One day, I was driving in an extravagant four-wheel drive with two friends through the mountains of Nicaragua.  The coffee harvest had just failed. Now Nicaragua is not particularly well known for its social safety net when it comes to the unemployed or other unfortunates, and in no time we were stopped by a crowd of people that had stretched a rope across the road.

In a panic, the word “ambush” raced through our minds. We had regularly been warned to watch out for the lawless bandits left over from the guerrilla period and that were now entrenched in the autonomous region in which we now found ourselves. I was convinced that our brashness was going to be ruthlessly punished. That was not so. While we cautiously lowered the armoured windows, a group of hungry ex-coffee pickers gazed at us pleadingly.

“Do you have anything to eat?” About forty of them were standing there. We had enough provisions for three people. Shocked and laughing nervously we handed over some cartons of fruit juice, lumps of cheese and half loaves of bread. Even some cakes, which we had sat upon accidentally and no longer fancied eating, were gratefully received. Quickly, too quickly, the moment came when we realised that we wouldn’t have enough for ourselves if we were not able to buy more provisions en route. Before you know it, you start thinking about saving your own skin. Until that man stood in front of me. That man with the emaciated body – the whites of his eyes yellow with disease. He would die if he didn’t eat something quickly. I knew that for sure. Quick, an orange. That was the first thing I could find and, in the meantime, the only thing that we had left. So, proud as a peacock of my generosity, I stuck the piece of fruit through the half-open armoured window and handed it to him. The man took my pathetic little orange as if it was a holy relic and then immediately gave it to a child with a protruding stomach, the sort of child you see on TV with flies in its eyes and a bulging belly and that makes you want to change channels as quickly as possible. However, you cannot erase the sight from your mind.  It began to dawn on me what generosity really meant.

The following summer I worked for six weeks as a “street child carer” in El Progreso, Honduras.

Sometimes, I was not able to get up in the morning because I couldn’t summon up the strength once again to confront those children dying of hunger. In a dazed state, I remained in bed with the sticky remains of the tears from the night before in my eyes and I felt guilty and weak because I could not find the courage and the drive to carry on.

However, it was usually a lot of fun and I happily received all the love that children are able to give so unconditionally. I enjoyed the noisy parties, the games of football, the cuddles and the giggling fits. Thanks to them I learned how to lead a better life and discovered that it was true, something I already secretly knew: the more you give, all the more you receive.

It is my aim to contribute to the restoration of balance in the world. A little money, a little love and a little energy can find its way to those who need it most via Homeless Child. It may be a drop in the ocean but with enough drops many oceans may be filled.