„Ako te i mati tvoja zaboravi, ja te zaboraviti neću.”

Nakon božićne radosti, u tišini našega Centra sv. Franje Asiškog u Nawanatau, polako pripremamo sobe za djecu ulice. Dok slažemo njihove male krevete, prostorom odzvanja smijeh i tihi šapat nade. Osmijesi na njihovim licima govore više od riječi – to su osmijesi djece koja su napokon pronašla sigurnost.

Svaki dan, korak po korak, učimo ih da se više ne moraju bojati. Uče da postoje ruke koje ne udaraju, glasovi koji ne viču i pogled koji ne osuđuje. Kada se počnu otvarati, iz njihovih usta izlaze priče koje slamaju srce – priče gladi, hladnih noći pod vedrim nebom i djetinjstva koje je prerano završilo.

Oni nisu otišli od kuće jer su to željeli. Glad ih je otjerala. Nažalost, kada ti majka ili baka kaže:

„Više nema hrane da vas sve prehranim. Idi u Moroto, tamo ćeš sigurno naći nešto za jesti.”

možemo samo zamisliti što to znači za jedno desetogodišnje dijete. Ta ih je stvarnost natjerala da preko noći odrastu i krenu putem nesigurnosti – bez zaštite, bez zagrljaja, bez doma. Djeca koja su učila kako preživjeti, a ne kako sanjati. I dok slušamo njihove priče, padamo na koljena i molimo:

Gospodine, samo Ti možeš dotaknuti i iscijeliti ova ranjena srca.

Noći provedene na ulici, strah od odraslih koji su ih tukli zbog onih 0,12 eura prikupljenih za zalogaj kruha, teški poslovi koje su morali raditi – ništa im nije uspjelo ukrasti njihove osmijehe. Ipak, strah je ostao duboko u njima. Prvih dana, svaki zalogaj viška skrivali su pod madrac ili jastuk, bojeći se da će im i to netko oduzeti.

Rane na njihovim tijelima vidljive su, ali one na srcu još su dublje. Kada ih pitamo što najviše žele, odgovor je uvijek isti, izgovoren tiho, ali s nadom:

„Samo da opet vidim svoju majku i oca… i da idem u školu.”

Svako jutro, kad se pojavimo među njima, trče nam u zagrljaj. Ti zagrljaji govore da se u njima ponovno rađa dijete – dijete koje želi živjeti, smijati se i vjerovati. Svaki dan odlaze na svetu misu i žele ministrirati, jer su shvatili jednu istinu:

ako ih svi ostave, Bog ih nikada neće ostaviti.

Za sada ih je 15. Petnaest ranjenih, ali beskrajno voljenih srca. Nastavljamo dalje s Božjom pomoći, zagovorom sv. Josipa i uz Vašu dobrotu, vjerujući da nijedno dijete nije zaboravljeno u Božjim očima i da svako dijete ima pravo na sretno i dostojanstveno djetinjstvo.

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“Even if your mother forgets you, I will never forget you.”

After the joy of Christmas, in the quiet of our St. Francis of Assisi Center in Nawanatau, we are slowly preparing rooms for our street children. As we make their small beds, laughter and a gentle whisper of hope fill the space. The smiles on their faces speak louder than words—these are the smiles of children who are finally safe.

Day by day, step by step, we teach them that they no longer need to be afraid. They learn that there are hands that do not strike, voices that do not shout, and eyes that do not judge. When they begin to open up, stories pour out that break the heart—stories of hunger, cold nights under the open sky, and childhoods that ended far too soon.

They did not leave home because they wanted to. Hunger drove them away. Sadly, when a mother or grandmother says,

“There is no more food to feed you all. Go to Moroto; there you will surely find something to eat,”

we can only imagine what that means for a ten-year-old child. That reality forced them to grow up overnight and set out on a path of uncertainty—without protection, without an embrace, without a home. Children who learned how to survive, not how to dream. And as we listen to their stories, we fall to our knees and pray:

Lord, only You can touch and heal these wounded hearts.

Nights spent on the streets, fear of adults who beat them for those €0.12 gathered for a piece of bread, the heavy labor they were forced to do—nothing managed to steal their smiles. And yet, fear remained deep within them. During the first days, any extra bite of food was hidden under a mattress or pillow, afraid that even that might be taken away.

The wounds on their bodies are visible, but the wounds in their hearts are far deeper. When we ask them what they want most, the answer is always the same, spoken softly, yet full of hope:

“Just to see my mother and father again… and to go to school.”

Every morning, when we appear among them, they run into our arms. Those embraces tell us that a child is being reborn within them—a child who wants to live, to laugh, and to believe. Every day they go to Holy Mass and want to serve as altar servers, because they have understood one truth:

if everyone abandons them, God never will.

For now, there are 15 of them—fifteen wounded, yet deeply loved hearts. We continue forward with God’s help, the intercession of St. Joseph, and your generosity, believing that no child is forgotten in God’s eyes and that every child has the right to a happy and dignified childhood.