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Hear the children's cry
HEART TO HEART
Betty Ann Blaine
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Dear Reader,
"Beg yuh $50, Miss," the skinny, barefooted boy asked while he kept his head down and his eyes riveted on the pavement. "What do you want the money to do?" I asked. "Fi buy food, Miss. A 'ungry."
At the point of contact, the terms of reference seemed irrelevant. The child was hungry, and while my vexation mounted about the negligence of his parents, it was impossible to walk away. His friend and partner in poverty joined him when I invited him to go into the store with me to buy something to eat. As I stood waiting at the cash register, I could see the two boys smiling with each other as they moved from shelf to shelf, not knowing how to take up the very "generous" offer of choosing what they wanted. It took much longer than I expected. The boys moved from cooler to cooler looking, touching and replacing the variety of "drinks" in front of them. They didn't quite know which ones to choose. The snack counters proved even more appealing, as they looked, touched and exchanged item after item. In the end, I was surprised. One boy picked up a small plastic bag of packaged, sliced, tin cheese and raisin bread, and the other, a similar cheese package with some kind of sweet cake. I sensed their hesitancy to pick up a second item, so I prodded them to select their favourite chocolate or candy. The smiles reappeared, as they headed to the shelves to choose again.
The reality is that we have cultivated a generation of child beggars, and many of them are walking around hungry. Sometimes they move about in groups of four or five. Some are siblings, and in other cases are peers. The children usually attend the same school. They walk in large groups for protection against bigger boys and fully grown men who are not shackled by the law or morality to prey on small children.
Often, they walk long distances from home, entering "uptown" areas that are alien to them and look like the "foreign" places they see on television.
Those who become permanent vendors quickly master the technique of selling. "Nice lady, buy something from me, nuh." The tiny faces immediately contort to the occasion - the eyes become sad, the face droops, and they take on all the attributes of a beggar. Most of the times they don't accept the first "No" for an answer. "Please Miss, patronise me, nuh. This is to help me to go to school tomorrow."
More often than not, the children are speaking the truth. They are sent out with an allotment of goods, and they are expected to sell a "portion" before going home. What they make is for lunch money and bus fare, and sometimes, it's for Sunday dinner. Some weekends yield very little, and the children share in the burden of the loss. That might mean sausage or sardines instead of chicken back or selected chicken parts for dinner.
It was on a Sunday that I climbed the old, treacherous staircase, walked along the dark passageway of one-room houses and into the space occupied by a mother and her five-year-old son. It's amazing what can be fitted into a small space, when mandatory. Actually, what is usually sacrificed is the space for walking. In this case there was almost none, because the bed, dresser, fridge and television took it all up. The two-burner stove had no option than to find itself between the fridge and the door that remained half-open to support the need for more space.
I arrived in time to see dinner being prepared. The sound and the smell of the sausages frying filled the small space. Plain rice was also being boiled. Even though I sat comfortably on the bed, I could sense the embarrassment about what was being cooked for Sunday dinner. The small child seemed happy though. After all, he really had nothing with which to compare what he was eating, and he would not go to bed hungry that night. Many stories are worse, but there are very few voices to tell the tale.
As I write, our children are crying and many are, in fact, dying. Let no one fool you. The state of Jamaica's children is at crisis proportions. Persistent poverty and protracted violence keep them malnourished and marginalised, and the steady diet of murders ensures that their emotional state remains fractious and traumatised. For many children, going to school is merely an "exercise" that is becoming increasingly optional on Thursday and Friday - those days when the wholesale markets are vibrant, and the chances of bringing in extra cash are heightened.
Poverty not only dictates a growing child labour workforce, it feeds early sexual activity which is quite possibly at epidemic proportions across the country. Increasing numbers of our children, both girls and boys, are being lured by "big" men who send them to school and buy the things that many young people want - cellphones, "bling" and fried chicken in exchange for sex.
Travelling to and from school is now on the agenda as a "high-risk" activity, as children find themselves at the mercy of unlawful and reckless taxi and minibus drivers whose vehicles are really killing machines masquerading as "transportation". In many cases, the vehicles are used as mattresses as young girls are seduced into having sex during the hours designated for school.
And the list goes on: murder, rape, incest, suicide, death by fire, beating, etc.
The main question is, when will Jamaica say "Enough is Enough!" and respond to the cry of our children?
With love,
bab2609@yahoo.com
HEART TO HEART
Betty Ann Blaine
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Dear Reader,
"Beg yuh $50, Miss," the skinny, barefooted boy asked while he kept his head down and his eyes riveted on the pavement. "What do you want the money to do?" I asked. "Fi buy food, Miss. A 'ungry."
At the point of contact, the terms of reference seemed irrelevant. The child was hungry, and while my vexation mounted about the negligence of his parents, it was impossible to walk away. His friend and partner in poverty joined him when I invited him to go into the store with me to buy something to eat. As I stood waiting at the cash register, I could see the two boys smiling with each other as they moved from shelf to shelf, not knowing how to take up the very "generous" offer of choosing what they wanted. It took much longer than I expected. The boys moved from cooler to cooler looking, touching and replacing the variety of "drinks" in front of them. They didn't quite know which ones to choose. The snack counters proved even more appealing, as they looked, touched and exchanged item after item. In the end, I was surprised. One boy picked up a small plastic bag of packaged, sliced, tin cheese and raisin bread, and the other, a similar cheese package with some kind of sweet cake. I sensed their hesitancy to pick up a second item, so I prodded them to select their favourite chocolate or candy. The smiles reappeared, as they headed to the shelves to choose again.
The reality is that we have cultivated a generation of child beggars, and many of them are walking around hungry. Sometimes they move about in groups of four or five. Some are siblings, and in other cases are peers. The children usually attend the same school. They walk in large groups for protection against bigger boys and fully grown men who are not shackled by the law or morality to prey on small children.
Often, they walk long distances from home, entering "uptown" areas that are alien to them and look like the "foreign" places they see on television.
Those who become permanent vendors quickly master the technique of selling. "Nice lady, buy something from me, nuh." The tiny faces immediately contort to the occasion - the eyes become sad, the face droops, and they take on all the attributes of a beggar. Most of the times they don't accept the first "No" for an answer. "Please Miss, patronise me, nuh. This is to help me to go to school tomorrow."
More often than not, the children are speaking the truth. They are sent out with an allotment of goods, and they are expected to sell a "portion" before going home. What they make is for lunch money and bus fare, and sometimes, it's for Sunday dinner. Some weekends yield very little, and the children share in the burden of the loss. That might mean sausage or sardines instead of chicken back or selected chicken parts for dinner.
It was on a Sunday that I climbed the old, treacherous staircase, walked along the dark passageway of one-room houses and into the space occupied by a mother and her five-year-old son. It's amazing what can be fitted into a small space, when mandatory. Actually, what is usually sacrificed is the space for walking. In this case there was almost none, because the bed, dresser, fridge and television took it all up. The two-burner stove had no option than to find itself between the fridge and the door that remained half-open to support the need for more space.
I arrived in time to see dinner being prepared. The sound and the smell of the sausages frying filled the small space. Plain rice was also being boiled. Even though I sat comfortably on the bed, I could sense the embarrassment about what was being cooked for Sunday dinner. The small child seemed happy though. After all, he really had nothing with which to compare what he was eating, and he would not go to bed hungry that night. Many stories are worse, but there are very few voices to tell the tale.
As I write, our children are crying and many are, in fact, dying. Let no one fool you. The state of Jamaica's children is at crisis proportions. Persistent poverty and protracted violence keep them malnourished and marginalised, and the steady diet of murders ensures that their emotional state remains fractious and traumatised. For many children, going to school is merely an "exercise" that is becoming increasingly optional on Thursday and Friday - those days when the wholesale markets are vibrant, and the chances of bringing in extra cash are heightened.
Poverty not only dictates a growing child labour workforce, it feeds early sexual activity which is quite possibly at epidemic proportions across the country. Increasing numbers of our children, both girls and boys, are being lured by "big" men who send them to school and buy the things that many young people want - cellphones, "bling" and fried chicken in exchange for sex.
Travelling to and from school is now on the agenda as a "high-risk" activity, as children find themselves at the mercy of unlawful and reckless taxi and minibus drivers whose vehicles are really killing machines masquerading as "transportation". In many cases, the vehicles are used as mattresses as young girls are seduced into having sex during the hours designated for school.
And the list goes on: murder, rape, incest, suicide, death by fire, beating, etc.
The main question is, when will Jamaica say "Enough is Enough!" and respond to the cry of our children?
With love,
bab2609@yahoo.com