World Street Children News :: Cambodia Streetkid News

Rays of Hope on Dark Streets in Phnom Penh

Posted on 2004-06-22 15:28:23
By Antonio Graceffo

"First you put the open can of glue in the plastic." Explained Thun, the leader of the three street kids I had stopped to interview. We were sitting on the dirty concrete in front of a strip of deserted shops, in down town Phnom Penh, late at night. It was raining, but the boys didn’t seem to notice. Thun’s tinny hands, were like delicate, sunburned matchstick. He was 15, but very small and malnourished. He could have passed for twelve or even younger. "Now, wrap the outside of the bag around your hand like this." He demonstrated. "And inhale." He plunged his face into the bag, and sucked the noxious vapors into his lungs. Even from where I sat, I could smell the deadly poison that was rotting the brains of the street kids. Self consciously, I took half a step back. The fumes were making me dizzy. Thun looked up from the bag, his face in a broad grin, as his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Me next!" Called out his friend, 13 year old Saem Jog Raen.

The boys told me that they could buy a large quantity of glue for only 5,000 Riels ($1.20 USD), which they could earn in a day of begging and shinning shoes. But if they didn’t have the 5,000 Riels, there was a nice Khmer lady who purchased bottles of glue, and resold it in smaller containers for as little as 500 Riels. As if the fact that children lived on the street wasn’t a bad enough, now there were people who profited from their misfortune. This would not be the last tale of exploitation I would hear during my research.

When I later asked Sebastian Marot, the coordinator of the Friends NGO, in Phnom Penh, about the glue, he told me. "79% of the kids are hooked on something. It used to be glue. But now glues is falling off in popularity. Yaba (methyl amphetamine) is now the most popular drug, with heroine making a huge climb in recent years."

Sebastian also told me that there was a kind of mafia, who took part of the boys earnings. Other exploiters were a new phenomenon of middle class gangster teenagers, called Bon Tom, who would rob, rape and beat the weaker street kids. Bon Toms were bigger, stronger, well fed, and most of all, they had political protection through their families. They could do whatever they wanted to the helpless street boys, and know that they would escape, unpunished.

All of the street kids I found and interviewed were boys. "Girls don’t last very long on the streets." Explained Sebastian. "Someone will usually find them, and sell them to a brothel." He explained that many girls never even mad it to the streets, because at the moment that the family decided they didn’t want their daughter, she could be sold into indentured servitude. The family would be paid a fee, which functioned as a "loan," which the girl would have to work off. Indentured servitude did not always occur in brothels. It could be that the girl had to work as domestic help in some rich person’s house. But often, the girls were more valuable to the family, or to their new "owners," as prostitutes. Girls could also be re-sold, when their debt was nearly paid off. In this case, they would have to start over from zero again, working off the new debt. The abuses of girls were so diabolical and so varied that they would have to be the subject of a future article.

When you see children living on the streets the first question that comes to mind is "Why?" Of the twelve children I interviewed that night, almost all of them began by saying, "My friend introduced me to sniffing glue…" At that point, the stories began to deviate. I had prepared myself for the tales of abuse, and economic factors, like the lack of food at home. But the stories I hadn’t anticipated were even more heartbreaking. Thun told me that his friend had lead him to Phnom Penh, two or three years earlier. But, when he decided to return home, he realized he didn’t know the way back to his village. So, he remained on the streets of the capitol. A fifteen-year-old boy, named Mao, told me that his father had become disabled, so he and his mother came to the city to beg. At some point, his mother decided to go back to the village. Before she left, she told him to wait for her, and she would return to take him home. That was five years ago.

"So why don’t you go home?" I asked.
"Because I am waiting for my mother." Said Mao, annoyed that I hadn’t listened to the first part of the story.

Mao lived on a side street, sleeping on a makeshift mattress, of cardboard, which he shared with about ten of his friends, ranging in age, with oldest being 20. Where the younger boys made money by polishing shoes, the older boys made money guarding cars. They all said that they were addicted to glue, and many sited this as the reason they couldn’t return home.

Thun was always laughing and joking. But when I asked him if he missed his mother, he suddenly became teary eyed and whispered, "Don’t ask me that. When I think about my mother I want to cry." That one question had converted him from a tough, street-smart hustler, to a hurt and lost child, which is what he was.

All of the boys grew quiet and emotional, probably thinking of home. The mood had changed from one of joking with the strange big foreigner with the camera, to one of depressed reflection.

"It’s better here than at home." Blurted out Puk Gdai, breaking the silence. At 19 he was a six year veteran of the streets. "No one bothers us, and we can do what we want. Also we eat better than we did back in the village." All of the boys were so skinny that their ribs were showing. Taking in the damp, smelly alley where they slept, I thought, if this was better than home, I couldn’t imagine what conditions were like back in the village.

Sebastian would later tell me that many boys preferred the streets, because they didn’t have to do back-breaking farm work. They could come and go as they pleased. They had lots of friends, and they could get high as often as they wished.

The boys definitely confirmed Sebastian’s assertion, that many preferred the streets. But there did seem to be some conflicting emotions, because when I asked them if they would like to live at home and go to school, if they could, they all said "yes." Most of them had only completed the second grade.

As much as the boys were all underweight, none of them looked like they were teetering on the brink of starvation. They were reasonably clean, considering where they lived, and many had recently had a hair cut. When I asked where they got their haircut, I heard the first glimmer of good news I had heard all night.

"There is a Khmer lady who cuts our hair and gives us 500 Riels." Said Mao.

Suddenly, the stars above the alley shone a bit brighter. Someone cared. Some faceless, nameless person had retained her humanity and compassion.

I tried to track this woman down, but was unsuccessful. I hoped, however that she was one of many people who took an interest in these children. Even if no one did anything for them, but at least stopped the exploitation, that would greatly improve their quality of life. But, if many people would do a little bit, the problem could be mitigated considerably.

The next good news I heard was when I asked the boys where they showered. "Friends NGO." They said.
"And where do you eat breakfast?"
"Friends NGO."
"And where do you have lunch?"
"Friends NGO."

Many street kids can’t read or write. But when it comes to street smarts, they have a Masters degree from the university of life and a PHD from the school of hard knocks. With so many people out to scam them, the basic laws of social Darwinism suggest that the ones who survive must be brilliant judges of character. If the boys trusted the Friends NGO, then it was worth checking out.
Thanks to these kids, I met my new friend, Sebastian, who is helping to lead the best NGO I had ever seen.

Friends is a huge complex, almost like a village, which includes a restaurant, a retail shop, a barber shop, beauticians, classrooms, work shops, a clinic, dormitories, and much more. I would later discover that all of these shops were run by street kids, who were completing job-training programs. The one thing that Friends did not have was a barbed wire fence. "We have an open door policy." Explained Sebastian. "The kids are not prisoners. They can come and go as they please."

The friends program included education in basic mathematics and written Khmer language. There were classes in English and French for more advanced learners. But the most important aspect of the program was the job training.

"To get kids off the streets we have to offer them real options, not bullshit options." Said Sebastian.

I appreciated his directness, and liked him immediately. The fiery young frenchman kept coming back to the point that the kids don’t necessarily hate their life on the streets. You couldn’t take the streets away, unless you gave them something in return.

"NGOs offer sewing classes." Said Sebastian. "We do too, because the kids asked for it. But that is an example of a bullshit option."

Given the choice between sewing in a dark factory ten hours a day, for forty dollars a month, and living on the streets, completely free, and earning thirty dollars, I would choose the streets. For the kids who had been involved with prostitution the choice was even easier. As freelance prostitutes they could earn much more money, and they got to wear nice clothes and go to bars at night. They even had the chance to meet some rich man who might take them away.

In keeping with Sebastian’s policy of real options, Friends offered training in auto mechanics, motorcycle repair, hairdressing, barbering, electricity, and welding. "These are all jobs where the kids can make good money." Said Sebastian. "Especially welding, welding is very well paid."

Another important point about the job skills which Friends taught, they allowed the children to become entrepreneurs. "When they graduate, we help the children to open their own shops, because they would never get a fair chance working for someone else."

The training and schooling sounded great. But Sebastian and the boys had already told me how much they liked their freedom. "What percentage of the kids run away?" I asked.

"One hundred percent." Said Sebastian, seriously. He gave me a moment to digest this fact, then he explained. "This is not a prison. And it is not an orphanage. It is a center to help street kids. They can come and go as they please. Usually they come in a few times for a meal or a shower. Then they leave. They come back, spend a few nights, and then leave again. Maybe they start school, but then disappear for weeks. Eventually, hopefully, they will come back, and stay here until they complete a program. But the important point is that the kids have to do it when they are ready. No one can make them do it."

This was a different approach than any NGO I had heard of. In Thailand there are NGOs whose policies of not allowing the children to leave are actually brining accusations of kidnapping and imprisonment. Another issue in Thailand is that many of the residential NGOs don’t allow the parents to see the children.

"We encourage family participation." Said Sebastian. "Some of these kids are not orphans. They are working on the streets, selling things or beginning, to help support the family. If the child goes into a full time program, the family will loose income which is feeding younger siblings or keeping them in school. With this in mind, we have programs to help the parents increase their income, so the child will be free to attend classes. We also have programs where kids can continue working the streets half the day, and come to class half the day."

One of the harshest criticisms about NGOs has been that they impose western values, morales, and religious ideas on the children. After a few years in a mission school, kids would normally not be able to return to their village, because they will have changed too much. Having familiar involvement helps ease the transition from NGO student, to productive member of society, and insures that the children remain a member of the family.

"But what about the parents who sold their daughter?" I asked, playing the devils advocate. ""What if they come to the door and want their daughter back, so they could sell her again?"

This was a hard question. In the west, we couldn’t imagine a child feeling any allegiance to parents that had sold her, particularly if she had been sold to a brothel. But this was Asia, and the familiar hierarchy was much stronger. "If we were to tell the girl not to go back to the family, would this be imposing our culture on her?" I asked.

Sebastian deferred this question to Lek Sin Rithy, a former street kid, who is now an administrator with Friends NGO. He spoke excellent English and French, and took great pride in the help he and Freinds were able to give to the children. "Our culture is very strong." Explained Lek Sith Rithy. "And we must respect our parents, even if they do bad things." Lek went on to explained that the young generation of educated cambodians who worked at the center would encourage such a child to not allow herself to be sold again. "But it is a slow process. We have to undo centuries of cultural conditioning." When Lek said this, he could just as easily have meant a particular child had to change, or the Cambodian society as a whole had to change.

Of the more than 200 employees at the Friends center, there were only five foreigners. And these were employed in administrative jobs, where they would not have contact with the children. This was done to keep from imposing western culture on the children.

This all sounded good, far better than any program I had heard of in the past. But my question remained unanswered. "On the day that the mother comes here to take her daughter and sell her again, do you let her go?"

Sebastian had a fair answer. "Cambodia has signed international conventions regarding child prostitution and baring the exploitation of children. Where the culture may dictate otherwise, we are obligated to defer to the law." In Cambodia it is illegal to sell a human being.

Lek took me on a tour of the complex, which included a daycare center. "Some of the street children are caring for their younger siblings. They couldn’t attend classes unless we could mind the babies."

An incredibly kind looking Khmer teacher walked around, directing the elementary children at break time. The whole while she held a malnourished baby, as if she would never let it go.

"When she first came here, this baby was so small." Explained Lek. "But now she has gained weight, and we are sure that she will survive."

The teacher smiled at me, and all of the small children sampaed (put their hands in prayer position as a sign of greeting and respect for an elder). The small children acted like small children everywhere. They played. They laughed. They smiled. Sometimes they were probably naughty. They didn’t seem to know or care that they were considered street kids or homeless. At the Friends center, they were just kids. I looked at all of those happy faces and wondered how there could be people in the world who wouldn’t want them. And even more, I wondered how there could be people in the world who would want to hurt them.

I thought my tour was over, but Lek insisted that I follow him on his motorcycle. He was obviously very excited to show me something in another part of town, so I went along with him. When we arrived at our destination, a hip-looking internet cafe, Lek’s face was as bright as a boy on Christmas morning, proudly showing off his new bicycle. "This is our shop, and the kids run it." He said. Lek took me to two other restaurants which were run by street kids. We didn’t make it to the fourth, which was a French restaurant, located at the Aliance Francaise, but I got the pictured. The kids had graduated. They weren’t going back to the streets. They weren’t going back to the brothels or back to the glue. They were ready to make money, to start a family, to reintegrate into society. And it was only possible because Friends wasn’t offering them bullshit options.

Originally, I thought that my story about the street children would be another, incredibly depressing tale, which ended with me reaching for a whisky bottle. But instead, thanks to Friends NGO, Sebastian Marot, Lek Sin Rithy, and the nameless woman who cut hair, I walked away feeling hopeful. There were still good people in the world. There were still people who cared about their fellow men. There were people who gave of themselves, without hidden agendas.

As I drove home from Friends NGO, the small glimmer of stars I had seen in the alley, where the street boys lived, turned into a bright sun.

Contact the author at: antonio_graceffo@hotmail.com
Contact Sebastian Marot of Friends: friends@everyday.kh

Taking Stage

Former Street Children Write, Direct and Perform Play

By Flora Stubbs
the Cambodia Daily

Eleven-year-old Sot Thy hasn’t had much opportunity to mete out justice to those who have harmed him. But last week the former street child was a juror in the court case for a corrupt and devious child abuser. Fitted out in robes of litigation several sizes too large, he frowned as he furiously scribbled notes with an outsized pen only slightly smaller than himself. His verdict of ÒguiltyÓ was nonetheless easily reached.

The scene took place on the stage of the Royal University of Fine Arts last week as part of "Poverty Meets the Cheat," a play developed and performed by over 50 former street children and children who have suffered abuse. From the harsh realities of life on the streets to a dream-like world of dragons and spells, the play spoke eloquently of the children’s troubled histories and the mental escapism needed to survive them.

Mr Cheat, the play’s lead role, is a character many of Cambodia’s most vulnerable have met before. Toting a flashy mobile phone and screeching around town in a big Toyota Camry, he sweet-talks a group of street children into going with him to a holiday island where, he promises, they will have everything they have ever dreamed.

His promises are lies, and the children become trapped in a world of overwork and abuse. An escape attempt is foiled, and as punishment, Mr Cheat confiscates the children’s voices. Only the strength of their imaginations can spirit them out of his clutches.

"Poverty Meets the Cheat" was produced by the David Glass Ensemble, a British drama company that has worked with street children around the world, and Friends/Mith Samlanh NGO. The workshops were part of an international series directed by the ensemble called "The Lost Child Project," which aims to help abused children express themselves through drama.

Reclaiming the freedom to play and imagine is central to the Lost Child Project; self-determination is written into its ethos from beginning to end. The plot of the play was compiled from drawings, stories and ideas the children produced during a week of workshops. From Mr Cheat’s cigar all the way through to the outcome of the plot, the children were responsible for every decision in the process of creating the play. "They feel like it’s theirs, not ours, and they’re excited by that," said Mike Ashcroft, one of the four British dramatists who led the workshops.

Children’s rights to self-expression was the main theme of the play. "I was amazed at how the children were so sure of what they wanted to say," Ashcroft said. "We wanted to raise the issue of sexual exploitation in the play, but we weren’t sure how to introduce it into the workshops. But we didn’t have to. The children came up with a story that symbolizes the issue perfectly by themselves."

The project was funded by the British Embassy as part of its campaign to raise awareness of child exploitation, pedophilia and the child sex tourism industry in Cambodia. "This kind of arts-based project is something of a new departure for [the British Embassy], but I’m really excited about how well it’s gone," said British ambassador Stephen Bridges.

Standing on the sidelines at a recent rehearsal as the room seethed with the energy and noise of 50 dancing, singing, smiling children, it was clear to Bridges how successful the project had been. "The issues are here, they exist in these children’s lives, and all that’s needed is the resources to give them to opportunity to express them," Bridges said.

Mr Cheat’s theft of the children’s voices and their fight to regain the power to express themselves was one of the play’s most affecting scenes. The children languish in a silent, shadowy world, their mouths gagged by strips of white cloth. Only two dragons, born out of ordinary eggs that have mysteriously grown and grown, can teach them the courage to tear off their gags. The scene expressed the strength of childrens’ imaginations and their power to transcend abuse.

That scene was popular with the actors, too. Standing in a cluster of girls after one rehearsal, 14-year-old Sri Yan and her friends talked excitedly of the upcoming performance. "I like the scene where the dragons teach the children to be brave and swim away from the island," said Srey Yan.
Experiencing theater so directly clearly made a big impression on the girls. "If I have the chance, I would like to be an actress in a film," said 14-year-old Yee Kolab, before collapsing in giggles along with her friends.

David Glass, the dramatist who conceived the project, insists the power to imagine is inherent in all children’s minds, no matter their circumstances. "This project is all about giving children the opportunity to play. That’s how children experience and explore their world, however dark a world it may seem to us," he said at one rehearsal.

Mr Cheat was played by a four-meter puppet, whose dangling limbs swung menacingly around the stage. His giant, abstract frame cast long shadows over the children; his voice barked from a megaphone while their mouths were gagged. Childrens’ rights to self-expression are priceless, the play seemed to say, in a precise echo of the idea behind the workshops.

The project bought together children ages 8-18 from seven NGO’s that work with children who have a history of abuse. Initially the children were nervous around one another, especially those who came from outside Phnom Penh, Ashcroft said. But while voicing their common experiences, a strong sense of cohesion was formed.

"I think what has really struck us is the strong sense of a group that emerged between the children," Ashcroft said. "As they began to play together [in the workshops], a sense of mutual trust was established really quickly."

Finding a way to express common experiences was easy, once the children were encouraged to play around with whatever ideas came into their heads. "I think if you get a group of people together in a room who have an experience in common, they will eventually discuss it," Ashcroft said. "You just let that happen."

Ashcroft spoke of comments made by children during the workshops that were shockingly direct. When asked how he felt about a decision on the play’s storyline, one child replied: "It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s filled with emotion." Another insisted: "I want to show my scars."

"Poverty Meets the Cheat" dealt with the issue of child exploitation so powerfully that Friends and the British Embassy plan to take the play on a tour of the provinces in hopes of reaching more children whose voices have been silenced by abuse. Although details have not yet been finalized, Sebastian Marot, Coordinator of Friends NGO, is keen to take the play to areas that are notorious for child rights abuses, regardless of how the group may be received.

"We were initially thinking of going to Battambang, Siem Reap and Kompong Som," Marot said. "But then we thought more about it and realized that it would be more interesting to go where there are more Mr Cheats around, like Poipet and around the Thai border."

A book is also planned about the process of making and performing "Poverty Meets the Cheat." It will be designed as a workbook for other NGOs to use for similar projects worldwide.

Lost and Found

Children Orphaned by AIDS are Finding a Home in the Pagoda

By Michelle Vachon
The Cambodia Daily

Their grandparents were victims of war and genocide; their parents either grew up under foreign occupation or in refugee camps along the Thai border. And now, many Cambodian children have their own tragedy to deal with–the AIDS epidemic. They are left orphans when their parents died of AIDS, and face the danger of being infected themselves and living very short lives. Sometimes relatives take care of them, but in many cases relatives cannot afford more children to feed. Families that adopt them often treat them differently than their own children, putting them to work in the fields or guarding cows, said Prang Chanthy of Impact Cambodia, an AIDS prevention program funded by USAid and managed by Family Health International.

Venerable Muny Vansaveth heads Wat Norea in Battambang, the only pagada in Cambodia that runs a shleter program for AIDS orphans.

But even when children are treated well by relatives, they have so much to deal with— the grief of losing parents and having to adapt to a new household—that some run away, she said.

As a result, the number of street children has increased throughout the country. At the present time, there is no precise figure on how many AIDS orphans are on the streets. However, it is known that as of 1998, a minimum of 30,000 children under 15 years old had lost their parents due to AIDS, said Prang Chanthy. 

These children are vulnerable to being sold into prostitution, she said. This puts them at risk of HIV/AIDS infection themselves. (An HIV infection does not lead to AIDS and death in all people, but HIV-positive people can infect others through unprotected sex.)

A number of organizations have set up programs to help AIDS orphans. In Battambang, two of them are trying to do what they can with little money but creative approaches. 

“One monk can feed seven children,” said Venerable Muny Vansaveth. When he started caring for abandoned children in 1992, he alone was begging for food to feed those seven kids. Now there are 27 monks at Wat Norea and 66 boys and girls, 46 of whom are AIDS orphans.

“We try so hard,” said Muny Vansaveth. “For 10 years, it was very difficult—we had no funds. We wanted to protect them from being sold to prostitution.”

He succeeded. With the help of several organizations and private donations from people living abroad, Wat Norea Peaceful Children’s Home has cared for 358 children through the years.

This is a safe haven for children, with 30 to 40 nuns to help them in addition to the monks. Children can stay as long as they need.

Min Saory, 16 , was brought to home by her aunt after her parents died seven years ago. The aunt did not explain why she was bringing her to the pagoda, and no relative from her village of Phum Sran Kpoh in Kompong Chhnang province has come to visit Min Saory.

“My aunt is very poor, so I did not go to school in the village,” Min Saory said. At the pagoda, children go to public school half-days and attend classes at Wat Norea the rest of the time. Subjects include Thai, English and Japanese. “We want to give them a very good education,” said Muny Vansaveth. Children follow the monks’ regimen of discipline and prayers, with time for games as well.

The monks also spread AIDS education in villages and minister to AIDS victims. When villagers see monks go to the houses of people with AIDS, it makes them realize the disease is not contagious, and this helps reduce discrimination against them, said Muny Vansaveth.

Wat Norea is the only pagoda in Cambodia known to have an AIDS orphan program. Monks from other parts of the country have started coming to the pagoda to learn how to do this with little or no money, said Muny Vansaveth. 

 

Meatho Phum Komah (Children’s Homeland) was borne out of Mao Lang’s determination not to let children down when one source of funding died and overnight she had to find a home for 16 kids.

This was in 1996. Five years and countless letters later, Homeland has secured funding from a number of organizations. However, it remains a shoestring operation and Mao Lang is constantly in a fundraising mode.

Homeland serves as a safe house for children, but a temporary one whose goal is to reunite them with their families or to find a place for them within a year if possible.

During a recent visit, Homeland had 409 children under its care—street children, AIDS orphans, kids returning after being sold to work in Thailand.

Children have to agree to discipline, to handle their share of chores and to go to school in order to live at the center; they are free to leave at any time.

Homeland workers send children back to their families only after investigation. Mao Lang refuses to let the older sister of 13-year-old Try Raksmei take her back home; she believes Try Raksmei’s sister will sell her again to the broker who took her to Thailand to work. Try Raksmei has been at the center one year.

In the case of 8-year-old Udum Veasna, Mao Lang has tried to get the child’s father to help support his illegitimate son. Udum Veasna’s mother is sick with AIDS, and her sister dropped off Udum Veasna at the center a few months ago.

Homeland also hopes to create a network of foster homes for AIDS orphans. Mao Lang has so far paid for their care out of her budget, but she plans to develop a network of individuals who would agree to contribute approximately $20 per month to support a child. Prospective foster families would be taught about AIDS to alleviate their fears of contagion.

Poverty lures Cambodian children to use drugs
Asian Political News,  March 20, 2000  

PHNOM PENH, March 13 Kyodo

Poverty and domestic violence have pushed several thousands of Cambodian children into the streets to find fleeting relief in drugs.

The lingering trauma in Cambodian national life from the more than two decades of civil war has also scarred these children, only the thrill and charm of street life offer them momentarily escape.

Governmental and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) have attempted to stem the tide of kids into the streets through educational programs and societal reintegration, but without success.

And drug syndicate leaders have seized on the failures to reintegrate these street children into societal fold. The kids now look to the drug lords as their "bang thom" (big brothers/sisters) to give a semblance of order in their lives in the street.

The thriving ties between the criminals and the children symbolize Cambodia’s limited success in its drive against drugs.

Among the substances abused by the children is glue that is used commercially in tire production in Thailand. Glue is cheap and easily available and most of the street children involved in drug abuse were initially found near Cambodia’s border with Thailand.

But similar phenomena are now being seen in urban areas and in interior provinces as well.

Mean Bo, 13, is one of the thousands of Cambodian children sniffing glue to while his time away in the streets.

He sleeps on the pavement and support himself by begging and offering to guard cars. He started living in the streets in 1997 after escaping from an abusive mother.

He told Kyodo News he earns about 5,000 riel ($1.3) a day, keeps half of it to buy food and other necessities while the other half is paid to middlemen for glue.

"When I don’t have money to buy glue, my friends share theirs with me," he said.

"I didn’t know what glue was, but I was bored with my life and a friend who has been living in the streets longer than me invited me to sniff it just for fun," he said.

"From then on, I sniff it every day. It makes me happy, making me imagine I am in heaven."

Vet Pheak, 14, who has been inhaling glue for the past three years, said sniffing gives him "a great boost to steal or to court a girl."

He also confessed to having been arrested several times and to having been beaten by the police.

"I feel great relief from pain after getting a whiff of glue," he said.

Another glue addict is Sok Kha, 19, who said he was introduced to it by his friends.

He said he would feel "isolated and abandoned" if he refused to join glue-sniffing sessions.

"While glue-sniffing causes a brief respite from reality, its long-term detrimental effect on the brain can hardly be over-emphasized. Only a few children are aware of the danger of sniffing glue," said Sou Sophornnara, an official of an NGO called Redd Barna.

Sou Sophornnara added the street children who became drug-dependents are only one of the many groups controlled by drug gangs.

He said the gangs collect a lion’s share of the children’s earnings in exchange for Mafia-style protection.

Sou Sophornnara added there is severe punishment for violating rules imposed by the drug lords, noting children have scars caused by cigarette burns and slashes from razor blades.

Laurence Gray, an official of the NGO group World Vision, said glue has the immediate effect of not feeling hungry.

Gray said that from glue-sniffing children usually end up using more sophisticated drugs such as amphetamines.

There is no official estimate on the number of street children, but NGOs calculate the figure can range from 10,000-20,000 and the number is increasing every day.

The kids are believed to be susceptible to becoming victims of many types of vices and addictive substances such as cigarettes, alcohol, marijuana, glue, opium and amphetamines.

The Cambodia’s National Authority Combating Drugs (NACD) noted street children are on the increase in the provinces of Pailin, Battambang, Banteay Meanchey, Siem Reap, Koh Kong, Kandal, Kompong Cham, Kampong Speu, Sihanoukville and Phnom Penh.

Em Sam An, secretary general of NACD, said many of the precursor chemicals, including amphetamine, methamphetamine, ecstasy and opium alkaloids, are being imported and used in Cambodia.

"The victims in this case are youths and many of them are street children and students," said Em Sam An.

He said foreign criminal drug syndicates are also relocating production bases from neighboring countries to provinces in the northwest and areas southwest of Cambodia.

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