PROLOGUE…
It’s hard to actually determine at what point the adventure begins. Some might argue that in Bolivia, the adventure never ends. But as far as this particular story goes, I suppose it begins with the ride out to the jungle. Carlos and I had arrived the night before to Hardeman, after missing what I thought was the last bus and then surviving a tiny collision on the way home while we were on the actual last bus. I set my alarm for 6am, knowing we had some last minute details to get together before we made the trip to Jenecherú.
The first time I made the trip to Jenecherú (an indigenous word that means “indistinguishable flame”) was a couple of weeks prior to attend a meeting and talk about drilling wells in the area. It is a fairly new community, just getting off the ground. It is made of groups of people called “sindicatos” who are settling this land to farm it. Currently, it is mostly jungle with a few narrow dirt paths serving as the major byways. Each sindicato contains between 30-50 familes who are usually from the same town and are familiar with each other. It is like a group of neighbors who have gotten together to go out and stake their claim in what is essentially the Bolivian frontier. When you hear horror stories of thousands of acres of rainforest being chopped down each day, this is exactly the place you are hearing about. I will get to the ethical implications of this later on.
The meeting I attended was leaders of all 12 sindicatos in Jenecherú and immediately afterwards, a jovial fellow named Don Máximo approached me about wanting a well for his group. I gave him the usual rundown and told him as soon as he got me $150, we could set a date to drill. He showed up in Hárdeman with the cash about a week later and we decided to start drilling the following week on September 11th.
My cell phone alarm tore me out of sleep early that Tuesday morning, but I didn’t mind, it was drilling day! I hurried up and made Carlos some coffee, the Colombian part of him won’t get going until he’s had some. After the average breakfast of fresh bread and coffee, we started packing up for a few days in the jungle. Don Máximo showed up in Hárdeman around 9am but the pickup truck he had arranged for transport needed some work done, so we were at the mercy of the auto mechanic. I was a little peeved that I got up early in vain, but it’s really my fault for still not learning that things never happen on time in Bolivia. The truck and driver showed up around 4pm, with the animated Don Tiko behind the wheel. Don Tiko lives in Hardeman but this was the first time I had met him. We spent the next hour or so loading up the tiny pick-up with well materials, camping gear, extra water and Don Máximo’s bicycle went on top. Two more sindicatos had paid me for wells, so we had materials for 3 wells going up with us. To save room I suggested we lose one of the 2 spare tires, an idea which everyone else shot down. This would prove to be the gods smiling down on us. Joe Ranz would be quite proud of this packing/tying job…
This photo does not include the two people and one bike that topped off the entire Beverly Hillbillies-esque entourage in the back. Carlos, Don Tiko and myself would be squeezing into the two bucket-seats in the front cab. It was going to be a long ride.
Don Tiko offered to let Carlos drive the first leg and ride in the back to make it a little more comfortable, which was nice. He then reached in, switched the key to “on” and then dug out two wires from behind the dashboard and struck them together to spark, straight out of MacGyver. The truck roared to life and Carlos and I exchanged somewhat worried glances. Tiko gave us a big ‘ol reassuring smile and added “oh yeah, the brakes are out, so don’t go too fast, ok?” At this Carlos and I let out a roar of laughter…we knew we were in for a treat. I know it sounds kind of insane to agree to stay in this truck without brakes, but you need to remember that not only are there absolutely no inclines or declines where I live, the road and truck are in such horrible condition that it is impossible to go very fast at all. We did have to stop at one point when Don Máximo dropped something out of the back, which means Carlos just down-shifted as hard as he could and I stuck my foot out Fred Flintstone style to bring us to a stop.
Our first point of interest was a river crossing, about an hour into the ride. There was a log bridge we rolled across and waiting for us on the other side was this huge fig tree. Check it out:
To give you some perspective of the size, here is the tree with me in the shot:
Our next point of interest was when we got a flat tire. Those two spares didn’t seem so silly now. Don Máximo and Don Tiko quickly fixed the tire and we were back on the road after being eaten up by mosquitoes during our stop. It was a slow ride, but Tiko turned out to be very friendly and very interested in what we were doing, so we basically spent the whole ride talking shop. It was nice having Carlos there to do some talking as well. We stopped in a tiny little town without electric for a quick dinner and some refreshments. On the way out of town we saw a huge crowd of people gathered around the one television in town running on a generator. They were watching Bloodsport with Jean-Claude Van Damme, one of my all time favorites and I was a little disappointed we weren’t staying. Another hour or so down the road we came upon some big fires burning. Tiko explained to us that this was how people cleared the land to farm and that it really was a shame that there was no one controlling it, they were just allowed to run free and burn whatever they want. The worst part of it is that we were right on the border of a national forest, but the borders were not clearly drawn or maintained, so it was very possible that national forest was being burnt down. Here is a shot of the flames:
Our next bump in the road came when we got another flat tire. That’s right, two on the same trip! Good thing we had both spares with us…antsy to get there, Carlos and I took charge on changing this one and got it done in a jiffy.
Nothing like changing a tire in the middle of the jungle in the middle of the night. Throughout all of this, Carlos and I were constantly saying “this story just keeps getting better and better.” We had no way of knowing that it wouldn’t stop getting better until it was completed.
After 7 hours or so of bouncing around in Don Tiko’s cab, we finally made it to our destination around 1:30am. We set up camp and shared a nice midnight snack of crackers and cheese on a stump for a table.
Never have crackers and cheese tasted so good. We fell asleep with our heads still bouncing around the cab of Tiko’s pickup.
MIERCOLES EL 12 de SEPTIEMBRE
06:30 – Carlos and I are awoken by the sunlight. There are various men meandering around the area where we have been sleeping. A family of huge bright blue macaws flies over, announcing the beginning of another day. The men see that we are awake and encourage us to come over to the fire for the coffee. We delightfully agree and enjoy a nice cup of campo coffee and get to know our drilling crew. During breakfast we realize we are in a small man-made clearing and that we are surrounded by pure jungle. This truly is the Bolivian frontier.
The Colombian with his café, enjoying the first rays of sun. Campo coffee is my name for what we get out in the middle of nowhere. Coffee grounds (perhaps from yesterday, perhaps from a week ago) are boiled over a fire in a pot for about five minutes. Once removed from the fire, approximately a pound of sugar is added. This is very important. I once went to drink some without sugar (because I had had enough sugar) and they screamed and stopped me as if I were Indiana Jones drinking the poisoned blood of Mola Ram, claiming that it didn’t have sugar yet. Anyway, the piping hot sugary coffee is poured into your cup (grounds and all), which is made of tin and therefore conducts the heat directly to your hands. Sounds like a bad experience, but it is surprisingly enjoyable.
07:30 – Carlos and I start giving instructions for the first steps the group needs to take. A few begin digging the hole that will be our water holding pool
some others begin building the drilling tower,
and another crew goes with Tiko to bring back water in barrels for drilling.
The water they bring back is so green it looks like antifreeze. But it will have to do. Oh, and the barrels were recently used to house diesel fuel, so the smell lingers…at least we know the water will be disinfected…
10:15 – During prep Carlos reviews my tool bag and asks if I have an emergency hook for fishing out the pipe if it breaks, just in case. I say no and tell him he sounds like my old man saying “just in case.” He replies by asking if he can whip me with his belt like my old man if we need the hook. We both laugh but he is still worried about the lack of hook. This whole paragraph has been foreshadowing…
11:00 – All the prep work is done, we all know each other, we have explained how the process works and we begin pulling. Don Máximo is a good leader of his people and ensures they listen to us. His energy and animation go a long way to make the whole job go a lot easier. Again, it helps that Carlos is here to quickly respond to Don Máximo’s dirty jokes with jokes of his own. I understand the jokes, but I have yet to learn any of my own dirty jokes in Spanish. The beginning of the drilling is a little sticky and the pipe gets clogged fairly often. Once we make it past the first 5 meters or so, the ground is fine and we progress without issues until…
15:27 – Disaster strikes! The pipe breaks 15 meters down. This can be fatal depending on the situation and time is of the essence. The rig needs to be pulled out as quickly as possible because there is the chance of a cave-in. If the borehole collapses while the rig is dropped down in there, it is next to impossible to rescue. We learned this the hard way by losing our rig on the first well we drilled on our own. There have been miracle stories of digging down by hand to pull it out and also hooking up a tractor and pulling it out once it was stuck, but none of those are very appealing. It is much better to pull it out as quick as possible before it caves in. The good news was that we had not drilled through very much sand, which greatly reduces the chance of a collapse. We had seen mostly clay, which was good news for us. Still, we needed to get the rig out.
This is the part where Carlos saves the day. Like an over confident rookie, I donot have a fishing hook to assist in pulling out the rig. Carlos explains what he needs with concern and haste in his voice and within five minutes someone has brought him a small length of thin re-bar. Using his bear hands and a monkey wrench, Carlos bends the steel rod into the shape of an “S” and sharpens one end with a hacksaw and a file. He then beats on it a little with a hammer, using a log as his anvil. Meanwhile, I am cutting up some pipe to make the other part of the hook. I’d say within 10 minutes, we have our fishing tool ready. Here are couple of shots of the master at work:
Once we get the hook made, we connect some of the plastic pipes to it and stick it down in the borehole. The trick is to either get the hook to grab on one of the couplings or to stick the hook inside the pipe and have it dig in enough to be able to pull the whole thing out. This is a very tricky process, since you have to do it completely by touch. The borehole is only 2 inches wide, so you can’t see anything you are doing. I liken it to a surgeon using one of those fiber optic deals and working off of a tv screen, only we didn’t have a screen. Also, the only thing we stood to lose were some pipes and a lot of hard work, not someone’s life. So I guess it’s a little different.
“Fishing” is a fine art that one masters only with practice and patience. We both tried, but Carlos finally came up with the rig after about 10 more minutes of trying. We get it out, fix the broken pipe, applaud everyone’s ingenuity, and go on working.
18:30 – The sun is going down and we decide to stop for the day at 20 meters of depth. Not a bad day’s work considering we did all the prep work this morning and had to fish out a broken rig.
19:00 – After a modest dinner, Don Máximo accompanies us to a water pump about 1.5 kilometers away, where we can pump a bucket of water and wash all the mud off our filthy bodies. Carlos and I enjoy the cool showers but soon realize we haven’t brought any clean clothes to put back on. We start back in nothing but our wet underwear, along the jungly path with nothing but the stars and a bit of moonlight as companions. I can’t really explain it, but for some reason I get the urge to continue on naked. I imagine it was just being in such a secluded, natural place that made me want to be “one with nature.” I suppress the desire, sure that Carlos would think me a bit unstable. Not 30 seconds later, Carlos stops and says, “bueno ya me dió las ganas de andar desnudo. No me mires.” Much to my surprise, he has had the same urge and is pulling off his underwear. I quickly follow suit, and there walk two jungle adventurers in nothing but our birthday suits. To add to the effect, Carlos has a shotgun slung around his shoulder and I am carrying a machete. I am pretty bummed I don’t have a picture because as lame as it sounds, it was a pretty beautiful moment. We get back to camp and hopp back into our shorts before anybody else sees us. Lord knows we wouldn’t have heard the end of that for the rest of the week.
20:30 – Lights out. A long day of work ahead of us tomorrow. (This is actually an incorrect phrase to use, since the lights technically went out two hours earlier when the sun went down.)
JUEVES EL 13 de SEPTIEMBRE
06:42 – Awakened to the quiet sounds of the jungle. I crawl out of my tent, overcoming the morning soreness that always awaits you after a day of drilling. A few of the fellows are up and sitting around a pot of campo coffee and they invite me over. A few of the more industrious of the group had gone out hunting during the night and were eager to show us the booty, a rodent of an animal called Jochi Pintado which means “Painted Jochi.” I’m not sure if there is an English word for a Jochi, but it sure is good eatin’.
We would meet again over lunch…08:00 – Work on the well begins again. To avoid clogging of the rig, we do not start immediately at the 20m mark we left yesterday. We start at about 12 meters, re-circulating the water and mud that is in the hole, slowly advancing down to 20 meters. We are back to 20 within a half hour.
08:30-18:00 – We advance at a regular pace, hitting one small layer of sand (where the water is) at 30m but decide to continue, hoping for a larger layer a little deeper. Throughout the day I began working on building the filter and Carlos worked on building the home-made pump. Everything we use can be bought cheaply at any hardware store, and is therefore easy to construct and repair.
Our filter made of slotted pipe wrapped in a plastic rice bag and sealed at the bottom with electrical tape.
The key part of our home-made pump, made of small coupling and nipple with a leather seal and then hacked up a bit with a hacksaw.That afternoon it had been decided amongst the workers that if weren’t done by that evening, we’d continue working throughout the night. While I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of not sleeping, it’s always fun staying up late out in the middle of the jungle. We had another modest dinner of rice and left-over bites of jochi (taking turns while the work continued of course) and a few of the fellas put together a big fire nearby the drilling site to keep things lit throughout the night.
22:00 – Bad luck again, the pipe breaks. Only this time much deeper and we had passed a sand layer. This means there was more of a chance of collapse than before, and also that it was going to be much heavier to pull out. After about 15 or 20 minutes of “fishin’ in the dark” we got our prize. This didn’t deter anyone and we kept on truckin’. Here’s a shot of me manning the spout by firelight:
VIERNES EL 14 de SEPTIEMBRE
00:06 – I am spending my 20-30 minute breaks sleeping in the “Y” of a big fallen tree next to the fire. If it’s one thing I’ve learned to do in Bolivia, it’s sleep anywhere. Who am I kidding…I did this long before I came to Bolivia. Like father, like son.
It is a surreal feeling around the work-site. Carlos and I, usually fairly animated are fairly silenced by weariness. The workers plow on, ignoring the pain in their shoulders and backs, enjoying their 30 minute naps when they get them. Our friend Don Máximo talks quietly with one of them. The sounds dominating the landscape are the crackle of the fire and the constant spit of the drilling spout into the catch pit. Around us is nothing but pitch-black jungle, no doubt with all kinds of interesting critters wondering what on earth we are doing, aside from damaging their homes.
02:00 – We call it quits for the night at 47m. Don Máximo says he can go on, but the rest welcome a respite. Carlos and I are worried that a tired person (most likely one of us) is going to drop a tool down the well, possibly rendering the whole thing useless and mandating us to start again from the beginning. So stopping is a good idea.
02:04 – We do our best to wipe off the majority of the mud caked on our bodies, but most of it just ends up in our sleeping bags with us. There are no worries when you’re this tired.
07:00 – It’s impossible to sleep past 7am when you’re camping and the sun is up almost two hours beforehand. No matter how much your shoulders scream for more rest or how loud your joints crack when you move, it’s time to get up. Everyone else is already awake, as if it were no big deal that we busted our asses for 18 hours straight yesterday.
08:30 – We are off and going again. Again, within about 30 minutes we are back to last night’s stopping point of 47 meters. Since Carlos and I are the only ones who have drilled wells before, he and I have been taking turns working the “spout” end while the rest of the workers are pulling the rope in teams of four. The spout end is important because you have to be able to feel what type of ground we are going through and have to be ready to take samples to find out exactly what is coming out. This takes a little experience, and by the end of the drilling, we can trust one or two of the workers to do it right with a little supervision. Here is a shot of me working the spout with the pulling team in the background:
09:45 – Sand! Finally! We are at 51 meters and were getting worried we weren’t going to hit anything before 60 meters, which is as deep as we can go. We keep drilling through the sand layer and find out it’s about 2 meters long, which isn’t ideal but it will have to do. Usually we want AT LEAST 3 meters of sand. But after all we’ve been through, we’re going to make this work.
10:15 – We pull the rig up to change bits. Up until this point, we have been drilling with a 1 ¼ inch bit and now we need to widen our borehole to 2 inches so the casing tubes will fit. This is a much less arduous process, but still takes a few hours, especially on a deep well like this. It represents a lot of work, but also means that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and that the end is in sight. We all breathe a brief sigh of relief.
13:38 – The sigh of relief is over, because now the pulley has broken! This I did not foresee in my wildest dreams. Carlos scolds me again for not always having two pulleys (if it were up to him, we’d have 5 of EVERYTHING in our toolbag and need a semi to carry it all around) but I can honestly say I have never heard of this happening. Carlos immediately begins to try and fashion a new pin for the pulley out of I don’t even know what when one of the workers shows up out of nowhere with a pulley. I have no idea from whence it came but we hook it up and forge ahead. Good thing too, because Carlos wasn’t getting very far with his “new” design.
16:00 – We’ve finished widening out the borehole and we finally case the well without issue. This brings on an even bigger sigh of relief, but the work is not completely done yet. The vast majority of the manual labor is done though, and we can all relax a little. However, the water could come up salty still, which is no one’s fault but always a risk. Also, if the filter was poorly made there might be sand coming in through it. Only Carlos and I really know this though, so he and I are the only apprehensive ones.
16:25 – They have brought more water and we begin developing a well, a process that involves pumping water down the well and forcing it out through the screen to “develop” the aquifer around it. After we pump water down, we pump all the water out of the well, and then more down. This helps to create an additional filter out of the sand in the aquifer, bringing the largest grains of sand closest to our screen and keeps the finest grains furthest away. We pump down a barrel or two of water, during which Carlos and I decide to take baths in the less-than-clean water:
Better than nothing. Or is it?18:30 – We break for a quick dinner and rest. We will develop a little more after dinner, but we will most likely finish everything tomorrow. The rest is much appreciated.
19:15 – Back at the drilling site (just across the way from our “mess hall”) and we continue with development and good news! The water begins clearing up! This is our sign to pump it dry and see how quickly it recharges a few times.
20:30 – Success! The well is charging at a good rate and the water coming up is clear and salt-free! It’s time to install the pump, the details of which we have finished up during the development process. A kind soul gets our fire going again so we can see better and keeps us warm. Carlos and I have our own little celebration by the fire, roasting some marshmallows I’ve smuggled into the jungle. By this time, all the workers and other members of the community have crowded around to see what their blood, sweat and tears has earned them. Don Máximo is pumping the well and Carlos is splashing everyone, letting out yells of “¡Agua para todo el mundo!” At which everyone laughs and enjoys the fresh, cool water.
Don Máximo checking out our handywork.
One of our workers cleaning off his hands for the first time in his pueblo.
Exchanging gratitude…
Carlos and I with our faithful driver Don Tiko, and our wonderful cook Doña Etna. These were definitely two of the key players in our adventure.
22:15 – The excitement has died down, but Carlos and I are in a rush to get our things together. Tiko tells us he’d rather leave right away and since he is the man with the keys (and the wires) to the truck, we comply. We make sure we say goodbye and thank you to everyone, making sure they know how to fix everything if breaks and also give them the details on how to put the finishing touches on the pump tomorrow. We quickly break camp and load up our stuff into Tiko’s truck, not quite sure what to expect of the likely all-night ride back to Hárdeman.
23:00 – And we’re off! We’ve assured Don Tiko that we will do our best to stay awake during our journey, to keep him company. At least we’ll take turns. Also, it won’t hurt to puff on a few cigarettes. In return Don Tiko tells us that his battery is dying and is pretty sure it won’t last all night with the headlights. So whenever we can, we’ll drive without the headlights. Something like this any other time may seem strange, but after the week we’ve had, Carlos and I just shrug our shoulders and say ok. The three of us are up front again, and our hardest worker, young Alberto, is in the back. He has to get back to Montero, where he is studying. He has spent his vacation with us, learning how to drill wells. We’d love to teach him some more if we get the chance.
SABADO EL 15 de SEPTIEMBRE
02:30 – We have come to the first major obstacle in the road. Literally. Remember those guys that were burning down the forest on the way in? Well, they made it all the way down next to our road and managed to burn a tree down so it fell directly in our path!
Low on options, we have to find a way around the tree. Surprisingly enough, in a vehicle also carrying two Bolivians and one “always prepared” Colombian, I happen to be the only one with a machete. Alberto gets to quick work hacking through the woods, making a tiny path around the tree stump for Tiko to drive around. Tiko helps him out all he can with a shovel, which really isn’t much. After about an hour of hacking, they have cut a sufficient path through the woods, and Tiko blazes on through, going around the stump whilst it still burns! Of course I don’t think you’ll believe me, so here’s a photo:
03:45 – Literally on the other side of the tree we come to a bridge, on the other side of which is parked a huge truck, who decided to camp there for the night when he saw the fallen tree on the other side. There is no other way around the truck, the brush is too thick to hack through on that side. At this point, Tiko turns off the truck for some reason. I am not sure why, since we have next to no battery power. He heads over to the driver of the other truck, trying to convince him to cross the bridge so we could get by. But before he does this, we need him to wait a bit so we can get our truck started again. This proves to be trickier than Tiko thought. The battery is all but dead, so here we are in the middle of the night in the middle of the jungle pushing this pick-up back and forth, trying to kick-start it with no luck. So Tiko has the driver come across the bridge and in the process nearly demolish our truck. The other truck also has almost no battery power, and has to kick-start itself coming down the small incline onto the bridge. Quite a gamble I’d say. Tiko then spends the next hour switching the batteries out, trying to charge one in a way that I don’t find very efficient. Meanwhile, Carlos is cashed out in the back, finally giving into his weariness.
¡Pobrecito!
05:15 – We are back on “the road,” only needing the headlights for a little while longer since the sun is on its way to shining again. Our last stop before Hárdeman is the bridge by the big tree we crossed on the way here. To our surprise, Tiko turns off the truck when we arrive and says “come on, I want you to meet someone.” The gate to the bridge is locked, and the keymaster is an ancient old man named Don Manuel, who turns out to be a friend of Tiko’s. One might consider this a Bolivian toll booth. Don Manuel is of course up with the sun every day and when we find him he is performing his morning ritual of milking the cows. We chat it up with Don Manuel and grin as he throws insults left and right to the immigrants from the west, the kollas. I grin not because he’s a racist, but because the things he says are so far-fetched and ridiculous, they can only be received with jest. He likes that we laugh and offers up some fresh milk. As fresh as it gets. I have managed to save some bread and we share that with him and we have a nice breakfast along the riverbank. Even though we are essentially without sleep, the crisp morning and the warm milk refresh us for the new day. As I write about it now, some months later, I am reminded of a scene from The Grapes of Wrath when the Joads are staying at the government camp. Tom goes out looking for work and comes across a small family cooking breakfast on a similarly crisp morning. Tom pulls up a spot around the stove and they gladly share what they have with him, pleased to have his company. I will take this moment to claim that John Steinbeck is a genius.
Does a body good!We thank Don Manuel and our on our way, finally on the very last leg of our trip.
07:25 – Back in Hárdeman once again. Our 8.5 hour return trip is even longer than the trip there, something we thought to be impossible. Carlos has things to attend to back home and hops directly on the 8am bus, even skipping his morning coffee. I see Carlos off and stay out to chat for a while with a few neighbors who are just starting their day. Eventually I make my way back to my room. I’m asleep before I hit the mattress. The adventure has ended.
Epilogue…
That afternoon, I made my way to the plaza to write a letter to a friend and mentor of mine. I was feeling a little conflicted and wanted to get some things down on paper. Don Máximo had said something to me that truthfully rattled me a little. He said with all gratitude and thanks, “Because of this well, this area is going to grow a lot faster. Many people will want to come here to this spot because there is clean water. Thank you.” I cringed at the thought of more people immigrating to that area, cutting down more trees, destroying more land so it can be farmed. I thought of the burning down of the forest that we saw on the way there and back, picturing it on a grand scale. It’s an ugly thing. But then I think that I cannot prevent people from going out there, claiming land, and farming it. They are going to do it regardless of whether or not I am here. They are going to go, so helping them at least have clean water and staying healthy is not so bad. But then again, it IS so bad. Better that they go, see that there is no clean water, get deathly ill from some contaminated water they drink, and never ever want to go back. The more people we turn away from domesticating the jungle, the better. Perhaps the blame should go to the government? For not protecting their beautiful landscape better? I don’t know about this…in America we are very used to the government laying down rules and regulations and people following them. This is a strategy that simply does not work in Bolivia. Sure there are laws, but nobody follows them, and as a result nobody gets in trouble either.
So is what I am doing wrong? Perhaps. I am certainly not helping the global-warming cause. I am helping some people live better, healthier lives. But in this case, considering that these people are doing pretty bad things (albeit unknown to them), I am not sure that is such a worthy cause. Perhaps every person working in development has a similar internal argument. That we should just leave these cultures alone to fend for themselves and if they survive, they are selected and if they don’t…well it’s survival of the fittest, right?
Here is what I really believe. If we abandon these people, we abandon them to the bad things. We leave them to be dominated by Van Damme movies, Michael Jackson music videos and Coca Cola. To be controlled by the oil companies and governments on the other side of the world. These huge, overarching organizations and businesses are precisely what make it to the developing world. I have been to some far corners of some far places, but there is always coke available relatively nearby and there is always someone asking if I know Bill Clinton or am related to Bruce Lee. So, if we abandon these people, all of those groups win. Coca cola will run the world. So the truth is, I find solace in representing the “developed” world and America in this fashion. These people do not deserve to be thrown to the dogs, which is precisely what will happen if we let these groups continuing their essential domination of the earth.
I believe it is true that we are consuming the earth at an alarming rate, but the solution is not to abandon the little guy. They are in the position they are in because of the first world's irresponsible actions. I am not sure we can save everything, but we can make it easier for a few people along the way. I will now step down from my soapbox.
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