#orpahans

[days-drawings]

my half orc volta and her cousin calcien as kids. he died last session and im real sad so i drew them. i miss that grumpy boy

[danfrederick]

The Orphanage

Six months after the 2009 earthquake in Haiti my mom, younger sister, Pepere, and I went to Port Au Prince to volunteer at a local orphanage.  I returned about a year later and my sister Taylor continues to go almost twice a year.  Love radiates from the Mommas who care for the kids and between the kids of all ages.  I became close with two younger boys, Sannto and Pierre.  Their calls of my name woke me up every morning.  The kids were always up to play soccer, dance to Michael Jackson, or try a new craft.  There were times when Sannto or Pierre wanted to just sit in silence, looking sad and tired, no explanation but I knew they just needed to sit, be still, and feel close to someone. 

Over the weekend Lana offered to take the eighteen of us and some of our Vietnam buddies to an orphanage in Saigon.  Having been to Haiti and being inspired and amazed by my sister’s dedication, I wanted to go with Lana.  Although you cannot see long lasting effects by spending a few hours or a few days with kids, I sincerely believe in the power of affection.  In high school psych we talked about the power of touch.  Knowing that someone is or was there for you, you develop a sense of support that helps you grow. 

None of us thought twice about visiting the orphanage, regardless if we had been to one or not.  Of course we would spend time with the kids, make them laugh, play games, whatever they wanted.  We all had our own visions in our heads, most involving lots of kids and laughter.

That was not exactly what we entered into.  Our Vietnam buddies had never been there before either.  This time we stood in a similar state of unknowing.  It did not matter where we came from.

We entered and saw teenager with severe mental disabilities.  This orphanage cared for many children effect by Agent Orange.

Cries of babies and toddlers came from the rooms we passed.  We began handing out milk and smiling at whom ever we passed.  I waved to a little boy who quickly pulled me to sit next to him and then an excited pair of arms wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me back.  This I remembered from Haiti, kids jumping at the chance to be near a new person who had a fresh energy and level of patience.  The work the women and men in orphanages is incredible but no doubt straining. 

I looked around this first room.  Thin beds with kids wriggling and laying down, unable to see us or control their bodies.  We all began saying hello and waving to the kids, some of us getting closer and sitting with them, seeing children who wanted a little more attention, rather than focusing on the cries and their discomfort.

We continued further into the orphanage.  I never made it upstairs.  We passed a room with infants then a room with toddlers.  I heard a consistent rhythm of moaning.  A girl, maybe two years old, was lying on the ground, wiggling back and forth and letting out sharp groans, unable to form words.  A woman was in the room and I asked if it was okay to pick the girl up, even though I was already reaching for her.  No child should moan in that way for as long as she had.  I asked the woman in the room if I could pick her up and I ended up sitting with her for the rest of the visit.  I wanted to believe that she calmed down in my arms but she continued to moan.  Her neck was so weak she couldn’t rest it on my shoulder while I held her in my lap.  As soon I as I sat with her, a little boy ran over and sat on her, needing my lap to be big enough.  What could I do?  Looking around I wonder what anyone could do to relieve the situation.  There were still more hallways and another floor of children and I am sure this is not the only orphanage in Vietnam.

I held the girl, singing to here although I am not sure she heard me.  I rubbed her back and tickled her feet.  She wiggled her toes, responding to my touch.  Maybe this small gesture helped.  I wondered if I should go to another room and spread my attention but I also thought of how children respond to touch and develop more smoothly when they are touched and paid attention to.  Is it better to touch every child or hold one?

Eye contact was seldom and the language barrier was far from the only obstacle in comforting these children.  Our Vietnamese buddies seemed to be having as difficult a time as us.  These are children from their country; the buddies witnessed a side to their city they escaped because they have parents to lean on.  These are other Vietnamese kids but our buddies cannot talk with them in their native tongue.  Rules and common expectations are completely twisted around.

I rocked the girl, really hoping she felt my presence.  She stilled moaned but I thought her noises had softened.  One of the buddies sat with me and held her for a bit.  “I think she likes he better,” he said with a nervous laugh. 

I definitely felt homesick, not necessarily at the orphanage when there was so much more to think about, but at least I have parents and a sense of security to miss.  These children have been left here.  This may be a better, healthier place for them to be.  Many parents were very young and most likely lack the money to help their children with their medical needs.  This is difficult for kids with families, no matter how dysfunctional and crazy, who email us asking for daily updates to consider.  When this girl cries there is nowhere to turn.  She tosses around on the floor or a thin mattress.  There is no extra hand with the time to rub her back or whisper to her.  She is only one of many rooms and many orphanages. 

Lana came by to say it was time to go.  I had to leave with the group but a simple yet unanswerable question hit me, “Where will I put her?”  Not back on the floor but all of the beds were full.  I froze.  Such a basic form of comfort we all take for granted.  How often are we denied a place to sit or sleep?  How often do we see babies without a crib?  If she has no place to rest her young, growing body what else does she lack.  When I leave who will pick her up from the floor?

Where is the relief and how do we get the resource to this orphanage and all of the others?  My thoughts, and everyone else’s, were in a tailspin of unanswerable questions but probably ones that need to be answered immediately.  An awful cycle that seems unending.

I found a crib to place her in.  I might have thought she still sounded upset even in my arms but when I took my arms away from her, the noise was unbearable.  I realized that she had probably been in her calmest state while I held her yet even at her calmest she sounded pained, unable to communicate and process. 

Maybe the power of touch is real.

Walking away brought on a sense of guilt but what more could any of us do by staying?  Again the questions circle.  Writing helps.  Maybe this will be read and maybe more volunteers will go to Vietnam like in Haiti.  Still these are a lot of maybes and I feel as unable to verbalize my thoughts and sort them out as the little girl was with me.  No eye contact, no words, difficult to convey to even my closest of family members.  Things usually only seen in photos came to life.  There are many lives that continue in ways so different from mine.  They continue when I am away an unable to protect or sooth.  That’s a really tough thing for me to reconcile.