haunting questions

My day started at 3:30am today.
Tired of tossing and turning, I decided to get out of my comfy bed and be productive.
I used our big clean bathroom, checked missed calls and texts on my cellphone, turned my Mac on, uploaded pictures, and listened to pastor Tim Chaddik on iTunes while eating Activia and a bowl of cereal.
I put lotion all over my body and wondered what I should wear. A sweater? A jacket? A vest? Pants? Leggings? Boots? Canvas? A hat? Which one though: black? white? blue? pink? long? short? Should I carry a yellow purse? No, it's such a summer color. Black purse is too small (but not as small as my brown or black clutch) to put any textbook in. I should get my orange backpack out. I should wear earrings. But not a necklace. I'll wear a scarf instead.
I tucked my iPod with its red cover in the pocket and went to register. I bumped into Alice and went to have my second breakfast at her place.
Then I went to my first class in a room full of computers, two projectors and screens.
A brief training for work, sharing stories with some friends, more classes, then work. My suitcase finally arrived (I felt no need for anything even with my suitcase missing for 2 days) so I took the tripod and mics to prof. Volker's office. After satisfying dinner, I started unpacking--mostly gifts for my loved ones, dirty clothing, and camera charger. Would they like their gifts? Would they find use of these gifts? Do they need them?It still breaks my heart that I had to keep so many things to myself in the slums: mineral water, bracelet, necklace, shoes, cash, digital camera, notebook, pens... Things I have more than plenty of, yet things these little kids stared at in awe, things they couldn't stop peaking at, things they chased after. We were specifically told not to give anything away unless we can give it to everyone. Impossible.
"Can I look at your pen?" A kid asked while the other kid was playing with my camera.
"Of course!" I gave him my pen and was looking for a moment to get away, "accidently" forgetting my pen and camera in their hands. I have many other pens and another camera in the States. But I was too late.
"It's very pretty," praised the kid as he returned the pen. Gosh, kid. You're not helping.
"This is dead now," said the other kid with my camera. The batteries. He handed it back to me as if it had lost its value.
"Asante," I thanked both of them and put the items back in my sling bag Lem had given me.
What bad have they done that they have to go through such despair?
What good have I done to enjoy Cheez-It even as I write this?