Plural of Anecdote

Not often does random googling yield valuable insights, but when entering search terms ”Colombia Private Schools Slum” they do. Not because they are the center of my (everlasting) thesis work, but because of what I found on a blog by a guy who had spent some time in Bogota. Below is a quote from his post about the people in the Recycling District of Bogota

Do you see the blonde kid sitting next to me in this photo? I asked the locals where he came from. They explained to me that a German tourist met one of the locals a few years ago. And now there’s an extra mouth to feed in the Recycling District.

I’m not making this up. I didn’t photoshop the little blonde kid into the photo. There was really a half-German little boy growing up in this ghetto

This quote struck a cord in me, since one of my strongest memories from my time in Nigeria was the sight of a five-year old blonde girl with pale skin, whose only visible company was three Nigerian ladies of dubious reputation. That sight really wrecked my brain, since I could not understand why any responsible parent would entrust their child to those women. The conclusion was pretty obvious. But having solved that riddle, I found myself left wondering about what kind of life would that girl lead? What kind of identity would she have? I, of course, could not answer this question, but neither have I been able to forget it.

Now I add a new question on which to ponder: how prevalent is this fate? Considering that sex-tourism is on the increase (or, at the very least, the media coverage of it), the answer is probably quite depressing.