had. One particular village in the remote mountains fed us ant eggs. Ant eggs were a delicacy and were only available once a year. As I watched the fathers of the children move around the classroom, I noticed their black-colored hands. Out of curiosity, I asked them why they were like that. In unison, they all laughed, and one of the men answered.
“It’s from getting the ant eggs. They bite us, and it makes our hands turn black.”
They knew that we were coming, and they saved their only source of protein for us. Even though we were the ones helping them, they helped us in ways we never imagined. We were giving, but not everything we had—and they were.
The children’s faces lit up as we painted cartoon characters and games on their basketball court. The new jump ropes, balls, and frisbees we had brought them were quickly put to use. Despite the language barrier for most of the students, the children showed their gratitude with hugs.
The need was evident in a particular community where the school’s tin roof and gleaming smiles.
had accumulated multiple large holes. When rain came around, they would have to cancel classes due to the flooding of the classroom. The government, due to the small size and relative unimportance of the school in its eyes, often ignored the need. We had collected a couple of thousand dollars to put towards one project we felt passionate about, and we knew that this community needed it the most. We played with the children and talked with the parents, who at no point
Ant eggs and cacti for
lunch in El Botho.
The school in the village of La Noria.
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