World Vision child protection policy adviser Jesse Eaves shares about his travels through Eastern Europe, where he visited our child protection programs and took a closer look at child exploitation and how it can be prevented. Below are two entries from his journal. You can read more entries here.

January 2010

Jesse Eaves, World Vision child protection policy advisor

Is it beautiful here?

Standing on the ledge of a rocky coast of the southwestern Albanian port of Vlore, looking at the crystal clear water of the Adriatic Sea, it’s hard to imagine anyone being in crisis in this place. You want to believe that it’s simply beautiful.

But if you look at the vulnerability and poverty when we turn back toward land, there’s little beauty here.

The one ray of “hope” one person here told me about had to do with the fact that girls from this area are no longer kidnapped outright into slavery, like they were in the 1990s. Now they are tricked by false promises of marriage or employment, that often turn out to be one-way paths to an early grave, or at least (if they survive) to a life lived in undeserved shame. That doesn’t really strike me as hopeful...or as beautiful.

Is there beauty here? I want to think so. But standing in a field, watching a father’s eyes drop in shame at the very mention of his daughter who survived international sex trafficking, I find no beauty. Stories of abuse, of rape, and of the stony and chilled silence of a family’s denial, collide with this bucolic surrounding to set a marred and devastating contrast. My eyes gloss over. I grow numb. I only see the bad. It is in these moments where you learn all over again the importance of prayer.

I'm on paper; therefore, I exist

Romeo looks into the policeman’s eyes. He tells them his name. They go to look him up. They find no record of him. They don’t know where he was born, who his parents are, or how old he is. They ask each other, “Who is this kid?”

Remember when you got your driver’s license? What about when your parents registered for school? You (or your parents) had to show your birth certificate. A simple piece of paper is literally the proof that you were born. What if you never received it? What if your government didn’t know you exist? How would anyone know who you are?

Child registration is something we take for granted. You’re born, your parents fill out a certificate that the hospital gives them, a person stamps it, they mail a copy to the government, and, just like that — in the eyes of the government — you exist. But every day here in Albania and around the world, children are born and yet, on paper and according to their government, they do not exist. In Albania, if (and it’s a big if) you are born in a hospital, you get a paper saying the date and time of birth. However, you have to go to another government ministry to get the actual birth certificate. Since it’s an extra trip that often entails a bribe to get the actual piece of paper, most parents don’t go through with it.

What does this mean? Well, for Romeo, it meant that when he first went to register for school, he had no proof of who he was. Without school, he ended up in the streets and soon found himself part of a forced begging ring, made to collect a certain amount of money per day or risk beatings from the older boys on the street. When he was arrested, there was no way to prove who he was. Once he got to a shelter, there was no way to identify him other than his name. His plight is the plight of millions around the world.

If authorities don’t know you exist, do they miss you when you are forced into slavery? How can anyone protect you if they don’t even know you were born?

Laugh, and laugh and fall apart

If there’s one thing trips like this prove time and again, it’s that kids will be kids. Today, I saw kids in dire circumstances making the most of the opportunities given to them. I spent some time in a community center that World Vision runs in a neighborhood mostly inhabited by Roma. (You may know them by the degrading “gypsy” label.) Roma emigrated from India to this area (and all over Europe) centuries ago, and yet they are still considered outsiders.

As a result, they often live on the outskirts of cities like Tirana in dilapidated shanty towns or in the streets. Despite the harsh realities for these children, the younger generations are taking strides to overcome the adversity placed in their way. And they always make sure to make room for having some fun.

When we arrived at the community center, Heather and I interrupted a contest judging the best picture drawn during a recent competition. As we entered, all activity stopped and the energy level skyrocketed. What’s left to do with that energy but dance, of course! I gave traditional Albanian folk dancing my best shot, but in the end I was big pile of dancing FAIL. But the kids got a kick out of it.

Walking around the community after the kids left the center, we passed shack after shack where four to five Roma families will live together. Trash-lined streets create an enshrouding smell of rot.

Yet, in all this, we saw children playing, laughing, and carrying on like kids should. It was an uplifting reminder of the promise each child brings with them as they try to overcome the desperate poverty and vulnerability that grips their lives.