03/15/2002

For his own protection, we’ll call him “Robert.” Robert does not know his age. He thinks that he is fourteen, like the boy next to him, but he says he cannot be sure. He is separated from his parents and lives on the streets of Bukavu in Eastern Congo, with no idea of their whereabouts, whether they are alive or dead. The scabs on his skin, which he cannot stop scratching, could be cured by a bar of soap, "but we have no soap," he says. His life scrounging for food in the market and begging for money is a direct result of the prolonged war ravaging this country.

"During the Kabila war, we ran away from Goma with my parents. But I got lost and separated from them. There was a boat leaving and I wanted to get on it, so I asked a woman to please say that she is my mother if they ask, because I have no money to pay for the boat. She helped me, pretended to be my mother, and I came to Bukavu on that boat."

Like most of the street kids in Bukavu, his story of homelessness begins with war. Uprooted and far from home, he has no family network to look after him, only the rag-tag wisdom of thousands of other street kids who have fled to Bukavu as well.

"I met some kids when I got here and asked them where to sleep. They told me about a place near the market and let me follow them there. I spent time with them begging, but only during the day. I do not beg at night because people don’t like it, only in the day. I never steal." In the pocket of his worn-out shirt rests a package of cigarettes, which he sells one by one to supplement his income.

He describes having a job for a while which gave him the means to eat and sometimes to see one of the videos that play in the movie houses. Rambo and Bruce Lee, he says, are his favorites.

"My job was calling out for passengers to fill a bus. I don’t have this job anymore, because the man with the bus—the man who gave me the job—was arrested and his car was sold. He crossed the border without permission, so now I need a job again." He picks up some crayons and draws a picture of himself begging, the sun shining overhead.

"Once the war is finished, the street children will be finished. We can all go home." He shows his last drawing, a colorful house where he used to sleep.