Children of the Mist

Part I: The Plight of the children of the mist

While there are families living quite well-off, there are also those living in an unfortunate situation. They are the poorest of the poor living underneath the beams or truss of the bridge that spans the river where they are confident to the endurance of the structure. You would find some of them in a demolished building where they build their makeshift tent for shelter. They do not have big dreams, as most of them did not go to school; just their obligation is to find food to feed their children. The child's young mind well perceived his obligation and when their parents could not support them anymore, these young children will go out and find someone to help them feed their starving stomach. Most of these children come across a syndicate to handle their lives in a crooked job. This is where the life of the children of the mist has started. In the early stages of their lives, they are running, jumping, and snatching things from a bystander or on a slow-moving vehicle. They move quickly and run swiftly just like playing a Filipino game called "Patintero," bluffing and circumventing their way out from barriers and the onrushing vehicles of the highway. Their face may look like innocent but easily transformed into another being when they sniff the waft of solvent and rugby glue. The backdrop of Epifanio de los Santos Avenue (EDSA)--the famous busy highway in Manila where glittering billboards and massive malls standing on its side is now the playground of these children of the mist. The coined name "Children of the Mist" comes from the residents for they are being exposed to different kinds of weather--be it summer, rainy, and under the mist of open sky where they have no decent house to shelter them.

At one point of my life, I have encountered the plight of one of these children of the mist. I am Dexter, a soccer coach, training children with the potential to play this kind of game. I was in my free time wandering around the metropolis scouting for the best runner in the field, when suddenly was thrilled by what I have witnessed in the middle of traffic jam along EDSA. That morning, where the stream of vehicles were pushing so hard to find a way through the slow-moving cars that I spotted a little boy who succeeded in forcing his hand through the open side of the jeepney while his other peers have occupied the bed of one truck and snatched scrap metal they could sell to junkshop. The little boy who snatched my attention portrays a good soccer player, that he can run at full speed like a trained sprinter and if you run after him you will catch your breath to grab him, as he has the endurance to run in a long distant mile seems powered by a 4-cylinder engine inside his body. The kyphosis form of his upper back and neck areas displayed a good potential of an endurance athlete while not obviously of hypertrophy in his physique is a way to be lighter in carrying his body during a swift run.

The following day, I asked the nearby vendors in the area where I could find whom they called "children of the mist." I wanted to meet most especially the boy who became the icon of a juvenile violation. At the onset of my yearning to this young boy, a compeer approached me and led me to where the boy lived: I am Pimpoy, I used to play with Lemuel, the one you are looking for, but when Lemuel ganged up with rebellious older teenager, I have distanced myself to Lemuel, I don't want to get involved into troubles. My parents would always remind me to stay away with his group and I complied with what been told. Lemuel's age is 12 and dropped out of school. His parents were involved in illegal drugs, and both were serving in jail; his older sister took care of his other siblings.

As we passed through the locality, I felt a degree of empathy for the neighborhood, such a metaphor to see their living condition, which betrayed a complete lack of perception, of provision with their physical and psychological needs. The more I involved in walking into the slum, the more picture of hardships that I could not bear. Residents looked through garbage for anything of value and sold this to a junk shop, but more disturbing to know was they were collecting leftover foods from bins for recycling and later served at the table. As we proceeded, I witnessed a vigil for the deceased; the makeshift coffin seemed undignified to fit the dead body; biscuit and coffee to welcome their visitors, while others were busy of betting in gambling. There I saw a drunk man and was lying down on the table. A group of teenagers was singing and having the fun of them--flashed faces with smear of charcoal. I tapped Pimpoy's head: Are you always around here? Are we still far from Lemuel's house? Pimpoy pointed to the alleyway underneath the bridge: That is where Lemuel and his siblings live. Alongside the wall, there were at least four families living on their makeshift tent where everything they need was there--from the kitchen, bathroom, bedchamber, living quarter, and dining table were all compacted in a small space. A girl in her teenage years was breastfeeding her newly born child, her slouched posture made me think that she lacked nourishment and so her baby. There was no electricity while potable water needed to fetch in the next neighboring area. Their everyday life has become a banal existence and hardships wrapped their body while driving them in cahoots with the nefarious. In a low voice, I told to Pimpoy: This kind of community is only crafting the zeitgeist of these youngsters in the hands and minds of the organized-crime syndicates. The environment seems a didactic projector that set out behind big malls and flashing neon lights.

As soon as we stepped in the alleyway, Pimpoy told me that Lemuel's place dotted the riverbank-- their precarious stilt house patched by the recycled sack of rice and canvas used as a roof. I felt sorry and in a daze to say the least. We humbly called the attention of who was inside the improvised shelter: Hello is somebody there. I am Dexter and this is Pimpoy, Lemuel's friend. A face peeked from behind the sack curtain. I am Lemuel. What is your reason for being here? I do not know you and my first time to see you around here.

I warily looked to Pimpoy and replied: Allow me to introduce myself, I am Dexter, a soccer trainer, I used to train youth with the potential to be a good soccer player. I would be glad to have you as part of our team to participate in any football tournaments. I have already trained much less fortunate youth across the country and maybe this is your best shot to consider.

A short silence occupied Lemuel's appearance. I could hear Lemuel was sighing, and I sensed a mix of hope and despair enveloped his mind. Lemuel, at 12 had a life that had more than its share of valleys between mountains.

Sometimes life offers us unpolished things and it is up for us to mold it into what we desire. We really do not know every turn of events unless we try, and in every step in our way, we will encounter people who are dismissive, superficial and impediments can come our way while we struggle to get up. I explained to Lemuel.

As soon as the rain slowly drizzled down, I bade goodbye while Pimpoy stayed with Lemuel. I handed over a small amount of money enough to help satiate their hunger. I did not receive an answer to my proposal to Lemuel, but hoping that Pimpoy will do a little help to persuade Lemuel to agree. As I walked back the trail we passed by, I saw more children outside their house waiting for a heavy downpour, while I hurriedly skipped and splashed through shallow puddles. With area covered with water, kids merrily played with paper boats. The heavy rainfall quickly suffused the tall buildings and billboards. The children having the bliss of their lives while enjoying the cold rain shower. I wondered how they managed to stay in this kind of environment surrounded by rubbish and were deprived of necessities. I saw vibrant smiles among children but the smiles introduced by the adults have faded, maybe because of the tedious and fatigue life in the slums. I could still see interesting stories when I looked into their eyes that made me think: just like living into the wilderness where prey is the poor even if they wanted to escape—the unbearable situation is their predator. It put life into perspective.

I decided to go inside a restaurant just to fritter away time and waited until the rain subsided. I looked through the glass window and from the view of the busy highway and slowly progressed of vehicles; I spotted again the children of the mist doing their bad errands, the police managed to capture three of their companions. In my mind, I just hope it was another group and not Lemuel's group. As the rain stopped, I decided to go home. Early in the morning, as my instinct was stronger than denial, that I decided to go to the precinct where the children were taken. In my dismay, behind bars was Lemuel. While Lemuel was just 12 years old, that under the law, he will be regarded as a child in conflict, he will undergo rehabilitation, counseling, and intervention. The authority should immediately release him to the custody of his/her parents or guardian, or in the absence thereof, to the child's nearest relative. In the absence of those mentioned, Lemuel might be released to a duly registered nongovernmental or religious organization, a barangay official or a member of the Barangay Council for the Protection of Children (BCPC), LSWDO, or the Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD). It was timely for me to be the other suitable person to take Lemuel out of jail and bring him home. I promised the authority that I will take care of Lemuel and exposed him to more family welfare services including exposing him to soccer training. The authority granted my wish and Lemuel was released under my custody.