Where Do We Go From Here

40 Reflect I woke one morning in an earth floored hut, high in the Cordillera Mountains of the Northern Philippines. As I stepped from the door, I had the almost mystical experience of discovering myself above the cloud line. Crisp mountain air and extraordinary vistas of treed peaks emerging from the whipped egg white of clouds. The day assembled itself and the village shuffled into life. I’ll never forget that moment. Or the day that followed. As I wandered around, smiling and waving, beginning to understand the rhythms of another world, I was struck again and again by the apparent simplicity, beauty and very tactile nature of rural poverty. Almost everything that is done is an action; a touch, a lift, a leading, a blow. The machines and mechanisms that dictate most of my world were missing. It was then that I saw the girl on the verandah. Young, probably adolescent, profoundly disabled. She was tied at the wrist with a long piece of thick string attached to the verandah post. I imagine this was to keep her from straying too far. An elderly villager (again, I imagine, it was a relative) kept watch and cared for her. This was her life and the best care she could expect. The best those who loved her could manage in the midst of their own struggle to survive. She was not abandoned nor was she able to access any of the services or care that might improve her life.