The Lost ones

I went to see this documentary the other night…The Lost boys of Sudan. It basically follows the life of two refugees, Peter and Santino, as they travel to middle America and are left to fend for themselves. Kind of like back in Sudan. Minus the Civil war and wild animals…this all takes place in 2001-2002… Without anyone noticing. Just like on March 9th, no one noticed that the UN had termed the refugee crisis in Chad an "Invisible emergency". We did not notice 110,000 refugees crossing over to Chad. Creating another generation of lost boys.The next morning, I googled a search on The Lost Boys and other "lost" causes, and came across Save the Children's website, as well as the U.N. High Commission for Refugees' (UNHCR) one. Save the Children had, of course, the same Bono picture a lot of sites have. You know, a picture of him with Matrix-like shades, carrying kids or singing a song…this told me, it was the site I wanted to be on and the organization I was looking for. I assume Bono's peeps do the appropriate research before he donates his time and his money.So I went through pictures of kids (You're only allowed 6 at a time, so you keep having to sign in and out) feeling like it's the home shopping network and you're trying to get the best value for your $28 a month…I felt like shit looking intensely at pictures: First, Mamoudou smiling for the camera, one arm wrapped around a branch of tree; then Dousse, wearing his best cleaned white button shirt, his neck squeezed into the too tight collar, head high up to look his best. Followed by William and Alfonso, both from Mozambique, both 6 years old, taking their turn wearing the same donated shirt, trying to look presentable so they'll be "picked"…Or Braham, from Nepal, or Omar, from Egypt, with the flash of the camera reflecting in his glasses; or Adonis from the Philippines…named after a God… or…or…or… the list goes on and on and on.When I think about them, I imagine them, washing themselves carefully that morning - if they are lucky enough to have water - combing their hair, picking out a clean outfit, starring in a rescue worker's tiny pocket mirror too see how they looked. And laughing about it, kids mocking other kids, playfully. And then, the worker putting them in the shade of a very old, very tall but very dry tree, and telling them to say cheese.And weeks later, here I am, browsing on my brand new computer, just trying to figure out who looks like they need the most help; who looks like he or she is the most desperate. And then, oh so shallow, you come across a kid that is so cute and smiley… And you want to help; you want to "choose" him. But the next one looks so hungry, so you choose her… and on and on and on… And browsing through the rest of the website, you find out that they assign two sponsors per child in America. A child costs more in America…! (I know that's not how it's meant. It's just horrible to realize there is a price for a life).It's funny because you always think that doing something good for someone else will also make you feel good… No. I felt like shit. I felt disgusting and dirty. I felt like I am doing everything wrong. With this. With my life… I felt…lost.Now, I have not lived a sheltered life. My father comes from Tunisia; my grandmother lives in the old city. Which means no hot water, no shower, no toilets but a hole in the ground…I have lived all over the world. Australia, Europe, Kuwait, Egypt, and traveled and I know how poor and horrible some areas are. I've always been aware that I had to help, and I have, to the best of my extent: sending boxes with food after earthquakes and floods, bringing cans or baked beans to school when I was 6; buying CDs to support Hunger in Ethiopia or Somalia, or buying soap from Kiehl's to help with AIDS research. I am not ignorant in World Issues. When I was a teenager, I did my share of demonstration to tear down a wall, living in Germany. At the same time, I proudly wore the African map around my neck (a necklace made by my friend Mireille, from Cameroun) to ban Apartheid. World issues have been part of my life. The only problem is, they are just a tiny part of my life. And As I get older, I think it's not enough. It's enough to have money conveniently deducted from my credit card and then forget about it. It's not enough to shed a tear during a commercial to end hunger, then blow your nose in a soft paper tissue and forget about it. I, We, are living our lives not doing enough.Do not get me wrong. I am not saying we are going to rot in Hell for enjoying one of the seven sins, Luxury. There is nothing wrong with living in comfort and enjoying ourselves. Most of us work hard; play hard and go through trying and tough lives. We should be able and allowed to enjoy what we earned. I like my name-brand sunglasses. I think I look sexy in Jimmy Choo's and I appreciate the fact that I have a laptop and Internet access at home so I can buy them at the best price on Ebay. But for the past 10 days, I feel there is something truly important missing. There is something truly important that I am not doing. I am forgetting to give. I do not only mean give back with money or time. But give back to humanity it's dignity, respect, pride, empathy, kindness and affection. I read stories and reports from the UNHCR, I watch documentaries, and photo- exhibits. One thing in common in that other world I am so far removed from, is how hard they work together. How much they rely on each other. How much they help each other. How much they live for each other, together as refugees, survivors but also as a nation, as humans. Together.I call them the Ghost Boys. The ones we never really see. I mainly think of the predominantly Hispanic staff that works at the restaurant. The Busboy no one really notices unless they want extra butter to go with that fifth roll of bread. People will never know he fled Ecuador. Or the cleaning staff. Like Julito who always has to go clean up the puke of a neurotic bulimic, who made herself throw up in between courses, not wanting her date to know that she does not maintain her size 2 thanks to good genes and a fast metabolism…No one will know he has 5 kids and just wants to earn enough money to go to school. How about Bienvenido? It means welcome. He seems like he is everything but. Half the people, some that work here, never see him come in. He comes every night at 11 pm and still, they never know he's already here, starting to clean the kitchen, take the trash out on the curb, before cleaning the whole restaurant while we, the hostesses and waiters and bartenders enjoy an end-of-shift drink at the bar. So many people that come and go out of our lives we are never aware of, or do not acknowledge. But they are many more. We can't change the way society works. There will be poorer people and richer ones. Always. But we can give all of these people, powerful or not, the respect they deserve and need. The security guy at Victoria Secret; the guy that sells fruits and vegetables on the corner of Wall Street and Broadway, next to the woman who sells the gyros. The kid who puts together flowers on the corner of the Deli's entrance; the cleaning ladies at the gym; the woman who will pass you soap and a paper towel in the bathroom of a fancy euro-trash nightclub, the cab drivers, trash collectors…so many people we never see, never pay attention to… would never help…I think the thing we are lacking from our lives is humanity. Something refugees and children suffering from malnutrition have. They have love and affection for each other. But mainly, they know who they are and what they have to do: survive and be kind to one another… We have our lives figured out all wrong. We are missing out on each other. Not only as people from a same city, same country, and same continent. As people from the same world.We are living and missing out on what the world is going through. The world does not stop at a border. Our world should not stop at our border. Call me a socialist, but isn't it about time we did something for the others? I understand we cannot give all of our money to other dying countries, but come on; do we have to give so little? Do not wage an $86 billion war and then dare cut funds the country gives to UNHCR, the Red Cross and other associations. Do not donate your tax-deductible money to a charity and then dare spit at the homeless man… We need to wake up and start being human again.Philosophers say History constantly repeats itself. Wars, genocides, racism… now homophobia! It's about time we changed that. And by doing so, we need to start changing the way we act and think. When are we going to learn, we need to respect our world? When are we going to remember that the UN charter, signed by 191 countries in the world, starts with "we, the peoples"?In the light of a bitter electoral campaign, where millions of dollars will be wasted to backstab each other during commercial breaks, I can't help but feel we have completely lost it! Lost a sense of what is truly important! Lost a sense of what we should be spending money on. Sadly, we are the lost boys…