Encounter With the Homeless Boy

During our last night in Cuzco, I experienced something both horrific and incredibly saddening. This experience probably moved me more than any on this trip. When leaving a restaurant where our group ate dinner, my friend Alex and I rounded the corner of the dark exit stairwell leading from the restaurant and nearly tripped over a sad little homeless boy with his head buried between his legs. I assume he was trying to sleep, and when he looked up, his eyes were quite glazed and bloodshot.

He looked incredibly tired; his pleading eyes bore into my sole, as though begging me not to harm him because I was so much bigger and older than him. He couldn't have been more than eight years old as he tried to do the best he could to survive the streets of Cuzco. In his hands lay an album of paintings and he wore a backpack (presumably with all his belongings). It's likely that he tried as best he could to sell the paintings to tourists during the day to make a living in his frugal attempts for survival.

As Alex and I walked away, I felt compelled to help this poor child. We decided to walk back and talk with the kid to try and find out about his situation. When we approached him, his head was buried between his legs, as though trying to shut out the cruel world. Alex said: "Amigo." The child did not respond. After repeating several times, the kid still didn't respond and remained with his head buried between his legs, as though appearing asleep to us and pretending to himself that we weren't there and something bad was NOT about to happen to him. I wonder what when through his mind as we tried to talk to him. Did he fear that he was about to be kidnapped? Did he think we were going to hurt or kill him?

Finally, I said "Amigo, tengo dinero para ti," meaning "Friend, I have money for you." He finally looked up and his eyes appeared even sadder than when I first saw them, pleading and more exhausted than ever. I passed him a 20 soleil bill and asked him where his parents were. He told us that his parents were at his house, but didn't say anything more. I think he told us about his parents at home as a deterrent, attempting to protect himself by making the subliminal threat that if we were planning to hurt him, his parents in his house would have something to say about it. What parents in their right mind would let their eight year old child sleep in a dark stair well, late on a Sunday night? I know some parents abuse their children, but it only seems plausible that this child was orphaned and homeless.

Since this kid was not about to divulge information, it made it hard to help him any more than by simply giving him money, hoping that it would in some way it would make his life better. When we walked away, he returned his head returned to between his legs and curled up on a stair, near the corner.

A sadness came over me, and I felt stronger than ever that child poverty and child homelessness are some of the most evil and terrible sicknesses that wreak havoc upon this world. What a cruel world! What is more horrifying is that there are many more children in similar or worse situations than the little Cuzcanian boy. Many Americans are not aware of this, or are aware, but look the other way. It is quite sad, and this experience helped open my eyes. I hope other students experience something similar in their lives; something that moves them this much; something that compels them to help others. Not to sound hackneyed, but child poverty must stop! If everybody who has something extra to give helps out a little more, it can stop!