Centro de Esperanza Infantil (Oaxaca Street Children Grassroots, Inc.)

For a girl who knows almost nothing about kids, working with street children in a foreign setting and communicating in a language that, only on a good day can I delude myself into believing I understand, ought to be double the shock . . . but for some reason, I feel oddly at ease in the Centro de Esperanza Infantil.

The first order of business was learning the subjunctive, the friendly command tense, to ensure that the most important of my requests (‘come with me,' ‘oh no, let’s not touch that,' and ‘please, please leave the feral cat alone and come down from there before you fall and they charge me with negligence, lock me up in some remote Mexican prison with Carlos-the-assassin as a cellmate and threaten to succumb to a laughter-induced demise at my desperate American pleas to ring the American consulate and talk to someone who speaks American’) might have a chance of being acknowledged. The next trick was coming to terms with having to say ‘no’ to kids who have never heard anything else.

Oaxaqueño street children are incredibly resourceful and tragically wise. They are ceaselessly buoyant and open, immune to self-pity and ready to be wrapped up in a moment of delight whenever one happens to find them. They laugh uproariously at my attempts at Spanish, then in the same moment turn around and with rapid, ferocious chatter, defend me against any potentially impertinent interlopers. I help them write letters to their “godparents” (sponsors from the world over), distribute school supplies as needed and stay close when they crave closeness. They have shown me how to play dominoes, how a four year-old boy can mange with ease his two younger brothers (a skill he learned from his four older brothers) and how much it matters to have something, anything, to call one's own.

Family is Mexico’s greatest boon and its greatest downfall. In Oaxaca, women have children. Lots and lots of children. This is the combined result of a Catholic-majority view towards birth control and simple lack of sex education. Condoms are virtually non-existent and to look at the teenagers making out ubiquitously in the parks and on the sidewalks, one gathers that abstinence might not be the most effective alternative modus operandi. So, places like el Centro exist to provide what they can in terms of food, respite, education and the supplies necessary to support growth from the grassroots level.

Over 75% of the kids supported by the Center are Triqui Indians, one
of the numerous indigenous tribes in Oaxaca. The mothers are often
illiterate and the cost of school versus the cost of living makes it difficult for them to be able to afford to send their children to school (not to mention the added complexities of a school-system that sees the teachers strike annually). In many cases, the children are major breadwinners in the family—selling candies, trinkets and cigarettes on the street of the zocalo (the town center) at night and coming to the Center in the mornings for breakfast and for some, kindergarten.

I am not sure I have ever appreciated quite so much how much education can affect someone’s life. Seventeen-year-old Brisa, positively brimming with potential, is one of those people that make you think things really are looking up, uh, socio-economically for the region. We struggle through our respective English and Spanish studies with each other’s help and I can see in her a quiet determination to be bigger than her circumstances would naturally dictate. What future is there for these kids? From my point of view, the road is long and almost entirely uphill, but there is without question, esperanza.


For more information: http://www.oaxacastreetchildrengrassroots.org/.