There's a chicken under the table

There's a chicken under the table

Visiting the people in their homes is quite an experience. Half the time I don't understand what is being said, so I simply observe what's going on and what is around me. I really wish I had some pictures of what these people call home. The pictures wouldn't do it justice, but maybe you would get a tiny understanding of just how poor these people are living. They live in tiny tin shacks, where the walls are covered with almost anything: newspapers, blankets, sheets, plastic bags, etc. Whatever can be used is used. There is usually a bed, maybe two, a couch, some chairs, a table, some old clothes, a few dishes... the barest of bare. And usually families of about 5 or more live here. And the saddest thing that I learned is that these people are paying rent to live there. These slums, where people are struggling to survive and living in the worst possible conditions, have to pay to live this way. It's outrageous. It's a tragedy. And it breaks my heart.
These are the observations that I have made. And they will forever be with me.
On one home visit, I was sitting there listening to the social worker talk to this mother, when I kept hearing this clucking sound. And it sounded so close, but I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. And then I looked down... and nearly screamed. There was a chicken under the table, right there by my feet. I thought for sure it was going to start pecking at my legs. And it struck me as so funny, because no one was even paying any attention. Did nobody notice that there was a chicken in this house... and under the table?!
Anyway, there's a fun, light-hearted story to go along with all the sadness. And that's the way it is. We have to laugh, we have to be joyous in times when there is such great sorrow. Otherwise, how do we cope.
I love this Valley. And I love these people!
And, I suppose, I even love that they have chickens under their tables!