CLICK HERE FOR THOUSANDS OF FREE BLOGGER TEMPLATES »

Saturday, July 5, 2008

Boy took a beating.


There are so many stories to share but as I relaxed this afternoon, one came to mind. It was toward the end of the trip... and yes, I will tell you all about the in between when there is more time, I just want to jump ahead for a minute. We were at a street that had several little shops of locally made goods for tourists. The beggers and street salesman of all ages frequent this area because they know that everyone who comes there typically has money to burn. They want their piece of that money.


Our driver was late coming to pick us up. We hadn't intended to be there very long and really needed to get to some SERIOUS shopping for the orphanage party we were hosting later that day, but God had a LONG and important message to deliver at our driver, Tom's, church. Tom is a translator at the pulpit for their bi-lingual service and had been dressed in his Sunday best. At this point, we didn't know why he was late... only that he was. Kim stayed in the shop with Netza where she was welcomed and purchased most of her goodies for home. I waiting at the meeting place for Tom which was in front of a specific shop. Boys ranging between 6 and 11 years old by best guess would come by wanting to sell cheap nothings, clean shoes, or just beg. A woman with her daughter did the same.


The police do not want tourists bothered as they attempt to shop. A police woman came down and most of the "beggers" went to the opposite side of the street, still motioning to me as I waited. The mother with the child sat on a half wall and the little girl, no more than 2 years old, would wave to me as she played on a dirt mound saying in her best English "Hello, Lady!!". Time went by. I crossed the street. The girl was precious wearing her blue little coat. I reached out to her with a folded bur in hand. (That is their currency there.) She reached out smiling from ear to ear and placed the bur tightly in the palm of her hand. I spoke softly to her and the mother watched on. I asked to take the child's picture and was told it was not ok. That was fine... I stayed a few minutes longer and as I was about to leave, the mother allowed me to take the chil'd picture. (As on this blog).


I went back to the meeting spot. Watched the child more as I waited. Saw kids get hit with a wooden stick by the police woman as they tried to approach tourists to beg. My heart sank. The kids were only slightly deterred dispite the insuing bruises which would be there in time. The police would now pick up baseball sized rocks and pitch them their direction. My heart sank more. WHERE WAS TOM? How much of this could I take.


A boy came my way with a wooden box. I asked him if he could clean my shoes. It was more to help the child than due to the filth of my shoes. I honestly didn't even know what to do now that I had inlisted his services. He told me to sit on the step of a shop. That didn't seem right since obviously no one could get in or out, but I did as directed. He picked up my sneaker and placed it on the box. Dipped a sponge into murky water which he carried in a yellow, plastic pail that was once filled with vegetable oil, and began to wash my shoe. I quickly told him it was good enough and he moved to the next shoe.


Out of no where, the police woman came at us. She struck him in the back with her open hand and his body jerked. I sat straight and stern- in my most serious voice told her that I had ASKED for his services as she then walked off. The boy cocked his head sideways and his eyes met mine. His heart was broken. His spirit shattered... What could I do? I felt so terrible for him. Like most all of the other boys who clean shoes, he does it to pay for his food, school, and school books. They usually live on the floor of a nearest relative and their parents are usually deceased. He is trying all he knows to do when he should be playing and not worrying about such grown up matters. And then to be beaten and told his efforts are of no value- Just wrong. Sick.


I overpaid him. Way overpaid him. I didn't know what more one could possibly do. He nodded his head in thanks and scurried away in order to avoid another lashing from the police. I took a moment and prayed for him... Tom then finally arrived.

0 comments: