Like a Thick Tortilla Chip

I hear rumors of death.

I see scorch marks on the road from burning tires, in a neighborhood I knew to be peaceful five years ago.

A woman tells me that her husband’s brother was killed in a roadblock.

A man tells me that a young girl was caught in a roadblock in a town I have driven through many times – raped, he said.

A sugar shortage. 

I hear that when people can’t find food, they eat bread and drink sugar water. 

Until now, when the sugar is running out.

She stands outside of the big white cathedral. A child, maybe eight years old. She is barefoot and eating something. What is it she is eating? There is no packaging. It is the color of earth, flat like a thick tortilla chip.

What are you eating? I ask her.

She breaks a piece off with her teeth.

Dirt. She says.

Dirt? I repeat. Does it taste good?

Yes, it is salty, she says. Do you want some?

I thought about it. Eat dirt to be in solidarity with this small child, to taste it, to know her suffering. Maybe. But what would it do to my stomach that is already not doing well? No, thank you. I say. Where did you get it?

I bought it, she said.

Someone is selling dirt. Dirt for sale, want some? Yes, says the hungry child who is starving. And today, at least she eats baked dirt.