Tough Love

Before you read this post, please make sure that you read my post about the Maasai because I've updated it.
So today I came to juvy, just like most days, with the local volunteer Agnes and a volunteer from Australia, Lauren. Lauren and I have become quiet good friends in the three weeks we've been working at juvy and Agnes is quiet helpful in that she can translate for us, but tends to spend most of her time texting people on her cell phone or reading one of the books from the supply cabinet at juvy.
When we come in to juvy we usually get there before they have breakfast. The boys have been watching after the key to the supply cabinet but one boy, Modi, is always the one who has the key. Modi also is one of the boys who prepares breakfast so the first few minutes is spent waiting for breakfast to be served so that we can get Modi to open the cabinet.
Today it was about an hour after we got there that breakfast finally came, ridiculously late. Then Modi was off doing who knows what for a few more minutes until he finally got around to opening the supply cabinet.
When we opened the supply cabinet we were shocked to find only one pen. The first week Lauren was here she brought a handful of about twenty pens for the kids because they were running low. Over the past few weeks the pens have decreased slightly in number but I never thought anything of it, but then suddenly all but one were gone. We found out that someone had been stealing the pens, apparently the kids can trade in pens for cigarettes. This got me pretty mad, we sent the kids to the sleeping area to go look for some pens that one of the kids might have hidden. They came back with about three pens, not even close to all of them, and wouldn't fess up to who had taken them.
This was when I went to the Warden, Mr. Gumbu. He sent one of the workers, Brother Toll, to go look for the pens because he used to be an inmate who was reformed and began working there, so he knew all the hiding places. He turned up about four more pens and some pencils, the rest had probably been already traded in for cigarettes.
I wanted these kids punished but I didn't know a proper way, I couldn't give them a stern talking to because they wouldn't understand what I was saying. I was thinking about just not doing anything with them for the rest of the day or possibly leaving early to send them a message that I was not happy when they started asking for forgiveness. Apparently if I didn't forgive them they would be beaten. Corporal punishment is used very readily here in Tanzania and at that moment it didn't look that bad to me. I'm not a supporter of beating as a form of punishment because it never really trains better behavior, it just causes it out of fear and when there is no fear then there is no reason to behave. But I also feel like since these kids have been raised with corporal punishment, in addition to them being criminals, that sometimes it's the only way to get through to them.
I didn't want to forgive these boys, I've spent weeks working with these kids and using money out of my own pocket to give them things like soap and shoes and food and then they steal from me. They take these pens and yet almost all of them refuse to work in their exercise books with anything but a pen, they were essentially expecting that I would buy more pens not matter how many they stole. I had already felt like they were taking advantage of me in that there was never an end to the requests for things they wanted me to get for them, but this was the last straw. I sat with my back to all of them as they talked with Agnes in Swahili trying to tell her to tell me to forgive them.
Lauren and Agnes were feeling sorry for the children, especially when some of them started crying. But I didn't feel like they were actually sorry for what they had done, it was one thing to steal the pens but it was another for none of them to fess up to who did it, so I wanted them all to be punished. It felt like they weren't sorry and that they were only afraid of their punishment and even as they pleaded with Agnes a few of the boys would occasionally laugh. Yes some of the children were crying, but I can remember faking crying to get out of trouble and I know that some of these kids can be good actors so that they can get money out of wazungu.
Finally I went to Mr. Gumbu again. He said that we would forgive the boys this time, but that we would also closely regulate what the kids use. We also would no longer trust the boys with the key to the supply cabinet, that it would only be available among myself, Brother Toll, and Mr. Gumbu. He also said that if this happens again then the boys will not be forgiven. He apologized to me as well, saying that it's very discouraging for volunteers who come here out of their goodness of their heart trying to help the boys only to be taken advantage of. Mr. Gumbu really is a good man and he exactly described how I was feeling, like all my enthusiasm about helping these boys had been deflated.
We'll see how things go, but if the boys keep this up I might not be able to take it any more and have to change my placement to an orphange.