MANAUS, Brazil -- Wearing ruby-red lipstick and a tight-fitting skirt and blouse, 13-year-old Theresa carries herself with a worldliness that seems out of place among the other third graders at the Masrour Vocational School.
When Theresa first came to Masrour, which is located in the poor and densely populated Manaus suburb of São José, she told teachers that her dream was to be the owner of a house of prostitution. As a child of the streets in this fast-growing metropolis of some 2 million people in the heart of the Amazon River basin, it was perhaps the highest aspiration she could then envision for herself.
After spending a year at Masrour, however, where she not only gets a primary school education but also receives vocational training, moral guidance, and meals, Theresa's vision for her future has changed considerably.
Now when she matures, Theresa said recently, she wants to be a teacher.
"The teachers here, they are just like parents to me," said Theresa, which is not her real name. "They teach me the things that my parents don't, like respecting people and how to have good behavior."
It is an answer that speaks volumes about Masrour, which is operated as part of a larger project aimed primarily at helping down-and-out street children become healthy, conscientious and productive members of society.
The Center for Social Well-Being, as the larger project is known, takes an integrated approach to social welfare. In addition to the general classes at Masrour school, the Center offers a special program of vocational and moral training for street children, an outreach program of community organization aimed at empowering the poor women of the neighborhood, and direct services, such as the supply of clean water and health care.
Operated by the Bahá'í community of Brazil, the Center's approach is distinctive in that it seeks not only to provide material and educational assistance to the children and youth it serves, but also to empower them with the intellectual and spiritual tools with which they can transform their own lives, and ultimately to reach out themselves to help others.
"There are of course many groups attacking the problem of street children in Brazil," said Ferial Farzin, the Center's director. "What makes our approach different is that we search for the jewel that we believe exists inside of each person.
"Most other institutions aren't interested in developing these children as individuals," said Ms. Farzin. "They know they need money, so they teach them to sell ice cream. And then in the streets, the children have more money and learn how to sniff glue. And so the problem grows. What we believe is you must look at the potential of these children. And then work with them in a dynamic way that integrates the spiritual with the practical."
The problem of homeless children, of course, is a worldwide problem and is not unique to Brazil. According to UNICEF, an estimated 100 million children and young people worldwide live or make their livings on urban streets around the world. Of those, an estimated 10 percent are so-called "children of the street, "abandoned or separated from their families and living day-to-day by their wits.
UNICEF estimates that some 40 percent of the world's street children live in Latin America, and a variety of factors have made the problem an acute one in Brazil, where world attention has been particularly focused because of reports of the semi-organized murder of street children. According to Newsweek magazine, an estimated 6,000 Brazilian "street children" have been killed over the last four years.
The problem is partly rooted in changing demographics. Thirty years ago, some 70 percent of Brazil's population lived in rural areas. Today, an estimated 70 percent live in urban areas. This flow from the countryside to the cities, coupled with a population rise from roughly 70 million to an estimated 146 million, has overwhelmed the social services and outpaced job creation.
In the sprawling shanty-towns or favelas that have sprung up around the country's major cities, the impact of these trends is evident.
The streets of this fast-growing suburb are lined with make-shift homes and shelters, built of everything from bricks to scrap wood. Most of the households are headed by women, said Ms. Farzin, a fact that stems largely from the failure of husbands to find jobs and being forced to head back into the interior to find employment in forestry or mining. The household income in the area averages about U.S. $60 per month, she said.
According to the INPA (National Institute of Research of Amazonas), nearly 40 percent of the children in Manaus suffer from some form of malnutrition. Just 12 percent of the houses have septic systems and nearly 58 percent of the children are afflicted with parasites.
Families are large and there is little for the children to do but hang out in the streets. Petty crime, glue sniffing, and prostitution are common preoccupations for such children on the fringe.
Founded in 1985, the Center for Social Welfare started as a rented home in Manaus and during its first years functioned primarily as a foster home, caring for abandoned and abused children until they could be adopted. With a capacity of 50, the Center served more than 300 foster children between 1985 and 1992.
In 1988, the Center managed to purchase 12 acres of undeveloped land on the outskirts of São José. With help from private donations, the Center then built several buildings and moved here in 1989. At about the same time, the Center began to shift its mission from simply being a foster care provider to functioning as the integrated school and social outreach project it is today.
The Masrour primary school has a capacity of some 240 children, 40 percent of whom attend on a free scholarship. In addition, from among those 40 percent on scholarship, about 40 children are offered free vocational training in the afternoon.
As a private effort, the school is special not only for its attempt to serve the poorest children of São José, but also for its distinctive curriculum, which focuses on giving the children moral and spiritual education in addition to the traditional subjects of reading, writing and arithmetic.
Based on Bahá'í teachings, the moral and spiritual curriculum emphasizes the oneness of all religions and peoples, which in turn provides a starting point for greater self-confidence and self-respect.
"In the other schools, the spiritual education was only Catholic," said Christina Ihhamus de Paula, 29, a Masrour teacher who taught for four years in government schools before coming here a year ago. "But if there are students of other religions, they feel sad and discouraged. Here we have them talk about God, the God of everybody, and it helps the students."
Ms. Ihhamus de Paula added that if the school were not here to serve children in the area, "most of them would be abandoned and like many other children, they would live in the streets."
"Many of the students are from the poorest class of society and they lack care and tenderness," she said. "I feel myself that they need my love, because they often don't have it at home. Not all of them get enough to eat, so the need for the school is very important."
The salary of about half of the school's teachers are paid by the government -- which reflects the high regard state and municipal authorities have for the project.
Josue Filho, Secretary of Education for Amazonas, said that the government was eager to work closely with any group to improve the availability of education. He added, however, that he has been especially pleased with the service-oriented philosophy espoused by the Center.
"Besides the good relationship of the government with the Bahá'í community in general," said Dr. Filho, "there is also a bond of friendship with the Governor of Amazonas and with me. It is a spiritual and affectionate bond."
Beyond the relatively straightforward operation of the school, the Center also strives to help adults, and particularly women, in the surrounding community to become better organized and developed.
The Center, for example, has been instrumental in helping to organize a mothers' group in the neighborhood immediately adjacent to the project.
Many of the families send their children to the school, and from this association the parents have slowly evolved into a force for social change and action.
On many evenings, members of the mothers' group can be seen walking around together, visiting with families that are having problems and seeking to provide some sort of mutual support. Ms. Farzin often joins the group on these rounds. On one recent evening, they toured the neighborhood to discuss the distribution of water.
Clean water is an important issue in the bairro. The municipality does not serve this section of São José with pipelines, and all drinking water must be hauled in or produced from local wells.
The Center itself has dug two 50-meter deep wells, which are capable of supplying most of the neighborhood's needs. But rather than simply dictating when and where to build the tap lines, it has asked the mothers' group to make such decisions -- in consultation with the neighborhood at large.
Such an issue might seem trivial, but in the loosely organized, ad hoc neighborhood that surrounds the Center, the question of where to locate a water tap can be quite contentious. Without proper agreement and consensus, it is possible that the family upon whose property (a term that must be loosely applied, as few have formal deeds or titles) the tap is located might try to charge a fee for the water. They might also be the subject of jealousy by others.
The Center, however, has provided the mothers' group with training in consultation -- a form of non-adversarial decision-making used by Bahá'í communities around the world. By using this process they have learned how to become better organized and to settle their own difficulties.
"Normally, when you are talking about water, there are conflicts and political problems -- because it has been traditional for the politicians to use water as one means of winning support," said Ms. Farzin. "Likewise, if you just give water away freely, the people have no ownership, and they are as likely to break the lines and the taps as to maintain them.
"However, we have explained that it is up to the neighborhood itself to decide where the water lines will go, and how they will be run," she said. "We ask that they cooperate, for example, to collect a small amount of money for the maintenance of the pipes and the well. And, so far, they have been able to do this with no conflicts. We believe that this comes from learning to consult."
Going from house to house, the group discussed the pros and cons of running a new water line and where to put the tap. The process was extremely informal, but it was clearly designed to build consensus. In the process, neighborhood residents are coming to understand that the responsibility for progress is largely in their own hands.
"The Bahá'í community gives us a new vision,"
said Maria Edjmar, 43, a member of the neighborhood mothers'
group and a Catholic. "Many many people promise us things.
But they do little accomplishment. But the Bahá'ís
are always willing to serve and they show us that example."