Say Yes, Spring 2005: Do They Think We’re Born Here?

The streets of every Turkish city or large town are populated with children eeking out a living or simply struggling to survive on their wits. They are everywhere but at the same time they are almost invisible. Stop and speak with one and very shortly a small group will gather, seemingly out of nowhere, curious about any sign of interest from a passerby. We talked to some of them about school, why they were on the street, and what life is like for them.

Ümit, 11

Ümit sells sticking plasters. His biggest worry is children who sniff glue -- they scare him.

They might come from that end of the street or from over there, he says, miming the scene in a state of nervous excitement, but as soon as I see them, I run like blazes for the taxi rank and I hide there. I always go home before dark because I don’t know what those guys will do with me if they catch me.

Because of them, people say we’re all glue-sniffers.

Deniz, 12

Deniz sells paper handkerchiefs on a busy street in Ankara’s town centre. She says that she is attending grade four at primary school.

I should be in secondary school this year but I couldn’t go to school for two years. We had bad money problems and I had to work all the time.

Deniz works all the year around. She insists that her family don’t force her to do it and she is glad to help out with what she earns. She isn’t doing too well at school, however:

We live far out in Siteler. It’s a long way from there to here and back. I’m so tired when I get home that I can’t study.

Why do I come here? Nobody in my neighbourhood would ever buy tissues. Sometimes people around about get mad at me and shout but mostly they just ignore me. I know children shouldn’t work. I know children have rights, including education, but my family need help and I have to work, just like my brothers and sisters.

Turgay, 13, and Mesut, 13

Turgay and Mesut are self-styled partners sharing the same shoe shine box. We split our earnings says Turgay, throwing an arm around Mesut’s shoulder. The boys come from Altındağ, one of Ankara’s poorer suburbs. They say that they are attending secondary school. Turgay is in the first grade and Mesut is in the second.

But we’re working here everyday when the weather is good says Mesut. When asked about their performance at school, Turgay says:

We don’t get any honorary mentions but we don’t flunk either.

It’s hard to study when we get home at night, adds Mesut.Too tired.

Mesut’s two younger sisters don’t work. When he can spare the cash, he buys things for them but mostly he hands his earnings over to his parents after he has taken care of his own needs. Turgay says that he is helping to support his family but he also gets to save some money.

I have 150YTL so far. I’m planning to treat myself and my little brother on April 23rd.

Özkan, 16

Özkan sells sticking plasters. He has been working on the street since before he was of school-age. He is studying metalwork at vocational school. He declined to be photographed:

My teachers know what I’m doing. They understand my position. But I don’t tell my mates because they wouldn’t understand. They might say the wrong thing or call me a ‘street kid’.

But I’m not a street kid. I’m studying. Hard.

Mustafa, 11

If you do a head-count, says Mustafa, there’s twenty of us in this neighbourhood. This is our area. Sure enough a score of his friends have gathered around us during the course of our brief chat, jostling with one another for the opportunity to talk.

I didn’t finish primary school but I’m earning a living, he says, offering a triple pack of tissues to a passerby.

Rotten things happen to us all the time. The other day somebody’s wallet was lifted just outside the college over there. They blamed me for it so the police picked me up and took me down to the station. In the end they realised that it wasn’t me and let me go.

We’re always the first to get blamed.

Ertan, 16

People are scared of us but we’re just as scared of them. They pin the blame on us every chance they get and call us ‘street children’ as if we were born here. Even the glue-sniffers are after us to steal whatever money we earn.

Ertan has been working on the street since he was seven, selling all sorts of things. He lives with his father and five brothers in Mamak. And your mother?

I have a mother, he shrugs, but I don’t have a mother. We look after ourselves.

Ertan’s father has severe back problems and cannot work.

All my brothers work on the street -- shining shoes, selling tissue papers or sticking plasters.

Cansu, 12

We’re not printing the children’s surnames here but Cansu doesn’t know or doesn’t remember her family name anyway. Like her four brothers and sisters, Cansu has never been to school:

The others are around six to eight years but I’m not sure. The youngest is one, I know that.

She can’t read or write but she knows money: Look, one million lira, one new Turkish lira she says, waving a note above her head like a flag.

My dad shines shoes but we owe lots of money. What can we do? Like our mum we help out, she explains before asking to have her photograph taken with the swans in the park.

Nobody ever took my photograph or talked to me on the street before. They don’t even buy the tissues. But they get angry with me. The police shout at me: Get lost, get out of my sight sort of thing.

Of course I want to go to school she says, pointing to a group of girls on the far side of the park.

Like them.

Previous page  |  Next page

ARCHIVE

Search UNICEF Turkey
   

• Advanced Search

Download this issue in pdf format. [PDF 1.1MB]

 * How to use RSS …