Al-Ahram Weekly 11 - 17 November 1999 Issue No. 455
Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875

Next week, 10 years will have passed since the adoption of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child. In the space of a decade, many things have changed -- and many more stayed the same. Al-Ahram Weekly marks the anniversary with an examination of two issues that continue to rankle: child labour and street children Precious -- for a while For nine hours each day, some of Cairo's 100,000 street children are allowed to feel they really are children. Yasmine El-Rashidi finds out how photo: Khaled El-Fiqi

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One would never guess that in a crumbling, pot-hole-infested side street in Sayeda Zeinab, dreams are being made. But they are.

Behind a brown steel door on Al-Malek Al-Nasser street -- a street whose sole characteristic is its deserted, dilapidated air -- children without homes or families are given the chance to experience the luxury of care-free days.

Well, almost.

Sitting on a miniature straw chair, a 10-year-old boy pulls up his well-worn khaki trousers and points to the scars and cuts and bruises tattooed on his leg. He says he only wishes he had never been born. Barring that, all he asks is that God give him a home and a family.

"Is that too much to ask?" he wonders aloud.

"History has shown that the progressive abolition of child labour and the establishment of compulsory education were, in Europe and North America, the indispensable conditions for economic and social development. Yet it was not until 1990 that the Convention on the Rights of the Child, ratified by almost all the nations of the world within the framework of the UN, came into force, fixing, as the International Labour Office had requested since 1973, a minimum age for entry into the world of work. "Despite this, it is estimated that approximately 250 million children work, the youngest of whom are barely five... If most of them are found in the poor countries of the South, many are exploited in the nations of the North, especially in the United States. Throughout the European Union, for example, the number of working children younger than 15 is greater than two million... "The prime cause of child labour is poverty, a poverty generalised and aggravated by economic globalisation. Out of the six billion inhabitants of the planet, five billion are poor." --Ignacio Ramonet, director of Le Monde Diplomatique

Apparently it is, for the over 100,000 children who spend their days roaming the streets in search of food and money, and their nights snuggled in garages and deserted buildings.

They are Cairo's so-called street children. They have no place to go and no people to go to. They come from broken homes, poverty-stricken families, or simply parents who have decided that they no longer want them.

Mustafa Imam is no exception to the rule. When he was seven, his parents divorced and his mother remarried. In return, he was kicked out of the house -- told by his step-father that he should go away and never come back. And he didn't, of course, even though he had no place else to go.

"My father married two other women," he says in a nonchalant tone that belies his childish years. "So it was finished -- he didn't want me any more."

As a result, he ended up on the streets of Al-Hussein, Sayeda Zeinab, and the cemeteries -- where he says it is safe and quiet. Like others forced into a harrowing life on the streets, he found a few friends, and with them learnt the ways of the life and the trade.

"There are different groups," he says. "Some steal, some have a leader and they sell things. Some just beg."

He tried it all -- got acquainted with all the thrills. He started with begging, was talked into stealing, tried glue-sniffing and smoking, but settled, eventually, on none of the above.

"A friend in Al-Hussein told me about a club for children like us," he says. "So I came with him here. And then I just kept coming back."

"Here" is Hope Village Society's youth centre in Sayeda Zeinab -- one of eight centres set up solely for the benefit of children living on the streets.

"The centre was established so that street children would have the option of getting off the streets and spending their days in a safe place," says Abla El-Badri, Hope's manager. "We wanted to give them that option."

Many children have taken them up on it -- with the centres receiving between 30 and 60 children each day. "That's up from 12 when we first opened about 10 years ago," El-Badri says.

A lot has changed since its 1988 founding by a group of Egyptian businessmen and an American. Back then, there was a solitary boys-only centre in Madinet Nasr. Today, there are daycare centres in Shubra and Sayeda Zeinab; short-term shelters in Hadayeq Al-Qubba and Muqattam; three long-term shelters in Madinet Nasr; and a collective residence for young men in 10 Ramadan City. The various centres provide medical and psychological care for the boys. And now, the society has begun to take in a few girls.

"We're opening a centre for girls in Roda in the next few months," El-Badri says. "Girls are generally more difficult to deal with. And there are much fewer of them."

Ashraf Abdel-Moneim, the director of the Sayeda Zeinab centre, agrees. "Girls are much less trusting, and they have many more opportunities than boys," he says. "Once they're on the street they can be taken to work in homes, they can join an organised group of street peddlers -- and of course, there's prostitution. It's harder to lure them away."

The boys, however, are another story.

Scruffy little Mustafa said he came to the Sayeda Zeinab day-care centre without a second thought. "They gave me food and let me play, and I didn't have to pay a penny from my pocket."

His day begins at 9.00am, when the centre opens its heavy steel doors. He strolls in, signs his name, washes up, and then sits down to his first meal of the day.

"And then I pray," he says.

He prays because he says that the counselors at the centre have told him that he is smart and has a future. He is one of the handful of young boys who are candidates for the 10th of Ramadan community -- where boys who have discontinued school live together and learn a useful skill related to the society's lettuce-growing plantation -- on the hydroponic system.

"The lettuce is planted in pipe-like structures filled with water and fertilisers," says El-Badri. "The greenhouse is enclosed in insect-repellent curtains, and there's no soil, so there are no insects. It's the healthiest type of cultivation."

Mustafa has hopes of joining the team some day. He says he wants to start with that, then become a mechanic.

"I want to do something good," he says. "I want to be able to take care of myself, and have my own house and things."

The Convention on the Rights of the Child was unanimously adopted by the UN on 20 November 1989. The 193 members of the United Nations all signed and ratified the Convention except Somalia and the US. The US did not sign because of pressure from the parental rights lobby and a widespread suspicion of international organisations

These "things," he says, are a family. He desperately wants his parents to get back together. Or at least, for his mother to divorce her husband.

Realistically, though, he knows it will probably never happen. He is a 10-year-old who has seen enough disappointment and unfairness to suffocate every trace of typical childhood fantasies or idealism. He is cynical. Very cynical.

"What should I think? That one of my parents will want me again? Of course not," he says, bitterly shrugging his shoulders and staring up at the ceiling. "Why do people have children if they're not going to want them after while? That's why I say it would have been better if I hadn't been born. But at least I wasn't born a girl. Thank God for that."

Thank God, because he believes that girls on the street have it harder and are treated worse. He has seen what happens to some young girls, and he just keeps thanking God.

So every morning and afternoon -- between bouts of TV, playing, and helping around the centre -- Mustafa gives thanks for the good that has come his way. It is only when 6.00pm strikes and the centre shuts for the day, that he is once again reminded that it would be easier had he not been born.

"At the end of the day, I'm on the street again," he says impatiently. "I go stand outside a café and watch a football match, then they tell me to go away. I go sit on the steps of a building, then get shooed away. I go to Al-Hussein, I see the police -- so I run away. I go here, I go there, and get shooed away."

His bedtime sounds much the same -- his rest place changing from night to night.

"The cemetery is nice because it's quiet and safe," he says. "Some of the boys go sleep in Sayeda Nafissa. It's scary, though. I don't want to go near there."

Instead, he sticks with his best friend Mohamed, and the two of them keep safe until morning.

In the morning, their hope begins again and their bitterness seemingly disappears.

"As soon as we wake up we come here again," Mustafa says. "And that's it."

That is it for them, but not for the other street children. They come to the centre for a few days or a week, then they disappear for months on end. For them, things aren't quite so simple.

"The boys on the street are very angry with their lot in life," Hope's El-Badri says. "Not only do they have health problems -- mainly skin and teeth -- they also have a range of psychological problems. Some of them come here, but then question why we're helping them for free. They don't trust us."

Why should they? After all, those closest to them -- their parents and relatives -- have told them to fend for themselves. And just about everyone else treats them like dirt. To them, the concept of someone loving and caring for them doesn't quite make sense. They are only street kids. Who cares?

El-Badri certainly does.

"Five years ago, I started the first study on the psychology of intervention," she says of her doctoral dissertation -- to be defended this month. "Everyone focuses on why the children ended up on the street. I looked at the psychology of street children and what impact the various intervention methods have on them."

Unlike the society's critics -- who have voiced their disapproval of Hope's methods in the media -- El-Badri believes that these children need individual attention, emotional and physical care.

"People think that they are rotten and that they all need to be locked up," she says. "That won't do any good. A month later, you'll find another 100,000 on the streets again. When police beat them and lock them up, it just makes them angrier. It makes them hate society even more. One must address the root cause."

It is not so easy, though, she says, for there is no sole root cause. Instead, societies such as Hope and others that have followed in its footsteps (the Egyptian Society for Social Safety, My Childhood, the Freedom Association, and the Family Development Society) have attempted to tackle as many of the different facets of the problem as possible.

"We give them a safe haven, we teach them a skill, and we make them more aware of their environment, sanitation and health," El-Badri says. "Then, we also give loans to families so that they can start their own projects and support their children. And we try to deal with that anger and bitterness, by giving certificates to the children when they learn a new skill or put a lot of effort into a project. We have to make them feel they are worthy individuals. It's the only way to make them productive in society."

Despite the criticism from those who equate street children with delinquents and thieves, Hope now boasts graduates from the faculty of tourism, agriculture, and accounting.

"We make a difference," El-Badri says. "When it comes down to it, these children just want to be able to play. They hate having to pretend they are tough and have no feelings. Inside, they are just children -- but you have to give them the chance, and give them the time to gain your trust."

It is that time that is the problem. People have been known to try once, try twice, but then give up. Only a handful have had lasting faith in the children. They are the ones who make up the few associations. They are good, but they feel like they are fighting the plague with one pill.

"We need people to get involved, we need financial support, we need awareness," El-Badri stresses. "But we really need people to sympathise with where these children are coming from and to treat them like humans."

Mustafa wishes for that too.

"The thing I hate most," he says, "Is when people act as if I'm invisible. At times, cars just run into me when I'm walking in the street or standing at a corner. As if we were bad people."

Mustafa is anything but bad. He has decided to focus on learning new things. And his mentor at the centre says that he is doing a wonderful job.

"He's one of the best boys here," Abdel-Moneim says. "He's helpful and obedient. He has a good future."

He is one of the stars of the Sayeda Zeinab centre -- usually beaming enthusiastically, his brown eyes sparkling. From nine to six every day, he is a child to be proud of. But when the big brown doors close for the day, he is back out on the street.

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Hope Village, Madinet Nasr, 2724563 / 2728683

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