The babies of Pub Street

I’ve seen it a thousand times before. Beggars on the streets asking for money. They come in all forms here in Cambodia. Young, old, disabled, strung out. They follow you, they cry for you. Same desperation, same story. I’ve actually gotten to the point where it doesn’t even bother me anymore. Or so I thought.

 

I’ve recently come to discover that after 9 pm on Pub Street there’s a different form of beggar. Children with babies. Like 10 year-old boys and girls carrying around infants. These boys are girls aren’t asking for food, but milk for their brothers and sisters.

 

This happened a few nights ago.  An eight year-old boy with a coughing sister came to me while I was in line for a pancake.

 

“Please, please buy some milk for my sister.”

 

I looked at the baby and I looked at Mike, who I know was hurting just as bad as I was. I couldn’t let this baby go without food. Last month I was wrecked for the starving children in the Philippines and knew I could help this baby. Plus we’ve been buying street kids food all month. They usually sit and have a meal with us and we talk about their families. At least then we know where the money is going and they’re getting fed.

 

 But this was a baby. So I went with the boy.

 

“This way. We go to market and buy some milk.”

 

So I walked with him. Hand in hand to buy milk for his sister. It’s just like buying food at the restaurant and giving it to the kid, right? At least I’m not just giving him money. As we were walking another boy came up and said the same thing. They started to argue as if the first kid was afraid he wouldn’t get his milk, but I invited them both into the store. They immediately took me to the back and pulled off the shelf a $15 can of powdered milk. The most expensive one on the shelf.

 

“This is very expensive. Why can’t we buy her fresh milk.”

 

“No, no we need the one for babies.”

 

At this point I knew something was up but was committed to seeing this child get fed that night no matter what the cost.

 

I walked up to the counter with two small cans of powered milk, and as I paid, they grabbed them and ran out of the store.

 

Hoping I did the right thing I walked back to tell Mike what had happened. At that point he was buying another little girl a plate of take out and we sat at the restaurant. A few minutes later I saw my boys out begging again. Same baby. No milk. I watched for a bit and within 20 minutes all the street kids and babies were sitting on a corner with an older man. I had heard stories about these “beggar pimps” that collect babies and use them get money for food. I have even seen older women with babies motioning for food on the streets but never children. At that point I’m not sure which was greater, the anger that I felt because I had just gotten ripped off by a pimp, or the sadness that the baby didn’t get fed. I later found out that they take the formula back to the store in exchange for money.

 

Tonight Tim and I decided to grab a late night plate of noodles at the dollar market. It was around 11 on Pub Street, so the prostitutes and beggars were out full force. We met a 12 year-old boy named Ping. Tim bought him a meal. Same story.  I looked around. Same children. Same babies out. Same starvation.

 

Something in me snapped at that moment. An anger towards the injustices I saw rose up in me until I stormed out of the restaurant.