Better known in death than during his short life on the streets of Guatemala's sinister city. Fleeing from the savagery of war in El Salvador, the young child and his family arrived to Guatemala City as refugees.
Looking for peace and survival, he found only abandonment, violence and death.
His name was Nahaman, a 13 year old in Guatemala. One night, while walking on the streets, he was kicked to death by four policemen who found him and decided to punish him. His crime? He was a street kid ... a subhuman without pedigree, a vexing reminder of Guatemala's malignant inclinations, the mortifying embodiment of a fallen society, a scapegoat. And, in death, a martyr.
When we buried Nahaman on March 14th, 1990, his gravestone read: "I only wanted to be a child, but they wouldn't let me". Nahaman was the first child I had ever seen dead, and it hurt so, so much. And it still hurts, each of the many times we had to bury other children. And now, in 1998. Now that we had to buy more lands to make our graveyard bigger, and we had to get graveyards in other countries too. And each and every day in which, then and now, more children keep dying.
Why, oh why...??
If we were to tell you what your friends are doing now, Nahaman, some haven’t been very lucky. Gabriela continues with the prostitution, selling her body in order to survive. Some say that this is her choice and her own fault, I don’t believe this. Life hasn’t allowed her any other option. You know all too well her history. We continue to try and give her an alternative.
Wilmer. You would scarcely recognise him. He has lost a lot of weight, a lot more than we would want. It seems that the defences continue falling and remain very weak, but at least he is in a one of our homes with love and friends who maintain her life. The doctors say that it’s a miracle that he continues to live. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps love is the a miracle in the world were we live.
Marcela had a baby, a beautiful baby. She is in our programmes for mothers and babies, although she is too young, she is a great mother. Her friend wasn’t so lucky. She had a baby in the street. After three months she came to the Legal Aid Offices of Casa Alianza to explain how she was tricked into signing papers that she couldn’t understand. The baby and the papers were taken by the men who tricked her, men who were serious and respectable, dressed in suits and ties.
As you would imagine the majority continue to inhale Resistol. You didn’t live to see the amount of damage that some have already suffered. Carlos can hardly walk and speaks with great difficulty. He dribbles all of the time. A short while ago we took him to the United States in order to do some tests and to document that the sale of glue has to be restricted and controlled, and that the companies involved have to be held responsible and can’t wash their hands so easily of this problem.
Obviously its great news that Junior was the president of the Infant Congress in Honduras and that he represented us in Switzerland at the United Nations. He spoke before people very well, with very clear ideas. Soon he will graduate from college and wants to continue studying at the University.
...
And you my dear Nahaman, how we still miss you. How we draw upon you to give us strength to carry on fighting even when, in moments of weakness and ubiquitous frustration, we feel we could just throw in the towel. Your portrait is on my wall. Your best friend, Francisco Tziac, still cries for you, recalling your screams for mercy and his inability to save you. Your spirit is alive in our hearts little boy....
More than eight years have passed, a blink, a breath, a heartbeat. Time flies, but memories linger. We will never forget you, Nahaman. Those who knew and loved you will forever keep you in their hearts. As for the others, those "valiant" four policemen, Silvestre Cu Itzep, Rolando Aguilar Dueaas, Marco Tulio Gudiel and Modesto Hernandez Sirin, all of whom played God to feel human, remorse will serve as an indestructible memento. Like the Ides of March, it will come back to haunt them. I promise.
sacred trust that is broken
all the horror is hidden away
all those memories are unspoken
and much too disturbing to say
its all there within the madness
and only the innocent endure
their future is full of sadness
and awareness now is but a bitter cure.
(received in email author unknown to me)
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