On the Frontline

Imagine a world where children live in gangs, without families, without food and without shelter; where adults turn their back on children, ignoring them as they lie on the pavement or under an overpass, surrounded by dust, rubbish and flies. Imagine a world where an eight year old boy’s only means of escape from his urban prison is to sniff glue from a plastic bag and drift into a deluded sleep. Sadly this is not the back cover of a forgotten George Orwell novel. This is the world we live in; this is central Lima.

It’s a hot January morning; the sun burns through grey sky as the traffic clatters along a busy highway. Today will open my eyes and street children will become a reality. I accompany Martine who is a key member of Toybox’s Red Alert scheme. Martine works on the streets where he makes first contact with children (mostly boys) who have been forced into this horrific lifestyle. He encourages them to visit, or possibly stay at, one of the local shelters or rehabilitation centres.

Naively I assume that this will not be too difficult. After all, surely no child would live on the street given a choice in the matter. But what I forget is that most of these children have only ever been failed by the adults in their lives. They have been raised on a diet of rejection, poverty and abuse. Building their trust is a painstaking process. These are hardened individuals who have learned many of life’s cruellest lessons at a time when they should have been nurtured in a loving family.

Along the side of the road walks a wiry young boy. He wears a grubby red t-shirt and runs a stick along a metal railing before hopping over it and edging his way down a grassy embankment towards a group of figures huddled in the distance. He glances at me as he passes but maintains a look of apathy. I notice that he has no shoes and consider what unsavoury items he might risk treading on. “This is a good place to find street boys” says Martine, “wait here.” I feel a little nervous as he descends the embankment towards the gang in the distance but moments later he beckons for me to join him.

There are about 12 boys altogether: the youngest looks around eight years old; the oldest could be 17 or 18. There is an intoxicating stench of glue and evidence of solvent abuse littered across the floor. The older boys are asleep under cardboard boxes but several of the younger ones seem excited by Martine’s arrival. It is clear that they know him and his presence is welcome. I sit quietly and watch as he opens his backpack and begins to weave a friendship bracelet out of coloured string. Three or four of the boys join him and begin to weave their own with great care and concentration.

Martine explains the dynamics of the group: “The older boys are still asleep. They look after the younger ones but in return they might get them to steal for them. If they wake up we might have to go.” It is clear that without him I would not be so welcome - or so safe. This meeting is very much on their terms and I feel strangely honoured to have been accepted.

It is a joy to watch Martine at work. He is very calm and self-effacing but somehow has a number of the boys hanging on his every word. He shows them affection with the lightest touch to the shoulder or head and speaks to them with the utmost respect; a value that is evidently reciprocated. None of this will ensure that any of these boys will leave life on the streets and accept the help of the local project workers, but seeing them interact with Martine and participate in normal childhood activities, like making the bracelets, exposes the dying embers of childhood innocence.

Martine strikes up conversation with the boy in the red t-shirt. His name is Michael. He tells us that he left home because his father used to beat him. He explains that life on the streets gives him the freedom to live as he pleases, all be it with nothing but the clothes on his back and the company of the other children. When Martine suggests he go to a project, Michael looks thoughtful for a moment but then rejects the idea. “It is impossible to make a child leave the streets; the desire has to come from within them” Martine explains. It occurs to me that the streets are all these children know, other than the previous life which drove them here in the first place. Michael takes Martine’s phone number in case he changes his mind and scampers across the underpass to another set of friends.

We sit with the boys for two and a half hours in total. Martine tactfully makes conversation with the more receptive members of the group; he never intrudes on those who show no interest. Eventually two older boys wake up and seem un-nerved by our presence. As we leave Michael runs back over to Martine to tell him that he’s lost the piece of paper with the number on it, Martine replaces it and we walk away.

For tonight, and possibly many more after it, these boys will stay on the streets. But I just saw a little glimpse of light. In a world that commonly views street children as unwanted pests, Martine offers a glimmer of hope. He is the first step on a long and difficult road. People like him crave no recognition or instant gratification and when asked what motivates him he says only that the children make his life make sense.

As for me, I leave in awe of Martine’s patience and dedication but emotionally drained by what I have seen. He and other volunteers like him are re-building lives on a day to day basis, an act that few of us will perform even once in our life time. I can only hope that the support of Toybox will continue to grow, in order to make this possible.

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