Hopeful heart: Contemplating Cambodia’s street kids

[Originally published February 2013 in Discordia online magazine]

I spent six weeks in Phnom Penh in 2006, while I was volunteering at the Free the Bears sanctuary. In the years before this trip, I had travelled to several other developing countries in the Asian region, but I wasn't prepared for the vast poverty of Cambodia. I was struck by the amount of street kids and the hardship of many people's lives. 

In this article, I reflect on my time in Phnom Penh, and the street kids I came into contact with.
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Suddenly he was standing beside my table at the dingy café on the bustling riverside road. His bare feet and tiny frame had ensured I didn’t detect his approach, and absorbed in my own thoughts over a solitary lunch, his face had initially startled me. But as he peered up at me, I softened.

I surveyed his face, framed by a rumpled mop of black hair which fell unevenly across his forehead. His broad smile gleamed up at me, as his large dark eyes flickered with hope. His beauty caused my heart to flip.

And there, outstretched toward me, was his upturned hand. I grinned down at him, and without hesitation reached for my bag. I presented his delicate hand with a couple of notes, which he swiftly clutched into a fist. 

Delight began to spread across his face, conveying a silent thank you. Then the shoeless little boy in the faded blue t-shirt, the spirited child who had captured my heart, turned his back and skipped out of the café.

A warning

Upon my arrival a week earlier, in preparation for a six-week volunteer stint at Free the Bears Fund’s Cambodian sanctuary, I had grabbed some free magazines from a rack at the airport. Alone at the volunteer quarters in a grand old house in central Phnom Penh, I pored over the reading materials’ contents.

I came across a short article by a Western aid worker which advised tourists to avoid giving money to begging street children. The article claimed that adults often exploited these desperate children, waiting in the wings to seize their earnings.

In theory, I comprehended the integrity of the advice. But on the heaving streets of the city, this turned out to be much easier said than done.

Each day I would travel in a truck with Free the Bears staff to the grounds of the animal sanctuary. During the 50 kilometre journey, my eyes darted furiously in all directions as scene after scene competed for my attention. My mind raced as I digested the chaos of the traffic, observed families of six balancing on speeding motorcycles, cast my eyes over ramshackle slums, watched street vendors jostling for business, and spied skinny children playing in filthy gutters.

Then all of a sudden the bedlam would slide behind us, its crude features shrinking in the rear view mirror as our wheels devoured the road ahead. The scenery would transform into luscious green fields, showcasing flourishing plant life and the occasional ornate temple.

But the poverty still stalked us: when our vehicle slowed to enter the sanctuary’s gates, toothless elderly women appeared at the car door, pleading for coins under the oppressive sun.

Back in the heart of Phnom Penh, the legacy of decades of war still shrouds the city. Many try to eke out a living on the streets, and land mine-injured amputees, often treated as pariahs, beg at tourist hot spots. Savvy street kids sidle up to travellers, aiming to impress with their limited knowledge of English and fast facts about the visitor’s home country. “You’re from Australia? Kangaroos and koalas!”, they shriek.

On the streets by the river, raggedly dressed kids shadow me along the path, displaying the same glint of hope in their eyes as the barefoot boy. They charm me with their sweet faces and street smart banter, and hawk their wares - postcards, books and jewellery - to passersby. An ever-smiling shoeshiner, a handsome deaf and mute teenage boy who offers to clean my sandals, approaches me most days.

I didn’t often spot adults lingering around, though I don’t know if they materialised once money was in the children’s possession.

Right or wrong

As a visitor to Cambodia who was devastated by the glaring poverty and sheer numbers of street kids, I found it difficult to set firm rules governing my response to beggars. This is a country where over one third of people live under the poverty line, forced evictions and dispossession of entire communities are commonplace, and child homelessness is escalating. 

The problem of child prostitution is also rife, with pimps soliciting both locals and tourists to bankroll this heartbreaking trade. Street children are particularly vulnerable to being caught in the clutches of this industry.

The claims in the article I read on my first night in Cambodia are well supported: buying trinkets from children and giving them money can put them at risk and trap them in a cycle of poverty on the streets. And I am under no illusions regarding the existence of exploitation by adults.

But the issue is complex, and with charities stretched thin some children are left with little option but to beg to survive from day to day.

Also, I know first-hand that the situation is not always black and white…

As the little barefoot boy exited the café, money in hand, my eyes followed his petite frame outside. There, I spotted him approaching a street vendor selling nuts from the back of a truck. The little boy handed the vendor the crumpled notes, and received a bulging bag of nuts in return. The boy then sat down on the side of the road and gleefully ate the contents of the bag, the whole time with a shining smile on his beautiful face.


Originally published February 2013 in Discordia online magazine]