Sometimes I think you all think I am a pain.

JoElle,



I couldn't agree more.

Love, Carol

x

Lane,

That was not my reason for beginning this thread. I said I did not want sympathy and sometimes worry I am getting sympathy when I just want to be one of the group. I am sorry I have burdened this board with anything.

I am not woe is me. I am the opposite if anything and think this drives people crazy. I am one of the happiest people I know right now and after being so ill I can't stop talking or waking up each day with mirth and joy.

That was my motivation take it or leave it, but I sure wouldn't do it again, except this thread having brought about one of the nicest emails I've ever received.

So as far as I am concerned this thread has come to an end. But ending a thread is really difficult on this messageboard.

Sorry to be such a bother.

Carol

I don't know from experience what it must be like to live the life of a billionaire and I don't give it much thought. In fact, I don't give it any thought. I don't know from experience what it must be like to live without electricity and running water but I do give it some thought. Does that make me a better person? Not really. I wrote this flash fiction story, which was an easy thing to do: as easy as donating money to third world poverty -- something most people do to salve their conscience.

This is the story:

I belong to a large group of workers. There are two hundred and eighteen million of us working around the world. I am lucky; my present work isn't too risky. One hundred and twenty-six million in this group are involved in work that is harmful to their safety or health.

Like me, my younger sister and brother are HIV-positive. My parents both died of AIDS in 2005. That's when we went to live with my uncle's family. We needed money for medicines, so I found work as a ‘rag picker’ sorting through garbage for recycling waste -- paper, glass, metal, plastic and cardboard -- dangerous work for five to eight dollars per month.

One day, a large four-wheel drive car turned off the nearby highway with two men inside. They parked the car and walked over to a small group of rag pickers. I carried on working. One of the men called me over, "That's hard work for less than ten dollars a month. I can find you work that pays five times as much as that. Come over here. Listen to our offer."

"No thanks," I replied.

Although I'd heard about workers being offered better work with higher pay, after they left, I never saw them again to know if it worked out or not. There was no work around here paying that kind of money.

The man walked over to me and said, "Don't you want to make more money? Look at your friends. They're coming with us for a better life."

When I looked over, I could see the rag pickers walking towards the car and climbing into the back seats. I said I still wasn't interested. I knew I would never see any of them again and, if I joined them, I would never see my family again.

That was my last thought. I felt a blow to the back of my head and passed out. When I came round, I was inside the car speeding along the highway.

I never did see my family again. I'll die soon because I don't have any money for medications. In the meantime, I'm one of two hundred and eighteen million slaves around the world. I am ten years old.

I was born in Mali but I now work on a plantation in Ivory Coast.

I work twelve-hour days in scorching heat, picking beans from cacao trees. They say the beans are made into chocolate. What is chocolate? I've never seen any.

Shelagh Watkins 2007

This thread was supposed to end, but there is always someone worse off than any one of us. At church one Sunday there was a man with his rolator parked in the aisle. His wife tried to help him stand. He tried to stand but often couldn't make it. Afterwards I tapped him on the shoulder and said I was like him, having difficulty standing and walking. He said he had ALS. I thought of Rainbow. I said, "I just have cancer."

Carol

The little church I attended and practiced with until recently lost our last rector to ALS. Those of us who attended while he was there were fortunate to see an individual face a very unpleasant and painful death with grace and dignity. He kept his faith and his sense of humor to the end.

Sorry to get off subject.

Ann

Please, Ann, get off subject, the last one wasn't going anywhere.

Carol