Poverty knocking on their doors

The message was urgent. It was sent late in the night and was addressed to all, especially the women. "Be careful. When you see a child crying, take that child to the police station. Don't mind the address he is giving. It's only a ploy."

It reported the latest of capers the foolish of this world had cooked up. It explained the modus operandi even. Translated from Tagalog, it said -

A young child would be found in a corner crying as though lost. When approached, the child would provide an address. If you take that child to that address, once you press the doorbell, you would be shocked out of your senses and then dragged inside. There you would be robbed and raped. The child crying is actually a lure.

In cyberspace, a postee advertised for a baby that he was selling. "Cute one. PM me," said the post. "What? That's criminal of you!" came the reply.

Criminal is the ready name we put on all these things that we cannot readily understand. When one decides to sell his soul, or suddenly has calculated that he has enough blood for the bank, or has an organ to exchange for money in answer to the call of hunger, we simply call it criminal. The scale is said to have tipped too far, and we must look deeper.

The priest who is supposed to teach the people has his own ideas of goodness, too. Olaw, for one, can tell the world so.

Olaw is a blind woman who lives quietly in the province. She takes care of herself and whatever friendly neighbors give her is never enough for her needs, let alone the scanty attention to her condition. One day, she was suddenly found heavy with child while without a husband. Her landlord had pumped good sense into her head. She must have a child to take care of her. And so Olaw believed him. A priest who had rented a room next to hers took the proposition as fitting and proper.

Tabio was born, but just the same, got married, had his own family, and left her alone. Olaw is alone again without the child supposed to earn for her.

Dragon, a street child, has a story not any different. Street children are part of the story of the mean streets of the Philippines. They roam the city looking for answers to life. Dragon was one of them. He did not know how old he was, nor did he know his name, nor his parents' name. He readily raises the hand of every visitor and presses it on his forehead, one's heart could melt. He would dance and one would clap in approval. Like doing some magic, he flexes his right palm up, down, up, down, up. He's giving you a signal, and you should know what he means. Dragon was born a beggar. Or was he?

The police found Dragon just walking the streets and begging for food. He was brought to the Youth Center in Cagayan de Oro City, south of the country, no address, and no name. The blackboard at the entrance of the Center, however, had details about him: Dragon had a case and it was scheduled for hearing.

Sis Nene took to liking Dragon, aged 4 or 5. Once out of the Center, she bought him food and new clothes and brought him home to show the cute child off to her sister. The following day, they went out together to buy a pair of new shoes. The moment Sis Nene turned her back, Dragon was gone - back to sleeping on cold concrete floors in the city. It was the only life he knew. Dragon was not missed at the Center, however. It is already saddled with 75 more young boys to feed, to teach, and to care with the little that the government could give.

At one end of the Youth Center, a young man, well dressed, and half-blind, sat quietly and appeared waiting for someone. The guard said he had been visiting for almost two months already but seemed not to be getting what he was coming for. “He needs to buy cornea. Would you be selling yours?"

The inmates at that Youth Center are young and frivolous, but at their age, no one is foolish enough to think of selling one's own cornea. This was the guard’s assessment. Although most of these boys at this Center are offenders, some are said to be victims of parental abuse and neglect and would prefer to stay rather than go home. Now that they are there, people think they could give up some of their body parts.

There are many Olaws and Dragons among us, including the child luring victims to doors with shock effects, the man selling a baby he may or may not own, the one who tries to calculate how much blood he could sell for today’s portion of rice. They got to live, each to his own style.

No one talks about what they have but they know it. Indeed, it has been with them for as long as they could remember. Whatever logic is there that one is at the top, another one is at the center, and they at the bottom, maybe for balance. Heck, it’s not something worth thinking about - when the stomach churns from hunger.

Aren’t these things natural? They have long cradled deprivation like some do their teddy bears. And no one is asking why. And so the story goes.