Our third world

Not that we’re going aimed at being a third world country; we already are. It doesn’t matter what the galvanized statistics show. The distribution of this alleged wealth does not permeate the most needy sectors.

In rural areas, for example, there are still houses with dirt floors, with pets hungry and blooming bones, high rates of alcoholism, child malnutrition, dusty roads, lack of health, medicine and full life.

I saw that absent look, of selfless despair, on their faces our peasants, and although children still They smile as they grow, in the end they take on the face of despair when that naive and early joy has already left them.

I can’t imagine that we have cways of penetration which still, at this point in our supposed national development, They are death traps for those who pass through them. Recently, the locals told me how it is, on the gravel road that leads to the community of Lurá Centro, in Penonomé, On the hill covered with muddy stones that we passed that day, a minor died in one of the many cars that were killed there.

Tragedy without borders that is in our nation own public works, like that road, a death trap and the last remnant of youth denied progress.

Along the winding paths of the peasantry, of which there are thousands within us, are the only artery of communication with progress from the outside. In cities far from the main roads, children walk along paths, barefoot and with shoes in hand, to get to their schools; and old, sick and pregnant women should also walk them, regardless of their condition.

How is it possible to talk about becoming a country of first world, if those debts so deep into our interior, are they not yet resolved?

It is important that he lives in those recesses of the homeland still very noble, hardworking and good people, who have not lost hope a better tomorrow. When you come to visit them, they invite you to “vacation”, they bring you stools, when they have one, or a cut jaw; They don’t offer you water, because most of the time they only have what the bucket provides for cooking.

When they get sick, there is usually no public transport to help them, especially in the middle of the night; If it’s urgent, a neighbor with the luxury of having a car helps them, and when he doesn’t, everyone joins in. the neighborhood and the sick person is carried out in a hammock.

Life in the countryside is not, therefore, idyllic and romantic; Rather, it is a daily challenge not to lose hope, not to migrate to those places where basic services are promised, not to leave behind abandoning the field tradition.

Then let’s not talk about the uneven development of our country, unjust, immoral; with the poisoned premise that man It is the desired goal of choice and the object of rejection outside the election period.