Mess and Dirt Are the First Signs of Poverty
Poverty is not about how much money you have; it’s about how you live
I grew up terrified to be poor. Having no food or money is one thing. Living in filth is another.
My parents divorced when I was 5. It was 1990. My dad packed his bag and moved 1000km away. I saw him 3 or 4 times since. A year later, the country I was born in got dissolved. My mom’s salary was settled in sugar and rice for a while until it was not offered at all. My grandparents’ pension was devalued and delayed. Jobs were tough to get. Gang culture was on the rise.
My mom had 5 people to feed: 2 kids, 2 elderly and herself. She sold all valuables we had, gold, silver, crystal, electronics, tools, everything. Once there was nothing else to sell, we had no food to eat. To escape such a fate, my mom and her best friend spent all summer at the allotment. Planting, watering and growing vegetables. Nothing fancy. Potatoes, carrots and cabbage. You can keep them all winter and survive. We would go to the friend’s allotment by bicycle. For a 6-year-old me, a 10km ride was an adventure, not so much for my mom, pulling me and the tools. It was hard work. I would sit at the back on a narrow pillow and hold the bike seat.
