No Happy Ending, But Lots of Hope

One of the children who
comes to our site.

I started writing this post a couple of weeks ago, but I’ve been going back and forth about if I should post it. I struggled with publishing because it involves some of the more unfortunate realities of life here and also involves my personal pain. Finally my journalism major got the best of me and I just felt obligated to everyone who has supported my mission trip and all those offering prayers for me to not censor some of the sadder truths about life here. So here goes: 

As much beauty as I have seen, I have also seen so much pain. There is so much poverty. I especially have a hard time seeing all the street children. Some of the children fending for themselves cannot be over 6 years old. I have witnessed the damage done by the streets to my own boys before they were rescued and moved to the Foyer and it makes me so sad to stand back and see new children striving to make the streets their home. 

There is a skin disease that most of the street children have contracted. Many of them are covered in sores and flies always cover these children. It makes me sick because I’m constantly thinking, “This one covered in flies. That’s Jesus. This one with the open sores. That’s Jesus.”

One day about a week ago, two street children came to the oratory. One was 5 and the other was 8. I wish I knew their names, but they didn’t understand when I asked. I actually didn’t know that they were boys at first. The street kids will just take any clothing given to them and they were both wearing girl’s clothing. Their parents are dead and they live with their mother’s brother who refuses to care for them, other than giving them a place to sleep at night. 

They were both covered in sores and one of them had a really badly infected fingernail. It was so infected that it was rotting off. Looking at this poor child and his finger made me so angry. I took the two boys inside the priests’ house and one of the priests said I could bathe them. The boys didn’t speak English or French, so I found a Rwandan woman to just tell them they were getting a bath. 

I should probably say that these street children are so vulnerable to the horrible intentions of some bad adults. One of the priests that works with street girls told me that many times men will agree to give them food but the girls are forced to sleep with the men in return. They have to chose between starvation or rape. It’s heartbreaking. 

Section of the city

The 8 year old got so scared when I took him into the bathroom. The 5 year old was excited for a shower, so I really felt that something had happened to the 8 year old. I didn’t know what to do, so I just started singing them praise and worship songs in English. They finally realized they were safe and got ready to take their showers. We have really strict rules about child safety, so I left the bathroom door open and had the Rwandan woman with me. I started the shower for them but let them take their own showers; however, I washed both of their heads in the sink. The disease that the street children has sits in the hair. It looks like white powder in the hair but when it spreads to the skin makes sores. I wanted to make sure that got washed out of their hair. 

The 8 year old had an extended belly from being malnourished. I’m sure that his immune system was down from lack of nutrition, which didn’t help with his infected finger. I held his hand over the sink and really tried to wash the finger. It didn’t do much good. The child needed antibiotics, not just soap. The floor of the shower was solid brown when they were finished bathing themselves. 

I was asking the priests what we could do about the finger. They said there wasn’t much we could do. It was getting late and we didn’t have any medicines that would help. Finally, one of the priests told the little boy to come back the next day and they would try to figure out something to do with the finger. I never found out what happened, but street children don’t really live by rules or times, so it’s not likely the child came back. 

The hardest part for me was that after they were finished showering, I didn’t have any clean clothes to give them so they had to put back on their dirty, torn up clothing. I felt sick putting such disgusting clothing back on these children. Then I had to take them back outside and they left to go back to their uncle’s house. As soon as they walked outside, they were swarmed by just as many flies as before the shower. As they walked off together, I thought I was going to throw up. 

Smiling for the camera,
despite their many hardships. 

  I felt so guilty for not being able to do more. I wanted to grab these kids and give them brand new clothes, and take the 8 year old to the doctor, and find them parents who loved them. One of the priests talked to me afterward. He said as kindly as possible that there are hundreds of street kids right in front of of our eyes but we can’t help them all. Our responsibility is to the boys in the Foyer. After all, they are almost all orphans, they were street children, and some were even child soldiers. We have as many boys as we can afford to care for right now. If we stretched our resources too thin, we wouldn’t really be able to help anyone. 

It was really hard to hear. I kept wondering where to draw the line. When do you stop helping someone in order to help someone else? How do you choose who to care for and who to leave on the streets? 

Until that moment, I never would have considered my boys lucky, but they were rescued. That moment was when I understood just how blessed they are. Now, they have a home. They have adults to love and take care of them. They are given food and an education. Our boys were taken off the streets. I just wish all of these children could be. The ones who aren’t as lucky are totally defenseless. 

I felt really sick and outraged, so I wrote my dad a message telling him everything I was feeling. After talking to my dad, I’m starting to make peace with the situation. He told me the story about the boy throwing starfish back into the ocean. I’m sure you’re heard it. Even though the beach was covered in starfish and the boy couldn’t possibly throw them all back, he made a huge difference for the ones he did throw. Then my father reminded me that Jesus told us the poor would always be with us, but that they have a very special place at the Lord’s table. 

It still hurts, but I know I can’t help all of these kids and I can’t even fix all the problems for the ones I can help. It’s difficult to see so much suffering and to not save the day. But as my father reminded me, I’m not the savior of these children- Jesus Christ is. These kids belong to God, not me and I can only help in the little way he allows. So there is no happy ending to this story, but I have peace and I have hope. I know God will provide. 

“For the needy shall not always be forgotten, and the hope of the poor shall not perish forever.” - Psalm 9: 18