I grew up in a typical American town, as far as I knew, there wasn’t much there that differed from say – Columbus or Denver. Being sheltered as a child is probably not all that unusual, especially in the United States, but aside from a bit of heightened fear of crime, my New Orleans upbringing was typically American. It wasn’t until I became a paramedic in the city that I realized that New Orleans was two places, one for white people, and one for black. It was probably this realization of the stark economic division in the city that drove me away. And really, it’s not that Denver doesn’t have its fair share of divisions along racial lines, it’s that they are far less prevalent. Being a paramedic in New Orleans always gave me, what I thought, was a clear view of poverty and the dirty secret it can sometimes be in a city.

I started my Monday out at a coffee shop near my hotel called “Brownies and Downies.” I had no idea what that meant, but it was close and I was in need of caffeine. I have to say, I love when American political correctness is exposed for what it is, an exercise in sterilizing situations of their truth. I say this because “Brownies and Downies” is a coffee shop where waiters with Down’s Syndrome serve coffee and brownies. Can you imagine a US non-profit that provided work training to this population calling themselves Downies? Their name aside, they are providing real work experience and income to a population that desperately needs it, and serving one hell of a yogurt parfait (I needed the probiotics).

The thing about income inequality is, as a society moves towards having deep chasms between economic and social classes, those people within the classes lose the ability to imagine lives in the others. In Cape Town, there are neighborhoods where millions of people live without running water, in tin shacks while millions drive past them every day on the highway – few ever experience their reality. Driving past these places on Monday, one can only catch a glimpse and imagine what life might be like. And as we enjoyed our wine tour of Stellenbosch, sipping out of crystal classes on beautiful verandas, we are far outside the contemplation of a member of Cape Town’s impoverished population.

Thus far, on the surface, Cape Town has been a magically wonderful place to visit. And, honestly, aside from some colorful tin on the highway, I have been completely isolated from its truly horrific poverty. I am reminded of my childhood in New Orleans, how people can feel as though they are part of a solution – or at least supporting their fellow, man by purchasing a cup of coffee. But the reality is the people facilitate their lifestyle of verandas and $1000 hats are literally starving to death, just out of earshot.

Today I ride with the paramedics in the hopes of better understanding the whole story.