There it is looking high and mighty, the mountain of hope for the poorest and neglected people of the country. Its beauty lies underneath. The early morning start of garbage trucks dumping the thrashes of the well-off is sweet music and not an irritant for those eking a living for the non-stop pile-ups. It means there is work and the early risers will be first in line in seeking the treasure that makes daily living plausible. It is a tough life but tears have dried up. Everyone must accept their dire condition in a stoic manner. There is no choice; and self-pity is for the weak. Life must be lived even if your life stinks, literally speaking. The country would have been better if they don’t exist. But because they do, they are treated without visibility, without voice, without regards for their rights. In this community of destitute and forsaken, the most vulnerable are the street children. No adults to supervise them or guide them, they form several gangs to be their main support of survival and of establishing their respective territories. There are boundaries and no one can cross the line without escaping punishment, mostly violent death. Even in a jungle, a law must prevail.
Isko wants to sleep some more but hears the dump trucks. As the leader of a five-member gang ranging from nine- to eighteen-year old orphans, he needs to show leadership at all times. He must be the first to check the new pile-up on their allotted side of the garbage mountain. He is rummaging the thrash with his foot when he stumbles on a small body. He can see that it belongs to a young boy, probably the same age of sixteen as him. The dead boy has a lot of bruises and a nasty cut in his throat. His gang is starting to arrive one by one. He tells them not to come near and orders them to take a day-off, just like any boss will do when there’s a problem to be sorted out. He doesn’t want to report the crime directly to the police, knowing their closed mentality. Instead, he fetches Mama Elsa. She is the only adult Isko can trust.
“I found a dead body in our pile-up. I can’t go to the police without me being suspected right away.”
Mama Elsa wants to see the crime scene first. Isko leads the way.
“I think I recognize this boy,” Mama Elsa says. “He’s been wondering around and asking for Chico, the drug dealer. I’ll go to the police and tell them what I know.”
The police take their time and come after lunch. They ask for witnesses. Someone rats on Isko. They bring Isko to the police station for an interview.
“What time did you see the body?”
“At around 6:30 in the morning. I’m awake by five but wait for the garbage trucks to unload their contents,”
“Did you touch anything?”
“No.”
“Do you know the boy?”
“No.”
“Did you see him anywhere?”
“Never.”
“I’ll let you go for now but make yourself available for further questions. Don’t give us a hard time finding you. Street boys, like you, are wily. But you can’t outsmart us. So scram before I change my mind!”
The murder is the headliner in the early evening news. The next day the chief of police summons his troop.
“I’m ordering you to make this murder your number one priority. I want the perpetrator nabbed by the end of the day. I don’t want to hear excuses. You have the power and authority. You must use them ruthlessly.”
Why the change of focus, you might ask? Well, apparently, the dead young man is the son of a prominent politician. As soon as he recognizes his boy he immediately calls the chief of police who is a dear friend and an exclusive member of the politician’s inner circle. It always pays to have friends in high places, so much more in a corrupt society.
The detective who interviewed Isko yesterday smells an opportunity for promotion. He approaches the chief of police right after the meeting.
“I think I may have a person of interest who can be the primary suspect of the crime. I’ll bring him in for more intensive interrogation. He’s just a street kid. So with the right amount of force, I can get a confession before the day’s end. Do I have your blessing?”
“Go! Grab him immediately and don’t wait for a warrant of arrest. I need result and you will be rewarded handsomely,” the chief of police barks.
Isko returns to the police station with the detective breathing hard beside him.
“You’re lying to me Isko. I found the knife you used to cut the boy’s throat. Confess now and I’ll recommend a lighter sentence for you.”
“But I didn’t do it! I found him dead and could have left him there. The fact that I came here voluntarily speaks well of my innocence. Believe me, officer, I don’t know him, never saw him until yesterday. You’re making a big mistake to lay his death on my lap. I may be a street kid but I ain’t into drugs. I can’t afford to be addicted.”
“Don’t give me that crap, boy! Somebody saw you drag the boy to the pit and covered him with a pile of garbage. You’re not getting away with murder. No siree, not on my watch.”
Isko can’t believe what he’s hearing from the detective. The more Isko screams his innocence, the more the detective comes up with allegations without evidence. Still Isko refuses to sign the prepared confession. The detective is getting furious and starts beating Isko. He only stops when he’s tiring out. Then he continues again and again. Isko’s face and body carry the mark of brutal justice.
“Stop, officer. I can’t take it anymore. I’ll sign anything, just leave me in peace. I need to rest.”
The news about a suspect in custody who confesses of committing the crime hits the airwaves like a wildfire, although no further details have been shared. All that matters is a murderer has been caught and is now in jail. Meanwhile, Isko is lying down on the dirt floor of a smelly cell unattended. He sleeps a lot to mend his wounds. Once in a while, he sits up and eats the pieces of moldy bread scattered beside him. His gang mates and Mama Elsa don’t know where he is. Not that it matters anyway. Indifference with their kind is normal.
After a month, Isko looks presentable to have a trial. The proceeding takes less than thirty minutes. The prosecution submits the confession as evidence and the judge pronounces Isko’s guilt for the record and sentences him to be executed by hanging in a month’s time.
On his day of execution, as he moves closer to the gallows, Isko recalls the sight of the mountain of hope where he spends most of his sixteen years with street kids who are invisible to human compassion. His death is worthless just like the thrashes thrown away in the dump. Except for them, no one else will give a damn looking at that mountain of discarded wastes. But they carve out a life in spite of the cruelty. Now it is time for Isko to be free of it all.
*************************
The United Nations estimates there are about 150 million street children in the world. The problem is indeed staggering. Yet we find ourselves indifferent and unaware of the sufferings these street children experience every day in their young lives. I came to be aware of the issue when I borrowed the book from the library written by Chris Lockhart and Daniel Mulilo Chama, Walking the Bowl: A True Story of Murder and Survival Among the Street Children of Lusaka (2022). The authors took five years to do the research, including three years of complete immersion in the street culture of Lusaka, the capital city of Zambia in South-Central Africa. Reading the book gives me the inspiration to write the preceding short story. It is, however, a hard read and I have to stop a quarter of the way.
“When you read anything on street children,” as the two authors wrote on the Preface of their book, “you are likely to walk away feeling a little conflicted, like you just swallowed a gob of information while still knowing exactly nothing about them…(But) if you were to ask us what we hope you learn from this book, we would say we hope you learn a little bit about the day-to-day lives and realities of street children and a great deal about the power of the smallest good deed.”
I learn a lot and my heart aches for them and I want to close my eyes and not remember…but I can’t.
