Many children in the slums of Buenos Aires have no prospects. They need care, support, food. At Hogar Maria Luisa some of them at least can count on help: thanks to financial support from the help alliance, they have a new roof over their heads at the home and can finally look forward to the future.
In the “good” world, you get breakfast at seven o’clock every morning.

In the “good” world, you get breakfast at seven o’clock every morning

Fixed times provide a sense of security. They create structure in lives where rules are unfamiliar. And even more importantly, every morning you have something to eat. Milk, fruit, croissants.

In the “good” world, pictures and brightly coloured letters hang on the walls. C for casa, house. M for mariposa, butterfly. S for sol, sun. In the “safe” world, this is how you learn the alphabet.

When children arrive here, they go through a turquoise stairwell. They run through hallways where the plaster is crumbling, but where no one slams a fist into their faces. There are actual rooms here. Beds, showers. In the playground is a merry-go-round, a seesaw, a climbing frame. Inside, there are doll’s houses and books in which giraffes laugh and elephants snort. And even if the cook, whose name is Alicia, occasionally gives you a talking-to, she always gives you a hug afterwards.

Cartoon characters hang on the walls. Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, the Simpsons. These images hang here, in the “good” world, because some of the children have never seen them before.

The worlds these children come from are a totally different reality.

The worlds these children come from are a totally different reality

In the barrios carenciados, the slums of Buenos Aires, it’s not funny stories children grow up with, but unimaginable brutality. The daily routine consists of poverty, drugs and violence. The children are abused, neglected, sexually assaulted. Others end up on the street and have to face the daily struggle alone in this metropolis of 14 million people. These deeply traumatised girls and boys stagger through childhood without school, without a future, without hope. Often without parents, without family. Helping these children isn’t easy in a society in which 40 percent of adults and an estimated 70 percent of children live in poverty.

A few of them are lucky. They are able to escape their pitiful circumstances and go into care thanks to judicial orders. Some come here to the Hogar Maria Luisa, a home for children who otherwise would have no hope. Here in the San Martín district, behind yellow walls and a tall door, they learn for the first time what it means to live a semi-normal life.

Worlds turned upside down: in Buenos Aires, 8,000 children are waiting for a place in a home

20 children live in the home. Some come here at the age of three or four, others as young teenagers. This is just a tiny proportion of the children in need. In the San Martín district alone, 1,000 children are waiting for a place in one of the local homes, while in the whole of Buenos Aires the number is around 8,000.

The goal is to help some of them. If the children are still young enough, there is still hope that new parents might adopt them. Up to 120 of these lost souls end up at the Hogar Maria Luisa every year. They are looked after by psychologists, educators and social workers. A large number of volunteers also help out. They take the children to the doctor, drop them off at school or give them music lessons. Together with the children, they paint flowers, green parrots and gauchos with yellow hats on the walls.

Ana Karina Alvarez

What might sound like everyday life for many children is far removed from a normal education. Ana Karina Alvarez, 50, is the director of the home. She says, “Many of the children have never held a pen in their hands, never seen a ruler. They don’t know what a nursery school is. Hardship is the default setting in their minds.”

The staff have to have insight into the children’s inner worlds in order to understand what they’ve been through. Alvarez remembers, “A boy came to us in the home. We had to teach him how to chew.” He was six. He had never eaten meat, never eaten fish. A whole young life without solid food.

The job of the staff at the home isn’t an easy one. They have to show the children that there’s such a thing as affection, as being valued. By others, by yourself. They have to help them learn what rules are, where the boundaries are, what patience is. Their most important task? Building trust in the context of an existence without foundations.

The Hogar Maria Luisa will soon become „la casa“.

The Hogar Maria Luisa will soon become „la casa“

“The home quickly becomes a centre point for the children”, says Alvarez. And when they realise that they won’t be immediately kicked out again, that no one will deny them food or make their lives hell, they start calling Hogar Maria Luisa la casa. Their home. For many, the first in their lives.

But the home also has external problems to deal with. Thanks to the Lufthansa help alliance, however, the Hogar Maria Luisa receives targeted support. With the help of these charitable donations, builders are currently working on renovating the second floor. The plan is for girls aged 13 and older to find refuge in the new rooms. Girls who would otherwise be left at the mercy of fate in highly vulnerable situations. Money from the help alliance is also being used to help the staff access education training. Some €575,000 in total will be given to the project over the course of three years – and could end up helping more than 300 children find a path to a better life.

As hard as these children’s fates have been, there are success stories

At midday, the first few children come out of school. At the home, it’s time to eat. They have salad, empanadas, juice. The children sit together, chattering and laughing. Little Joselin plays with her braids, while Rocia draws a big car on a piece of paper next to her plate, because she wants to be a bus driver one day. Mikael and Benjamin make their forks zoom through the air, Rodrigo flicks a ball of paper into his empty yoghurt pot: goal!

Name labels are stuck on the chairs, while above the kitchen hangs the Argentinian flag with its yellow sun. Order, warmth. Even the little things are intended to give the children a sense of stability, a feeling of safety. Alicia the cook brings pudding; Gimena Gomez, who works at the home as an educational psychologist, is also sitting at the table. She knows every single child. Their history, their quirks. Their laughter, their tears.

As hard as these children’s fates have been, there are success stories.

The home’s staff have an enormous responsibility. “Every child needs attention, time and individual care”, says Gimena Gomez, 45. “The children are desperate for these things.” For their rights that have never been respected. For the compassion that they’ve never been shown. It often takes months for the children to develop trust. And talk about what they’ve been through.

Rocio, who arrived at the age of six. Who was still in nappies and only walked on tiptoes. He was full of anxiety. His parents had cared for him so little that he still behaved like a baby. Mikael, who grew up almost alone with his two younger brothers and no other family. When he came to the home at the age of four, his milk teeth were rotten. He had outbursts of anger, crawled on all fours and could barely walk. When he was asked if he had parents, he screamed, “No tengo, no tengo!” – I don’t have any!

Then there’s sweet little Joselin, aged six. The youngest of eight siblings. Her father left, her mother disappeared. Only her grandparents remained. But they had no money to look after their grandchildren. Joselin arrived at the age of four. She didn’t speak a word.

But as hard as these children’s fates have been, there are successes. After a month, Joselin began to talk, got on well with the other children, found happiness and built trust. She now goes to school, reads, learns, laughs, and enjoys spending time outside, watering the carrots and tomatoes that they plant at the home. Mikael is now ten. A highly intelligent boy. The staff at the home have realised how gifted he is and have encouraged him. He now helps the other children when they don’t understand something. He plays sports, walks upright and looks forward to the life that awaits him.

“It’s about restoring the children’s basic human rights.”
CORINA HANISCH
“It’s about restoring the children’s basic human rights.”

It’s the afternoon. The children are playing and doing homework on the long table in front of the football pitch. Laundry hangs by the barbecue area. Tiago, 14, takes the football, dribbles the ball around the pitch again and shoots. He’s good, he has real talent. No one knows how often he was beaten, how many nights he spent alone on the streets of Buenos Aires. “Maybe he’ll be discovered as a footballer”, says Corina Hanisch. “We want to give him all the opportunities he deserves.”

Hanisch, 53, is Lufthansa’s Marketing Manager for South America and is coordinating the support for the Maria Luisa home. She, too, knows the children well. She frequently visits the home, gets involved, helps out as a volunteer. “Ultimately, we restore the children’s basic human rights”, she says. The right to non-discrimination, health, education. The right to freedom, play, leisure. The right to be cared for and grow up safe from violence. “That takes love, but also a certain amount of money. And where are children born into poverty supposed to find that?”

Seven o’clock, dinner time. There’s mashed potato, carrots and a big piece of fish for everyone today. Afterwards, the children go to their common rooms on the first floor. They carry on playing, do their homework. Fortunately there are beds here, and second-hand tables and chairs. There are coloured pencils, paper, a little dressing table for the girls.

And then, of course, there are the people. The people who work at the Maria Luisa home, who pop their heads round the doors one last time every evening to wish everyone goodnight. A word that can mean so much. Sleep without fear. Dream without suffering. And hope in your belly.

Tomorrow will be a good day.

In the heart of the action – stories that generate emotion

Author Marc Bielefeld and photographer Jens Görlich deliver first-hand accounts

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