To solve this problem, men were permitted to vote on behalf of heir female relatives. This meant that men could easily abuse this power if they wanted to, and vote multiple times on their own behalf. In some aears of Afghanistan women were allowed voter cards that did not have ID photos on them (because it is ‘bad’ for them to have their photo taken). Again, this left the system open to further corruption. In some places there were more women who voted than there were women in that area.

Parties and politicians campaigning for Parliament in the this years Afghanistan election have hardly paid any consideration to women’s concerns, politics is still a “men’s club”. For whatever reason not one party is really trying to get the female vote. Hopefully by the time the next election roles around in Afghanistan the predominantly male politicians will be more desperate for the female vote.

According to Wikipedia there are at least 1 million street kids in Russia (it is a big place, but how many people ARE there in Russia?) I don’t know how many street kids are in Romania overall, but there are at least 1000 still living in Bucharest (location of the Children Underground documentary). The ex-president wanted to increase Romania’s workforce, so he banned abortion and contraception for women from 1966 until he was assassinated in 1989 (?). Many children were born into poverty or to bad parents (abusive or negligent), and many were abandoned.

Romania has closed its door to most international adoptions (including to my country). There is no “culture” that Romanian children are learning in an institutional orphanage. They are not even learning normal life, or normal relationships. There is very little hope for these children’s futures if they grow up in Romanian orphanages.

God, this is all depressing. It’s hard for me to hope that you will make things different for these children. I look at these children and it is likely that most of them will be in a similar horrible place a year – or five years – from now. It is hard for me to have much hope.

There is that passage in Matthew 6 that I love, but I don’t know what you meant by it, Jesus:

“So I tell you, don’t worry about everyday life — whether you have enough food, drink, and clothes. Doesn’t life consist of more than food and clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t need to plant or harvest or put food in barns because your heavenly Father feeds them. And you are far more valuable to him than they are. Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? Of course not. And why worry about your clothes? Look at the lilies and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for flowers that are here today and gone tomorrow, won’t he more surely care for you? You have so little faith! So don’t worry about having enough food or drink or clothing. Why be like the pagans who are so deeply concerned about these things? Your heavenly Father already knows all your needs, and he will give you all you need from day to day if you live for him and make the Kingdom of God your primary concern. So don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today” (Matthew 6:25-34).

Obviously there are some people that you don’t feed, or heal, or provide for (materially). So, what did you really mean by that passage, Jesus? There are millions of people in the world who love and follow you, God, but who live in severe poverty (eg. Cristina from the ‘Children Underground’ documentary). That passage clearly does not mean that you will come through for street children like Cristina, and make sure that they are safe from danger and have food. It doesn’t mean that you will get them out of their terrible situations. I’m not sure what it means. I feel useless and hopeless thinking about these street children.

Somaly Mam is a former child sex slave (in Cambodia) who now rescues other children. In her autobiography she recounts many incidents where the brothel staff were secretly informed (by a corrupt police officer) before a police raid was about to take place, meaning that the brothel staff had time to hide the children. She also recounted a time when her organisation and the police raided the largest brothel complex for underage girls in Cambodia (organised by very wealthy and highly powerful people). They rescued hundreds of girls, and took them to a secret school/home for former child sex slaves. The next day the brothel staff were tipped off as to the location of the children’s centre. They raided the centre and recaptured all of their girls. Despite this, Somaly Mam didn’t have a breakdown or despair – she just kept on working day by day to free what girls she could. I admired her amazing emotional strength to be able to do that in the face of such heavy brokeness and pain, and corruption in the police force.

 I few days ago I listened to an interview of Somaly Mam on Tyra. Somaly said that when she was first raped (at age 10 or 11) she died inside – and that she is still dead inside. Here I had been thinking that Somaly must have so much hope and optimism about the future and life to have the strength to just keep on trying to free those poor children . But that’s not entirely true. She is very badly broken, permanently, from her awful childhood. And nothing will make it right. Sure, parts of her life can be happy now, but there is a significant and important chunk of herself that she has permanently lost, there is a painful gap.

I don’t really know where you are, God, or where your hope is during this life for these people. If you are around, you are often very hard to see. If you are around, you do very little to help these people. They can hardly feel you around, most of the time in their terrible situations they don’t know that you are there. They look back, and ask, ‘where were you, God? Why were you so hard to see?’ And I think you really owe them, God, to be with them so much MORE than usual during those times when these children are being abandoned and abused.  It is during those times that these kids need to feel you are there, even if their situations do not change.

There seems like there is so little for most of these abused children, when they grow up. There is little of you for most of them – or it seems that way, to me. Will Macarena [from the Children Underground documentary] die of being beaten up, malnutrition, or a drug accident? Or is there a small chance that she will get her life sorted out? What about Cristina? I can’t even really look into Cristina’s future, I don’t know what that could be. I know that Cristina knows you, God, and believes in you. That means something. She has felt supported by you, or felt that you were with her. That means a lot – because when she has nothing, and few friends, when she is lonely, she always has you.

A friend told me a story the other day about a man they met whose children and grandchildren – his entire family – had been murdered. He was living in a refugee camp, and his country had been torn apart. He was happy, he laughed, he seemed to enjoy life. He said, “when you have nothing except God, you realize that God is all you need”. If that is what these street children can get out of their impossible childhoods – a relationship with you and the realization that if they have you, they are ‘okay’, you are all they need – I will be happy. That would be a good outcome. I pray for that, for these children from the Children Underground documentary. I pray for that for Somaly Mam. I pray for life. I pray for comfort and strength and contentment, from you.

Look after these children. Hold these children. Let them feel that you are holding them in your hand. Let them feel that they are special, and that they are loved by you. Let them feel happy, let them love themselves, and let them have hope for their lives. Let them defy my poor hopes for them, my difficulty in having hope for them. You are stronger than my lack of hope, you are stronger than the depressing hopeless situation that I see. We live by faith, not by sight. I can’t see how these childrens lives will become better in this lifetime. But I know you love them and that you are holding them in the palm of your hand. I just ask that they feel you holding them, that they feel your love for them, and that you are bigger than all of this.

Hold these children in the palm of your hand.

They’ve called me Macarena since I was a small child,  in the streets and in the orphanage. Because I dance too much to the Macarena.

All of the kids get high. Nobody can stop using Aurolac. Four bottles I got today, I got high wholesale. I am the most street kid, the most Aurolac kid. People give me money for food, but I buy paint. Because if I get one bottle I am no longer hungry. It’s like paradise, you dream that you eat… and I can’t give it up.

“I know Macarena from the orphanage. I take care of her. One day she started to cry. She was very hungry. And I had a premonition to go to her and see how she is. She couldn’t take it anymore, she was so hungry. [Men] beat her. When they see her high, they take advantage of her. She doesn’t know what’s happening to her. She doesn’t even know her name. If you are Macarena, and I am a man, I look at you getting high, I beat you, and you can cry as long as you want, I don’t care. She doesn’t stop crying, she keeps screaming. And she cries, and explains, ‘A man beat me’. And she curses him.” [Cristina].

Video footage of a Macarena wailing on the ground in the train station. A man comes up to her and starts kicking her and dragging her around, yelling, “Will you shut the fuck up! Shut up!” Macarena can’t stop crying. Cristina comes over, says, “Leave her,” and pushes the man away. Cristina wipes away Macarena’s tears, “Macarena, stop crying. Have a smoke, Macarena. Wipe your eyes off. Let’s go over there, come. You’re going to stop crying, right? Good.” Macarena keeps crying after Cristina leaves.

“Some days Macarena comes to the Open House. She washes up and washes her clothes too. All by herself. She is very punctual and hardworking. Except for when she is suspended. Usually, she comes high, very high, to the program. We haven’t convinced her yet to give up the drugs. She followed a very difficult path, through many orphanages and institutions. Poor her, she doesn’t know anymore where she comes from. And I don’t think she realized that she too was born of a mother, of a human being, just like any of us. Because one day she came to me and told me, “Claudia, I must have parents too, right? But I don’t know them, right?” Which made me think that she probably didn’t realize that she was born of a mother, just like any of us. This says enormously much, because under these circumstances, it is very difficult for her to look into the future.” [A social worker].

One Year Later: The police kicked the kids out of the train station. Macarena didn’t go to live on the construction site like Cristina. She stopped going to the street kids centre. She keeps to herself.

Q: Is it better on the streets now?
Macarena: It’s not really better on the streets now. We stay outdoors, it’s cold, and I get pain from the drugs. My leg hurts me too. I don’t have a place to sleep tonight, I sleep outside. The rest sleep in the construction site. I have been beaten, and I want to leave. The bodyguards beat us, a policeman wanted to shoot me. I don’t want to die. You know, I’m not from this country, from Bucharest. I’m from another country. My mommy and daddy are waiting for me. But I can’t go by myself because I need a passport. I stay here in Bucharest. I’m not from this country. Mommy and daddy will be waiting for me. And I’ve got a sister, also Macarena. She’s in Bucharest, in a school, many happy returns. Once in a while I go past her school. She’s getting along with her classmates and doing well. We are twins from our mother and father. Twins from our mother and father.

“Why did I take my brother from home? Because he wanted it too, not only me. He wanted it too, because he says he doesn’t like it at home. We were living in a bad situation. We didn’t have electricity, we didn’t have anything. We didn’t have clothes.” [Ana].

“I met Ana last May, I think. She was alone in the street without her brother Marian. Then somehow she got home, and when she came back she had Marian with her. He says he likes being with Ana, but it seems he doesn’t like life on the streets. Every time I see him he hugs me and wants me to kiss him. He needs attention and affection. I could never understand why [Ana] left home. Because she says everything is perfect at home, that she loves her parents and that her parents love her. That her parents have a car, have a wonderful house. And I could never understand why she left. Her answer has always been, ‘Because that’s how I want it’. Ana never says how she makes a living in the street. She never says whether the other children beat her, whether someone tried to rape her. She never says anything about herself.” [Angi Preda, social worker].

A social worker  tries to get Marian and Ana into a shelter:

Staff: Would you like to go to a center, Marian? Do you want to see how it is to sleep in a shelter? Hmm, Marian? Why can’t you speak? [Talks to the social worker] It’s terrible to just take him and dump him in a shelter, because it seems to him, he is fine where he is. If you had brought him earlier, it would have been completely different. The problem is that he got to the street. After a few weeks, a month at most, is when they need to be taken out of the street. Because if the thing drags on they get hooked on the street. I asked him about his house, too. He avoids, he avoids. They don’t speak about this. So the first thing that must be done is to contact the family, to see the environment that they come from, in order to discover the truth. That’s the hard part.

Ana and Marian visit their mother and stepfather.

Mother: I’m unemployed. That’s why they left, because of poverty. I worked at the paper factory, after 10 years, I was laid off. They don’t care that I have children. Ana left two years ago [when she was eight]. I’m sorry, I can’t offer you anything, I don’t have coffee. I didn’t have food for days at a time. I would try to bring them back home, there would be hardships, and they would leave again. If they were somewhere else for a while they probably got used to eating well. And since we didn’t have money, I didn’t know where to look for her. The train is very expensive. How could I look? I am sorry because any mother would want her children to live with her. Because I am not, I am not an irresponsible mother. As you can see, I live from one day to another.

Stepfather: Their father gives them 20,000 in alimony. With 20,000 you can’t even buy a loaf a day. I am not an antagonistic man, the children can tell you. Have I beaten you? [No]. And nobody sent them to beg. But our situation was so bad, they ran away. I went and brought the children back home twice. Can you believe that [the mother] cries at dinner? At night, she cries, because they are her children. The way they are, sick as they are. I don’t cry, because they are not mine. But in a way I miss them. I spent four years with Ana. It was four years of torture. I wanted to leave their mother because of them. He, for one, wets his bed. I didn’t say a thing. He is a child who, I would avoid the words, must be examined, must be treated. The girl is a psychopath.

Social Worker: But what does Ana do to make you think that she is sick?

Stepfather: You take a look. She cut her arms. A child, a normal child, would cut their arms?

Social Worker: Aside from that, all the street children do that.

Stepfather: One year after Ana ran away from home, she came back and took Marian. Broke the window, and stole him from home. You know what made me happiest? They went to Bucharest, they went to other places. But please, I apologize. She’s still a virgin. The Aurolac kids didn’t take her, with their bags and stuff.

Social Worker: How do you know? Did she tell you?

Stepfather: Miss, I can tell you anything.

Social Worker: No, honestly, how do you know?

Stepfather: I bathed her.

Social Worker: You bathed her?

Stepfather: She stayed with me for eight months, and, I don’t know how to say this, there’s a contact, stuff comes up. She hasn’t been touched. And she’s not a paint kid, she doesn’t do drugs. Had she taken drugs I wouldn’t have had a choice, I would have had to sell things from the house to take her somewhere and check her in.

Mother and stepmother ask their children to choose:

Stepfather: Ana, are you staying home or are you going back to Bucharest? Are you staying, or are you going back to Bucharest? Speak! Are you going with them to Bucharest?

Mother: Marian, what do you want?

Marian: You say, Ana, yes or no.

Mother: What do you want, Marian?
Marian: What she wants.

Stepfather: So it’s better in Bucharest where she makes 80,000 than here, that’s the situation, see. Why are you condemning me? You can see the child would stay, but we can’t provide for her. So they go where they can make money.

Mother: Ana, are you going, or are you staying here? I can’t keep you here by force, you’ll be gone in two or three hours.

Marian: She said you would get made if we go. Say, Ana, they won’t get mad.

Stepfather: She wants to go to Bucharest, that’s it.

Mother: Are you going to Bucharest? [Ana nods].

Stepfather: Yes. That’s it. I’m telling you, nobody beats her, nobody terrorizes her, nobody upsets her. When we find a house, we’ll bring them home. It’s not called abandonment; it’s not called that.

One Year Later: Marian was admitted to a private residential centres. Ana was sent home, and her parents threatened with an abandonment charge if they did not keep her.

 Marian: I like it here. I get to play with children, I play with the computer. I have a place to stay, and if I’m in the street I don’t have a place to stay.

 Mother: Ana is impulsive, irritable, she has no patience. Somewhere in this area there is a centre for people like that. They have a children’s section, and she can get an education.

Ana: She wants to place me!

Mother: It has a school, a hospital, and all of that. I should take her there to get schooling and treatment too.

Ana: You’re not taking me, no.

Mother: I want her to be somewhere where she will be supervised. Until that mind of hers comes back into her head. Now she’s promised me she won’t run away, but we’ll see for how long. [Ana’s mother later did send her to a residential centre].

I left home when I was eight or nine, and now I am in Piata Victoriei.  [Don’t you want to go back home?] I’d be home to the year 2000, as long as my dad wasn’t there. 

This life [on the streets] is hard. Quite hard. Very hard. I think He will come soon. And nobody knows where we will go, either underground, or high up. Some are unfortunates, others have the bag, we are all poor souls. Good or bad, only God knows. He helps us. He brought us up, this is His path, and we live as best we can. I did an evil thing. I should have done good and stayed at home. And I did a bad thing leaving home. For my father, my parents, my sister. If it hadn’t been for my dad everything would have been fine, and I would have stayed home. But with father I can’t stay. It’s very bad.

I don’t beg. I help unload stuff [for shopkeepers]. I’ve never begged and I don’t want to either. I want good to happen to me, not evil. I want to have a skill in life. Yes, to have a skill in life.

Q: And now [both of your parents] live on your dads pension? And your dad drinks every day?

Mihai: Yes.

Q: What does he drink?

Mihai: Vodka

Q: How much Vodka?

Mihai: A Liter bottle of Vodka.

Q: And what does he do when he’s drunk?

Mihai: He shouts.

Q: Does he beat you? What does he beat you with?

Mihai: With whatever he gets his hands on. With sticks, irons.

Q: Does your mother drink? Her too? So who takes your side, when they’re drunk?

Mihai: I run away from home, then. I run away.

Q: What do you like best about living on the streets?

Mihai: To live free!

Q: What don’t you like about living on the streets?
Mihai: Not to be educated. That no one is there to teach me.

Q: How much school have you done?
Mihai: I did three grades and I started the fourth.

Q: What subjects do you like?
Mihai: Science. Organs and stuff like that. And medicinal plants. For that you need to be schooled to death!

Q: Do you want anything specific for the near future?
Mihai. Yes. To have my own house.

Q: And how will your house be?
Mihai: Pretty.

Mihai needs his identity papers to enroll in a school. He travels home with four social workers to get these from his parents.

Mihai: I would like to have my own family, my own child, my own friend. And for this I need my papers so I can go to school.

Social Worker 1: Don’t you want to go back to your parents? And why did you leave home?

Mihai: My parents were beating me.

Social Worker 1: All children get a beating! I beat my children too, you know. You had to leave because of that? Where do your parents work?

Mihai: They used to work.

Social Worker 1: They’re retired? They’re that old? So why do you embitter their last days by leaving home?

Mihai is too scared to visit his parents:

Social Worker 2: I don’t think they would beat you.

Mihai: I’m not going, it’s no use.

SW 2: You don’t even want to try?

Mihai: No. I can write another letter.

SW 2: Did you get an answer to your last one? [No]. Maybe they didn’t get the letter.

Mihai: It’s been a long time. It’s been a month.

SW 2: No problem. Now that we are in Constanta we can go [visit them]. Come on Mihai, that’s what we’re going to do. There’s four of us, nothing will happen to you. We’ve got friends in the police, he wouldn’t have the courage. What do you think your father is?

Mihai: No, I’m not going.

SW2: We can go ourselves, the four of us, without you. We’ll tell them we’re from Save the Children, and we want the documents. Do you want that? And you can stay somewhere far away, so they can’t see you?

Mihai: Two will go, and two will stay with me.

SW2: Two with you? Okay.

Social Workers visit Mihai’s parents and sister:

SW: It is my impression that he is afraid to come home. That he wants very much to come, and he misses his mother and his sister, but he is afraid.

Mother: I don’t think it is fear. What mother would chase away her child? It doesn’t matter how bad he might be. He is still mine, good or bad, he’s mine, a piece broken from my soul. How could I chase my child away from me?

SW: And his father?
Mother: His father is fishing right now.

SW: Does he think the same way?
Mother: Of course, how could he not? Knowing he was the youngest, I always tried to indulge him. A child has to be hugged as well as spanked. I beat my children maybe once a year. Once, and properly. When a child is young, he has to be afraid, so that when he’s older, he can be respectful.

SW: He might be afraid of his father?
Mother: I don’t think so. Because, you know, in any family there are fights, arguments. But he was always by my side and would tell his dad: “What, now you’re drunk, and you’ve come to wake us up?” So he’s got courage. I can’t say that he is afraid. I can’t give you his identity papers. I don’t have a copy, and the shops are closed, so I can’t make a copy. Monday morning I’ll copy it and send it to you.

SW: Do you want to write something to Mihai?

Mother: Luiza [the sister], you write, I can’t without my glasses.

SW: I don’t think I’m giving you false hopes by saying that Mihai stands a good chance of coming back, at least compared to any other child I have met. [Asks sister] What did you write to him?

Sister: I wrote it in there.

SW: Say something on your own behalf.

Sister: What could I tell him – that he should come home. That we miss him [starts crying].

SW: Tell him to come home, to be at peace, not to be afraid. Say it, so that he can hear it. Don’t cry. He might come home.

Sister’s letter reads: We miss you, and we don’t know why you left home. Mummy and all are sad because you left home, but you should know that nothing will happen to you. Your teacher, Livia, said you are welcome back at school, too. You can come back any time you want, because we miss you. We love you, and no one will do anything to you for leaving home.

[Later]: Father: I want him to be okay, I want this with all my heart. To see that he doesn’t leave home, that he learns a skill. To see him on his own two feet. That’s what I would want. I never beat him. I never hit him. Once I slapped him, and I almost… What was I going to hit? He’s a fistful of flesh! The truth is, I don’t know what is wrong with this guy, why he leaves home. Once I chained him by the neck so that he wouldn’t leave home anymore. I tied him to the radiator. He disappeared from home, chain around his neck. He left with the chain and I didn’t see him for months. If I saw him now, I would hug him and kiss him. What could I do, hit him, or kill him? I can’t do anything to him. If he was at home, and I had a piece of bread, I wouldn’t eat it, I would give it to him. That’s how I am, I have a soul. Somewhere nearby there is a special hospital, for neuropsychiatry. I don’t see how I can cure him myself.

Mihai cuts his arm:

Ana: [Crying and yelling]: Why did you bring me here? I’ll hit you over the head. I want Herestrau park! This is not Herestrau. You think you know better than me, but you don’t. This park sucks. What kind of park is this? What are you doing here? Go away, enough, go away! Go away! I don’t want to see you. Stop laughing, or I’ll…

Mihai: [starts cutting his arm]: Yes, I’m cutting myself. Because of her. No, there’s no point. I’m cutting myself. I’m cutting myself. I’m cutting myself because of her. I’m cutting myself, just like this. Because of this one. No use, I’m cutting myself. You want me to still cut myself? Look, I’m still cutting myself! Take your hands off me. I cut myself because she’s picking on me.

 One Year Later:

Mihai was kicked out of the train station by the police (along with the other kids) and moved to the construction site with Cristina. After being severely beaten he got a place in a residential center. 

 Q: How was it on that building, on that construction site?

Mihai: Ugly. The wind keeps blowing, it’s cold, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

Q: How did the older boys in the building treat you?

Mihai: Badly. They had me get them money, thousands at a time, and I didn’t want to do it. I had to beg. To make thousands every day, I couldn’t. If I didn’t they beat me up.

Q: Your mother said she would send your papers. Did she send them?

Mihai: No, she didn’t send them. I’ve been home once since then, and they were still home, the documents.

 Cristina: They would always beat him. They would push him from up on the second floor all the way down. And I don’t know what Mihai did, but they bet him until he went into a coma. Mihai was going to die, they sent him to the hospital. And the two guys who beat him are in jail. 

I’ve been on the streets since I was eleven. Even when I was little it was easy for me, no sweat. I was beautiful as a young girl. Many would have taken advantage of me, but I told them I was a real boy. For boys it’s, easy. What do you expect? Boys can escape, but girls won’t escape. It’s hard, hard for them to escape.

 When I first came to Victoriei [train tunnel where she lives] they all ran away from me. They were afraid of me. Now I have my own team. I tell them to clean up the place where they pee. I might be their boss, but I don’t beat them. Shopkeepers need me to help them with merchandise, for this they give me money and food. When I don’t have clothes, I steal them.

Why am I in the streets? Because of parents. If I had had parents, I would have had a home, and been schooled. I grew up in an orphanage. As a small girl I was very tortured. They would beat us all in the cellar. They would tear our clothes off, and I wouldn’t let them. I didn’t give in, I hit back. Then they put me in a lunatic asylum, and this I didn’t want. I felt that, rather than stay there as a lunatic, because I’m not crazy, I’m going to stay in the streets. So I stayed in the streets.

I know Macarena from the orphanage. I take care of her. One day she started to cry. She was very hungry. And I had a premonition to go to her and see how she is. She couldn’t take it anymore, she was so hungry. [Men] beat her. When they see her high, they take advantage of her. She doesn’t know what’s happening to

 her. She doesn’t even know her name. If you are Macarena, and I am a man

, I look at you ge

tting high, I beat you, and

you can cry as long as you want, I don’t care. She doesn’t stop crying, she keeps screaming. And she cries, and explains, ‘A m

an beat me’. And she curses him. 

 I defend myself. I don’t give in to anyone. Since I was a child I’ve been such a devil. It’s good not to give in, not to be a mute, not to be quiet. They hit; I hit back. The fist is what matters. They know I’m going to figh

t them, and not just lie down for them.

 My life? What can I say about my life. I feel deserted, I feel bad. I don’t like being alone. I’d like to have a friend next to me. [Do you believe in love?] I don’t believe in love. I believe in God. Because he’s bigger.

One Year Later: The children have been forced by the police to leave the train station. Cristina has moved to an abandoned construction site controlled by a group of older boys:[How have things been since last year?] Hmm. Too hard. Just hard. What can I say about the hardships I’ve had? I don’t act like the boss anymore, I don’t like playing the boss. And I feel sorry for the kids now. I

don’t play the boss anymore, because you don’t have it good as the boss.

[We heard that some of the older boys beat you up?] Yes, I would get beaten, because I had some mouth on me! They beat me, but what matters is that I would hit back! I liked to hit them back in the face

, and I wouldn’t give in. Now the boys don’t hit me anymore. They respect me, when they see me, they say hello! I pray to God that I don’t have any more enemies around me. That I get to be calmer, more relaxed. I was with a friend, and I said, ‘Take me to the hospital to have my head checked!’ And they told me I don’t have good judgment. I’m sick in the head, and if I get into a fight

, I hit them until they pass out. I can’t stop until someone gets me out of it. I don’t

stop kicking and punching. I don’t know why I’m sick in the head. I’ve been sick since I was a child.  

Cristina talks  to 12 year old Mihai:

Cristina: (slaps Mihai) Don’t do that to me!

Mihai: What did I do?

Cristina: Don’t roll your eyes like that!

 I’ll whack you until you pass right out. Why are you up my ass? Let me see, did I get your face red? Are you going to hit me?

Mihai: Did I say I was going to hit you?

Cristina: Are you going to call your gang?

Mihai: What gang? There is no gang. What gang?

Cristina: You want me to beat you really hard? You want to pass out down here?

Cristina wakes Ana up to beg: 

C: Wake up Ana!

A: I’m so sleepy, I can’t take it…

C: You’re sleepy? You’re not going to sleep tonight. You broke a bottle, you ripped off a shopkeeper, I can’t help you. You’re going to pay for it! The shopkeeper isn’t.

A: Mister, can you give me a thousand please?

C: Ana, those clients passed you by.

Social worker Angi Preda visits he children:

Cristina: This little one. You know how much I care about her? (hugs and kisses Angi). What’s wrong with me? My body itches all day long.

Angi: Do you want to go to the day clinic? Ana, you too?

Ana: The lady doctor said that I could come and change. I’m still wearing these clothes. Here, look at my clothes.

Cristina yells at two street boys:

Cristina: Why did you steal that bag? [hits first boy with her sMove, come over here. Here. Sit down. Shut up, Fonfanilla. Shut up! Enough. Quiet, enough, too much! [She slaps him]. Stop crying! Don’t cry. Shut up. [She talks to the second boy]: And you, you have to give me 2,000.

witch, he is crying].

Boy: I don’t have it.

Cristina: Why are you lying? [She slaps him, he cries]. What are you doing? Are you crying? [She pats his head]. Calm down. Wipe your ey

es off, understand? Wipe your eyes off well, well, well. Done? Like that. Enough. Calm down. Calm.

Clip of a priest talking with the street kids:Priest: Why are you on the streets?

Kids: because of our parents.

Priest: And why are you always blaming the parents?

Macarena: We weren’t raised by our parents, but in an orphan

age. They asked us for money and beat us.

Priest: So we always blame others, do we? If someone wanted to help you, would you leave the streets and go live in someplace?

Macarena: Yes. But only if they don’t beat me.

Priest: So if someone took care of you, you would change?

Macarena: Yes.

Priest: No one tried?

Macarena: No one.

Priest: I don’t believe it. These street children prefer to live in the s

treet.

Cristina: And some of them have a home.

Priest: Tell that so the Americans [watching the documentary] can hear

: They prefer to live in the street. And it’s no use trying to help them, because they refuse.

Cristina: Mister Priest, what church are you from?

Priest: The Stavropoleos church. You know where that is?

Cristina: Yes, I know.

Priest: Do you know we help street children?

Cristina: Yes, yes, yes.

Priest: But not like these ones. Those who prefer to…

Cristina: To live in a shelter, make money, take baths.

Priest: But these children don’t want this. May God help you.