Original: see it here
In western countries they’ll be sitting at the table now, greedily attacking the golden roast, inhaling the delicious smells of gravy and cranberry sauce. Here, grovelling in the dust, plagued by flies, the emaciated child whimpers pitifully for want of a few grains of rice and some clean, fresh water.
I sit down by the child, and pour a little water from my canteen into a cup, offering it to him. He looks up at me, questioningly at first, but then gratefully accepts it. Others wonder why I spend my holidays here. They would understand if they saw his smile.