scenes from the street

Noon on a Saturday, one of the main strips in our neighborhood. A boy of about fifteen was lying on stomach, flat on the pavement, his ankles crossed behind him. He was covered in soot, his feet black. His head was resting on a huge teddy bear, the kind you win at a carnival. He appeared to be sleeping, despite the fact that he was lying at a noisy intersection, with cars and buses and people rushing past him. When we returned on the same route hours later, he was still there, sleeping on the teddy bear.

Another Saturday afternoon, next to the supermarket. A little black boy, about eight years old, was sitting on the sidewalk with his wares, a box of candy and gum. He was fully dressed with a dapper little baseball cap, but was barefoot, his feet dark with grime. He was munching on Traquinas, an Oreo-like cookie with chocolate filling. A little white boy his age passed the boy with his mom, who tried to give the street kid a wide berth, but the boy veered to the left to talk to his friend. The boys chatted, talking about their plans to meet later to play soccer. The street kid offered his friend a cookie, but he politely declined. The mom tugged on her son's arm and anxiously dragged him away. The street kid watched his friend leave, chomping on the cookies.

A busy Monday afternoon, in front of a large newsstand. A kid between ten and twelve years old was sprawled on a blanket, presumably where he slept, carefully polishing a man's shoes on an old wooden box. The boy was dark and bony, and looked like he hadn't eaten a real meal in weeks, or months. One of his legs was covered in scabs and peeling skin. His customer was a white male, in his 40s, with a slight beer belly in the usual Carioca office wear of a button down shirt and slacks, staring into space. The little boy was deliberate, concentrating, biting his lip, as if his whole existence depended on making the man's shoes shine.

Monday morning, a major roadway connecting several neighborhoods choked with buses and cars during the morning rush. A little boy, about seven years old, stood forelornly on the sidewalk. He was black, with honey-colored curls tight against his skull and the kind of angelic face you see in a Juicy Juice commercial, not sleeping on the street. Wearing nothing more than torn shorts, he was filthy, covered from head to toe in grime. A large gash on his forehead was scabbed over, but was it still seemed to be dark with blood. He pleaded with an older white man passing by for spare change. The man, a thin man in his sixties, berated the boy, explaining he didn't have any money and that he wanted to be left alone. The man walked on, but the boy stayed put. He stared at the man's back, his eyes clouding over, void of emotion. When my bus pulled away he was still standing there, his eyes empty, staring at something only he could see.

Comments

[Marcelo]

Now you are seeing the Rio nobody shows to the world. This is the reality of the "Cidade Maravilhosa" that is not wonderful for a very long time. Try and go to the "suburbios" and "Zona Oeste" and you will a lot more. Congratulations for posting this and alert other people about the reality of several kids not only in Rio, but all over Brazil.

[david]

The scary reality is that with the world economy sinking, the prevalence of street people will increase in Rio as well their counterparts across the globe. Concurrently, charitable organizations will be receiving less money to address this problem and governments with less tax income will have fewer resources to lend support.

[JC]

This is good writing. It creates an image that cameras cannot.

[Guilherme]

This is the sad reality of Brazil.

It is even worse. Some parents force their children to beg as they make larger amounts of money. And encourage them to steal. Some put their own children in brothels (specially in the Northeast region of Brazil).

Lula's government has created "Bolsa Escola" which gives money for the families that keep their children in the schools, however some families that do not need this money end up getting this benefit, and there are other families that are literally quitting their jobs and relying solely on this money for their monthly income.

It is very frustrating that this situation is still very common even though the country's economy is in much better shape...

Beijos

[aagos]

I like your perception sense of the Rio everyday life. We are so familiar with it that we've lost a little of our power of critic. Congratulations on your blog!!!

[Laura]

Before I moved to Canada I had to see this same situation every day: a little boy without legs begging in the street, taking the risk to be hit by a car.
Now I live in a city where you see hiring signs in every corner, while many businesses are having a hard time to find employees. And for complete disgust I see perfectly health young people begging in the streets just because they don't want to have a job like everybody else.
I just wish I could take this people to a city like Rio or São Paulo, so they would see how 'fun' is to watch the reality of so many children who live in poverty.

[Tim Stackhouse]

Very well written, Rachel.

I see similar scenes here every day and it's a sadness that doesn't go away to know that there are so many children (and adults) who live that way in the world.

[Jen]

In Hong Kong, the disabled and elderly are brought in from the Mainland by the Triad and forced to beg in central locations. They receive very little, if any, of the money donated by the soft-hearted: http://flickr.com/photos/jennobryan/1854303478/sizes/o/in/set-72157600949553053/

When I lived in SP, I struggled with first-worlder guilt at the scene of such young kids living in the street and the cynicism that evolved over months of having these same kids aggressively block my path on the sidewalk. Still, it was tragic to walk home from the supermarket with my Brazilian roommate and watch her nonchalantly step over what seemed to be a pile of rags at a distance but was actually a 7-or-8-year-old kid curled up under the layers of cloth to keep warm.

[Mandy]

These are scenes you see every day in Santo Domingo, too (as you know). I really struggled with how to handle them... and I think it got to the point that I just developed a thick skin. If I let my heart break everytime I saw one, I wouldn't be able to handle the pain.

But I also think it's important to strike a balance. We can't be too callous, but we should also try to see these people... really see them in their struggles, and not just turn a blind eye. It's a thin line...