It was my 24th birthday this past week – my first
birthday away from home, family, and friends – and it was amazing. Sorry peeps from home, don’t take that the
wrong way, it’s not that birthdays with you guys aren’t amazing, but there’s
something special about waking up in Kathmandu with three amazing women
sleeping on the floor next to you.
…And going to get some tea from the kitchen only to find a
plate of Snickers bars and sweet notes from your team on the breakfast table.
…And a home made birthday banner with encouraging adjectives
all over it.
…And cards from your Nepalese brother (even one that
sings!).
…And a crazy t-shirt that is the epitome of Asian clothing
from your Nepalese Mom & Dad.
The plan for the day was to go into Thamel (the tourist part
of town) for the afternoon, run some errands, and have some sweet chill out
time as a team. We did all that, said
goodbye to our amazing team leader, Janell, for the next couple of days while
she gets some sweet trekking in with the other team leaders, and headed off to
get some last minute supplies for travel day to India!!
As we are walking down the street, some of the street
children we’ve befriended (well, more like fell in love with) ran up to us
yelling our Nepalese names and being generous with the hugs, and wishing me
sweet Happy Birthdays. After chatting
with them we head off to the grocery store.
As I am staring at the overpriced shampoo bottles I hear a sweet voice
call, “Jeti!” – my Nepalese name. I turn
around and see one of the street girls standing outside the store,
conspicuously holding something behind her back. While giving her a hug she asks me, “Jeti, is
today your birthday?” I nod and say,
“Yep.” Her face turns into a big grin
and she pulls a big orange balloon from behind her and hands it to me.
Never before has rubber filled with helium meant more to me
ever before in my entire life. It might
even be the most precious gift I have received in many, many years (maybe even
ever).
Here is a girl who works on the streets of Thamel during the
day trying to sell tourists post cards so that she can have enough food to fill
her belly, and she spends her money on me to get me something for
my birthday. If you’re not feeling warm
and fuzzy right now, check your pulse!
A couple boys come over and, yep you called it, greeted us
with big hugs. We figure it’s been a
good long while since they’ve had some food, so we take them into the store and
pick out some digestive crackers and mango juice, hug them again, and wave
goodbye. I’m smiling and happy, thanking
God for an amazing day with people I love when David, one of the street boys
comes back into the store barefoot, jacketless, hair messed up, and sobbing as
his body shakes. He calls my name and
holds my arm with is shaking hand while I ask him what’s wrong.
Between breaths he asks me if I bought the crackers and
juice for him.
Confused and getting pretty worried at this point I answer,
“Of course.”
He pulls my arm and asks me to come with him and tell that
to the policemen outside. His words came
out disjointed, affected by the anger and overwhelming hurt, as he told me that
they had taken the food from him and started beating him, accusing him of
stealing not only the food but picking my pockets as well. They threw him on the ground and beat him
with sticks about his head and on his body, and as he told me this I felt
indignant anger swell inside of me and my eyes well up with hot, livid
tears. With my arm around him, we walked
together towards the policemen and I told them clearly what had happened.
They stared at me blankly as I asked them to apologize to
David, they looked from me to him and turned around and ignored us. I’m not going to type out the words that went
through my head at that point, but I’m grateful David was too upset to take
notice of their spineless disrespect.
I sat with him as he sobbed and talked to me, saying over
and over again that he didn’t steal from me.
It hit me that he was just as hurt physically as he was in his heart,
that he was afraid I would turn him away because of the scene, because he was
accused of being a thief. I held his
skeleton-like frame for the while it took for him to calm down enough to
breathe normally while I tried to calm the raging storm inside of me.
This is the kind of world we live in.
A world where the cries of hungry children are met with
impatience.
A world where tourists and police look at us disdainfully as
we hug the kids that they only see as dirty
beggars.
A world where a boy of 15 has to fend for himself on the
streets because his mother and father aren’t around to provide for him.
A world where a boy can only eat by the grace of tourists,
or by collecting trash to earn a few measly rupees.
A world where a girl can’t buy a boy some damn crackers and
juice without him getting beaten for it.
A world where those who are supposed to protect use their
canes instead of their brains.
A world where the suffering, starving youth of our
generation line the streets of every single nation on the planet.
This is the kind of world we live in.
Is it the kind of world you want to live in?
Because it sure as hell isn’t where I want to live.
