The water rushes, filled with stray papers and bottles
The houses, made of cardboard--metal if you’re lucky
The roads, dirt, with puddles and ditches of mud
The dogs barking
The kids crying
The faces of the people, contained within the one-room and one-family homes
The young mothers
The stench, a combination of human feces, trash, pollution

Yet the people are building
They are developing their schools
They are cleaning in the streets
They see us, the volunteers, stimulating the children
And are inspired to bring them to us
Trust them with us
In the shantytown
Complete strangers, foreigners, cleaning it and nursing it
And when we left
It was just a little bit better.