*  At the playground, I happen upon two little girls. Maybe four or five years old. Burmese. One had the other in a headlock and had a fistful of hair that she was pulling as hard as she could. “Uh…stop, ” I said, “Don’t pull her hair…” because I could tell it was not a game. Or if it had been, it had gone terribly wrong.
I really was at a loss – should I physically pull them apart myself? Because the hair-puller wasn’t budging.  Mercifully someone’s parent came along and separated them. Minutes later, one of them was kneeling on the ground, weeping.

And it wasn’t the victim.
 
* A group of girls (also Burmese), aged 4 to 12 or so, approached a man pushing his baby on a swing. “Excuse me,” they asked him, “Could you tell them – ” they pointed to two boys grinning nearby, “to stop throwing this – ” and the kicked the tree bark mulch on the ground, “-at us?” 
 The man obliged. He yelled at the boys and told them to stop. One of the boys moved his fingers like a talking mouth and  said, “Blah, blah, blah”  – and some other things. Not in English.
One of the girls informed him, “He’s cursing at you in Burmese.” The girls walked away. The boys ran in another direction. The man yelled something after them.  
In German.