As I gazed out the window, trees, thatched huts and grazing cows flashed by. Sometimes I'd see laundry hanging on the walls separating the community and the train tracks. "What's the point?" I'd think sometimes. "After all, doesn't the train make all the clothes dirty again?"
Something moves and enters my line of vision. A half-naked boy in faded black cut-off jeans crawls on the floor, collecting all the garbage while mopping the floor with his dirty gray t-shirt. Not wanting to stare, I look away, but can't help but observe him out of the corner of my eyes. He moves into my berth's cabin. I lift my legs so he can clean the space under the seat. "Maybe I should take a picture to show the world the plight of the poor," I think. But I don't. It would rob him of his silent dignity. It would turn him into some curio for others to gawk at and consume.
As he finishes up in the 3-tiered cabin, he stands up to ask for compensation. I realize that he's not more than 10, 11. Unless if he's severely malnourished. Then he could be a teenager. Fighting back tears, I give him a pack of digestive biscuits. He takes it wordlessly, without meeting my gaze. The child pockets the change and continues mopping the next cabin with just one hand. He finds a discarded plastic bag and sticks the biscuits in. Later, when the train stops, I see him walking alongside the coach, the plastic bag swinging in his hand.
Two stops later, another boy gets on and begins sweeping the coach with a short coconut-fiber broom. He sweeps too vigorously and ends up spraying a middle-aged passenger with some candy wrappers. The man shouts at the boy's lowered head. And I cringe for him.
Something moves and enters my line of vision. A half-naked boy in faded black cut-off jeans crawls on the floor, collecting all the garbage while mopping the floor with his dirty gray t-shirt. Not wanting to stare, I look away, but can't help but observe him out of the corner of my eyes. He moves into my berth's cabin. I lift my legs so he can clean the space under the seat. "Maybe I should take a picture to show the world the plight of the poor," I think. But I don't. It would rob him of his silent dignity. It would turn him into some curio for others to gawk at and consume.
As he finishes up in the 3-tiered cabin, he stands up to ask for compensation. I realize that he's not more than 10, 11. Unless if he's severely malnourished. Then he could be a teenager. Fighting back tears, I give him a pack of digestive biscuits. He takes it wordlessly, without meeting my gaze. The child pockets the change and continues mopping the next cabin with just one hand. He finds a discarded plastic bag and sticks the biscuits in. Later, when the train stops, I see him walking alongside the coach, the plastic bag swinging in his hand.
Two stops later, another boy gets on and begins sweeping the coach with a short coconut-fiber broom. He sweeps too vigorously and ends up spraying a middle-aged passenger with some candy wrappers. The man shouts at the boy's lowered head. And I cringe for him.
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