While walking the streets of Granada I am bombarded by young children in tattered clothes, barefoot and dusty. All seeking to touch me, hold my attention, sell me a trinket or ask for money. Their wide eyes and outstretched muddy palms are both gentle and desperate. My guide shoos away the groups of children over and over and is embarrassed by the interruptions. Later, when driving around surrounding towns and villages I ask him about the poverty in his country. I ask him to take me to a place these shooed away ones live. After much hesitation he veered off the main streets and took me down narrow, unpaved roads where I saw tents, structures made of tarps, wood poles and scrap metal. These are the desolate places these wide-eyed children call home...