Ambue Tape Rohekavo/la Calle - Buscando nuevos caminos

The first time I went on the street, I was nine. I went to the Avenue with my mom to sell postcards with pictures of saints. And then one time, I fell asleep on a bus and ended up in the Loma Pytä neighborhood. I'd never been there. I started to think, "maybe the street isn't so dangerous." I said to myself, "nothing will happen to me on the street," and my mom started to worry. I slept on the street and stayed there the next day. I didn't go home. What did your mom say? She never hit me, she just asked me to come home. So, I came home, but I really wanted to live on the street again. What grade were you in school. Third. And I got there in just three years. People don't treat me well. They despise me because I live on the street. A lot of people want to pretend we don't exist. You're on the street every day? Yes. Sometimes, I think I want to leave this life. Go back to what I was. But I can't live with my mom, there are too many of us. - How many brothers and sisters? - A lot! - Really, how many? - Eleven. My father abused me. But it sucks to live on the street. I wish we had a place to stay. Have you worked around here? Yeah. What did you do? I sold bananas. Bananas. Other fruits, too. And I cleaned windshields. What do you think about your future? What do you want to be when you grow up? What do you want? What do you think about the future? What do you want to be? A teacher, maybe? Or you want to live on the street forever? No! So what do you think? Teacher? Bus driver? Taxi driver? Soccer player? - Lawyer. - A lawyer, he says. You'd have to study hard! Go back to school. Why do you want to be a lawyer? To get out of jail! To free all of the prisoners from Tacumbú! What's life on the street like? I come here with my grandkids to work, because I am very poor and we don't have enough money for household expenses. I'm a single mother, and I bring my grandkids here for them to work on the street. That's it. And how are things going? We're OK with what we earn. The kids ask for spare change, because they're still little. There they are. See how small they are? I can't let them get on a bus, because they might get lost. They tell us, "you people on the street aren't real paraguayans." So what are we? Chinese, Koreans, Japanese? But it's like what they say, we practically aren't paraguayans. But you are, of course... That's not what they tell us. And what do they do? *** us over. Look at all of the indian women, all of them in the street. There didn't used to be any. Ahora, allí en el centro mismo, But now they are all over. There is so much poverty here in Paraguay. So much corruption. Lots of corruption, and no one works together. Everyone fights among themselves. The rich keep their money in banks and in their billfolds. They buy big houses, and there is nothing for us. If the government did something... If it did... But it's hard to believe that will happen. But if someone wants to be corrupt, to make us even more hungry, To make sure there are no jobs... those people rise to the top. It is hard to live on the street. You suffer. Hunger, cold. They beat you up. If I saw my brother on the street, I'd yell at him. I'd take him to a shelter. It's hard, living like this. But if I see him on the street, I'll tell him to go home. If it were my house, that's what I'd say. I'd explain what it's like, what I've suffered on the street. Because it isn't easy. Would you let your brother lose himself, just because you did? No, I wouldn't. If you have a chance to save him, you've got to. To take him home and teach him. You know, I feel sorry for these kids. Pity sometimes, you understand? But I have to do my job. They are forgotten here on the street. They need help. We can't kick them off the street or abuse them. That's forbidden. It doesn't work to hit a kid. But you do have to instruct them and challenge them when something goes wrong. They behave very well. To call them "street kids" or "criminals" is a mistake. You have to understand each one; they all have character. They behave very well. Rodrigo here greets me each day. Children cannot go to jail. If you take them prisoner, You have to take them to the police station and then call their parents to come pick them up. You have to call their parents right away. But they'll just come back to the street. - They abuse us at the police station. - They hit you for nothing. Yesterday we were on Calle Última, and the police came and started to scream, even though we hadn't done anything. The cope came, and they almost took us away for nothing. They asked for ID, so we said we worked in a shop there. We lied. So that they don't bother us when we steal, we bribe them. And if we don't, they take us to the police station. They make us work for them, do stuff. And if we don't, they take us to the chief. "Caught this one stealing," they say. They lie and make stuff up. That only happens when we don't bribe them with money or a cell phone. One time it was raining. The cops came and said, "what did you do this time?" "Nothing," we said. But they told us to take off our clothes. So I took off my clothes and there I was, naked. A cop came and kicked my clothes. I told him my clothes wasn't a soccer ball. So he hit me and threw me into the dungeon for 24 hours. I wish we had a play to be and study, away from the street. Friendship is so important to me. We get together, we talk, we sniff glue. We fight and then make up. That happens all the time with me and Brasilerito… We make up, and I'm happy again. We met a long time ago, under a statue in a park. That's where I met him the first time. There in the Ñu Guasú Park. Yeah, friendship really matters to me. I love friendship, having many friends. Having fun, playing ball, Just crap we do together. We ring doorbells and then run away. Salen y joden y desprezan, "¿otra vez si nos salen?"