Poverty Simulation (or, Why I Like Sleeping in a Bed)

So, I know there is no excuse for being gone so long, that all of you have been incredibly bored, that you thought I ditched you for a luxurious beach, etcetra, etcetra.

All of these things are totally untrue, and don't even try to tell me that they are.

Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up:

I went on a mission trip with my church on Friday. We went to First Indian Church of the Nazarene in Oklahoma City (which seems rather misleadingly like it only ministers to Native Americans) and fixed it up a little. We repaired the walls of the sanctuary and repainted them, some kids painted a swing set for the kids, we did landscaping around the church, we remodeled the youth room, repainted the youth building, and picked up lots of trash. There was sanding and spackling and sealing oh my.

I think I should also add (rather smugly) that we managed this in roughly two days. Yes. Yes, yes youth group is TOTALLY beast.

Now, as if becoming a construction worker wasn't enough, we had it sprung on us at the end of the second day that we would be participating in a poverty simulation for thirty-six hours in order to identify with poor and homeless whom we served. Bit of a nasty shock, and I would have liked to know about that minor detail beforehand, but it turned out to be okay. More than okay, actually.
First, I suppose I ought to explain the idea of a poverty simulation to the laymen among us. It basically means that for thirty-six hours (or whatever length of time has been established) you become homeless. WITH ADULT SUPERVISION AND IN GROUPS, OF COURSE. And let me tell you, it is very extremely not fun. They gave us forty dollars of fake money in an envelope, and you could pick four possessions out of the stuff you packed to keep with you for the duration of the simulation.

No, let me correct myself: if you were not one of five lucky, randomly selected guests, you were allowed this privilege. If you were me, or one of the four other poor unfortunate souls selected, your ticket was drawn and you were homeless.

That's right. I was made Lowest of the Low. Cast out where there was Weeping and Gnashing of Teeth. I had even spent a frantic five seconds trying to strategically pick my items in my mind.
But it was okay. My little sister shared sleeping bags with me, and there were other girls around who gave me some of their play money to pay for whatever meals I needed. Almost everyone slept outside, because sleeping inside cost a whopping twenty bucks. Also, we had to wear clothes salvaged from a local shelter that handed out second-hand clothes to unfortunates. (Sidenote: My sister, who is basically Primrose Everdeen, somehow wound up with matching pink clothes. How...)

Sleeping outside sucked. It really did. We were allowed to come inside the church to quickly use the restroom- no pulling a Pursuit of Happyness while we were in there- and if we were thirsty, well, there was a perfectly good hose to use. It was hot, so Mattie and I slept on top of our sleeping bag. Even though we managed NOT to die of heat exhaustion, there were still flies and mosquitoes eating us alive, and we were also on the ground, which was not comfortable at all. I think I got about five hours of sleep total, and I kept waking up and remembering where I was. It was not pleasant.

To think that there are other people who have to do that all the time.

The next day we went to church with the other homeless people at First Indian. It was pretty amazing. At the beginning, there was this guy named Patrick who was one of the people in the congregation, and he had what looked to me like a small tumor on his cheek. He was just sitting out in one of the pews, and all of a sudden, he just started playing the harmonica. And he played really well, too. I think he was playing a hymn, but I don't remember what it was called. They had a very old-fashioned service, and we sang "Sweet Hour of Prayer," "Revive Me Again," "Rock of Ages," and "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" which for some reason was listed as "Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory" in the hymnal. Then we listened to the preacher read a very long passage from Ephesians (I think) about submitting to people calmly rather than fighting them. He had the standard Deep Preacher God Voice, and it kind of reminded me of services I've attended with me grandparents at their church.

After church, things got really interesting. We broke into groups and we had to go on a "scavenger hunt." This was literal though, since we actually had to go dumpster diving and beg for food. One of the boys in my group, Jacob, went into the first dumpster we saw, and came out with a wallet and a social security card belonging to a Juan Acosta. Mr. Acosta had foreign money in his wallet, and an ID, but there was not much else. It was a nice wallet, too, from American Eagle. We saved it in case he needed it back.

Getting lunch was the tricky part. I was terrified. I didn't know what we were going to do. I mean, let's face it: we were downtown on a Sunday. Nothing was open. We would have to dumpster dive for food, I was sure, and my stomach curdled at the thought, even though it hurt because I was hungry and hadn't eaten breakfast (I couldn't pay for it, being homeless/without Fake Money).

We tried a few restaurants, and they were all closed. Then we came to a Subway, which was open, and figured we might as well try to get food.

We got much more than that.

Jacob and a girl from our group named Mallory went into the Subway while the rest of us waited at tables outside. They asked an employee if she had any leftovers for us to eat. The employee, a woman named Diane, sort of looked them up and down and said, "Y'all hungry?" Jacob and Mallory sort of nodded meekly, and Diane told them to wait while she served another customer. She came back with two sandwiches, which we later learned were part of her own lunch.

Jacob and Mallory arrived outside triumphantly with the six-inch beauties, which our group leader began to cut into pieces. However, two elderly security guards saw us and asked why on earth she was doing that. We explained that the seven of us were sharing. The two men immediately whipped out twenties without even hesitating and said, "Go on in there and buy yourselves lunch. Keep the change." I was so overwhelmed. We all were. These gentlemen didn't even know us or anything about us. They just handed over their money to six dirty teenagers and an adult without even batting an eye.

Just then, Diane stuck her head out the door said, "How many of y'all are there? Get inside!"

In the end, each of us split three five-dollar foot-longs. Diane was so concerned for our safety that in the end, our group leader explained that we were a youth group working at First Indian, information we were originally supposed to omit. Even then, she and her coworker were still very eager to know things like whether or not they fed us (not exactly) and where we were sleeping (outside). She shook her head when she heard that, saying that it wasn't safe, and looking genuinely relieved when we told her that it was a fenced in yard guarded by an off-duty police officer. When our group leader explained that we were trying to identify with the poor and their sufferings because that's was Jesus had done, she and a few other people in the store actually started to cry. Another complete stranger gave us money to give to the church.

Diane went the extra mile. She allowed us to fill up our water bottles with cold water from the soda fountain, gave us candy and cookies that were too crumbly to be sold, and warned us to keep away from a couple of certain men, providing us with sufficient descriptions so we would keep our eyes peeled. Jesus was in Subway, and I'm still not sure whether He was her or us. Either way, two more gaggles of kids from our youth group were fed on her generosity that day.

Later, we had a very different experience. We passed through the Devon Tower (also known as Isengard) on our way back to the church, to cool off if only for a few seconds and to see what time it was. There we met a man wearing a nice, crisp suit with shiny cuff links. I'm not sure what his job was, he was clearly a pretty wealthy man. When we asked him what time it was, he whipped out his iPhone and said in a not-particularly-friendly voice that it was nearly four. We thanked him and promptly left the building, knowing a bad vibe when we bumped into it. Once all of us had left, I turned around and saw him making sure that the doors had closed securely behind us.

I was surprised that I wasn't really offended. I would have boiled at his actions under normal circumstances- but then, under normal circumstances I would have been wearing nicer clothes, I would have showered recently, and I probably would probably only ever go to a place like the Devon Tower on a school field trip. Mostly, I remember feeling sorry for him. He was clearly a rich man, and he therefore had a good job, but in spite of all of that, he was so ignorant. Ignorance is a poverty that in some ways is even worse than the monetary poverty millions suffer through every day.

Back at church, I heard incredible stories of people who had also gone to Subway and eaten thanks to Diane, a group who had received hot dogs from another homeless man, a group that collected money by holding up a sign and begging, even a group that had to figure out how to eat on less than four dollars. What came next was in some ways even worse than being in downtown Oklahoma City for an afternoon.

Dinner was a surprise, but everyone would have to eat it, so we were all pretty wary of what it might be. Breakfast had been Cheetos and root beer for anyone who had bought, and we were expecting everything from a turkey dinner to road kill. When we got there, everyone drew Popsicle sticks. Mine had Europe written on it in purple marker. When I came in, I saw people that were obviously missionaries wearing clothes from different countries. A man in the sort of clothes one would wear to Hawaii on vacation led me to a high table on the stage. It had a nice table cloth, although I couldn't help but notice that another table next to mine had flowers and wine glasses. I looked around and saw everyone else being seated on the floor at various stretches of fabric.

Suddenly, it all clicked. I was Europe. I would get a good meal. But the countries on the floor were about to get a lot less food than I was. I immediately felt guilt and dread spread through me. I would have to sit up here on this stage while everyone watched me eat. It was disgusting. I was glad my stool was facing away from everyone so I, at least, wouldn't have to see their faces. Our meal was nice enough, including a delicious apple pie. I ate as much as I could, but I still felt horrible.

The table next to us, I immediately realized, was America. Two kids sat at the table. Their server was a very loud woman who spoke with the air of someone had was trying to ignore the awkwardness in the room, while at the same trying to put on a show. She served the kids steak, baked potatoes, and rolls. There was much more on the table than two grown-ups could eat, let alone kids just entering high school. Towards the end of the meal, a youth worker and our youth pastor's two kids brought in their dogs and fed them what steak the American table hadn't managed to consume. I turned my stool away from the rest of the kids on the ground as the dogs were fed, while protests could be heard from the crowd. The Americans were also served huge ice cream sundaes, heaped with whipped cream and sprinkles. I felt sorry for them. I felt awkward eating an ordinary healthy meal, but they were the stars of the show.

After everyone finished eating, it was explained that we had just participated in a World Banquet, an exercise which encompasses regions around the world and foods that an average person might have on a regular day. Latin America was served bean burritos, Africa had a tortilla and sweet potatoes, India probably didn't get much either, and China was given a scoop of rice about the size of a small child's fist.

Then we all sat on the floor and watched a video about poverty. I thought I knew roughly what to expect, since I've watched similar videos at school before. I was wrong. The video covered poverty all around the world, and told the stories of children living on the streets, people living in leprosy colonies, and families working in the Payatas in the Philippines.

The story of the Payatas struck me most. This is a literal mountain of garbage in the Philippines, around fifty feet high, where families live (for lack of a better word) and work as scavengers. For long hours every day, adults and children as young as four dig through the trash, searching for recyclable items that the put in bags and carry to trucks that come ceaselessly up and down the mountain. They also look for anything salvageable, like broken toys, that they might repair and sell or use in their own tiny shacks. Children who work in the Payatas dump site are often covered in scratches from jagged bits of metal, and diseases like typhus spread like wildfire through the people.

If that wasn't bad enough, on July 10, 2000, there was a violent storm that caused a fifty foot wall of trash to come down on the little group of shanties where the people lived. Shacks that weren't crushed caught fire, as people had been burning lamps or stoves to keep warm. Around 300 people were killed in the tragedy- many of them children- although even now, twelve years later, there is still no firm headcount of the people who were killed. Still hundreds more were left without homes.

Here are some statistics that I hope blow your mind as well:
~ In 2010, 14.5% of American households (17.2 million, by the way) were "food insecure"; this is the highest number ever recorded in the U.S.
~ In 2010, 46.9 million people lived in poverty in the U.S. The number of people in poverty had increased by 9.6 million from 2007.
~ 20.5 million Americans live in extreme poverty. A family of four lives in extreme poverty if their income is less than $10,000 a year.
~ 16.3% of Americans do not have health insurance.
~ In 2011 there were 636, 017 homeless people in America. (Sidenote: Just off the top of my head, that's more people than there are children in the foster care system. This is a number we could use to start a small city.)
~ In 2010, 6.2 million Americans spent more than half of their income on rent. (Sidenote: There were six million Jews killed in the Holocaust. Also, the population of Oklahoma is only 3,791,508 people, just a little over half.)

I'll go ahead and stop, but you get the picture.

It makes me so mad that this still exists. We live in a world where technology is commonplace, where modern medicine can cure so many diseases that had no cure even a hundred years ago. I thought that the human race had come so far, but now I see that only part of it has. Even though I knew there were homeless people in America, I didn't realize the extent of the problem. I had always thought that poverty was something that was more of a problem in foreign countries, where little children have swollen bodies from malnutrition. It was still wrong, and I still wanted to do something about it, but it wasn't something I felt was immediately in front of me.

Now, as I write, July 4th is only an hour away, but I have never felt less like celebrating. Why should I, when our country allows people to live in such misery? I thank God that I have what I have and that I am in a position to help. These numbers- numbers that come from real people in our own backyard who have names and stories- should not be so high. It's wrong. Jesus talks about the poor in the Bible constantly, and he walked with those rejects of society in order not just to minister to them, but that he might understand their pain. And to some extent, he did. Jesus was born an illegitimate child to a woman who was almost certainly a teen mom, regardless of the fact that she was about to marry, and as a Jewish carpenter and later a wandering missionary, he wasn't exactly the richest guy on the block. And if he walked among the poor and served them, then dadgumit, I'm going to do it, too.

(Here are the links for the statistics I got: www.endhomelessness.org; www.worldhunger.org)