A Million Miles And More Away

A million miles and more away from the quiet, lofty suburbs of a Southern Ontario city, a small child picks her way through a trail of garbage, humming a happy tune as she walks. In truth, she doesn’t pick her way, but rather plunges through the rusted cans, soiled papers, and chaffed wood as if her tiny bare feet are invincible, her braids bouncing along with each small step. If she could, she might take a path less littered, but in her village all paths are alike. Surrounded by beautiful green mountains and rolling hills, the sun wrapping the land in a warm velvety blanket, the riches of nature belie the poverty in which she finds her home. Making her way along the dirt path, she smells the refuse before she see’s it: a tall mountain of junk, garbage and ash, rising from the middle of a dirt clearing, rising to meet a billowing cloud of smoke that obscures a patch of the blue sky. Her lungs breathe in the burning stench, but she continues on her way, unconcerned, humming and remembering her early morning and the walk to her one-room school.

The dirt floor of her home was cold and comforting; but she woke while the sun still slept and the air was cool and wet. She rose early to feed the chickens, scattering their seed across the ground as they clucked and cawed; rejoicing at their simple innocence, she giggled. Splashing her face with murky water, she relieved herself behind her home, hidden away by the green foliage. Flies buzzed around her but she barely noticed them; they were as much a part of her as her dark olive skin.

Her mother called her,

“Seiyi! Come!”

She rushed around the back of their home; a small hut composed of slanted sheets of rusted metal and planks of wood, to find her mother sitting on the dirt floor. Her mother’s skin was dark and weathered, as if her face had been carved from the bark of a tree, but her eyes were kind and filled with light. Her mother’s rough hands pushed a dry lump into her own soft, tiny hands.

“I have a piece of bread for you, here. Quickly now, the sun is already awake.”

Seiyi took the small piece of dry bread greedily, knowing that bread was a rare and precious treat. It was dry and hard to chew but it was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. She was too young to notice that her mother had taken no bread for herself. Her mother quickly hugged her and gently pushed her forward,

“Grow strong, my bonita.”

Seiyi set off down the dirt road, facing the glare of the sun as it rose and reflected off the roofs of similar small huts. As she walked, other children began to join her, giggling and bare foot, somber and silent, some carrying small bags, some playing with broken sticks. She walked by men in trousers with broad shoulders, shielding their eyes against the sun and smiling at the children as they walked by. Women heaped with dirty wash bustled about, fires were lit, dogs barked, the low rumbling of an occasional truck or motorcycle rising among the sounds of a small village and its early morning. The children walked for an indistinguishable amount of time, the sun blaring down, their little feet trapping through garbage and dirty water, many with grumbling stomachs, passing through villages other than their own. Seiyi watched as a little boy with a tuft of black hair pulled hard on the braid of another child. The little girl shrieked; her dark eyes over spilling with tears that glistened like dew on her plump cheeks. The children stopped and watched as a village woman scolded the young boy, her hand on her hip and her voice stern. He looked down and shuffled his feet, ashamedly muttering, “Sorry,” and tentatively raised his head. The woman planted a gentle kiss on his cheek and hugged the little girl whose tears were already dried and forgotten. The children laughed and whooped, and the long trek towards the school continued...

Seiyi paused a long the garbage-littered path that led to her home and thought over the incident with the children. The village woman had not known them, but Seiyi knew that it hadn’t mattered. The children she walked with were her brothers and sisters, the men and women she passed by were her mother and father. They belonged to each other. It wasn’t something that she was taught, but it was the way they lived; a quiet respect and deep love for one another that surpassed all boundaries, uniting them all as neighbors and friends. Of course, Seiyi could not put this into words, but she felt it like she felt the heat of the sun. Smiling, Seiyi ran down the dirt path towards her small shack, and into her mother’s arms.

A million miles and more away from an impoverished village where the sun is strong and the hunger fierce, a cold wind blows through a suburban street. Tall, white houses with grand windows that shine with the warm glow of a crystal chandelier rise on either side, house after house; perfect and the same. The street is quiet and empty of children, the dusk calm. If one was to listen hard enough, the low buzz of televisions, the blaring sound of iPods too loud, and the collective music of fingers fiercely typing might be heard rising together in a symphony- the only connection among a city of strangers.