When we left Eugene on Friday, all we knew was that the mother had changed her mind, and that the girls we had been matched with were returned to their village. The agency director in Portland said there might be another pair of girls in the orphanage, although he wasn't certain, and I responded that we would be interested in knowing more about them. I guess there was another email while we were en route to Seattle, and by the time Emerson and I walked up the hill on Tuesday, these two little girls were all ready for us. I had wondered so many times, mostly while waiting for Rehema, what the meeting would be like. Here is what happened.
Like many buildings, the orphanage has a big wall with an iron gate around it, and it took a little while for someone to come open the gate. There were a couple children playing outside; there is a lawn area, a slide, and a little merry-go-round. The nanny offered us plastic lawn chairs to sit in, and disappeared inside. Miss B, the orphanage director, had dropped us off at the hotel earlier and offered to tell us more when we were refreshed, so I was waiting to see her. Meanwhile, the little boy who had been playing wandered over to me. Gradually, he ended up leaning against me, his head on my knee, sucking his thumb.
After a little while, a couple more children popped out the door like bowling balls pop out from the conveyor belt, and they swirled around us and looked at us and talked to us and got in my lap. When Miss B did appear, she had a chittering conversation with them that involved quite a bit of "mama" and "brother" while pointing to us. I had said I was open-hearted about being matched with children, and I guess God took me at my word and paired me with children without even asking my permission!
Their are some complications about the girls' legal situation: they still have two parents. Both parents are quite sick, homeless, and the mother abandoned the family some time ago. They meet the legal definition of "orphan," but it's not as straightforward as if one or both parents were actually deceased. I am hopefully meeting with a lawyer later this week to discuss the practicalities, and we will see what she says. Meanwhile, it's kind of hard to consider these children "mine" when I know how many potential complications are ahead of us, but meanwhile I am getting to know them and doing the best I can on their behalf. Hopefully they will benefit from a little bit of affection and attention, even if I can't continue it forever... although the better I get to know these lost little children (not just these girls, but all the children here), the more I realize the depth of their need and how badly they need for real, "forever" parents. A few hugs and learning the names of colors seems like throwing drops into the Grand Canyon!
(I will give all the children flower names for the purpose of the internet.)
Hibiscus' paperwork says she is 4, but she looks and acts more like 5 or 6. She is lively and full of energy and delight, unless she has folded in on herself and is very quiet and shy. She can communicate in English better than any of the other children at the orphanage, although the older ones mostly know a few words and all the children can sing little songs. She always runs right up to me with a big huge smile, and tries very hard to communicate, making sure to call me "Mommy" at every opportunity. (Although I've noticed that most of the children call all their caregivers Mommy, or maybe every nice woman is Mommy!) Most all of the children at the orphanage, except the littlest ones, are excited to sing songs and listen to books and count things and play with the games, but Hibiscus is especially focused and determined to figure things out -- and show me what she has done!
She is bright and bossy and active and has her hands into everything -- until she isn't. She will suddenly lay down or fold in on herself, like she is just trying to vanish into the dirt, like if she's still enough, she really is gone. I've known a lot of spirited children who flop over, but there's a different quality to hers. Instead of hoping for attention or affection by dropping out of the game, she's just shutting down.
We enrolled Hibiscus in school a couple of days ago. Apparently the children can go to the school down the hill (which is actually right near our apartment), is someone bothers to enroll them and pay the nominal fees. Hopefully being in a regulated and stimulating environment will be a lot more positive place for Hibiscus to spend her day, than bouncing around the orphanage like a ping pong ball. Actually, she is very helpful with the younger children, and I often see the nannies giving her jobs. She is one of the most dynamic children here, and bosses the other children around: when one of the boys took a toy from a younger child, she snatched it right back out of his hands, yelled at him, and gave it back to the little one. Her technique could use some work, but her heart seems to be in the right place!
Buttercup is tiny and folded in on herself, but when she opens up and smiles she is bright inside! She is obviously overwhelmed and intimidated in the chaotic orphanage environment, but when we have spent more time alone together, she became much more open and confident. When we arrived in the afternoons, sometimes all the children were inside but they sent Hibiscus and Buttercup out to us outside. (I'm not sure what the children were doing inside, or if they were kept inside to be out of our way.) Emerson and Hibiscus are both dynamic and quick, and started eagerly playing with the stacking blocks I had demonstrated with all the children that morning. Buttercup took her handful of blocks protectively, and carefully and precisely imitated exactly what we had been doing. She was slow, but I was impressed how well she stacked the little cups, and how she kept getting better and better as she kept working on it. I put some cups on my fingertips and tapped out a rhythm. The older children stayed busy with their projects, but a few minutes later Buttercup had cups on her fingers and was pounding away. When the game ended and the older children ran off to play on the slide, Buttercup helped me clean up every one of the blocks. She looked around carefully, leaned over from the waist like all the African women, and grabbed one block or a handful. I said "in the bag!" every time she dropped them in, and once when I was a little late she looked at me very carefully to see what had happened. Now she is excited to pick up anything for me, and just beams when I say "in the bag!"
With all the children around, she is difficult to engage. She defends her space and screeches if someone steps on her or takes what she has, but she is not very proactive in participating or making sure she has a turn. I have been putting her in the sling and carrying her a lot, which she seems to enjoy, but neither does she ask for it or cling to me. I think she will need a lot of confidence building and security before she is ready to do more. But here's a little story about why she's a buttercup, not a shrinking violet. The other morning I was doing a song and story using some little Flower Feeling dolls, and afterwords the children were so excited to hold and stroke the little dolls. I gave one to Buttercup, and she toddled away with Happy in a determined manner. A few minutes later, she came back around the side of the house, with a big proud smile when she looked at me. She had something special to show me: she had given Happy a bath! He was all sopping wet now! It didn't take long before the other children were also running off to douse the dolls in the water tank, so I decided it was time to take them back. But the memory of her proud smile as she looked into my eyes and had something special to show me warms my heart.
But describing two children is misleading. There are children everywhere -- actually, that is not quite true; when I arrive, I am by far the most interesting part of their day, and all the children cluster around me. They push and shove to get close to me, and the ones who aren't good shove-ers compensate by being good cry-ers. They want to sit on my lap and hold my hands, and they want to see whatever I have brought. They grab and they hit each other to get to whatever it is, then someone starts to scream, then a wet swamp of pee muddles its way down the patio. A few of the children do not seem mentally or emotionally capable of engaging in the group activity, and they sit or stand towards the back, looking vacantly on, and sometimes getting stepped on. I would guess there are about 20 children in the orphanage: six of them are around 5 or 6 (now two of those go to school in the mornings); maybe another eight or so are babies or very young toddlers (although these are usually inside with the nannies); and the rest are this gaggle of needy and wanty and lovey and fussy 2 or 3 year olds.
Violet is constantly sad. She comes right over to me and wants to be held, so I put her in the sling and carry her with me. She could be in that sling forever. She doesn't protest when I put her down, but she doesn't do anything else, either. She wants to be near me, but she doesn't sing the songs or act interested in the books. I think she is mentally capable of thinking and participating -- I've seen flashes of it here and there -- but she is completely shut down. When she's not in the sling, the only thing that seems to happen is that one of the other children will push her or touch her and she starts to scream. SO many tears pour out!
Then there is Dandelion, who is a little pest. Clearly, he thinks that getting some reaction is better than no reaction, so he busies himself getting reactions all day long. He has clearly also discovered that other children are highly reactive, so he is always reaching over to hit or grab or tweak, also resorting to more creative parries such as pinching and putting his hand on a head (which might have been an attempt to imitate my comforting gesture, but it made Violet scream). But it is amazing how quickly he is redirected -- to anything!! You know how, in modern parenting, it is suggested that you simply redirect instead of punish. In my life, at least, redirecting is usually met with "but I wanted tha-AAAAAA-aaaat one!" or something of the like. Dandelion just wants something, anything. If I tell him he did a good job putting a puzzle piece back, he applies himself furiously to putting puzzle pieces in the pile (which, of course, soon devolved into stealing them from children who were using them, which defeated the purpose but the intent was still clear!). If I hold his hand and stroke his head, he smiles like an angel and isn't at all interested in hitting. When I held his hands to stop his onslaughts against the other children, he started pinching me, but then I started bouncing his hands up and down rhythmically, which fascinated him. I held both his hands in one of mine, which he bounced up and down and I occasionally said "whoom!" or whatever silly noise it was, for 10 or 15 minutes while I tended to other children and organized chaos with the other hand and the rest of my attention. (I finally had to get up; he wasn't bored yet.) Such a little bit of attention, and all the pestiness vanishes into such a sweet smile.
Then there are Marigold and Hosta. They both have calmer temperments, getting pushed aside in the general rush, but they both bright and interested children. Along with Hibiscus, they understand a reasonable amount of English, and are eager both to learn more and to show me what they know. Marigold, a little boy, is always angling for a better view of the book, and wants to point out to me what he sees in the picture. If I teach him a new word, he is eager to find it and use it. Hosta is the other girl who goes to school, and she probably knows more English than she uses. She has the biggest, brightest smile on her shy face. Despite being the biggest child there, she always wants to leap up into someone's arms for a hug. Today she wanted to hold the Old MacDonald book and sing the song over and over, although she did try and ask me what one of the animals was, and then she wanted to do the puzzle and take it apart and do it again forever. Marigold spent the whole remainder of my visit, after I was done actively reading to the children, with one book, which he studied with such intense concentration. I wish I could leave books and games for Marigold and Hosta, but they would soon be lost and destroyed in the melee of rough play.
The solutions seem so simple: Violet needs to be held. Buttercup needs to be praised. Dandelion needs a physical game. Hosta needs to sit on my lap and rread books read
forever.
Oh, Christy. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for sharing your story with us and thank you for sharing your love with all those precious kids. You're wonderful.
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