Thursday was the day we’ve been eagerly looking forward to since the day we arrived.  It’s also the day we’ve been the most anxious about.  Eager because we would get to meet some of the parents and guardians of children in the Kabul School For Street Working Children… and anxious for the same reason.  We love meeting and connecting with these amazing people, but hearing and seeing firsthand their stories of tragedy and desperation utterly wrecks you.

 

Because it is not culturally appropriate for male outsiders to visit a private home, we split the team by gender.  The gals went to visit three homes while six fathers came to the school to meet with the guys.

 

On the way to the homes, our hosts picked up naan, mangos, and bananas as a welcome gift. (Afghans never go visiting empty handed.)  Then as they approached the first home, the first bit of reality hit them square between the eyes – they spotted a small boy digging through a garbage pile looking for plastic bags and anything usable he could sell on the street… wearing a school uniform.  Yes, he was one of the students from the school for street kids and he was preparing for an afternoon and evening on the streets of Kabul selling and panhandling to provide for the rest of his family.

 

When our team arrived at the first home, they met 24-year-old mother of three, Fatima*.  Only two kids were still at home because Fatima’s addict husband had sold their oldest daughter for drug money and then abandoned the rest of them.  He has been seen in the area and has threatened to return to sell their other two children when they get older and become “worth something.”  (On the black market these kids sell for as much as $5,000 each – the equivalent of 20 year’s salary.  It’s like hitting the lottery.)

 

Next was the home of a 10-year-old girl who was abandoned by her parents when she was one and taken in by her aunt and grandmother who do what they can to protect and love her.  Her aunt (mom) suffers from epilepsy and schizophrenia.  When asked what the 10-year-old wants to be when she grows up, she emphatically says, “A policewoman!”  Because she wants a gun to protect her family.

 

We then went to the home of a woman with 3 children whose husband had been taken by a militant extremist group more than a year ago.  When her brother went to search for him he disappeared, too.  Both are feared dead.  The family survives on the food the woman gets “paid” to clean houses.  They frequently run out of food and she boils water to “eat” so her children think it’s something more special than cold water.

 

The last “home” was nothing more than a room in a bombed-out building.  The ceiling sagged so low that our team members could barely stand up straight.  They described it as a “hole.”  But it is home to Nargis*, a loving mother, and her seven children.  Their father disappeared a long time ago.

 

Of all the homes the ladies visited, the biggest was roughly 12’ x 15’.  The smallest was 8’ x 10’… about the size of an office cubicle in the US.  And although their cupboards were bare, they would always offer everyone a cup of tea even if it meant running to a neighbor to borrow some so they wouldn't appear to be a bad host.

 

As the ladies left the last home, they immediately went to buy a one-month supply of flour, sugar, salt, beans, lentils, tea, rice, cooking oil and then returned to the homes to deliver it.  Although it’s only a one-month supply, these families will find a way to stretch it into two.  It’s not a permanent solution, but at least it will take a little pressure off the need to have the kids work the streets for a little while.

 

As he ladies were visiting some of the homes where the students live, we guys were meeting with several of the students’ fathers in the basement of the school.

 

One father we met with is Fazal*, 41.  About four years ago he began losing strength on his left side.  His left arm and leg are nearly paralyzed and he is unable to speak.  The cause of his paralysis is unknown because he cannot afford to go to the doctor.  He has a 6-year-old daughter who attends the school and also has a son at home as well as his mother.  He used to be a carpenter and security guard, but now is unable to work.  He and his wife are both uneducated and she is also unable to find work.

 

We then met Ahmad*, a 63-year-old with serious health problems – his forearm was severely damaged in the war, he has kidney problems, and he brought a big bag of medicines to show us.  He is unable to work.  His wife works as a cleaner and maid, but her income is a fraction of what’s needed to live.  He has three sons who are students at the school.  He recently had a daughter graduate from the 3^rd grade at the school and when she tested to get into public school, she was deemed fit for the 7^th grade.  Ahmad* is very, very proud of her.

 

We then spoke to Kareem*, 52.  He was severely injured in Baghlan Province during the war when he stepped on a land mine and lost his left leg and right eye.  He still has shrapnel in his chest and is wracked with constant pain.  His wife is uneducated and cannot find work.  They have eight children and two are students at the school.  The oldest, a 15-year-old boy, used to be a student there, but was forced to leave school to work full-time and is the family’s sole income earner.

 

Meeting Kareem* was a really moving moment for our team, particularly Cody who was also injured in Baghlan Province when he served with the US military in Afghanistan a few years ago.  When Cody shared that with Kareem* they, and all the men in the room, had an instant connection.

 

When we had heard all their stories, I asked all the fathers why they were so determined to get their children into the school… what were their hopes for their children?  They all emphatically said the same thing... "Please help them grow up to not be like us."   It was heartbreaking to hear, but they know that education gives their children an opportunity for a better life.

 

When I asked what they wanted their children to study to become, the most common answer was “teacher.”  Ahmad*, the father of that new 7^th grader, proudly said, “President.”

 

As we closed our meeting, I told the fathers about our hopes for the school, to expand the grade levels all the way up to high school and someday even adult education where parents like them can go to learn to read and write, and maybe even how to use a computer.  I told them I was confident some of their children would become teachers and wouldn’t it be wonderful for the fathers to someday attend our school as students and have their own children teaching them.  I waited as our host translated what I had said into Dari and we all watched as the expression on each father’s face brightened and they all started chattering excitedly in response.  After the buzz had settled a bit, our host translated it all very simply… “They all like that idea.”

 

After exchanging thankful handshakes and hugs with the men, we headed back to the guest house where we met up with the rest of our team and spent the afternoon sharing all we had experienced.  We were all profoundly moved by the stories of these courageous men and women who are all making significant personal sacrifices to help their children get an education and bring hope to the next generation of Afghans.

 

I know this update was longer than usual and I thank you for hanging in there to learn more about the foundation beneath the School for Street Working Children in Kabul.  The stories of the mothers and fathers are heartbreaking, but the faces of the children are full of hope and motivate us all to keep helping them to reach their goals and dreams.

 

Thank you for your prayers and unending support.

 

--Bob

 

(*not their real name)