I stayed
with street children to uncover what the eye does not see when you drive by on
Kampala streets. Do these women own the children who beg? Who keeps the
money? Or is there a bigger racket behind it all?
I HIT the streets at 5:00 am, Thursday August 2 to uncover the truth behind the children who beg on the streets of Kampala.
We
always see women with many children, usually seated in one place and
seemingly controlling a network of children who beg and hand over the
harvest. But are they genuine beggars?
Are
they incapable of earning their own living? Are all the children
theirs? What kind of life do they lead? In short, are they pitiable or
should they be rounded off?
MORNING MISSION
I
reach my first destination, Uganda House, at 5:45am and position myself
at one of the Pioneer bus stages. There are neither street children nor
their ‘mothers’ begging on the streets yet. This is my chance to watch
their arrival.
Time
goes by; 6:45am, 7:45am, 8:45am, 9:45am, 10:45am and there is still no
sign of street women or children. I move to the nearby Nandos for
breakfast and I take a strategic location, but still no sign of the
women.
THE BEGGING STRATEGIES
It
is not until about 11:30am when I see a boy in a dirty blue T-shirt and
black shorts, bare feet, begging alone. Ten minutes later, a girl in a
dirty purple dress, also bare feet, appears.
The
two have something in common: they have money bags, hanging on their
necks by a string and covered by the cloths they are wearing.
Each
coin they receive is dropped in that bag. It is 12:10pm, four street
women carrying babies on their backs and about fi ve others of about
four to seven years arrive.
The women place their children, of two to three years, at a measurable distance from each other to beg, while seated.
Immediately
the woman leaves, the child starts begging in a seemingly trained
manner. With a titled pitiable head and sorry face, they extend a hand,
expecting a sympathetic person to give.
Whoever
receives something brings it victoriously to the ‘mother’, who sits at a
strategic place to monitor them. The older ones follow passers- by,
moving after them stubbornly for some distance, asking with a merciful
face for some money.
They
genuflect, display distress, signal hunger, sometimes thirst, call on
‘uncle’ or ‘aunt’, until a person yields. The older children keep all
the money collected in their moneybag.
Occasionally,
the ‘mothers’ move around, giving extra instructions and the children
obey diligently. Sometimes, the mother is pointing out a potential
‘donor’ and other times she is not happy with the child’s act. Other times, the women sit under a small tree as they chat and laugh, but keeping a watchful eye on the children.
DAY TWO
It
is Friday August 3. This time, I arrive at 8:00am at the Electoral
Commission, and I am not late. The women and children street beggars
begin arriving at around 11:15am.
This
time, children are first and they come one by one. Some come from the
direction of the city centre, others from the side of Namuwongo while
the rest are strolling in from the side of Garden City.
Unlike
the ones I met yesterday, these seem to have masterde city roads
because they cross unaided. The women, too, are begging. Dressed in a
black and green checkered Karimojong skirt, with a dirty blue shirt, one
of the women carries a baby on her back and uses it to generate
sympathy. But the beggars here are not as lucky as those at Uganda House
because this spot has a few pedestrians.
At
about 3:30pm, a baby defecates by the roadside and the mother uses a
piece of paper to remove the feaces, and ties the paper in a white
polythene bag. She drops it by the roadside, where no one can step on
it.
By
4:00pm, the traffic has increased and that is their harvest time, till
8:30pm, when they return home. Again, I follow stealthily, until
Nalubwama Arcade on Ben Kiwanuka Street.
I
find so many of the beggars already gathered here, chatting heartily,
with happiness like one big family. I return very early the next day to
start the day with them.
They say aunt, not mother
STILL AT UGANDA HOUSE ON DAY ONE
Not many people give money. One girl, of about two years, who had not got anything for about two hours, suddenly receives a sh500 coin.
She runs, with a beaming smile to the woman under a tree to handover the money. “Aunt, aunt, kikumi kikumi,” she says as she approaches the woman. The child’s calling her aunt sends me thinking whether she is actually her mother.
The
‘aunt’ smiles, says nothing, but keeps the money and tells the child to
hurry back to the station. At one time, the children started playing,
but that did not last long because the ‘aunts’ sent them back to their
station. The girl who had brought the sh500 coin boldly refuses, but is
dragged back into duty.
The
‘aunt’ then checks on all the older children, gathering the money they
had so far collected. She puts it in her bag and resumes her sentry
position. At about 4:30pm, something happens, that raises lots of
questions. A woman, dressed in a red top and black jeans comes along,
with soda in a plastic bottle and two disposable glasses.
These
children are so happy to see her and gather around her, shouting ‘aunt,
aunt’. They dance around her, jubilating. She distributes the soda to
the three children and gives each of them Bogoya.
While
the rest drink the soda happily, the young girl (of sh500) takes her
soda to their ‘aunt’ who are seated under a tree. The women have a fi
ve-litre yellow jerrycan in a green polythene bag, from which they have
been drinking. They do not have cups, so they drink directly from it.
They take her soda and give her the jerrycan to drink from.
It
is 5:00pm. People are returning home and this, apparently, is their
harvest time. Many give money and some food, even left-overs. It is
mostly the pedestrians and people in taxis who give. Those in private
cars close their car windows or look away when the children approach.
Time
check is 7:30 pm. Women announce it is time to leave. They gather the
children and leave with them. I follow from a distance up to Owino
Market, till it becomes too dangerous for me to follow as they head
towards Kisenyi.