Ultimate Ingrates Part I
We walk up the stone
steps visibly eroded from years of exposure to the elements. As we
round the corner we are greeted by an agitated dog, barking for all
it’s worth. It might have been imposing if it were two feet taller,
but as it is, a diminutive askal (street dog, mixed breed), we don’t
give it a second glance. Another turn brings us to a weed-ridden
dusty path. Ahead of us not 10 meters away a group of painters give
some meaning to a plain and faceless facade. It’s hot today; probably
in the low 40s (centigrade), though not particularly humid. Finally
we meet a fence encircling our destination. The home of a friend’s
friend.
The house is a wooden
two-story affair, painted a sorry lime green topped with a roof of
corrugated sheets. The general area smells of swine; that glorious
stink that is never absent while their kind is around. We climb up
the decrepit wooden stairs on the northern side of the house leading
directly into the room of the subject of this visit. Even as our feet
leave the ground to occupy the steps of the staircase, another smell
invades our senses. That of a horrid state of abysmal personal
hygiene. We enter the room, minds clouded as strong waves of
putridity rack our consciousness. The corrugated roof contributes to
this dismal state by magnifying the already unbearable heat.
What are we doing here?
Why subject ourselves to this sordid reality? Well, in a way, we’re
on a mercy mission. We are meeting someone who was once a strong,
proud, visibly large man. A person who has contributed blood and
sweat to the betterment of a significant part of his existence. I’m
not going to name names or specifics but let me put it this way: He
has given the majority of his life to give others a chance at a
better tomorrow. A tomorrow that is now the present.
He has done his bit.
Today his writhing, malnourished body lies on a mat covering the
wooden flooring of his shack. He is barrel-chested. It would’ve been
impressive if not for the seeming absence of a stomach. His limbs
contort as he opens his eyes, unnaturally wide.
He examines us with rapt
attention and begins to move towards us. A sort of shimmy, but on his
back. The pain is obvious, it is expressly evidenced on his face with
every fruitless exertion. We tell him to relax and that there is no
need to move. We will go to him. He still moves. I move closer and
place my shoe on the side of his right hip to belay his movement. He
continues his dance. That’s when we realize it is an involuntary
motion.
As I continue to absorb
the situation before me, the questions come…
