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Survival of the Fittest:Pushing Wheelbarrows to Live
By Laura Suen,Buduburam
In the parking area just outside of the entrance to the Buduburam Refugee Camp in Ghana, tro tros(mini transport buses) that appear barely operable rust among the checkered array of taxis that come and go, seldom carrying people.
One heave is all it takes to lift the fading yellow containers of kerosene that were placed gingerly in his barrow. The shopkeeper, Mr. Tabi, is expecting him. Almost ritualistically however, Mehrenburg pauses briefly before he leaves, casting a glance longingly at a school in the far distance.
He doesn’t have the luxury to attend school. For the past six years, he has worked pushing heavy loads for at least 12 hours each day, every day of the week.
He is one of the wheelbarrow boys working in Buduburam.
Mehrenburg’s day begins at 5 a.m. That is when he rents his wheelbarrow for 10 000 cedis ($1 US) and begins work immediately, pushing goods within the camp in order to make money to survive. Clients include shopkeepers who need vegetables, rice, cement, and other loads moved to and from shops and homes.
Within his 12-hour work day, his only break is a quick 15-minute lunch – that is, if
he can afford it.
He said in order to feed himself, he must make 15 000 to 20 000 cedis each day. With renting costs, he must make 25 000 to 30 000 cedis every day to survive or approximately $3 US.
However, the numbers often don’t add up.
“I usually make 25 000 cedis, but sometimes you don’t get anything. On bad days, I
make less than 7000,” said Mehrenburg.
On bad days, he makes less than enough to rent the wheelbarrow in the first place.
He works 12 hours for free. In addition, he needs to pay the barrow owners 3000 cedis extra the next day to make up for his loss.
Difficulties making money are exacerbated as a result of the repatriation deadline that ended last June 30.
According to Mehrenburg, many of their former clients are leaving Buduburam to return to their home country. Less clients equals less money for the boys at the end of the day.
Since June 30, the UNHCR has also been abruptly withdrawing its financial support from the camp. This means that street children like the barrow pushers will have an exponentially more difficult time affording things like education, medication, and food, since most of the camp is highly subsidized.
As a result, like many of the other wheelbarrow boys, Mehrenburg is unable to afford school, which he left when he was only 14. On average, junior high school tuition costs 150 000 cedis(USD$15).
“I tried to go to school, but I have no time. I hope to go back one day, but if I go now, I won’t have money to eat. There is help though. One woman helped our friend Thomas. She sent him to school. There is still hope,” said Mehrenburg as he looked out into the distance as if searching for something.
Hope is what he says he holds on to at the end of his work day at 5 p.m. That is when he must look for a place to sleep.
“Right now, I sleep in other people’s cars but when I can’t find one, I sleep outside” said the 20-year-old. “Outside” is a dilapidated bench, leaving him unprotected from the heavy rain that often falls during July and August.
According to Aruna R. Kamara, 41, a Sierra Leonian refugee and the President of the United Wheelbarrow Association, there are currently 50 registered wheelbarrow boys including Mehrenburg. The majority of them are refugees coming from countries like
Members pay a one-time registration fee of 2000 cedis and a weekly fee of 4000 cedis. Kamara said the fees are pooled together so that they can afford things like medication if one of them gets sick.
“We had to come together to survive and for the safety of each other. Before creating the association, the strongest survived, the big boys bullied the small.
With a union, we teach kindness and love for one another,” said Kamara. He added there are two types of wheelbarrow pushers: the full-day workers and the half-day workers. The half-day workers are the children still going to school. The full-day workers are mostly orphans like Mehrenburg, whose parents are missing from the Liberian Civil War.
Kamara acts as their form of encouragement so that the children continue to stay out of a life in crime.
“Sometimes I cry and ask God to help. I hope one day the boys do leave with better jobs. If I can leave this, I will be happy,” said a watery-eyed Kamara.
Some boys, like 12-year-old Kojo David, simply could not comprehend a future beyond wheelbarrow pushing.
“I want to be a good person,” said the boy softly, commenting on what job he wants to have when he grows up.
David’s tiny frame and emaciated body appears hardly able to push the 50 kilogram bags of rice and Diamond brand cement that the boys sometimes need to move.
Sadly, young orphans struggling to survive like some of the barrow boys are not uncommon in the camp.
A thick, dog-eared booklet that runs pages and pages of random-looking ID numbers beside names like Abraham and Mary, is the official UNHCR list of unaccompanied and separated children.
As of 2003, there were at least 207 separated children and 52 unaccompanied children between the ages of one and 20.
“But this list isn’t complete,” said Jenneh Sandra Blay, coordinator for women and children affairs at the Liberia Refugee Welfare Council. Many more children are simply undocumented.
According to Blay, the Ghana Red Cross and the Refugee Action Committee use to trace relatives of these children to reunite them with their families. However, funding ran out and as a result, they could not continue and lack of money is the same problem at the LRWC.
“We don’t have any funds to help the children right now. We who are working at the office don’t even get paid. People here barely have enough to buy water,” said Blay.
She volunteers at the council because she was separated from her 5-year-old son 17 years ago, when the camp was first created.
“Sometimes I wonder if my son is on the streets. I pray for God to protect those children. I hope to see them one day as future leaders. These children on the street, they have something special in them. They are smart. Their vision is just buried because of lack of funds,” she said.
In April last year, Blay said that she was planning to meet with the street and unaccompanied children “soon.” She asserted that since then, she has tried to contact the street children, but they are uninterested in speaking with her.
However, Kamara maintained that there have been no attempts to contact the wheelbarrow association at all. In any case, he planned to take the initiative to meet with Blay at the end of July to discuss the lack of funds that stymie the aspirations of barrow pushers like Mehrenburg.
The 20-year-old’s goal is simply to complete high school.
“I regret pushing wheelbarrows. Time I’m supposed to learn is spent doing this. It’s stopping me from learning and staying in a better place,” said the 20-year-old.
Mehrenburg is just one of many of the wheelbarrow boys who have been devastated by the Liberian Civil Wars.
After war broke out in
“During the war, I was staying with my auntie, so I don’t know where my parents are. My mother left my father, me, and my little sister. I was very small. I don’t know where my father is,” he said.
He was told his aunt relocated to
He didn’t find his aunt. To this day, Mehrenburg is still searching for her. However, time is his enemy. He has no time to search.
“Mosquitoes are eating me up and I get sick sometimes. I go to the clinic, but they ask for $10 US. So I have to push wheelbarrows to get money to get better,”said the 20-year-old.
“If God can help me get somewhere else… I don’t think I can survive here in
For Mehrenburg and the other 49 boys, all they can do is wait. And so they wait before their work day must begin again.
Editor @ January 11, 2008