When I visit her, I can tell she is poor. Her roof needs repair, her body screams poverty and I remember why I am doing this. She weaves a stool that she will sell. Everyday she does this and she rushes to finish. I ask her how much she makes a day and she tells me that she makes 2 cents a stool. 2 cents a day! I remember why I am doing this. How is one ever supposed to overcome poverty with 2 cents a day? You couldn’t, I couldn’t, and she can’t. That’s the difference, for her this is reality. We can only imagine, but this is past imagination for her. She has to worry about her children. How can she support her kids’ futures? As I think about her life, I remember why I am doing this.