I’m sitting on concrete steps waiting for a bus when I’m approached by a barefoot Nepali boy who looks no older than eight. He looks at me indignantly and holds out his hand.
Crap, what do I do? We’ve been instructed not to give money to street kids, so I won’t, but I’m not going to lie to this kid.
I shake my head.
“Money.”
“Sorry, no.”
“Two hundred. Now.”
I don’t cave, trying to be stern without being rude, and he leaves me to go pester each of my teammates and six other squadmates individually. None of them give him anything, but he doesn’t leave.
It may seem that we’re devoid of any compassion, but there’s a good reason why we don’t give him money. Hundreds of kids wander the streets of Nepal, some of whom lost their parents in the earthquake that happened almost a year ago. If you give them money, they’ll take it and use it to buy glue or paint, which they’ll use to get high. The high staves off hunger, and kids as young as six and seven are caught in the tragedy of addiction.
If you can get that image out of your head, it gets even more complicated. The well-intended thought is to give the kids food instead, but it’s not that easy. They will often have agreements with store owners and take unopened food and drinks back to the shops in exchange for a small amount of money, which they’ll use to buy more glue.
So why not open a package ahead of time and give it to them? They often won’t take it – eating would reduce the high they’ve grown dependent on, and once it’s open, they can’t sell it back to a store. It’s a vicious, sick cycle that quite frankly makes me want to vomit. This particular kid held a plastic bag in his hand and huffed paint fumes right in front of us.
Back on the steps, the boy returns to me, points at my watch, and then to his own wrist.
“No, I’m not going to give you my watch.”
He won’t go, and scampers back up the steps. Brooke decides to try a new tactic and asks him what his name is, which turns out to be Vijay. She continues talking to him, but as he doesn’t speak much English, the conversation stalls. Thankfully for us two girls come to the rescue and help translate for us. By now people are stopping to watch the scene play out. Most Nepali people pay no mind to the street kids, so a dozen white girls sitting and talking with one is puzzling at the very least.
Brooke asks Vijay if we can pray for him and, with a combination of hand signals and help from the two girls, gets him to bow his head and close his eyes. We pray together as a group, and talk to Vijay about Jesus for a few minutes. The local girls leave, and we’re left trying to communicate on our own.
Two of my teammates go to a vendor to buy bananas and a bottle of water. Although he refuses at first, Vijay eventually eats a few of the bananas and drinks some of the water. We also convince him to throw away his plastic bag by telling him the fumes would take away his muscles. (I guess boys are pretty much the same all over the world).
Our bus arrives and we have to leave Vijay behind, probably never to see him again.
I honestly don’t know what to think. There’s pretty much nothing we can do in this situation, and what tangible good is it to tell this kid that Jesus loves him when he’s just going to wake up, beg for money, and get high all over again? All I know is that our small encounter with Vijay is more than he’ll get from most people on the street, but his situation breaks my heart.
Pray for Vijay. Pray for the street kids of Nepal. Find organizations or
missionaries working to help them and support these causes. It may not seem like much, but it’s so much more than nothing.
