While they are visiting a government care center, Nicky and Bas witness to their terror hat Manuel is sprinting away from a police officer in a desperate effort to flee.
The child runs as fast as his legs will carry him, but to no avail, he is no match for the policeman. I race after them with all my strength but I’m too far behind, and all too quickly it becomes clear that the arm of the law reaches further than I can.
When Manuel realizes that his attempt is futile, he makes a sharp turn and comes tearing up in my direction. I beam with joy, because the lad that I imagined dead will step back into my life within seconds, and I expectantly spread my arms.
Stony-faced, the kid walks past me and my spontaneous gesture results in an embarrassing scolding.
“Bugger you gringo, I don’t even know you man, leave me alone”.
What’s going on here? Doesn’t he recognize me? Doesn’t he remember me? When he met Sanja yesterday he asked after me right away didn’t he?
“Manuel it’s me, Bas, remember? From Proniño? Bas, from last year?”
“Piss off, let go of me man”.
Bewildered and taken by a fit of indignation, I stare after him while Nicky walks toward him and spreads her arms as a welcome, just like I did. But she too is mercilessly rejected and gets her share of street vocabulary thrown at her.
Discretely we exchange some puzzled looks and it takes a while before we understand that he probably feels betrayed by a conspiracy. Sanja has obviously contacted Nicky and Bas, who, in turn, have brought on the police to grab him and now they are laughing up their sleeves while waiting for him in this horrendous government complex. For a child whose daily experience is made up of suspicion, distrust and abandonment, it is the only obvious conclusion.
Now what? How can we recover his confidence with lightning speed? If we do not immediately undertake action he will be registered and officially under custody of the state. If that happens, he will be heading for a different future from the one Proniño would offer, and, according to us, one with fewer chances and less guidance.
Feverishly we go through the possibilities while Manuel is being put behind bars with the other seven kids. His name has by now been recorded in the big book and all his personal belongings, a bended comb in his back pocket that misses five teeth, four euro of begging money and a water pistol, are taken from him.
The director and his chief of legal affairs come marching toward us and Nicky immediately starts to offer a plea to explain that we have a special relationship with Manuel and that he is probably better off with Proniño because he knows a number of educators and children there, so it is clear that he will surely prosper in the group.
Meanwhile I move inconspicuously to the bars behind which the boys are held. It is impossible to control a bunch of annoyed, humiliated street kids and the only solution is to put them in a closed area until their spirits calm down.
“Manuel, pssst, come over here”, I whisper, trying to break into their chatter. Anger and distrust radiate from his face and I anxiously wonder if I can win him over in a few words.
“Howarya”, I try in my most jovial tone. “Great seeing you again chap! Nicky and I were here visiting someone and we were just going to look for you behind the cathedral. Sanja told us you would be waiting for us there, we were so happy you know!”
“Yeah, sure, pfh, of course”, is the only answer I get and he keeps staring at me defiantly.
“Manuel listen,” I say. “You know me, I do not lie, and you know that.” You don’t like being here and Nicky and I would love to have you at Proniño. The choice is yours but if you want to come with us you must stop carrying on and cooperate.”
In the background I can hear that Nicky’s masterful plea starts to bear fruit. Manuel too catches enough snatches of the conversation to realize that we are not taking him for a ride and the savage look in his face fast fades away to make place for a glowing shine.
The director decides to put it to the test and personally ask the boy if he wants to leave with us.
“Yes Señor, of course please if I may. Me with Nicky and Bas we are best of friends and Proniño is abfab and I’m sure they will take good care of me there! You even have to brush your teeth after every meal, see what I mean?”
The child’s disarming smile and Nicky’s and my own compelling looks are more than the good man can bear. Under so much pressure he succumbs. The locks are unlatched and after Nicky and I firmly grab an arm each, the boy is allowed to step outside.
To my intense reluctance, he insists that we retrieve his poor possessions from the main building while Nicky says goodbye to the little lad we came to visit in the first place. Even to my offer to give him a new comb, a bigger water pistol and the same amount of money he remains unrelenting, he must have his own stuff at any price. But the main building is where the severe woman sits with her big logbook and I am scared to death that she will put a spoke in my wheel when she discovers that I am trying to withdraw a child from her custody.
My fear comes true. At the top of her voice she starts protesting as soon as she notices that the secretary is handing over Manuel’s contents in a crumpled plastic bag. Right at that moment the director, who’s unaware of the note in the big book, steps into the building and I seize the opportunity to ease away from the strict woman and thank him warmly once again, while discretely but compellingly dragging Manuel to the exit.
Now the thing is to leave the premises before any commotion can erupt on the legality of my action and a startled Nicky can barely jump in the car while I start driving away. Only after we have cleared the guard’s post unscathed I dare to disclose what has just happened in the main building, but fortunately I believe that I can sense an expression of appreciation behind her official, severe look.
Manuel’s having the time of his life; he’s going to Proniño, his comb comfortably in his back pocket. When we must pay toll and I jokingly ask if Manuel can do so with his begging cash, he spontaneously grabs all his money and puts it in my hand.
During a solemn moment our world goes quiet. When a street child deliberately offers you his entire capital, for which he has begged, fought, stolen and sometimes literally bled, he doesn’t only put his trust but his whole fate in your hands. By giving away the money that he has scraped together to ensure his only meal of the day, he’s implicitly asking us to take care of him from now on. Nicky and I exchange a delighted look. Nicky silently mouths a “wow” but I get to see only half of it because I timidly turn my head away to hide from her the tear that is welling up in the corner of my eye, as a clear betrayal of my apparent toughness.
The money we obviously decline, but later that day Manuel digs up a little chain that he offers me. A priest once gave it to him.
“Here, this is yours now, as long as you wear this you will never die, it’s true I promise!”
I cherish it.
