...i was very lucky to have spent a little over two weeks in Nicaragua when i was in grade twelve.  about twenty of us from four different highschools went down for our march break with the Falls Brook Centre.  i had never been outside of north america and was really looking forward to experiencing a different way to live, i was very influential but still had a pretty good idea of who i was and what i believed in.  there are so many stories i brought back with me, but this one in particular has really stuck with me.
          it was early on in our trip and we'd been making our way through some very rural communities, helping people build out-houses, solar ovens, chimneys, and kitchen-gardens... i remember walking into a one room mud house about eight feet by eight feet, where a family of six lived.  the mother was suffering from deep hacking coughs because, like so many other houses, their fireplace had no chimney; instead she had about twenty holes poked in the mud wall above.  i learned later that the father was rarely home, he supported his family building bricks out of mud, dirt and manure in the nicaraguan sun.  in the corner of this house i saw a few blankets neatly folded over bed of hay, and a few wooden chairs.  the roof was caked with greasy soot from their fireplace.
          i walked into this house, wearing my reebok sneakers, tommy hilfiger jeans, and this woman, glowing with excitement,  took me by the hand and said "come in! welcome! let me cook you something to eat, let me feed you!"