The smell of burned diesel and engine oil was heavy in the dusty humid air as we moved through the bus terminal in Rawalpindi. This is the place where you can get anything - and sadly I mean anything.
This is the backyard of a project that is working to bring new directions to children and families. It's a three story building where street children can come and play and learn in a safe, clean and encouraging environment. As I walk into the room where 12 little kids sit playing with the most basic of toys, they stand and greet me with shy smiles, and eyes that are beginning to show some sparkle. They have all been taught to wash, to use soap, to brush their teeth.
Throughout the terminus are 1,300 small workshops where you can buy anything from fast food to vehicle parts, a shalwar kameez to a refurbished motorbike. Like shadows little children, as young as 5, wander through the crowds, the buses and the shops. Some are covered in black sticky oil which they have been soaking into sponges and squeezing it into containers in the hope of selling it to mechanics; others carry sacks on their backs, the days rummagings that they hope will give them something to eat. Some are workers in the surrounding shops, working for less than 'minimum wage'. Many others scavenge for food and eat what ever they can find. They are all wearing threadbare clothes and have filthy faces, and their eyes are scared, despairing and hopeless.
At night the terminus lights up and takes on the appearance of a street party. But behind the flashing lights children are bought and sold, some sell themselves in competition with pretty much any other form of sexual exploitation you can imagine.
This is the backyard of a project that is working to bring new directions to children and families. It's a three story building where street children can come and play and learn in a safe, clean and encouraging environment. As I walk into the room where 12 little kids sit playing with the most basic of toys, they stand and greet me with shy smiles, and eyes that are beginning to show some sparkle. They have all been taught to wash, to use soap, to brush their teeth.
Next door are the bigger kids, they too greet me, and I them with my rudimentary Urdu, which makes them laugh. They are about to have a test on the day's English words they've learnt. But their happy about it! Again shy smiles and happy eyes welcome me.
Up the stairs a group of teenage girls are working together to learn how to make frocks. At the moment they learn how to cut a design out of paper, but soon they get to turn a piece of cloth into their own design. As we chat, they, shyly indulging this strange white man, they tell me that they love it here. Their parents are happy for them to come, and they feel safe and they like their teacher. They may have a chance of making some money for their families out of this skill.
And just down the corridor there are 8 mums, their kids downstairs, learning to make bags, sewing, leatherwork and painting. At the end of three months of training they will graduate and get a sewing machine. Hopefully they too will make some money to help their family.
It's a small project. There are millions of children living in extreme poverty and working to help their families survive, and there are only 80 in this program. Is it enough? No! But its a start.
Maybe one of these kids will find a voice that will convict the lawmakers. Maybe one of them will become a lawmaker. Maybe...
