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Why We Do It

From a worker in India

Santosh and his friends stand atop a local trash heap gingerly picking through for treasures others failed to see. They all have a sharp eye for anything they could recycle for money. While they are eager to find whatever is of value before any of the other boys, the danger of glass shards and splinters slow them down. Santosh finds two jars and tucks them between his legs to avoid a scuffle and keeps on looking.

A few of the boys find hopeful items and decide to cash them in. Santosh's jars bring him five rupees. Though he knows I would disapprove, he goes straight to the market and buys his usual breakfast―an ice cream bar. He knows we will feed him chai and daal for lunch, but now he wants something sweet.

As the boys round the corner headed toward our “school,” they give a shout. My co-worker and I are spotted getting out of an auto rickshaw. Mustafa reaches us first, exuberant over the flowers he had stolen from the streetside florist to present to us. (What we don't know won't hurt us.) The loud cacophony of the little boys' voices splashes into our day.

As the boys troop up the four flights of steps to their safe, clean school room, Santosh is upset that it is Mustafa's flower in my co-worker's hair and not his own. But his thoughts turn to his plan to bring his mother over to the school later today in hope of getting medicine for her stomach problem. In this great wide world he knows he can depend on his teachers to try to help her.

Monday through Thursday 50-60 kids filter through a small apartment we have rented that serves as a school for children of the local slums. There are three different groups. The first group of about 15 boys are rag pickers. They spend most of their day on the street and around garbage heaps recycling anything of value for money to feed themselves. You can imagine what rascals these boys are, how street smart and self reliant and yet so incredibly vulnerable they are. One dreads to imagine what some of these boys have experienced at the hands of those who know that they have virtually no human protection.

The boys come into our school with the dirtiest little hands imaginable. After a scrubbing, a cup of chai tea and devotions, they run upstairs for a quick game to get all the squirms out of them. Then they are ready to sit down and study English and Hindi. This time with us is their only opportunity to learn, to be themselves, to be loved, to be smart, to be someone and to be transformed by Jesus Christ. I praise God that a few have chosen Jesus though many have not. But I have seen each heart open to understanding, to truth and to life. Each boy has tasted the goodness of God. I pray for the Holy Spirit to touch their little hearts in a big and mighty way!

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