3.4 Motay – Caught in the middleMy name is Motay Magar. My real name is something else, but all my friends call me Motay[i], and I also like this name. I am 18 years old. My home is in Sindhupalchok district. I have been on the streets for two years. I was 16 years old when I entered the city.
My parents were engaged in agriculture. I used to assist them in the fields. I also went to school. On the way to school, I often ran into the Maoists as well as the State army. The Maoists told us boys to join their force. The army asked us if we knew any Maoists in the village. Sometimes, the army even suspected us of being Maoists and searched us over. Some of my friends escaped to the city because of this fear.
One day, I was working in the fields with my parents. Some Maoists arrived in the scene and said to my parents, “Your son is a young man now, so we shall take him with us.” My parents tried to object. “Fear not,” they said. “We won’t recruit your son into the Maoist army. We want him to cook for us.” I went with them. My parents could do nothing to stop them from taking me away. Although I was I was meant to cook for them, they made me a porter. I worked as their porter for two months.
One day, I was walking with a group of Maoists through the jungle. It was evening. On the way, we encountered the army. Then there was a big clash between the two parties. I ran away and came to Lagankhel. I started working at a hotel in Lagankhel. But it was a lot of hard work. Sometimes, I worked as late as 11 at night. I just ran away from there, without even asking for any money, and started working again as a porter on the streets. Then the street became my home, where I slept at night. I met other street children and, in their company, I started collecting waste plastic. I also worked as a tempo conductor. While I was collecting waste plastic, some of my friends brought me to an organization, which happened to be Hamro Sansar in Kumbeshwor, Lalitpur. Hamro Sansar became my new home.
Sometimes, I remember my times with the Maoists. They taught me how to use a gun. Whenever I carried a gun, I felt like killing all the rich people and steal their money. I miss my village now. I fondly think of the moments spent with friends, our fishing trips and our picnics. But I am on the streets now. Things are not so enjoyable here.
(Five months later, Motay Magar left Hamro Sansar. His whereabouts are unknown. This story is based on our conversations with him when he was here.)