3 Working Kids in Nicargua

The first night in Nicaragua, we were at dinner at one of the street-side tables that appear along the colorful buildings in colonial Granada, Nicaragua.  A hearty entrée of rice, beans, chicken, and salad goes for $2 and it was our first encounter with $.85 beers.  (Kyle was of course elated.)  It's a budget traveler's dream, and it's also scenic.  We enjoyed our dinner as a plethora of street entertainers worked for change.  It was your typical repertoire of swinging balls of gasoline lit with fire and kids selling chiclets, but a saw one act that stood out.

3 boys around 8 years old came with a unique act.  One child spoke in long prose telling a tale, another banged loudly on a small drum between the other's sentences, and a third hid within the long dress of an 8 ft tall "woman" up on a wood stick with a mask for a face.  The three children together told the woman's dramatic story that had something to do with her having a child, in which the boy inside the costume laid the woman on the ground and he dramatically popped out.  The crowd loved it.

As they finished their routine they walked table to table asking for change, and when they came to our table I offered them some of our food.  Their faces brightened.  Two of them sat at our table with us, the third stood directly behind, and they encircled our food like kids ecstatic for presents on Christmas morning.  I told them to share, and the most assertive of the 3, the one who told the story, divided the meat in three parts.  Then took the only 2 cucumber slices for himself, and glanced at me to see if I'd scold.  I gave him the stink eye, and he let the other two boys have the rest of the cabbage and carrots.

As they sat with us eating, a tough security guard looking fella from the restaurant came and asked us if the boys were bothering us, as if to offer to usher them along like usual.  I smiled politely, said my "No, gracias." and continued conversation in spanish with the boys.  Where are you from?  Are you brothers?  Do you know how to pronounce the English word on your shirt?

They were from a small village 2 or so hours outside of town.  There families were likely nearby selling nuts or begging, but kids on their own can work fast and make money.  Two of the boys were brothers.  His shirt, he said, "Says Ho-sif".
 
"JO-seph," I instructed.  "Significa José en íngles."  They all repeated, "CHO-sef."  The boy looked down proudly at his blue t-shirt and smiled.

As the 3 boys continued practicing their english with us, they ate every slice of carrot in a way I had never seen children eat vegetables.  With my approval, they moved onto our salt shaker and kept talking saying all the english words they knew.
"Dog!"
"Bruther!"
"Muther!"  They said proudly.  Then they were sticking their fingers in the salt shaker, an offer I began to regret.  Kyle scolded as they continued preying on the salt shaker and began using all of our one-ply paper napkins.  One wipe near their mouth, and they crumpled and tossed each napkin, in a way that told me they might never have done it before, but they'd seen enough "rich" people do it, and they knew just how to emulate.

Kyle and I glanced at each other sideways, and decided we'd had enough.  Our good deed had gone far enough, and they were kids pushing us as far as we'd let them.  Kyle made sure they'd picked up every napkin ("Keep this place clean!").  We sent the kids on their way, off to another restaurant to tell their story again.