Invading My Space

Many of the children I see on the street have homes in nearby slums. A surprising number of them go to school for part of the day and then work a shift until midnight or so. It’s like a part-time job for them, one that supplements their parents’ meagre incomes. It is likely that at least one of their parents, probably the mother, works at a garment factory. The father may be a rickshaw driver, or an owner of one of Bangladesh’s millions of micro enterprises; this includes selling tea from a thermos. When you take a CNG, like I was taking the day of this photo, you will inevitably meet many of these children. They pop out into traffic at every stop sign and red light, trying to sell you flowers, candy, or magazines. The CNG has no doors, so they can reach in and invade your space.