Number Three Google Hit

He was smoking a cigarette every five minutes, downing multiple energy drinks, while constantly cussing and declaring the whole f*cking country should just be blown up. And this was the director.

When I first started my initial restavek research, I googled the word “restavek” and the number three hit was more informative and practical than the first two. It was the homepage for a home for runaway street boys, many of whom had been restaveks. When I emailed the contact email, the director immediately responded. He was happy to arrange a visit to the orphanage/home and would be glad to grant me an interview. I was even going to interview some of the boys who had been previous restaveks. We exchanged phone numbers.

I was to call him this afternoon to meet him so that he could take me to the orphanage. But as I was putting in his number to dial, he called me! He said they had just found a street boy who was injured and they were trying to take him to a hospital. But they could pick me up on the way. Slightly confused but eager to dive into my “research”, I agreed.

I saw a past-middle-aged man with long red hair accompanied by 5 teenage boys. They apparently had rented the sole of a tap-tap (public transportation here—basically the back of a pick-up truck). A young boy, maybe 8 years old, was inside. I was told he had been hit by a tap-tap three days earlier but a hospital had dumped him on the streets again. He had been lying on the side of the road for three days when they found him. He had regained consciousness but had a head injury and could not talk or eat. They had already tried taking him to two hospitals but he was turned away.

This is where I joined in. As we made our way to the third hospital, the director began complaining about the medical system here—full of idiots and imbeciles. Hospital number three would not take the boy. On the way to hospital number four, the director began raving about moron security guards, useless charity, and the f*cked up country. We made it to hospital number four and after a lot of finagling, they finally admitted the boy. The teenage boys in the tap tap liked to practice their English. Some were in plumbing school.

On the way to the orphanage the group made a number of errand stops. I had no choice but to tag-along. One of those stops was to pick up a fixed motor-bike. The director rode that back to the home and I continued on in the rented tap=tap. I arrived before the director. One of the boys showed me around the home. It was completely empty of any furniture minus 3 beds. It was dirty and run down. My “guide” explained how they were not happy with the director and they were not eating. The director often was not there. The little kids had all left to go find food the way they knew best. But I was told to keep quiet or the director would become quite upset with the boy.

The director finally arrived and pandemonium broke loose. The boys were upset that there was not enough food and the director was never there. The director responded by yelling and cussing the boys out in English and Creole. He told me that the little boys were all out playing. He also said the boys turn into f*cking zoo animals when they aren’t fed. By this point, I was completely uncomfortable, and just wanted to leave. An interview with this man was no longer desirable. The situation was entirely out of control. The director had mentioned many times that financial support was almost gone and it was hard to provide anything for the boys. But when I surveyed the situation, as harsh as it may sound, I think the best thing is to run out of money and shut down operations. The man cannot manage the boys, the home, the money—he is burned out and bitter.

I told him I wanted to leave but even him trying to arrange my way home was a mess and apparently complicated—intermingled with fighting and cussing the boys out. On his way to buy another energy drink, I simply chose the teenage boy that I liked best and asked him to guide me home on the tap-taps. He made a great guide and spoke enough English to get me by when I got totally stuck on Creole. After two tap-taps, I was thrilled to find the street I needed to get off at. (Like really, that was my accomplishment for the day!) I paid for the boy’s return home, thanked him, and was relieved to make it back.

It was chaos and so sad to observe. So this man may be helping, but how beneficial is the help? Certainly no role model or capable of caring or managing for things. He himself said many times over he needed a long break. That was clear during my time spent with him. It is not so hard for me to believe that there shit for the poor, and this appeared to be one of them. But what is hard to accept is that this mess is the number three internet hit for the word restavek and the initial impression one gets as they embark on learning more about the situation.