His name was Mario. He was 10 years old & we were sitting side by side on swings in a dilapidated park in Guatemala City. My basic Spanish struggled to keep up with his rapid, cheerful chatter, but I caught enough to hear that he’d run away from his violent father in El Salvador and was trying to make it to the USA, cos he’d heard life was good there.
We swung & we talked for ages. Then I had to go. Back to my nice, safe house & cosy, warm bed. He had to stay, that was his home; the streets of a city where at least 7 people are shot dead each day.
There are at least 100 million street children in the world.
Children who are denied their most basic rights as outlined in the convention on the rights of the child as ratified/accepted by 194 countries.
How did we ever ever ever become ok with this situation?
It breaks my heart.
“It is a poverty to decide that a child must die so that you may live as you wish.” Mother Teresa