I find myself now half way through my project with Bruce Peru, where I am spending a month working in schools for disadvantaged kids who aren’t in school: teaching them, giving them a bit of food and generally supporting them in the hope of getting them back into mainstream schools for the following academic year. It’s terrifying, awe-inspiring, endlessly frustrating and eternally rewarding work. When I signed up to work in Peru, I really had no idea what I was in for… I was expecting basic, but there is “basic” and “Basic.” This is “Basic.” Our school, in a barrio called "Nuevo Jerusalém" consists of 18 children ranging from 7 to 14 years old, all jumbled together in a building with no roof, only 3 walls, and packed with more chickens than children. The floor is sand, so if you drop your pen, you lose your pen. The tables slope at all sorts of interesting angles and if you don’t put the breakfast food high up, don’t expect it to be there when you return – those dogs are hungry. The only blessing is that in Trujillo, it doesn’t rain, because that really would be miserable. I can’t say I find it easy working with these kids, nor that they are immediately endearing. When you work daily in a landfill sight between 8pm and 4am, you aren’t terribly predisposed to long multiplication the following day. Plus, the majority of these children´s parents are illiterate and see no value in education. “If I manage without literacy, why can´t you?” seems to be the message passed down daily to the children. On top of this, there are also horrendous problems with domestic violence – 40% of women suffer from domestic abuse, and the figures for children are thought to be higher still.

Heavy stuff, eh? Certainly this is no walk in the park. But after 2 weeks working with these children, you begin to see things their way. Beyond the tough exterior, they are still children. They might thump each other mercilessly, given half the chance, but they secretly really love a hug. They might tell you they don’t give a proverbial whether they can write or not, but when you tell them they’re bright they shine with pride. One little boy said poignantly to a leaving volunteer “don’t you dare not come back tomorrow. If you don’t come back I’ll beat you up really badly, I will.”

Nobody has ever given these kids a chance, and most probably nobody ever will. But I am so proud to be working with an organization that tackles with such energy a problem that is way beyond its fighting weight. They may not get every child, but 90% of their children make it to state school the following year. That’s 40 kids a year with a future ahead of them for the first time ever. That’s 40 kids who might just make it.