FIELD NOTES

I thought of a blind old lady I had met a few years ago in the campo. She was by far the poorest in the town and lived in a ramshackle tin hut with her son. Although securing food was a daily challenge for them, she said whenever her son brought in a bushel of plantains she would tell him to take a quarter of the bunch and give it away.

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In March I worked on a water project in Los Guayuyos Abajo. It’s a town that lies disconnected from the rest of the surrounding area because the only way in or out is through a river who’s water level reaches your ankles on a dry day, but becomes totally impassable after a rain. I met an older lady named Neneda…

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