In 90 degree weather with about 90 percent humidity, a woman walked down the main street of Ubud and crossed the road with her adorable baby boy in arms. He was dressed in a one piece, hooded, furry tiger outfit and caught the adoration of just about everyone on that block.
Then the logical question immediately followed. How is that kid not baking in that furry tiger outfit?! Oddly, he seemed as cool as cucumber and his mom appeared to be very together and competent. It’s one of those moments when you chalk it up to Balinese magic and move on.
What made it so easy is that the kid was clearly well care for and loved.
In the course of our journey which has taken us three quarters of the way around the world, we think and talk a lot about children. In many ways, Emily and I evaluate a society largely on how children are cared for and treated. It’s sort of a moral bottom-line. You can screw with the environment, pay poor wages, have religious strife and political instability – but there’s really nothing more important than the treatment of children.
Today on my way home from town, I saw an adorable six year-old boy with his arms wrapped in full embrace around his father’s back as they headed down the bumpy road to the village next to our house on their motorcycle. Both the kid and his dad were smiling and happy.
Although my mother who campaigned for child seatbelt and car seat laws in California when I was a little kid would plotz if she saw a six year old on a motorcycle – without a helmet no less…. I wasn’t bothered. Yeah, I wish he had a helmet – they have kids’ helmets. I also wish there weren’t kids on motorcycles. It’s dangerous. My mother would be 100 percent right in her shock and concern.
Only for most Balinese, a low-powered motorcycle is as much personal transportation as they can afford. It’s the family car and they often manage to fit two parents and three little kids on one bike. But I can’t fault them for it – it’s their best option given their resources. I also haven’t seen any frightened kids. Usually, they seem smiling, happy and generally more comfortable on a motorcycle than any adult from home who has ever visited me.
In fact, I would say that overall, Balinese kids – and adults – seem pretty happy.
Emily learned a few weeks back that Balinese kids go to school Monday through Saturday from 8:00 until 1:00. She asked what the kids do after school – ready to hear that they go home and work or do chores for their families.
“They play, of course,” said the Balinese man with whom she was talking. The Balinese believe that kids should have a large part of their days free to play and be kids.
It’s hard to argue with this.
Maybe they have this view because children don’t remain children for very long. People become parents as young as 16 – although I’d venture to guess than 18-20 is more standard these days. Often, I see families where the parents look far too young to know how to be parents. Then I remind myself that I see things through my cultural prism. Besides, people usually live in family compounds where grandparents, aunts and uncles are all part of raising every child. At village ceremonies, I have often seen grandparents holding and walking with little kids while parents participate in the day’s events.
Not all Balinese kids live a charmed life. Public school here requires families to pay tuition at a rate generally considered reasonable and affordable – 40,000 rupiah per month or $4.60. Unfortunately, not every family – especially families with a lot of kids – can afford this. That’s why our housekeeper, Nengah only went to school for one year of his life and his younger cousin, Ketut who used to work as the gardner in our compound, never went to school at all. Despite it, their families took on the task of teaching them to read and write. Amazingly, poverty did not result in illiteracy.
Still, in the spectrum of what’s out there, I would give the Balinese a very high rating on how they treat children. Kids are loved and given ample opportunity to have fun, happy lives.
Sure, their lives aren’t as enriched as the kids of middle-class America who get shuttled around to sports, music lessons and scout meetings. Then again, kids here learn music and art as taught to them by their elders and through their religion.
Unfortunately, not every child gets to read, write, play or go to school, let alone learn music and art. India and Nepal can break your heart – especially as children are concerned. In Mumbai – a city with tremendous modernization, upward mobility and wealth – we were constantly bothered by the homelessness. The strange part was that there were far fewer homeless than either of us expected. They didn’t have the level of mass destitution and squalor we saw in Delhi – and assumed we would find in Mumbai.
It was the children that made it so heart wrenching. Los Angeles and every major city in America has its homeless, destitute and poor. We can’t claim to be an enlightened society that has figured out how to cure some of the worst social ills. But we rescue children. I have never in my life seen a child or infant on the streets, hungry and poor. Our police are obligated to help children on the streets and we have government services to help children. Perhaps our foster care system and orphanages aren’t as good as they should be – but children are not destitute and hungry.
In India, people walk past the children of the untouchables.
In different parts of India and Nepal, Emily and I struggled with the issues of child labor, begging and exploitation. We agonized over whether giving money to children helped them, or contributed to their exploitation. Just like “Slumdog Millionaire,” there are kids maimed and sent out to beg as part of begging rings. It’s the most horrible thing.
This isn’t to say that Indians treat their children poorly. There are families at all economic strata that treasure their children. There are families who pay whatever they must to send their children to good schools and universities – even if it means parents go without any comforts or luxuries. We saw many Indian families who treated their children like precious gems.
It’s easy to look past the wonderful when the bad is so horrific.
If I had to pick a place where children are treated the best – at least for this trip – it’s Greece. Greek families love their children. Being naturally warm people, Greeks give lots of affection and celebrate the little ones most of all.
Nicholas, our studio-owner in Patmos was the proud father of a six year-old girl. Nicholas and his wife were almost done raising two sons when they had an unexpected late in life pregnancy. Anastasia might as well be their grandchild the way they dote on her and shower her with attention and affection. Anastasia began kindergarten this year and every day, Nicholas takes her to school, drives back to check on her at lunch time and then picks her up only a couple of hours later.
While Nicholas and his wife might be extreme examples, we saw families around town and at community events on four different islands, showering their children with love and attention. At a concert on Patmos, I sat near one family where a young uncle was clearly the kids’ favorite. He spent the entire concert entertaining them so that his brother and pregnant sister-in-law could enjoy the show. It was clear he didn’t mind it one bit.
In the end, there’s no right way to raise kids and not that many wrong ways – but perhaps some universally wrong and bad things people do to them.
Emily and I try not to be judgmental. We try to see cultures within their context – which means trying to understand them first. As we do – and as we play the inevitable and unavoidable game we love so much of comparing and contrasting the things we’ve seen in our travels – we come back to children time and time again.
When I see a kid wedged between her parents on the family scooter heading down a bumpy road or a family bathing naked in a Balinese aqueduct stream – or the backwaters of Kerala for that matter – I wonder how much I’ll ever really understand the lives of those children. I wonder if they’re better off than the average American child or not. I wonder what the definition of a good childhood is. And I hope they are having one.
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