When I stepped into my fieldwork site for the first time I felt a little bit of trepidation. There I was, one of 4 adults, surrounded by 3,000 children! (okay, there were only 17) It was interesting to gauge their reaction--some wanted nothing to do with us, some of the little ones couldn't get enough of us, and then there were the ones who tried to attract attention by being loud, picking on others, and taking every opportunity to disrupt the flow of our meeting. In other words, they were typical kids. For a minute, it was easy to forget why we were there.
These children, ages 4-17, have one thing in common---they have been uprooted from their former homes and forced to live under one roof, in a place of transition between family independence and life on the street. In their few short years they have faced more uncertainty about the future than I have in my entire life. On a daily basis, they are told what to do by teachers, adults who run the shelter, tutors and parents who are trying to avert crisis' themselves. And here we were, four more people entering their new home to tell them what to do. I don't blame them for testing us. Our first session appeared to be a lesson in survival.
The next session started out a litte rocky, but they settled into small groups to work on a project meant to determine their sense of self and esteem. They made collages of words and pictures representing who they were, what they liked, or what they would like to be.
One of the older children cut out pictures of diamonds and yachts and expensive watches. He said he wanted to be rich.
A second kept pointing to pictures of guns and knives from a hunting magazine that had slipped into the mix. He didn't cut them out. He just pointed and asked if they could go on his collage. I wanted to say, "Of course you don't want knives on your picture, they're violent." Instead, I asked if they made him feel good. He said no and continued on until he found things that he liked. I couldn't decide if he was attracted to the pictures because they reminded him of something, because he was trying to see what my reaction would be, or because twelve-year-old boys think guns and knives are cool.
The littlest one in the group didn't want to say or hear nice things about herself, or be told that her picture was pretty. However, she did show her collage to the group, so she is trying to reach out. Baby steps.
After just a couple of weeks, they are all opening up in some small measure and don't mind the new grownups who have entered their world. Inside, they each have a story; something unique to share. My job is to help them find it. I want them to look forward to our time together, to show them fun, to give each one a few hours to be special. My job is to give them the opportunity to be kids with dreams.
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