Faceless

In this blog, I have decided not to include any pictures as I believe that it is better that the people that I have observed to go faceless.

In the three weeks that I have been in Paris, I have had the time of my life. There are many times in which I feel that I am living my wildest dream. In those moments, I cannot believe how lucky I am to have this opportunity. Then, there are the moments that bring me back to Earth. The ones that make me realize that Paris is not all magic and fun. One of these moments occurred on the walk back from watching fireworks on Bastille Day. As I was thinking about how incredible the evening had been, we rounded a corner and there on the side of the street I saw a homeless child. Immediately I was snapped out of my “Paris is great” trance and brought back to a dark reality. As I looked into this little boy’s eyes, so many questions filled my head. What was his name? Where was he from? How long has he been living like this? Does he go to school? Did he eat anything today?

I have seen homeless people in America before, but I have never seen a child sleeping in the streets. I also know that there are homeless children in America, but they are not very visible. By that, I mean that America does not want to admit that homelessness is a reality that some children within their borders face. I feel that this seeing this child affected me so much because I know that he is totally dependent on someone else to provide for him. He cannot do anything to help improve his situation; whereas, adults can in some ways work to change their living situation.

Thinking about the homeless I have seen, it appears that the majority are refugees or immigrants. The fate of refugees has been a hotly debated topic in the U.S. and probably throughout Europe. I do know that Paris took in refugees, but I am unsure as to what they have done to help refugees acclimate to life in Paris.

Back home in the states, I hear about the “refugee problem” all the time. However, now I have seen it in a different light, and it does not seem so distant anymore. For the first time, I have seen the face of the so-called “refugee problem” and it was that of a six-year-old boy on a chilly Parisian street corner.