My month in Mongolia is coming to an end. I feel desperate for time. Even now while I’m typing I could use more time to organize my thoughts. But I don’t have it.
I’ve been doing a little digging and so far found nothing much, but here’s what I do know:
Prior to 1990 there were virtually no street children in Mongolia.
In 1990 Mongolia switched from communism to a free trade economy.
Shortly following the switch, children started showing up on the streets.
People started losing their jobs and had no choice. It was starve or send the kids out to beg and have food. It was either freeze in the countryside or move to the city and utilize every member of the family.
It really didn’t take long for Mongolia to have an assortment of new social problems. Homelessness. Drunkenness. Street children.
None of these things are pretty. I get it, they’re messy and will make a country look bad. I saw, first hand, society’s embarrassment of itself. A few weeks ago was Nadam. It’s Mongolia’s favorite national holiday. I went and it was really fun. I ate their national food, basically a deep fried meat pocket, and I drank fermented horse milk.
But our homeless ministry was temporarily halted for the festivities. Not because the homeless suddenly had homes but because they were transported outside of the city. The city didn’t want the tourists to see. For a few days, everybody turned a blind eye to the devastation of alcoholism and the truth of homelessness.
I’ve also seen, first hand, the aftermath of drunkenness. A few nights ago I woke up to the sound of a woman’s shrieks. My teammates were already up, looking out the window. The first words I heard were, “Is she getting raped?” No, she wasn’t. But as soon as I spotted her, it looked as if a man was trying to calm her down. I thought maybe she was just being hysterical.
My mistake.
After a few minutes she started screaming again. He was beating her, kicking her while she was laying in the dirt. Our two options to help were grim. 1. Call the cops who likely wouldn’t do anything because the occurrence was too common. 2. Go down there ourselves and probably end up in the middle of a fight we didn’t have the muscle for. So instead we prayed.
What I haven’t seen are children.
They’re not here.
It’s estimated, 20,000 Mongolian children are gone.
It wasn’t overnight, it was over about a year. Slowly, the number of street children has been dwindling. That would be the best news if we knew where they were going and who was taking them. But we don’t.
I fear, like the homeless men we served this month, these children are being swept underneath a rug. Hidden from the public eye.
Google it. You won’t find anything, I didn’t. It’s not publicized. But I’m here and I’m telling you it’s real.
The street children in Mongolia were called ‘Manhole Children’ because they lived underneath the city next to the pipes to keep warm. But I don’t know if that’s still an accurate name for them. They’re missing children. And there’s a lot of them.
I have no idea what to do next. So I’ll pray. Will you join me?
Photo credit: Cori Ward
