Travelling towards solidarity

Departure, Livingston flight from Milan Malpensa....overloaded with luggage, I'm well over the allowed weight but I try to soften up the check-in agent to get it through...I show her the letter from the nuns certifying that I'm a volunteer at the centre for street children, I explain that inside there are little clothes and toys to give away at Christmas...there's no arguing, Austrian strictness....in the end she lets me through. Delighted, I board.

On my arrival the nuns come to pick me up at the airport, this time I'm not staying at their institute but in a hotel in the centre.

I left with the intention of dedicating some of my free time to the street children of Maceio, I want to understand their world, to enter their reality, to observe them up close, so that one day I can help them better. This latest trip to Brazil was different from all the others. Meeting Zacchel, a street boy with big eyes and a lively, mischievous look, disturbed me, cheered me and saddened me all at once, a tangle of conflicting emotions and thoughts.

One evening while I'm walking, I decide to make a short stop at a typical little kiosk on the seafront of the tourist area of Ponta Verde, just long enough to eat a sandwich. A French tourist comes up beside me, we start talking about our stay in Brazil.

A boy approaches us, he looks a little frightened, he is so hungry that we don't have time to offer him that sandwich before he has already devoured ours too. From that moment I won't be able to help taking care of him. He tells me that on that bench in front of my hotel he sleeps every night, that he has no parents. He is cold, he shivers and asks me for a blanket. I bring him something to cover himself with. It's late, I leave him alone and continue my walk.

On my return Zacchel struggles to recognise me, he staggers and covers his face with his arms. I realise, sadly, that he sniffs glue too, he still has the little bottle in his hand, his whole body gives off the smell of that lethal substance. A terrible discovery, I feel immense pain. It's night but I can't leave him alone in the grip of crying, despair and his terrible visual hallucinations. The next day I manage to convince him to go to the BARRANOVA reception centre, where other abandoned boys live.

I'm very happy that he finally has a bed, can eat and have lots of companions to play with. Immense happiness, the best Christmas present of my life I think...

Now that Christmas is over Zacchel has gone too, I've heard that he left the centre and went back to the street. I don't know if I'll ever see him again but I'd so much like to hug him again and see him smile with the same big eyes as when we said goodbye that afternoon when I left.

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