I sat in a chair in the shade outside the small plastic home. A tiny, dying puppy is curled up

against my feet trying to stay warm. The beautiful little girls hop between Cadence's lap and mine. There is a listlessness in their playing today. Someone kicks a small plastic ball across the yard, but no one chases it. Cadence struggles to help Anayesi with her math homework. This bright, joyful girl doesn't seem to understand anything that Cadence is teaching today. Lydia, the youngest of the girls, begins to cry... "Mama I'm hungry. Please can I have some food mama?" (Lydia pictured right)

    Empty. The rice sack is empty. There is simply nothing to give her crying children.

    Empty. Her words come out empty. The girls are too young to understand.

    September and October are such difficult months in Chichigalpa. Most people in our area are sugar cane workers. They only work six months of the year during the season of planting and harvesting (November-May). The other six months they look for odd jobs here and there to try and meet their basic needs, but often there is no work to be found. By the time we reach September, most families have depleted any extra reserves that they have. Their credit at neighborhood stores has reached its limit. Food is gone and there is no income coming in. The needs are overwhelming. 

    Of course I know about this crisis every fall, but that afternoon at the Bustillo house surrounded by this family that I love, I felt the full weight of it. I heard the children's cries. I saw the effect that hunger has on their education. I listened as the women discussed the explanations that they give their children. I watched the young pregnant mother and realized the complications this can cause for her and her unborn child.... As I sat there, something in me broke as I was submersed in this tragedy. For the first time, I felt the fullness of my neighbor's struggle. My words seem empty, unable to capture the depths of their despair.