Cambodia is one of the most devastating places in the world to visit.
A place of great beauty and historic significance, Cambodia is also home to thousands of unexploded land mines that still cause untold damage, even decades after the war in Southeast Asia is over.
When you cross over by land from Thailand into Cambodia, the first thing you see is a row of people with missing limbs, sitting in the dirt.
Those that still have hands reach out to you for a little spare change.
Those that don't, simply sit with a bowl in front of them.
Every one of them has been a victim of one of these land mines.
Perhaps they went out into the jungle to pick fruit, or do a little hunting to feed their families.
One small step on that deadly ordnance that was dropped so many years ago, sitting undetected until then, and life changes forever.
There is no rehabilitation, no social safety net.
There is no opportunity for prosthetics, and no check from the government.
There is just sitting along the border with a bowl in front of you.
A strange thing about the culture of those limbless beggars, people tell me, is that those that have lost the most limbs have more status among that community, since a more visible shock engenders a greater amount of spare change.
This peculiar status led to a sort of black humor among a group of children I met in Poipet, just across the Thai border.
Homeless children roam the streets there, begging food and money or picking up the occasional odd job.
Often they fall victim to unscrupulous people who take advantage of them.
Many of the tourists advised me not to give them any money, because if you give one a few coins, you'll have a crowd following you, and that's true enough.
But you have to have a pretty cold heart to simply ignore these unfortunate children.
How could I turn my back when a homeless eight year old boy came up to me and told me he was hungry? There was one young boy who used humor-black humor-to get enough food for him and his friends when I was there.
He came up to me, his arm obviously withdrawn under his shirt to make it look like he had a missing limb.
Smiling and in broken English, he said to me, "Please Missus, may I have some money for food? Look at me, I don't have an arm!" Then his friend came over and pulled his arm out of his shirt playfully, and said, "No, no! Look, he has arm! Give me money instead!" We all laughed and continued on with this strange game for a few minutes and I rewarded them both with some coins, and then they ran off to the satay vendor down the path for something to eat.
It doesn't take much to turn the corner in a place like this.
With a small amount of money-at least what is a small amount to us-those who would be homeless could make a living for themselves.
I saw rays of hope in the desperation that day.
I met women at the bazaar who sold clothing and home-made crafts.
I men young men who had purchased motorbikes and offered short-distance rides and delivery services for people in town for the day who needed to get their passports stamped.
I was able to strike up a conversation with a young lady running a small booth at the bazaar.
One of the things she was selling was these adorable handcrafted items carved out of coconut shells, and I looked over in the corner of her booth, and her husband was sitting there doing the carving.
Both of his legs were missing and he sat on the ground on a small wooden platform.
"He used to sit at the border," she told me, "after the land mine accident.
" These are the people that Club Asteria can help.
A microloan of a few hundred dollars gave her enough capital to rent the booth and acquire some initial stock, and soon after, her husband discovered his own talent for carving these delightful items.
Their new micro-loan-funded business had made all the difference-and today they have a clean home, and she confided in me that she plans to surprise her husband with a store-bought wheelchair that will allow them to get around more easily.