More Than We Know

This young man lives in the inner city neighbourhood of Barangay 310. It is a community of winding laneways and tightly packed buildings that surround the Manila City Jail, and it may very well be one of the most challenging places in the city for a young person to grow up.

The more time I spent here, and with this young man, the more I realized just how poorly I would fair in life were this the neighbourhood where I grew up in. I can’t imagine how I would ever find my way or become my best. But the more I got to know this young man, the more I could see his strength and determination to become the person he longs to be. His is the kind of strength and determination I have never known, or ever needed to look for.

This young girl and the children around her all live by the river and are playing together in street. The look in her eyes and on her face is no accident, she really does know something about life that the rest of us are still trying to figure out. Let’s hope she grows up with strength enough to guide us all one day.

This lovely woman lives and works in the heart of old Phnom Penh in a tucked away neighbourhood that’s wedged between Charles de Gaulle Boulevard and the Orussey market. If you’re not looking for it you’ll pass right by the narrow opening to its network of laneways that tie the community together, and you’ll remain stuck on the busy streets that run unsuspecting circles around it day after day. Her neighbourhood is like a tiny, isolated world in the giant solar system of the city. For most of her life she’s been right here at the centre of it, older and wiser now, and loved by all.

This young man goes to Islamic school. Along with an academic education and studying Arabic, he is also learning to be a good Muslim, which means he’s learning to be a good person, respectful and forgiving; to be sincere and live with humility; and to always be truthful to others and to oneself.

On this day, after school, something was troubling him. It didn’t go away when we gathered for photographs or when we walked together through the village streets. Whatever it was he just couldn’t shake it. He seemed so disappointed, in something or someone, or maybe in himself. – Being a good Muslim can sometimes be a tall order for a young man. Especially for an honest, sincere, determined young man.

This old man has power over every conversation. You are at once captivated by his magnetic eyes and distracted by the reflections in the lens that magnify them. He reveals the world around you within his quiet gaze as though he were the sage of Bangladesh, the father of your fathers, the window to your soul. But he is not. He is an old man by the side of the road who has power over every conversation.

This man works at the docks by the river, loading small boats with cargo for transport to neighbouring villages. He doesn’t carry as much of the load as he used to, but he still pulls his weight. The younger men that work here all treat him with respect, like for a father who raised them, or an older brother who paved the way for them.

On this quiet day in the month of March the pandemic arrived here in Bangladesh. As of today, everything is different —for you, for me, for our families and our friends. And everything is just as different for people everywhere, people we do not know or will ever meet or have ever once even thought about. It’s not that we don’t care about others, or that we’re too busy living our own lives, it’s just that we rarely have a chance to actually feel how big the world really is and how much we are all a part of it.

Today, in the small Bangladesh village of Deara, this young girl is more than likely feeling these very things, and she is probably closer than she has ever been to thinking about you.