Ini adalah salah satu kebiasaan saya yang telah berulang kali diprotes oleh adik perempuan saya. Ketika saya berada di mobil, tidak menyetir, saya tidak akan memperhatikan jalan. Saya tidak akan ingat berapa lampu merah yang terlewati, apakah di perempatan terakhir kami belok kiri atau kanan atau terus atau putar balik, apakah gedung tinggi eksentrik telah dilalui, pendeknya saya bengong, melamun. Inilah mengapa saya sulit menghapal jalan. Dan ini jugalah yang seringkali menjadi akar pertengkaran saya dan adik perempuan saya.
Bukannya saya tidak berniat ya. Beberapa kali saya telah meniatkan diri kok, kali ini saya akan memperhatikan jalan! Namun 10 menit kemudian saya akan menemukan diri saya gelagapan karena kok tiba-tiba saya sudah ada di dunia lamunan? Dan ketika kembali ke dunia nyata, saya sudah sudah tidak tahu lagi ada di belahan dunia mana saya ini.
Hal ini terjadi tak terkecuali, bahkan lebih-lebih, dalam sebuah perjalanan panjang. Ketika saya melewati jalanan dua jalur yang panjang, dimana kanan kirinya pohon-pohon jati tinggi menjulang (sekarang sebagian besar sudah ditebang dan berganti pohon-pohon kecil). Ini bukan di Jakarta tentunya. Tidak usah berharap banyak. Setiap kali saya melewati jalan ini, lamunan saya akan melayang ke sebuah cerita yang saya dengar beberapa tahun lalu. Juru ceritanya seorang wanita sepuh berusia hampir 80. Ceritanya tentang masa lalu, ketika Indonesia baru merdeka kurang lebih 3 tahun.
**
Hari itu adalah hari Lebaran. Hari besarnya umat Islam, dirayakan dimana-mana sebagai penutup bulan puasa. Tak terkecuali di sebuah desa kecil di tengah pulau Jawa. Kalau menutup mata saya dapat membayangkan suasananya. Dingin, sejuk, orang-orang berbondong-bondong menuju balai desa atau mungkin masjid atau musola dengan pakaian terbaik yang mereka miliki. Tidak bagus mungkin, apalagi rapi, tapi lebih baik daripada pakaian yang mereka pakai sehari-hari. Saya tidak tahu persis sih. Seperti saya bilang, ini hanya bayangan saya.
Orang-orang desa, sepanjang saya perhatikan, merayakan Lebaran dengan lebih ‘meriah’. Bukan berarti pakaian mereka lebih indah, kue nastar mereka lebih banyak, angpau mereka lebih besar atau apa. Tapi terlihat lebih niat. Ya, itu kata yang benar. Mereka memaknai Lebaran sebagai hari yang sangat spesial. Mungkin karena tak banyak hari spesial yang mereka punya dalam setahun. Ini hanya pengamatan saya saja lho.
Kembali ke lebaran sekian puluh tahun lalu. Kali itu lebaran tidak berakhir dengan sukacita, meskipun awalnya demikian. Pada masa itu Jepang sudah angkat kaki dari Indonesia. Yang kembali adalah tentara Hindia Belanda di bawah bendera KNIL.
Usai shalat Ied, usai makan ketupat, kira-kira setelah Dzuhur terdengar 2 kali tembakan. Belanda akan datang. Konon, mencari seorang bernama Hizbullah(atau semacamnya) yang telah getol melawan Belanda. Para laki-laki buru-buru disuruh kabur ke gunung oleh warga desa. Tak terkecuali ketua desanya yang kebetulan juga anggota Masyumi. Dibekali uang 20 talen uang 25 sen oleh istrinya, kaburlah si ketua desa bersama para laki-laki lain.
Menjelang sore Pak Ketua Desa malah kembali ke rumah. Tak tega ternyata hatinya meninggalkan istri dan anak-anaknya. Apalagi anak bungsunya baru berusia satu bulan. Dikembalikannya 20 talen uang 25 sen kepada istrinya. Untuk makan di rumah, ia bilang.
Saat itu Belanda sudah masuk desa. Tembakan terdengar dimana-mana. Sudah terkepung dan tak ada jalan keluar. Digiringlah Pak Ketua Desa bersama 51 pria desa lainnya ke bawah sebuah jembatan kecil di pinggiran desa tersebut. Dari atas jembatan tentara Belanda memberondongkan pelurunya. Bau mesiu merebak, tak lama bercampur juga dengan bau anyir.
Pak Ketua Desa yang sekarat digotong kembali ke rumahnya. Tidak mengerti saya siapa yang menggotong, mungkin warga desa lain yang lolos dari pembantaian. Kakinya sudah patah dan peluru-peluru sudah bersarang di badannya. Konon, 16 butir peluru.
Pak Ketua Desa pun meninggal tak lama setelahnya. Demikian juga 51 orang yang diberondong peluru di bawah jembatan sore itu.
**
10 tahun setelahnya si anak sulung Ketua Desa, yang di saat kejadian masih berusia 12 tahun, menikah dengan seorang pemuda yang ditemuinya di Purwokerto namun ternyata juga berasal dari desa yang sama. Setahun setelahnya ia melahirkan anak pertama, yang disusul anak kedua dan ketiga.
Beberapa tahun lalu, puluhan tahun setelah kematian bapaknya, ia menceritakan kisah ini kepada saya. Kisah yang mengingatkan saya bahwa penjajahan itu nyata, bukan hanya dongeng karangan yang melegenda. Kisah yang saya lamunkan setiap melewati jalanan dua jalur yang panjang, dimana kanan kirinya pohon-pohon jati tinggi menjulang. Jalanan yang saya lewati setiap kali saya akan berkunjung ke rumahnya.
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Oct 31, 2010
Jun 5, 2010
Menciptakan Kesempatan
Anak perempuan itu bernama Iis. Usianya baru 12 tahun. Baru lulus SD. Tingginya mungkin sekitar 145 cm. Dadanya masih rata, perawakannya kurus dan tampangnya masih bocah. I betted she had not got her period yet.
Baru beberapa hari ia tinggal di Jakarta, di rumah orang tua saya. Bapak Ibunya ada di kampung. Dia bilang dia mau kerja di Jakarta.
Jadi apa?
Pembantu.
Mama memang sedang mencari pembantu, tapi ia sendiri tidak menyangka yang datang adalah bocah di bawah umur begini. Iis seperti enggan disuruh pulang. Ditanya mau disekolahkan apa tidak, dia pun tampak tak mau. Keluarganya miskin, ia adalah anak paling tua. Tak ada biaya untuk sekolah. Di kampung ia kadang bekerja mengasuh anak tetangganya. Lalu, daripada di rumah tidak sekolah dan tidak bekerja tetap, keluarganya mengirim ia untuk merantau ke Jakarta.
Mama dan Tante saya yang di kampung mencoba membujuk ibu Iis untuk menyuruh anaknya pulang. Karena jelas ia tidak mungkin bekerja di rumah kami. Ibunya tidak mau, Iis juga tidak mau. Akhirnya sebuah keluarga muda yang baru punya anak menjemput Iis untuk dijadikan pengasuh bayi mereka.
***
Kemarin di kampung Eyang, saya bertemu anak perempuan lain. Usianya juga 12 tahun, ia baru tamat SD. Ia anak pertama dari 5 bersaudara. Ayahnya kerja serabutan, ibunya tidak bekerja.
Di rumah yang ukurannya tidak lebih dari 5x5 meter itu keluarganya berbagi tempat dengan 2 keluarga lain.
Tante saya bilang ia ingin melanjutkan sekolah. Saya tanya langsung padanya, mau sekolah lagi?
Ia hanya menunduk sambil membelai-belai adik bungsunya yang baru berusia satu minggu.
Kalau tidak sekolah, mau ngapain? Saya bertanya pada Tante saya.
Tante saya bilang, bekerja. Seperti Iis yang dikirim ke Jakarta atau bekerja di sawah.
***
Saya pernah bertemu sebuah keluarga, mirip seperti keluarga anak perempuan tadi. Sang Ayah kerja serabutan, ibunya pun serabutan. Anaknya 5 orang. Tinggal di sepetak ruangan beralaskan tanah yang hanya berisi sebuah tempat tidur, kursi dan meja. 15 menit saja berada di dalam rumah itu saya tidak tahan ingin keluar. Baunya tidak enak, ada kandang sapi di sebelahnya.
Beberapa tahun kemudian si Ibu meninggal karena TBC. Sang Ayah kelimpungan.
Dari kacamata saya, musibah itu memang bagian dari rencana Tuhan. Anak pertama sudah bisa mandiri dan jualan bakso di Bandung. Sementara empat yang lain ditampung di rumah yang layak. Beberapa tinggal di rumah sanak saudara. Ada juga yang dijadikan anak angkat.
Salah seorang Bapak yang membantu keluarga tersebut pernah bilang pada saya. Ini berarti memutus rantai kemiskinan. Seorang anak yang terlahir di keluarga miskin umumnya tidak memperoleh kesempatan sekolah. Ia hanya akan mengulang siklus hidup orang tuanya. Ada beberapa pengecualian, tapi Bapak ini bicara secara general.
Menyekolahkan seorang anak yang tidak mampu berarti memberikan kesempatan tidak hanya pada anak itu, tapi pada keluarganya untuk bangkit dari kemiskinan, untuk lepas dari rantai kemiskinan. Sehingga di generasi berikutnya, anak tidak mampu yang disekolahkan ini akan membentuk keluarga dengan standar hidup lebih baik, dst.
Kadang yang dibutuhkan sebuah keluarga, sebuah generasi, adalah sebuah kesempatan untuk seseorang dari mereka menaikkan standar hidup mereka. Satu orang yang lepas dari rantai kemiskinan nantinya akan membawa satu orang lain, dan satu orang lain akan membawa satu orang lain lagi, dst.
***
Jadi, kemarin saya memandangi anak perempuan berambut keriting pendek ini. Mungkin dialah yang akan menjadi kunci bagi keluarganya untuk meningkatkan standar hidup mereka. Mungkin tidak secara signifikan, tapi barangkali ia akan jadi tonggak pertama. Perjalanan bisa jadi masih panjang, tapi tetap harus dimulai kan.
Dan, bukankah kita, sebagai manusia yang secara ekonomi lebih berkecukupan, bertanggung jawab untuk menciptakan kesempatan itu?
Bila Anda ingin tahu lebih lanjut soal anak ini, butuh dokumen-dokumen resmi keluarganya termasuk surat keterangan tidak mampu, atau apapun, email saya di
floresiana.yasmin@gmail.com
Terimakasih.
Baru beberapa hari ia tinggal di Jakarta, di rumah orang tua saya. Bapak Ibunya ada di kampung. Dia bilang dia mau kerja di Jakarta.
Jadi apa?
Pembantu.
Mama memang sedang mencari pembantu, tapi ia sendiri tidak menyangka yang datang adalah bocah di bawah umur begini. Iis seperti enggan disuruh pulang. Ditanya mau disekolahkan apa tidak, dia pun tampak tak mau. Keluarganya miskin, ia adalah anak paling tua. Tak ada biaya untuk sekolah. Di kampung ia kadang bekerja mengasuh anak tetangganya. Lalu, daripada di rumah tidak sekolah dan tidak bekerja tetap, keluarganya mengirim ia untuk merantau ke Jakarta.
Mama dan Tante saya yang di kampung mencoba membujuk ibu Iis untuk menyuruh anaknya pulang. Karena jelas ia tidak mungkin bekerja di rumah kami. Ibunya tidak mau, Iis juga tidak mau. Akhirnya sebuah keluarga muda yang baru punya anak menjemput Iis untuk dijadikan pengasuh bayi mereka.
***
Kemarin di kampung Eyang, saya bertemu anak perempuan lain. Usianya juga 12 tahun, ia baru tamat SD. Ia anak pertama dari 5 bersaudara. Ayahnya kerja serabutan, ibunya tidak bekerja.
Di rumah yang ukurannya tidak lebih dari 5x5 meter itu keluarganya berbagi tempat dengan 2 keluarga lain.
Tante saya bilang ia ingin melanjutkan sekolah. Saya tanya langsung padanya, mau sekolah lagi?
Ia hanya menunduk sambil membelai-belai adik bungsunya yang baru berusia satu minggu.
Kalau tidak sekolah, mau ngapain? Saya bertanya pada Tante saya.
Tante saya bilang, bekerja. Seperti Iis yang dikirim ke Jakarta atau bekerja di sawah.
***
Saya pernah bertemu sebuah keluarga, mirip seperti keluarga anak perempuan tadi. Sang Ayah kerja serabutan, ibunya pun serabutan. Anaknya 5 orang. Tinggal di sepetak ruangan beralaskan tanah yang hanya berisi sebuah tempat tidur, kursi dan meja. 15 menit saja berada di dalam rumah itu saya tidak tahan ingin keluar. Baunya tidak enak, ada kandang sapi di sebelahnya.
Beberapa tahun kemudian si Ibu meninggal karena TBC. Sang Ayah kelimpungan.
Dari kacamata saya, musibah itu memang bagian dari rencana Tuhan. Anak pertama sudah bisa mandiri dan jualan bakso di Bandung. Sementara empat yang lain ditampung di rumah yang layak. Beberapa tinggal di rumah sanak saudara. Ada juga yang dijadikan anak angkat.
Salah seorang Bapak yang membantu keluarga tersebut pernah bilang pada saya. Ini berarti memutus rantai kemiskinan. Seorang anak yang terlahir di keluarga miskin umumnya tidak memperoleh kesempatan sekolah. Ia hanya akan mengulang siklus hidup orang tuanya. Ada beberapa pengecualian, tapi Bapak ini bicara secara general.
Menyekolahkan seorang anak yang tidak mampu berarti memberikan kesempatan tidak hanya pada anak itu, tapi pada keluarganya untuk bangkit dari kemiskinan, untuk lepas dari rantai kemiskinan. Sehingga di generasi berikutnya, anak tidak mampu yang disekolahkan ini akan membentuk keluarga dengan standar hidup lebih baik, dst.
Kadang yang dibutuhkan sebuah keluarga, sebuah generasi, adalah sebuah kesempatan untuk seseorang dari mereka menaikkan standar hidup mereka. Satu orang yang lepas dari rantai kemiskinan nantinya akan membawa satu orang lain, dan satu orang lain akan membawa satu orang lain lagi, dst.
***
Jadi, kemarin saya memandangi anak perempuan berambut keriting pendek ini. Mungkin dialah yang akan menjadi kunci bagi keluarganya untuk meningkatkan standar hidup mereka. Mungkin tidak secara signifikan, tapi barangkali ia akan jadi tonggak pertama. Perjalanan bisa jadi masih panjang, tapi tetap harus dimulai kan.
Dan, bukankah kita, sebagai manusia yang secara ekonomi lebih berkecukupan, bertanggung jawab untuk menciptakan kesempatan itu?
Bila Anda ingin tahu lebih lanjut soal anak ini, butuh dokumen-dokumen resmi keluarganya termasuk surat keterangan tidak mampu, atau apapun, email saya di
floresiana.yasmin@gmail.com
Terimakasih.
Jun 3, 2008
Sulitnya menjadi anak-anak
Beberapa waktu lalu Bapak saya mengirimi cerita ini via email. Salah satu gambaran children labour yang menyalahgunakan nama agama. Bukannya tak mungkin kisah semacam ini terjadi juga di sekitar kita.
Siapkan 10 menit waktu Anda ke depan untuk membaca kisah ini. :)
(By :RUKMINI CALLIMACHI, Associated Press Writer)
DAKAR, Senegal - On the day he decided to run away, 9-year-old Coli awoke on a filthy mat. Like a pup, he lay curled against the cold, pressed between dozens of other children sleeping head-to-toe on the concrete floor. His T-shirt was damp with the dew that seeped through the thin walls. The older boys had yanked away the square of cloth he used to protect himself from the draft. He shivered.
It was still dark as he set out for the mouth of a freeway with the other boys, a tribe of 7-, 8- and 9-year-old beggars.
Coli padded barefoot between the stopped cars, his head reaching only halfway up the windows. His scrawny body disappeared under a ragged T-shirt that grazed his knees. He held up an empty tomato paste can as his begging bowl.
There are 1.2 million Colis in the world today, children trafficked to work for the benefit of others. Those who lure them into servitude make $15 billion annually, according to the International Labor Organization.
It's big business in Senegal. In the capital of Dakar alone, at least 7,600 child beggars work the streets, according to a study released in February by the ILO, the United Nations Children's Fund and the World Bank. The children collect an average of 300 African francs a day, just 72 cents, reaping their keepers $2 million a year.
Most of the boys — 90 percent, the study found — are sent out to beg under the cover of Islam, placing the problem at the complicated intersection of greed and tradition. For among the cruelest facts of Coli's life is that he was not stolen from his family. He was brought to Dakar with their blessing to learn Islam's holy book.
In the name of religion, Coli spent two hours a day memorizing verses from the Quran and over nine hours begging to pad the pockets of the man he called his teacher.
It was getting dark. Coli had less than half the 72 cents he was told to bring back. He was afraid. He knew what happened to children who failed to meet their daily quotas.
They were stripped and doused in cold water. The older boys picked them up like hammocks by their ankles and wrists. Then the teacher whipped them with an electrical cord until the cord ate their skin.
Coli's head hurt with hunger. He could already feel the slice of the wire on his back.He slipped away, losing himself in a tide of honking cars. He had 20 cents in his tomato can.
______________________
Three years ago, a man wearing a skullcap came to Coli's village in the neighboring country of Guinea-Bissau and asked for him.
Coli's parents immediately addressed the man as "Serigne," a term of respect for Muslim leaders on Africa's western coast. Many poor villagers believe that giving a Muslim holy man a child to educate will gain an entire family entrance to paradise.
Since the 11th century, families have sent their sons to study at the Quranic schools that flourished on Africa's western seaboard with the rise of Islam. It is forbidden to charge for an Islamic education, so the students, known as talibe, studied for free with their marabouts, or spiritual teachers. In return, the children worked in the marabout's fields.
The droughts of the late 1970s and '80s forced many schools to move to cities, where their income began to revolve around begging. Today, children continue to flock to the cities, as food and work in villages run short.
Not all Quranic boarding schools force their students to beg. But for the most part, what was once an esteemed form of education has degenerated into child trafficking. Nowadays, Quranic instructors net as many children as they can to increase their daily take.
"If you do the math, you'll find that these people are earning more than a government functionary," said Souleymane Bachir Diagne, an Islamic scholar at Columbia University. "It's why the phenomenon is so hard to eradicate."
Middle men trawl for children as far afield as the dunes of Mauritania and the grass-covered huts of Mali. It's become a booming, regional trade that ensnares children as young as 2, who don't know the name of their village or how to return home.
One of the largest clusters of Quranic schools lies in the poor, sand-enveloped neighborhoods on either side of the freeway leading into Dakar.
This is where Coli's marabout squats in a half-finished house whose floor stirs with flies. Amadu Buwaro sleeps on a mattress covered in white linens. The 30 children in his care sleep in another room with dirty blankets on the floor. It smells rotten and wet, like a soaked rag.
Buwaro is a thin man in his 30s who wears a pressed olive robe and digital watch. The children wear T-shirts black with filth. He expects them to beg to pay the rent, because there are no fields here to till.
But their earnings far exceed his rent of $50. If the boys meet their quotas, they bring in around $650 a month in a nation where the average person earns $150.
Buwaro expects the children to suffer to learn the Quran, just as he did at the hands of his teacher.
So when Coli failed to return, Buwaro was furious. He flipped open his flashy silver cell phone and called another marabout who kept a blue planner with names of runaway boys. The list stretched down the page. He added Coli's name.
__________________
His tomato can tucked under one arm, Coli jumped on the back of a bus, holding on to the swinging rear door. He was hundreds of miles from the village where he grew up speaking Peuhl, a language not commonly heard in Dakar.
He could not ask the Senegalese for help. So he got directions in Peuhl from other child beggars, who like him were trafficked here from the zone of green savannah just outside Senegal.
Coli made his way to a neighborhood where he had heard of a place that gave free food to children like him.
"Do you know where you come from?" asked the kind-faced woman at Empire des Enfants. The shelter's capacity is 30 children, but it usually houses at least 50.
Coli knew the name of his mother, but not how to reach her. He knew the name of the region where he was born, but not his village. "My mother is black," he said. "I'm sure I'll recognize her."
The shelter worker told Coli what to do if his marabout came. We will protect you, she said. If he tries to grab you, scream.
Days went by. Maybe weeks.
Then Coli's marabout arrived.
In 2005, Senegal made it a crime punishable by five years in prison to force a child to beg. But the same law makes an exception for children begging for religious reasons. Few dare to cross marabouts for fear of supernatural retaliation.
Coli's marabout entered the shelter flanked by a column of religious leaders in cascading robes that tumbled onto the ground. One of them stabbed his finger at the clouds and yelled out, "The sky will fall down on you if you don't hand over our children."
The shelter is used to such threats. But this time the marabouts had discovered the center's legal paperwork was not complete. They threatened to close the shelter if it did not hand over 11 boys.
To save more than 40 others, the shelter handed over the 11. Coli was on the list.
Back at the school, they beat the 9-year-old until he thought he was going to faint. At night, they dragged him off the floor, doused him in water and beat him again.
Three days later, he ran away again. When he arrived at the shelter, he said: "I want to go home to my mom."
_________________
To find Coli's mother, aid workers broadcast his name on the radio in Guinea-Bissau. The names of over a dozen children also from Guinea-Bissau played in a continuous loop, like sonic homing pigeons trying to find their target.
No response. Some boys worried their parents might be dead.
"I'm sure my mother is still alive," Coli reasoned. "When I left her she was well, so why wouldn't she be well now?" Underneath his bright eyes is another worry.
Will she be angry that he disobeyed his teacher?
Over the past two years, the International Organization for Migration has returned over 600 child beggars to their homes. Several had been hit by cars. Some had scars on their backs. One 10-year-old was so hungry he ate out of the trash. Soon after he returned home, he vomited worms and died.
Almost all the boys had begged on behalf of Quranic instructors in Senegal.
"Cultural habits have been manipulated for the sake of exploitation," said the IOM's Laurent de Boeck, deputy regional representative for West and Central Africa.
Two months went by before a shelter worker pulled Coli aside. His parents were alive.
__________________________
The 13 boys from Guinea-Bissau pile into a bus. Coli screams with glee as it takes off for the airport.
"Is this Guinea-Bissau?" one of them asks as they descend onto the cracked runway and enter the small airport of the nation's capital. "Senegal looks better," says another.
Though Senegal is among the world's poorest nations, it's visibly more developed than Guinea-Bissau, listed 160th out of 177 countries on the U.N.'s human development index. The capital they left had streets clogged with taxis and flashy 4-by-4s. The buildings were tall. The capital they returned to has squat, low buildings and crumbling colonial villas.
"I'm not sure I like it," Coli confides.
As the bus leaves the capital, they pass villages of cone-shaped huts and fields where boys herd bulls. They sing songs, clapping their hands. As they pull into the shelter where their parents were told to expect them, the boys fall silent.
Timidly, they file off the bus. A few of the 12- and 13-year-olds recognize their families. They approach them respectfully, shaking hands.
Coli's mother is not there.
___________________
A judge tells the parents they will be jailed if they send their children away to beg again. They have to sign a statement promising to protect their boys from traffickers. Most are illiterate, so they leave a thumbprint in blue ink next to their names.
"You sent your kids to hell," the judge says. "You can't say that because you are poor you're going to allow your kids to be abused."
His booming voice ricochets off the cracked walls of the building. The parents stare straight ahead.
But the conditions that made these families send their children to hell still persist.
Many of the villages do not have enough food. Few have schools. In one, the schoolhouse is a bamboo enclosure that doubles as an animal corral. "We haven't had classes here in over a year," an elderly man says as he ducks into the classroom and skirts a pile of bull manure.
The aid group pays for school fees and supplies. But the stipend cannot cover the economic worth of a child. Some of the children returned in previous months now work as bricklayers and goatherds. Others have already been sent back to the marabouts by their parents. The idea of child trafficking as a crime is so new in the region that no African language has a word for it, experts say.
With each passing day, more parents and relatives come, but not Coli's.
On the third day, the shelter pays for another radio address.
By the fourth, half the 13 children are gone.
The others become increasingly agitated. Maybe the radio is broken, Coli muses. His wet eyes fill with the invisible color of worry.
_________________________
Early on the fifth morning, a woman in a pressed peach robe walks up to the shelter.
Coli rushes outside. He stands a few feet away as tears topple down his cheeks. She covers her face with her veil and weeps.
The two sit side-by-side in plastic chairs. Coli's mother looks at her feet. Her family is poor, she says, and she wanted Coli to get an education. It took her several days to reach the shelter because she didn't have $2 for the bus fare.
For more than an hour, Coli cries. Tears run down either side of his cheeks, forming two watery garlands. They meet at his chin and plop down on his collar bone, pooling above his shirt.
She stands up and wipes his chin. They leave, crossing the dusty boulevard.
Her arm reaches around his shoulder and the long sleeve of her robe falls around the little boy. It hides him from the remaining children, who silently watch Coli go home.
_____________________________
EPILOGUE:
Soon after Coli left, his marabout traveled to Guinea-Bissau. He angrily demanded to know why Coli had run away.
Ashamed, Coli's father promised to make up for the boy's bad behavior.
He is sending the marabout two more sons.
Siapkan 10 menit waktu Anda ke depan untuk membaca kisah ini. :)
(By :RUKMINI CALLIMACHI, Associated Press Writer)
DAKAR, Senegal - On the day he decided to run away, 9-year-old Coli awoke on a filthy mat. Like a pup, he lay curled against the cold, pressed between dozens of other children sleeping head-to-toe on the concrete floor. His T-shirt was damp with the dew that seeped through the thin walls. The older boys had yanked away the square of cloth he used to protect himself from the draft. He shivered.
It was still dark as he set out for the mouth of a freeway with the other boys, a tribe of 7-, 8- and 9-year-old beggars.
Coli padded barefoot between the stopped cars, his head reaching only halfway up the windows. His scrawny body disappeared under a ragged T-shirt that grazed his knees. He held up an empty tomato paste can as his begging bowl.
There are 1.2 million Colis in the world today, children trafficked to work for the benefit of others. Those who lure them into servitude make $15 billion annually, according to the International Labor Organization.
It's big business in Senegal. In the capital of Dakar alone, at least 7,600 child beggars work the streets, according to a study released in February by the ILO, the United Nations Children's Fund and the World Bank. The children collect an average of 300 African francs a day, just 72 cents, reaping their keepers $2 million a year.
Most of the boys — 90 percent, the study found — are sent out to beg under the cover of Islam, placing the problem at the complicated intersection of greed and tradition. For among the cruelest facts of Coli's life is that he was not stolen from his family. He was brought to Dakar with their blessing to learn Islam's holy book.
In the name of religion, Coli spent two hours a day memorizing verses from the Quran and over nine hours begging to pad the pockets of the man he called his teacher.
It was getting dark. Coli had less than half the 72 cents he was told to bring back. He was afraid. He knew what happened to children who failed to meet their daily quotas.
They were stripped and doused in cold water. The older boys picked them up like hammocks by their ankles and wrists. Then the teacher whipped them with an electrical cord until the cord ate their skin.
Coli's head hurt with hunger. He could already feel the slice of the wire on his back.He slipped away, losing himself in a tide of honking cars. He had 20 cents in his tomato can.
______________________
Three years ago, a man wearing a skullcap came to Coli's village in the neighboring country of Guinea-Bissau and asked for him.
Coli's parents immediately addressed the man as "Serigne," a term of respect for Muslim leaders on Africa's western coast. Many poor villagers believe that giving a Muslim holy man a child to educate will gain an entire family entrance to paradise.
Since the 11th century, families have sent their sons to study at the Quranic schools that flourished on Africa's western seaboard with the rise of Islam. It is forbidden to charge for an Islamic education, so the students, known as talibe, studied for free with their marabouts, or spiritual teachers. In return, the children worked in the marabout's fields.
The droughts of the late 1970s and '80s forced many schools to move to cities, where their income began to revolve around begging. Today, children continue to flock to the cities, as food and work in villages run short.
Not all Quranic boarding schools force their students to beg. But for the most part, what was once an esteemed form of education has degenerated into child trafficking. Nowadays, Quranic instructors net as many children as they can to increase their daily take.
"If you do the math, you'll find that these people are earning more than a government functionary," said Souleymane Bachir Diagne, an Islamic scholar at Columbia University. "It's why the phenomenon is so hard to eradicate."
Middle men trawl for children as far afield as the dunes of Mauritania and the grass-covered huts of Mali. It's become a booming, regional trade that ensnares children as young as 2, who don't know the name of their village or how to return home.
One of the largest clusters of Quranic schools lies in the poor, sand-enveloped neighborhoods on either side of the freeway leading into Dakar.
This is where Coli's marabout squats in a half-finished house whose floor stirs with flies. Amadu Buwaro sleeps on a mattress covered in white linens. The 30 children in his care sleep in another room with dirty blankets on the floor. It smells rotten and wet, like a soaked rag.
Buwaro is a thin man in his 30s who wears a pressed olive robe and digital watch. The children wear T-shirts black with filth. He expects them to beg to pay the rent, because there are no fields here to till.
But their earnings far exceed his rent of $50. If the boys meet their quotas, they bring in around $650 a month in a nation where the average person earns $150.
Buwaro expects the children to suffer to learn the Quran, just as he did at the hands of his teacher.
So when Coli failed to return, Buwaro was furious. He flipped open his flashy silver cell phone and called another marabout who kept a blue planner with names of runaway boys. The list stretched down the page. He added Coli's name.
__________________
His tomato can tucked under one arm, Coli jumped on the back of a bus, holding on to the swinging rear door. He was hundreds of miles from the village where he grew up speaking Peuhl, a language not commonly heard in Dakar.
He could not ask the Senegalese for help. So he got directions in Peuhl from other child beggars, who like him were trafficked here from the zone of green savannah just outside Senegal.
Coli made his way to a neighborhood where he had heard of a place that gave free food to children like him.
"Do you know where you come from?" asked the kind-faced woman at Empire des Enfants. The shelter's capacity is 30 children, but it usually houses at least 50.
Coli knew the name of his mother, but not how to reach her. He knew the name of the region where he was born, but not his village. "My mother is black," he said. "I'm sure I'll recognize her."
The shelter worker told Coli what to do if his marabout came. We will protect you, she said. If he tries to grab you, scream.
Days went by. Maybe weeks.
Then Coli's marabout arrived.
In 2005, Senegal made it a crime punishable by five years in prison to force a child to beg. But the same law makes an exception for children begging for religious reasons. Few dare to cross marabouts for fear of supernatural retaliation.
Coli's marabout entered the shelter flanked by a column of religious leaders in cascading robes that tumbled onto the ground. One of them stabbed his finger at the clouds and yelled out, "The sky will fall down on you if you don't hand over our children."
The shelter is used to such threats. But this time the marabouts had discovered the center's legal paperwork was not complete. They threatened to close the shelter if it did not hand over 11 boys.
To save more than 40 others, the shelter handed over the 11. Coli was on the list.
Back at the school, they beat the 9-year-old until he thought he was going to faint. At night, they dragged him off the floor, doused him in water and beat him again.
Three days later, he ran away again. When he arrived at the shelter, he said: "I want to go home to my mom."
_________________
To find Coli's mother, aid workers broadcast his name on the radio in Guinea-Bissau. The names of over a dozen children also from Guinea-Bissau played in a continuous loop, like sonic homing pigeons trying to find their target.
No response. Some boys worried their parents might be dead.
"I'm sure my mother is still alive," Coli reasoned. "When I left her she was well, so why wouldn't she be well now?" Underneath his bright eyes is another worry.
Will she be angry that he disobeyed his teacher?
Over the past two years, the International Organization for Migration has returned over 600 child beggars to their homes. Several had been hit by cars. Some had scars on their backs. One 10-year-old was so hungry he ate out of the trash. Soon after he returned home, he vomited worms and died.
Almost all the boys had begged on behalf of Quranic instructors in Senegal.
"Cultural habits have been manipulated for the sake of exploitation," said the IOM's Laurent de Boeck, deputy regional representative for West and Central Africa.
Two months went by before a shelter worker pulled Coli aside. His parents were alive.
__________________________
The 13 boys from Guinea-Bissau pile into a bus. Coli screams with glee as it takes off for the airport.
"Is this Guinea-Bissau?" one of them asks as they descend onto the cracked runway and enter the small airport of the nation's capital. "Senegal looks better," says another.
Though Senegal is among the world's poorest nations, it's visibly more developed than Guinea-Bissau, listed 160th out of 177 countries on the U.N.'s human development index. The capital they left had streets clogged with taxis and flashy 4-by-4s. The buildings were tall. The capital they returned to has squat, low buildings and crumbling colonial villas.
"I'm not sure I like it," Coli confides.
As the bus leaves the capital, they pass villages of cone-shaped huts and fields where boys herd bulls. They sing songs, clapping their hands. As they pull into the shelter where their parents were told to expect them, the boys fall silent.
Timidly, they file off the bus. A few of the 12- and 13-year-olds recognize their families. They approach them respectfully, shaking hands.
Coli's mother is not there.
___________________
A judge tells the parents they will be jailed if they send their children away to beg again. They have to sign a statement promising to protect their boys from traffickers. Most are illiterate, so they leave a thumbprint in blue ink next to their names.
"You sent your kids to hell," the judge says. "You can't say that because you are poor you're going to allow your kids to be abused."
His booming voice ricochets off the cracked walls of the building. The parents stare straight ahead.
But the conditions that made these families send their children to hell still persist.
Many of the villages do not have enough food. Few have schools. In one, the schoolhouse is a bamboo enclosure that doubles as an animal corral. "We haven't had classes here in over a year," an elderly man says as he ducks into the classroom and skirts a pile of bull manure.
The aid group pays for school fees and supplies. But the stipend cannot cover the economic worth of a child. Some of the children returned in previous months now work as bricklayers and goatherds. Others have already been sent back to the marabouts by their parents. The idea of child trafficking as a crime is so new in the region that no African language has a word for it, experts say.
With each passing day, more parents and relatives come, but not Coli's.
On the third day, the shelter pays for another radio address.
By the fourth, half the 13 children are gone.
The others become increasingly agitated. Maybe the radio is broken, Coli muses. His wet eyes fill with the invisible color of worry.
_________________________
Early on the fifth morning, a woman in a pressed peach robe walks up to the shelter.
Coli rushes outside. He stands a few feet away as tears topple down his cheeks. She covers her face with her veil and weeps.
The two sit side-by-side in plastic chairs. Coli's mother looks at her feet. Her family is poor, she says, and she wanted Coli to get an education. It took her several days to reach the shelter because she didn't have $2 for the bus fare.
For more than an hour, Coli cries. Tears run down either side of his cheeks, forming two watery garlands. They meet at his chin and plop down on his collar bone, pooling above his shirt.
She stands up and wipes his chin. They leave, crossing the dusty boulevard.
Her arm reaches around his shoulder and the long sleeve of her robe falls around the little boy. It hides him from the remaining children, who silently watch Coli go home.
_____________________________
EPILOGUE:
Soon after Coli left, his marabout traveled to Guinea-Bissau. He angrily demanded to know why Coli had run away.
Ashamed, Coli's father promised to make up for the boy's bad behavior.
He is sending the marabout two more sons.
Mar 26, 2008
untung cerah
Jakarta siang itu kembali diwarnai kesemerawutan. Mobil disana sini berdesakkan dengan motor bahkan bus kota, memproduksi suara-suara klakson saling menyahut. Semua orang berlomba dengan waktu dalam usaha mencari materi sebanyak-banyaknya.
Seorang kenek bus, melongok keluar pintu bus. Menengadah ke arah langit, ia menemukan warna langit yang cerah, berbeda dengan hari-hari sebelumnya yang dirundung awan kelabu kemudian disusul hujan. Ia tersenyum, lega.
"Kenapa Pak?" seorang penumpang di bangku depan mencoba memulai percakapan demi mengusir rasa suntuk selama perjalanan.
"Alhamdulillah, hari ini nggak hujan. Cerah.", ujar sang kenek sembari tersenyum.
"Makin banyak penumpang kalo lagi cerah ya Pak", sang penumpang menimpali sambil mengangguk mengerti.
"Bukan," sang kenek tertawa kecil, rambutnya yang beruban tertiup angin, "kalo cerah baju anak-anak bisa kering. Kasian, udah 2 hari mereka nggak ganti baju seragam".
Seorang kenek bus, melongok keluar pintu bus. Menengadah ke arah langit, ia menemukan warna langit yang cerah, berbeda dengan hari-hari sebelumnya yang dirundung awan kelabu kemudian disusul hujan. Ia tersenyum, lega.
"Kenapa Pak?" seorang penumpang di bangku depan mencoba memulai percakapan demi mengusir rasa suntuk selama perjalanan.
"Alhamdulillah, hari ini nggak hujan. Cerah.", ujar sang kenek sembari tersenyum.
"Makin banyak penumpang kalo lagi cerah ya Pak", sang penumpang menimpali sambil mengangguk mengerti.
"Bukan," sang kenek tertawa kecil, rambutnya yang beruban tertiup angin, "kalo cerah baju anak-anak bisa kering. Kasian, udah 2 hari mereka nggak ganti baju seragam".
Nov 9, 2007
demi menyambung hidup
Perempatan lampu merah DSE - Kimia Farma - Dukomsel, Dago, Bandung.
Seorang anak berjalan agak pincang mendekati mobil saya. Ia hanya menyanyi beberapa kata, dan langsung berlalu setelah beberapa recehan logam berpindah ke tangannya. Tak lama hujan yang tadinya hanya gerimis kecil mendadak berubah menjadi deras.
Si anak berlari ke sisi jalan, menuju sebuah warung rokok. Seorang wanita berbadan agak gemuk duduk disana. Selama beberapa saat si anak berbicara dengan wanita tersebut, kemudian menyerahkan segenggam recehan di tangannya.
Si anak kemudian berlari menyebrang jalan. Hilang dari pandangan saya.
Parkiran Superindo Dago, Bandung
Hujan deras. Saya memarkir mobil di tempat terdekat dengan pintu masuk. Sembari memasang kunci stir, pandangan saya menangkap sosok familier. Si anak pincang tadi.
Sekarang ia telah berdiri di depan pintu masuk. Dengan baju setengah basah, ia memanggul payung besar, siap menawarkan jasa ojek payung.
Seorang anak berjalan agak pincang mendekati mobil saya. Ia hanya menyanyi beberapa kata, dan langsung berlalu setelah beberapa recehan logam berpindah ke tangannya. Tak lama hujan yang tadinya hanya gerimis kecil mendadak berubah menjadi deras.
Si anak berlari ke sisi jalan, menuju sebuah warung rokok. Seorang wanita berbadan agak gemuk duduk disana. Selama beberapa saat si anak berbicara dengan wanita tersebut, kemudian menyerahkan segenggam recehan di tangannya.
Si anak kemudian berlari menyebrang jalan. Hilang dari pandangan saya.
Parkiran Superindo Dago, Bandung
Hujan deras. Saya memarkir mobil di tempat terdekat dengan pintu masuk. Sembari memasang kunci stir, pandangan saya menangkap sosok familier. Si anak pincang tadi.
Sekarang ia telah berdiri di depan pintu masuk. Dengan baju setengah basah, ia memanggul payung besar, siap menawarkan jasa ojek payung.
Dec 10, 2005
anak lelaki kecil
seorang anak lelaki kecil, berumur sekitar 7 tahun, memakai seragam olahraga sebuah sekolah negeri.
suatu sore di depan gerbang ganesha ketika hujan turun rintik-rintik, aku diberi kesempatan bertemu dengannya.
aku melihatnya ketika aku menyebrang jalan ganesha. ia membawa selebaran-selebaran yang biasanya dijual anak2 di salman seharga 1000 rupiah dengan alasan untuk membayar uang sekolah.
rautnya yang polos membuatku otomatis tersenyum. lalu ia tersenyum lebar sekali sampai gigi-giginya kelihatan. jujur, aku tidak menyangka akan mendapat tanggapan sehangat itu. sepertinya ia percaya sekali padaku.
detik berikutnya sebuah angkot berhenti di depan kami. ternyata ia pun sedang menunggu angkot yang sama.
suatu sore di depan gerbang ganesha ketika hujan turun rintik-rintik, aku diberi kesempatan bertemu dengannya.
aku melihatnya ketika aku menyebrang jalan ganesha. ia membawa selebaran-selebaran yang biasanya dijual anak2 di salman seharga 1000 rupiah dengan alasan untuk membayar uang sekolah.
rautnya yang polos membuatku otomatis tersenyum. lalu ia tersenyum lebar sekali sampai gigi-giginya kelihatan. jujur, aku tidak menyangka akan mendapat tanggapan sehangat itu. sepertinya ia percaya sekali padaku.
detik berikutnya sebuah angkot berhenti di depan kami. ternyata ia pun sedang menunggu angkot yang sama.
***
seorang anak lelaki lainnya, berumur sekitar 9 tahun.
suatu malam di trotoar depan spbu perempatan cikapayang-dago ia terlentang memandang ke atas. tangannya terulur ke atas, jari2nya bergerak2 membentuk kotak, lingkaran, seolah-olah ia
sedang mengintip langit melalui jari-jarinya.
aku sedang berjalan ke arah dago ketika sosoknya tertangkap oleh mataku. otomatis aku melihat ke atas. ingin tahu apa yang ia lihat.
hanya langit malam yang sama dengan malam2 sebelumnya. yang selalu ada setiap hari hingga keberadaannya hampir tak disadari.
dialah satu-satunya orang yang kutemui sejak entah berapa lama yang tampak benar2 mengapresiasi ciptaan Tuhan yang satu itu. tanpa rasa malu atau canggung, ia terlentang di trotoar jalan.
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