My Beer Was Warm…

My beer was warm…

90 degrees… Tired. Sweaty and with a layer of African dirt I headed toward the bar looking forward to a nice ice cold Killi. Elie popped off the bottle cap and I took a sip and it was warm. Not what I was hoping for or looking forward to.

I thought to myself, how on earth could I complain about my warm beer after what I had seen today. Visiting women who are living with HIV in their tiny dirt floor homes that they share with their children. Two tiny rooms for 6 people. Drinking brown water in buckets.
The dog who is literally skin and bones. Minimal family support, if at all.

When assessing one woman, she reported that she struggles daily for food for her and her children. She told us that if she doesn’t sell anything at the Kisongo market on Wednesdays, they don’t eat. The dog, well, the dog is on its own.

We have no idea of what some of these people struggle with on a daily basis.

I am so very grateful for my warm beer…

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