!
It was impossible to think that in a civilized society that this could happen.
No wonder people were reluctant to discuss the Gypsy encampments.

My driver was visibly embarassed.  I begged him to linger but the best he would do was to circle
the camp once more.  He was afraid to stop or to even let me out for a few minutes.
'Afraid'  I thought ?!
There was no sense of danger from the few miserable people we saw.

I wondered at the hypocrisy of people calling them "dirty gypsies".
There were no sanitation facilities and no running water.
The Roma were smudged with smoke from the burning dump.
I thought about all the rhetoric about their laziness, but I saw them picking through the garbage
and construction refuse to recycle what could be saved...to make a few dinars to eat.
Suddenly all the criticism about their unwillingness to assimilate, work, go to school,
make themselves presentable was a cruel and horrible joke!
How they were even able to survive this experience was beyond me.
Breathing in toxic vapors, living without water, worse than beggars.
This society had relegated them to the garbage heap on every level.  Denied housing and jobs,
begrudging them water, food and assistance and then blaming them for their uncivilised state!

Serbia had just experienced it's worst winter in 100 years with most of the country placed under disaster status.  Whole villages were buried under heavy snowfall for weeks, roofs and houses collapsing. 
I wondered how many Roma had perished and what the struggle for survival must have been like.
One would become half mad from toxicity alone.  I knew what a few hours of it had felt like.

Something galvanized inside me in that moment.  Suddenly the whole trip seemed to hang
on this event.  Nothing else mattered.  My stomach was knotted with the reality of what I saw.
Everything in me shifted...and shifted hard.
I told my driver to stop a moment, telling him my camera had malfunctioned and that  I needed
just one photo.  It was a bid to get more time.
He did his best.  By now he was deeply humiliated by the scene and for a moment he saw, as well.
He drove a little slower, a little closer.  I stuck my head out the window, craning to get
a better view and to lock this scene in my mind when, suddenly, the most amazing thing happened.

As I did that, I saw three middle-aged men sitting on a makeshift bench outside one of the shacks.
We made eye contact in a startling moment.
They stood to their feet politely, smiled from their hearts and waved in greeting.
Their rugged faces were beaming.
There was no suffering or self pity, no begging or seeking. 
They were simply and genuinely welcoming.  It was a salutation, a greeting.

There was joy in their faces!   It was a joy that went through me like a bolt of electricity.
Such joy...
It was not only joy, but a deep sense of humanity.
Welcome humanity in a desert of cold inhumanity.
It was as if they held the last remaining fragments of sanity and what it is to be a real human being
in a world that aimed to stamp out all remaining traces of it.

It is hard to describe the impact of their plight, their resilience in the face of all they suffer,
their innate humanity unchanged.

Had they transformed into angels to bear the brunt of man's inhumanity
and to continue to bear witness to a better way?  I would not have been surprised.

"the meek shall inherit the earth."

to be continued...