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  The Burden of Youth {subhead2}
arie & judy's travel tales from across the world
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{extra pics}
A doleful wail fills the streets - it’s a half cry, powerful, pleading and heart wrenching. And yet the singer is a small, grubby girl, whose developed throat muscles stand out in her skinny frame.  She is in exactly the same spot every afternoon, singing the same sad songs for a few cents.

In a country where no one is particularly reliable, these Peruvian children working for a living are remarkably regular. They can always been seen in the same places, day after day, doing work that in any other country would be done by adults.

One third of school age children don’t attend school in order to work, according to statistics released by the United States’ Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labour Relations in 2003,  

For tourists, the most obvious child vendors are those that sell souvenirs in the plazas of cities such as Cusco.  Not as filthy as the young workers in the back streets, these children selling finger puppets and postcards scamper along side the tourists as they stride with their long European legs.

We first met Katy and Maira over two years ago, urchins of 8 and 10, as they followed us around a museum providing an unwanted commentary. With soiled little faces and clothes their odour was overwhelming.

They were so tiny to have travelled from the country by themselves in order to sell souvenirs, and their bags of wares seemed so heavy we offered them a lunch that was devoured with gusto. So began a friendship that has withstood the whistles and warnings of municipal police (who patrol in the plaza to dissuade sellers molesting tourists).

Never once did the little girls complain that they were working when other children their age were playing.  Maira explained that her older sister sold souvenirs in the plaza when she was younger, and another sister before that.  As her sisters grew older they lost their “cuteness” and therefore had not sold nearly as much. So began Maira´s career – every weekend she was sent down to the city to sell, returning well after dark.   

When I spotted the girls on a school day selling, we’d be angry, but they didn’t mind because they were helping the family. We see it as exploitation. 

We buy our apple pies from two sisters – the teenage sister sells the pies in the mornings, and the nine-year-old sells in the afternoons in her school uniform. If she doesn’t sell the pies, she is still there at 10pm, dozing against the wall.

Want to experience this part of Peru?

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For a unique insight into Peruvian culture, why not try one of our Cultural Extensions, which include taking part in Christmas chocolatada with street kids.

In 2000, the US Bureau of Democracy report estimated that, 70% of Peru`s10 million children under 18 lived in poverty, and that of these about 50% never attended school, or abandoned their education – with much higher figures for girls.

Doing the sums, over 3 million children don’t finish school because parents don’t have the money for fees or books. All children in Peru must wear an elaborate uniform, or they won’t be allowed to attend school. Middle class Peruvians tell me that this relatively recent law is a godsend because “all the children in our schools are clean.”

It is pouring steadily with rain as we pass through high altiplano towns on a bus. The rain and the dark night distorts streetlights, while hidden under plastic, vendors huddle miserably, a freezing sad existence. It’s nearly midnight as we watch a mother, trudging along with her basket of chocolates and biscuits. Following in her footsteps, with head and shoulders bent in the same manner, her daughter, possibly six years old, is also lugging a basket of goods.

Economic necessity certainly drives parents to send their children to the streets, but it seems as if it is socially acceptable, thus exacerbating the problem.  Despite pressure from international groups, the legal minimum age of work in Peru remains twelve years old.

With a shortage of schools in Peru, most facilities are used by two groups of children each day – with morning (to 1pm) and afternoon sessions (to 6pm), meaning that half the day is free for study, play or work.

The differences between the “haves” and “have nots” are further exacerbated with a system of National (State) schools and private colleges.   The December – March school break is characterised by the proliferation of summer schools where children, for a price, can study computing, English, or the arts. Those with money develop their knowledge and ability in these holiday months whereas those that don’t either do nothing, or work to help the family.

From the moment school is out, the number of itinerant vendors swells as children fill the ranks. What’s the point of having a child at home when they could be bringing in income?

Just after dawn, our eleven-year-old neighbour is the first person awake in our communal house, when she starts the chores for her infirm elderly employer and their family. With her pair of tiny red raw hands she cooks, cleans, scrubs and washes. One day a baby arrives with a woman in a smart suit and an arrogant air. Then the eleven year old is also responsible for a 9-month-old baby who she carries on her back in a Manta (brightly coloured woven blanket) for hours on end. She attends school in the afternoons in exchange for her schooling. She can barely write, and soon after the employer starts beating her, she is gone.

A procession of girls, young, innocent, in traditional dress become employees in the house. None is older than fourteen, and they have been sent by their rural families to the city to earn a living. Their educational abilities vary – we realise that though one girl can count, she can’t add.

The faces of child vendors are blank, and dirty as they offer you their wares, lemons or pencils. A smile from a foreigner hardly thaws their reserve. It is as if they’ve had the life worked out of them, and they are only 7 or 8 years old.

When there is no time to have a childhood, when youth carry a burden similar to adults, then what future is there for a nation?

Copyright Ariana Svenson, 2005 - Comments and enquiries, please email us.

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