The Hand That Bites

Arriving in town at a station like normal. Only the day and hour change. To be a quick "in and out" that took much longer this time. The kids congregated and began again something of a routine that I've noticed. Asking for a ball, or water, and posing with faces when they see my camera.
They were a bit on the rough side today, to say the least. Fighting till torn shirts and tears over a single blueberry muffin thrown like a bone to a pack of dogs, and the soldier laughed as they scurried. It rolled through the dirt after the package gave and it became a spoiled token of the gap between worlds.




At high noon the prayers sounded, and the kids left our trucks as the gunners yelled "Imshe!" Not sure if it was the command to go, or the hour, but they went off to stand on a near-by corner. When they get too wound up I try to take pictures without them seeing the camera, or not at all. The mob that forms gets quickly out of hand and the gunner gets aggravated and that's something nobody wants.

I tried to hand out water bottles from the back of a truck at a station one time and they got very aggressive and ruthless toward each other. I was getting one for myself and another soldier, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to hand a few out. The quick crowd of children started grabbing, pushing and shoving. This deflated the "feel good" that I expected to earn from my good deed as it also made clear the reality of desperation for basic needs. They taught me a lesson.

But soon enough a rock banged off the truck and everyone 360 was watching to see what would happen next. First the bigger kids threw rocks, then the smaller ones. Then other big kids hitting small ones for throwing rocks. This usually doesn't happen till we're leaving, and only a single rock or two.



Finally the driver in the truck closest to the rock throwers loses his temper, revs up, drives forward to bluff an advance. From there he got stuck in the mud for a couple minutes, shifting forward and back with wheels spinning. This was much to the delight of the kids who semi-successfully stuck it to the man in a small battle won.

But what's really going on? What's the battle? The joke muffin, although forgotten by the time the rocks began to fly, was the spark. As well the absurdity of an heavily armored truck with a .50 machine gun on top responding in any way to a thrown rock was just asking for more trouble, not stopping it. But I'm just a fly on the wall, with a camera.


During all the nonsense this ghetto chariot came roaring down the street and it's really the best shot of the day. Included here to end on a lighter note.