Her name...

Her name is Alapoona.

I don't know her. But I met her the other night.

I was walking with Natalie and our host family's daughter to take out the trash. We walked the 5 minute walk to the closest dump. As soon as we were in sight of it, I saw this small child get up from the edge of the trash dump and start walking our way. She had her hand out. I know these kids...I've seen so many of their faces. I reached into my purse and gave her two chocolates, but I didn't feel like that would cut it. I know those hands, those faces, those kids...but she felt so much more empty than the others. Most of them run up to me in a huddle of other kids...usually smiling, but she had neither fellow hands or a smile. We turned and began walking back home, but with every step I felt myself being called back. The direction I was walking in wasn't right. We were coming up on a dokan, so I bought a pack of bread and a couple snacks to take back to her.

She didn't expect us to come back. I could tell. I sat beside her on her cardboard bed, so I could close in on any distance she might feel. I didn't want to just be someone handing her material things, I wanted to be someone who wasn't afraid of being close to her...someone who cared for her heart as much as I did her stomach. In my poor Bangla, I told her I bought food for her and I wanted her to eat. She opened the bread and ate a couple pieces as she did nothing but stare at the ground in silence.

She was breaking my heart.

Her silence. Her brokenness.

I asked her about her family - she doesn't have any. I asked her her age - 9.

I don't know anymore of her story, but the fact that she was caked in layers and layers of dirt and sleeping on a cardboard sheet at a trash dump says enough for me. Something went wrong in this story. Our Father looks down on this and I know it shatters His heart to see His daughter in this condition - mentally, physically, and spiritually. That comforts me, but the all-consuming amount of powerlessness I felt in those moments with her, that entire night, and all of the days since, doesn't go away.

I brought two jackets with me. I don't need two. I gave her one, but I don't think that will cut it for the low temperatures that we have had as of late. And it certainly doesn't solve the biggest issue of this child's life.

I'm angry that I cannot fix this completely. I'm angry at all of it.

I walked away after a while of just sitting with her. There were so many men around her. That frightened me more than anything. I know men in this country. And I know children in this country. They are the innocent victims of some terrible, disgusting crimes committed by men. And I hate it. Hate it. Before I left her, I asked her if she was afraid of them and wanted me to stay. I don't know if they are there often or if they bother her, but after I asked, I got the expected answer of "no". But I know that she is...she's a 9 year old, but because she lives on the street and claims to have no family, she has had to condition herself to not be afraid.

These things make me hate the world. Hate the brokenness in it. Hate that it's 9 year old's that are left to survive on their own, left to fight abuse of every kind as they name the streets their home. Hate that people, including me, aren't doing more about this. Hate that I don't know what to do about it. Hate that I feel powerless. Hate that I will leave this country knowing that Alapoona is in no better a state than the night I found her. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I only wish my tears could make it all well.

I think this has broken my heart almost more than anything I've experienced in this city. Makes me feel like anything but a fight to right these wrongs is an empty pursuit of life. What am I doing?


Pray for her. Pray for her nights. Pray for her days. Pray for her life. And every other child in this world that has her story. There is way too many...even if she was the only one.