"Food comes first, then morals."

-Bertolt Brecht

I have a conversation with (I will call him) Rodrigo. It was another conversation in a line of conversations I have had with him over the past year. He is clean today, hair washed, hands not blackened by the trash he sorts through on a regular basis. He is all smiles, hopeful. Of course, some of this is that he is coaxing a mango out of me from the corner store. They have them today, a rare treat! I agree to buy one. No one should be denied the plenitudes a ripe mango provides. Plus, now, with a mango in hand, hunger abated, we can talk more open about the nitty gritty. My basic question is, "Why?" Why are you in this situation, Rodrigo? Why are you digging through garbage for your needs? Why are you fighting haplessly over bricks you've collected from the rubble of torn down buildings? These questions would not make sense to many in this neighborhood. They are mental exercises of the lower classes (bear in mind, we are one rung down from them right now, meandering through the chaos of poverty: a class of people who do not think about the future in anyway at all because there is no promise of it, it's just one hour at a time; if you happen upon some money, it'd be better to spend it this hour!). But Rodrigo is different. once upon a time he was a teacher. Computer Science his trade. He is educated. He speaks three languages, English is one of them (convenient for my conversation with him at present). Once upon a time, Rodrigo, "went down." This I have heard many times from America's homeless. What happened to you?" And the response, "I don't know, man, I just went down."

Why Rodrigo, are you here?
I lost everything, my job, my girl, my family, everything.
How?
It's gone now. I am trying to get it back, but it's gone.
Yeah, but how did you lose it, and how are you gonna get it back?
It's gone.
The regret is a prison.

I want to talk about Jesus, but he's not torn into his mango yet, and I know he will not hear anything until he does. In the meantime, still with hunger in his stomach and heart, Rodrigo has a plan. Today, he is trying to get it all back, that's why he's clean, showered, why he's used his money on a piesa room instead of a biscuit of crack. Tomorrow, who knows? I am banking on dirty hands, runny eyes, and a return to begging. This judgment is a mentality I have obtained by living here. I am not proud of it, and I do not know what to do with it, so I introduce my confusion to compassion with the purchase of a mango. It's a good place to start. Yeah, maybe he's wasting his money on crack and his bones on fighting with the locals over meaningless possessions others have thrown out, but if I do not offer food first, I cannot get beyond it. Plus, God feeds me, I believe, and if I do believe it, why would I judge others for not feeding themselves before understanding why it is they do not?

I am still letting go. God be praised. I would not do so without the mangos He's buying me.