A comparison of the best an average Peruvian girl has to wear (left) and what I brought to wear as a middle-class Canadian (right – me). Image: Samantha Daniels
I went to Peru in the summer of 2011 with a group of students from my school. We went to help a school rebuild one of their school houses, repaint, and to teach to students English.
I remember the first morning we were going to the school, we sat on the bus for a good hour, slowly winding our way out of beautiful, pristine Lima, with its manicured lawns and spotless streets, towards the ever increasing poverty of Callao. Paved roads turned to dirt, litter started to collect, and the smell of burning garbage grew more and more intense. I had never experienced true poverty, and there are no words to be able to fully describe it.
The school teaches students ranging from 4 to 16, and a lot of families could only afford to send one child. The students lucky enough to attend wore uniforms, but in the afternoons when they came back to play and do workshops with us, they’d wear their everyday clothes. Often the only outfit they owned, these clothes were dirty and passed down to them by an older sibling.
The stark difference between our worst clothes, meant to be destroyed by paint and whatever work we did, were beautiful and new compared to the clothes they had. One girl wore lululemon clothes the entire trip. Hundreds of dollars of expensive outfits were disposable to this girl, while these kids were lucky to own a second pair of pants.
It’s sad to think that people here get upset about clothes not fitting perfectly or not owning the newest fashion trend. People around the world can barely clothe themselves and we’re surrounded by closets full of them. Having a choice of what to wear each day is a luxury we take for granted.
MixedMeanings 