In Kabale Town, the lowest form of life is not vermin or the garbage storks or mangy stray dogs. It is the street children, mostly boys, ranging in age from four to sixteen. These are kids who may have one living parent but whose lives at home are so intolerable, they are forced to survive by their wits on the street. Some parents are too poor to feed the child so they throw him out. Some are alcoholic or mentally disturbed and cannot care for the child. Some are so abusive, the child runs away.
Street kids sleep in abandoned or unoccupied buildings. They eat from garbage piles. They wear rags. They rarely bathe. They must be wary and clever and sly. They become inured to pain, both mentally and physically and, just to survive, they become tough. Because they are completely feral, they are treated like wild animals. People shoo them away. The police beat them. They are harassed.
It all became clear here one evening when a young boy named Brian was brought to a place called Shepherd Center, a haven for street boys. The boy was filthy and weak and had a bloody bandage on his arm. He was given some food and water and later, the bandage was cut away. It was discovered the boy had a double compound fracture of his left arm. It appears he had been deliberately hit at high speed by a boda boda driver three days earlier. But Brian never so much as whimpered.
Shepherd Centre people took him to the hospital and, after hours of searching for the one doctor who was supposed to be on duty, got an X-ray and then, nearly 12 hours later, the boy received treatment that just barely saved the arm.
Poverty has many faces. This is just one of them.
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