Driving through the windy streets of Bihar I was struck by two things. The first was how narrow the roads were and how difficult it was to progress forward in a sea of jammed up traffic. The second, hit me with much more of a thud as I looked out the window and fell right into the gaze of young girl begging on the streets. She wouldn’t have been more than 12 years old but the look of utter despair on her face and the desperation her expression portrayed aged her well beyond her young years.
The face of this girl has haunted me ever since. As she stood there barefoot in brown, tattered clothing I wondered about what her life might entail. I imagine that as like most street children, she would either be destitute or homeless, or more likely a combination of both. I worried about her safety alone at night and considered how vulnerable of a position she must find herself in covered under darkness. Did she have somewhere safe to rest her head each night? Or as I suspected, was she preyed upon by those should know better, who should be protecting her?
I wondered how she was supporting herself. The earnings she would make begging on the street would surely not be enough to exist on. I considered what her other options would be. At that age, on her own, she surely would not be able to attend school every day. Even if she was able to go to school, she would surely be discriminated against due to her status, living on the streets. How would she afford to pay for her school uniform, her books? Where could she study at night? At this point, she would barely have been old enough to attend high school and whether or not she received any part of a primary education was unlikely. Therefore, what skills did she have? How could she earn money to sustain her life? Had she fallen into sex industry out of desperation? Was that the only way she could survive? Or worse had she been trafficked into a brutal industry that robbed her of her childhood?
I pondered on what kind of health care she could access. She was rail thin, probably from a combination of malnourishment during early childhood and from years of living on the streets with minimal access to food. Was she at an age where she was menstruating yet? If she was, did she have access to sanitary products? Could she afford these every month?
My heart broke as we drove away as my mind was consumed with thoughts associated with what possible future she would have. Her suffering was apparent even at this early stage of her life. Would her coming years continue to be lived without opportunity in such hardship?
This entire encounter occurred within a split second. But the look on this child’s face, the desperation, the despair, the vulnerability will stay with me for a lifetime. In a country that has developed economically so rapidly in the space of a decade, how is it possible that a child could be barefoot, begging on the streets and be faced with such danger every day in this way?
As I think about this girl now I am reminded of my inherent privilege. My privilege to have grown up with 2 parents who loved me, with a roof over my head, with food on the table. I consider how many opportunities I have had to educate myself, to choose and determine my future. The endemic cycle of poverty has trapped this young girl and so many others and prevented them from achieving their true potential.
Does this girl have dreams for her future I wonder? Aspirations to be a teacher or a doctor? What aspect of this existence determined that I had the freedom to dream and to live safely and yet these basic elements were denied to this girl?
Wherever she is, I want her to know that I haven’t forgotten her. That her memory will stay with me and add to this reason why I attempt to serve humanity each and every day. I will fight for equality, for poverty reduction for the rights of marginalised people with her in mind. I know that I can’t assist her to raise herself out of poverty, but I can facilitate this opportunity for others. I must, I will, I promise her that.
Sx
I blog for Change. 