Places to Go, Things to Do

It's a busy week! Yesterday we took the kids back to the Bannerghatta Zoo for a wildlife safari (we saw deer, bears, and some tigers in cages, a tad lackluster but the kids enjoyed it), a bit of sightseeing in Bangalore (finally) today, a possible trip to a water park tomorrow, and then tomorrow evening Nina and I embark on a long awaited excursion to Goa for a few days. We have really been looking forward to this this trip and can't wait to bask in the tropical sun and swim in the Arabian Sea! Here are some photos from the past few days, enjoy!

Some Raggly Bears

Uncle Ben playing around with some of the kids at the zoo

Joseph and Lumbrechang playing at the zoo playground

The Bangalore Palace (I was too cheap to pay the extra fee to bring a camera so I got this off the internet)

Bangalore High Court

Temple on a cool rock at Lalbagh Botanical Gardens

A magnificent 200 year old White Silk Cotton Tree at Lalbagh Botanical Gardens

Easter Skype

Even though I couldn't be there with them, I still got to share a special moment with so many of my loved ones back at home. With a mustachio'd Nithin on my lap I was able to see and talk to my parents, sisters, brother-in-law, nieces, nephew, Uncle Lou (Johnson!), and my Jamaican Dad's Francis, Desmond, Bailey, and Ricky. I just can't tell you how much I love these people!

My mom Dovey and sister Emma enjoying Nithin's green stache

Resurrection Celebration

They were at the tomb early in the morning, and when they did not find his body, they came back saying that they had even seen a vision of angels, who said that he was alive. Luke 24:22-23

In Christianity, Easter is the most important of the religious holidays, because it is the celebration of the greatest sacrifice, the crucifixion of the Son of God. So, naturally when Nina and I heard that no one was planning a service since there were only fifteen kids here, we stepped up to the plate and became pastors for the day. I say naturally, but really I'm lying because anyone that knows me would know that a couple of months ago I wouldn't be caught dead speaking in front of a group of people about anything, let alone God. The thought was intimidating to say the least, and I remember having knots in my stomach when I had to stand up in front of my church just to tell the congregation that I was coming here. The sermon was short and to the point, but I think we pulled it off quite well. We started out by teaching a new song, then Nina spoke about the crucifixion and the events leading up to it, and I followed with the story of the burial and resurrection. We closed with some quizzical questions about what they had just learned and I was able to share an Easter card and my favorite candy (and silly bandz) that my family and friends had sent from home.

Nina delivering the first half of the sermon

Preaching the Word!

After lunch, the kids had another surprise in store for them. Nina's family had sent goodie bags for the kids that we hid downstairs and in the play yard for a little Easter hunt. They had a blast!

We were so happy to share the story and spread the cheer that we so easily take for granted back home. We miss our families and the comfort of our traditions back home, but it was really special to be able to share this important day with such an amazing group of people.

The hunt! ©Nina

After the hunt we decided to have a little fun with Nakshathra, broke out the St. Patrick's Day mustaches that I had gotten in a package from home, and laughed all afternoon. Let me tell you, there are few things I find more entertaining than a fake mustache (false teeth and fake eyebrows also top the list.) We got a little carried away and had a photo shoot during our holiday induced sugar high. Enjoy!

Bendang came over and got in on the mustache action

Christ has not only spoken to us by his life but has also spoken for us by his death.

-Soren Kierkegaard

Happy Easter!

An Ant's Prophesy

Earlier today I announced with certainty that rain was definitely coming this afternoon. It wasn't a moment of clairvoyance, as we have received a refreshing storm every afternoon for the past few days, but more of a learned observation when I saw ants gathering outside the house. Throughout my life, I've learned a lot of wives' tales, superstitions, and weather predictions from my 'Jamaican Dads', Desmond and Francis -- one of my favorites being that when 'dem hants piles up, rain gonna fall.' Nina shot me a sideways glance when I stated this matter-of-factly as we exited the yard and headed down the street.

Nina awaiting the afternoon storm

There is something about rain that has always made me tingle. Whether it's a cold winter rain that gives us a good reason to nestle in with a blanket, a purring cat, and a good book, or the warm and unpredictable summer storms with ear piercing cracks of thunder and startling flashes of light, those that are romantic and dangerous, but you just can't help yourself from running outside to play like an overly excited child. I've never minded power outages as they have always appealed to my inner colonial pioneer (I won't get into my Laura Ingalls Wilder days or my stint as apothecary at the colonial craft fair, but I'm sure you catch my drift.) Storms create that feeling like the one you get when you're playing hide and seek, the lump in the pit of your stomach like you're not sure what's about to happen but you know it's going to be exciting.

So you can assume that several months of scorching heat and not a single drop of precipitation had me a little antsy in my pantsies. This past week has been exciting, reminding me of the aggressive and menacing daily afternoon storms that I would watch from my porch in Savannah, when the rains would fall so heavily that you could literally swim in the streets. There is something about a storm that makes me feel like I'm on vacation. Those moments are like snow days, sometimes unexpected, sometimes not, but either way you have to pause and just admire the beauty and power of nature for a minute. I always try to hold onto those moments, that feeling in me that the storm stirs up, the way the breeze feels on my skin as my hair whips around my face, the excitement that I just can't explain, the majestic nature that I don't quite understand -- and I don't try to, because if we attempted to understand and explain everything, all the magic would just fade away.

The rain began again. It fell heavily, easily, with no meaning or intention but the fulfilment of its own nature, which was to fall and fall.

-Helen Garner

Halftime

Even though my time here is just a little more than half over, with each day that passes, I can already feel the end hurdling near. Though at times the thought is enticing, it is also a frightening one. Not only am I unsure of what exactly I will be doing after this, but what will life in general be like? I nodded in agreement when people told me I would come back changed; to actually feel those changes occur is pretty powerful, and I can only imagine their true impact when I attempt to dive back into the lifestyle I once knew so well. I can't help but wonder what things will be like a few months from now as I adjust to life back in the western hemisphere.

When I play with my nieces and nephew, will the stares of Nakshathra, Nishmitha, and Nithin reflect back from the deep wells of their eyes? When I sit at my bench with my tools spread in front of me, will I feel inspired? Will the familiar instruments, cool metal, and the expressions I make with them ever feel as purposeful as giving first aid to a parentless child in need of comfort? When I lay in my soft, fluffy bed surrounded by a fortress of feather pillows and guarded by a purring cat, will I miss my lumpy bedroll, hard cot and resulting bruises on my hip bones, and a lullaby of fighting street dogs outside my window? Will there feel like a void without Nina's clumsy feet fumbling for a hold on the edge of my cot as she dismounts the top bunk to use the pit? Will I still feel purposeful waking with the sun already high in the sky, without the beautiful sound of small children singing as my alarm clock? Will I fumble with a foreign utensil in my once dextrous left hand while the fingers of my right ache to dive into whatever is on my plate? Will I awake in the night inspired and reach for my journal to dribble ink in the form of quirky prose, half finished sketches, narratives, and letters, trying to find a way to convey just what I am feeling so that I can share it with someone back home?

Even though some days it feels like I don't do anything of much importance, I know deep down if I have made a child smile, I have done my job. Will I ever feel this much purpose in my day to day responsibilities as I do now? Maybe not until I am a mother. I have learned a lot about motherhood and adopted keen 'mom senses' that I hadn't realized I'd acquired. I can hear a muffled sob from far away and can usually tell you who's tears are being shed. I can smell when someone needs a bath, or notice small cuts and bruises that would have otherwise gone undetected. I can read a dejected facial expression even when someone insists they are fine, and sometimes I can even dig out the cause or at least tickle a smile out of them. I don't have much to give, but I've got a lot of love -- if there's anything I know I am, it's a lover and a dreamer, and that's why working with kids is my thing. I'm just like them.

Though deep down I know it wont happen, one of my biggest fears is that I will return to my privileged life in the US and all too easily fall back into the swing of things and lose sight of the reality that I am a part of right now. I cannot allow myself to indulge in this, one of my fatal flaws -- worrying about what I might miss in the future to the point that I am missing out on it in the present -- because it is futile. Instead, I have to take each day for what it is, and not let myself lose perspective just because something is out of sight. So my present purpose is to be alert, here and now, and absorb everything that this experience has to teach me, because, like everyone says, it's going to change my life.

One is the Loneliest Number

Poor Nakshathra. When its just her, she doesn't talk much but requires our constant attention. If you have tried to entertain a child her age before, when they have little to play with, as well as trouble entertaining themselves, it can be slightly oppressive. I learned this last summer when my family hosted two orphans from Latvia. It took the entire five weeks for them to learn to play on their own without a song and dance from us. I literally had to hide out and take a nap every afternoon. I can practically feel Nakshathra breathing down my neck and see her in my peripheral just centimeters away from my face at any moment. I feel selfish for just wanting a second to myself, because she has got to be feeling so lonely. The other night after we put her to bed we heard her muffled sobs in the next room. When nothing else soothed her, she slept on the floor of our tiny room, occupying the only area available for foot traffic.

Her ankles and wrists packed with colorful friendship bracelets, we make clothespin doll versions of ourselves, read books, draw pictures, watch Justin Bieber and funny cat youtube videos....and then realize that only an hour has gone by. Entertaining a ten year old can be daunting! Once again, I find myself praying for patience, or at least a fresh idea to occupy the long hours in her day. Summer vacation is supposed to be fun, but it's hard to be creative day after day when you have to stay in the same place. If only we could go jump in a swimming hole or take a bike ride, that is what summer vacation is all about!

And Then There Was One.

Yesterday we had some parents show up unexpectedly to claim their children. Swetha's mother came in the morning to collect her for the remainder of summer break, and during the afternoon nap time, Nithin and Nishmitha's mother arrived. There was a meeting upstairs with George and the other caretakers about whether or not she could take them. The mother of these two is irresponsible and self-centered, and as stated in a previous post, left them here initially because they were a 'hindrance to her happiness.' I can't help but feel guarded and suspicious when she comes, watching her like a hawk, as I have become increasingly protective over these two. After all, we take care of them every day, doing everything a mother does for them from bathing to potty training, hiney wiping, dressing, laundry, feeding, and tucking them in at night. She will show up randomly, fill them full of biscuits and juice, and after 45 minutes or so, casually saunter off as they stand sobbing at the gate. She doesn't get excited to see them, cuddle, play with, or love on them during her visits as one might expect. In the past she has come and refused to see Nithin, only Nishmitha. I don't understand her, and I have to feel pity for her for not knowing what she is missing out on, and for whatever has caused her to treat her own children this way. They are so special and bring delight to anyone they meet, but she can't even look beyond her own selfish desires to see what amazing little creatures she has created. These children are human beings, they need structure, stability, discipline, care, and above all else, love and compassion. They aren't dolls that you can pretend with when you feel like playing the part, and then stick in the toybox when you don't feel like being Mommy anymore.

(above photo: Nishmitha and Nithin goofing around at nap time)

This time she came and wanted to take Nishmitha, and only Nishmitha, home for a week. At the meeting, the caretakers and George told her she could not take just one of her kids, explaining the emotional damage it could cause the already severely distressed Nithin. Finally she accepted and left toting the two smiling children by the hand, excited to finally feel wanted by their mother. I can only imagine what it is like for them at home, and pray that they, especially Nithin, aren't being neglected and are receiving the love that they so desperately need from their mother. I couldn't help but wonder to myself, did she even notice he had a black eye?

And then there was Nakshathra. Poor Nakshathra, the only girl left in the house. I feel sad for her, knowing that all of her friends are off with their families when she doesn't have one. Occasionally her sister will visit, but the last time she took Nakshathra and her brother Ganesh, they were gone for a year, living on the streets acting as nannies for her own children. Due to her selfishness, they missed out on a year of school, a proper home, and much needed physical and emotional nourishment.

Nakshathra jamming out to Loverboy on my ipod. I think she likes it as much as I do!

Nina and I are on a mission to replenish that nourishment in any way we can. She has come leaps and bounds with her english, now reading small books when she barely knew the alphabet a few short months ago. But more importantly, we have smothered her with love and made it our priority to show her how special she really is -- that even if she doesn't have family, she is never alone, that there are so many people who love her, and that we wouldn't have hesitated to come all this way even if she was the only one here. That being said, Nakshathra is about to be spoiled rotten....friendship bracelets, ice cream sundaes, movies, nail polish, crafts, hanging out in our room whenever she wants.... We are going to turn what could be a sad and lonely time for her into one in which she is the center of attention, because when all the other kids get back, there wont be as much of our attention to go around. We go to the boys room often to eat meals, watch movies, play games, or make crafts so she is with the rest of the 'family,' and around other kids.

Nakshathra and her ruby red smile after a make-up session

My goal is to leave here having been a big contributor to the confidence, happiness, and love that we have already begun to see from the once quiet, sad, and subdued Nakshathra. We are making progress and are hopeful and confident that she will continue to flourish and grow through love and learning. That is real nourishment. Now if only we could get some meat on her bones..

Boxes of Gratitude

The sun was setting outside our window, Loverboy was blaring through my headphones as I sketched madly and furiously scratched drafts of poetic prose in my well worn journal. Suddenly a truck pulled up and two men pulled 4 boxes with my name on them out of the back. A bounty from home, including a several packages of underwear for the kids, some of my nieces' and nephew's old clothing and shoes, medical and first aid supplies, crafts, candy, SAMOAS!, an envelope full of letters from Mrs. Vancini's 1st grade class, and a few trinkets for myself surged from the swollen parcels. It is always fun and comforting to receive a care package from home, but what I love most about these deliveries is how they bring joy to SO many people! Some of the goodies were set aside and saved for later, but the underwear and necessary items were doled out immediately. You wouldn't believed how excited these kids get over a new pair of knickers!

Clockwise from top left: Nakshathra, Swetha, Nithin, and Nishmitha showing off their new items. (I couldn't stop sniffing Nithin, in his new duds he smelled just like my little Otto!)

I am so grateful to have such a wonderful, loving, caring family who not only think of me constantly, but already have a home in their hearts for each and every one of these children. They celebrate their achievements, laugh at their humor, and cry genuine tears for their burdens as if they were their own. I am so proud to be a part of this family, each member with a heart of gold. It pains me to be away from them, but their support and encouragement and passion for what I am doing keep me here and help me to overcome whatever difficulties I find in my path. To my incredible family and friends, I love you!

114, Not Too Shabby

Walter Breuning, the worlds oldest man, died Thursday at the ripe old age of 114. Not only was he (aside from my own Grampa) the cutest old man ever, he left us with a simple yet wonderfully refreshing philosophy to live by. Rest in peace, Walter!

• Embrace change, even when the change slaps you in the face. ("Every change is good.")
• Eat two meals a day ("That's all you need.")
• Work as long as you can ("That money's going to come in handy.")
• Help others ("The more you do for others, the better shape you're in.")
• Accept death. ("We're going to die. Some people are scared of dying. Never be afraid to die. Because you're born to die.")

'Hey, I guess they're right. Senior citizens, although slow and dangerous behind the wheel, can still serve a purpose.'

-Lloyd Christmas, Dumb and Dumber

The Aftermath of a Mean Old Woman

It was a good call to stay home when everyone went to Mysore, because we made a couple of good saves. Amma was left in charge of the kids, and with her irrationality, that is just a recipe for disaster. At about 8:30 am while the girls were doing their chores and before we went next door for games, I heard those haunting sounds again. After what we had witnessed between Amma and Nithin just a day or two before (see previous post, Smackdown on a Smackdown) I quickly got Nina and we went next door to see what was going on. We went up to the boys room where Nithin had been staying since we caught her beating him, and there she was, at it again. Nithin sat bellowing on a cot, while she towered over him on some sort of twisted power trip. Nina didn't skip a beat and without saying a word, marched in, grabbed Nithin and took him next door with us. When we got ahold of him we noticed something truly sickening. Around his left eye was a swollen shiner, Amma induced. We felt ill and began to realize the true severity of the situation. I'm sorry, but you have got to have some serious issues to give a helpless toddler a black eye. Though everyone was enjoying their day off, I called George to tell him what had happened, and he told us to keep Nithin with us. Amma gave us death stares and major attitude all day long, but we didn't care, he wasn't leaving our sight.

Nithin and his Amma-induced black eye

Later that night she came into our house with dinner for the girls and proceeded to hoot and holler in Telegu, which Ganga later told us was about us, how she has taken so much care of Nithin and then we come along and he cries when we leave so she beats him, blah blah blah. I'm sorry but I don't give a damn, no one hurts a child like that and gets away with it, I don't care if you're from India or Russia or Timbuktu. She is a mean old woman, crotchety and ill-equipped to work with children. Her behavior is completely and utterly unacceptable. Luckily, these thoughts weren't ours alone. We were worried that the other staff members would think that we were making a big deal out of it because we are Americans, but they whole-heartedly agreed with us and hopefully some strict action will be taken.

But just because he is out of her care, doesn't mean the scars she has left on him have disappeared. Nithin's behavioral progression has regressed, we presume due to his abuse issues from Amma as he cringes when she is near and you can physically see how scared he is of her. He had a bathroom accident yesterday (appropriately we once again had no running water in the house) and had another mishap this morning. He woke up crying several times in the middle of the night, and finally at 4 am, tired of getting in and out of bed, I retrieved him one last time and brought him in our room where he slept soundly beside me for the rest of the night. This morning when he started stirring, I tried to keep sleeping and hoped he'd follow suit. Rather than get up and signal that he had to use the bathroom (waving his pinkie in the air) he proceeded to wet my bed, and me in the process. Of course I flew out of bed in a tizzy, and surely sensing my frustration, Nithin had an 'nam-style Amma flashback and soiled himself. In the middle of all of that and the resulting cleanup, an ant infestation in the rest of the house had to be dealt with using flaming newspaper and craft glue (you really have to be innovative over here.)

It was quite a rude awakening, and in the midst of the whole situation, Nina and I just had to have a good laugh because really, what else can you do?

Field Day

Thursday, the rest of the staff and their families had gone off to Mysore and some other places for a day trip, while Nina and I opted out and spent the day with all the kids. (We had already been to Mysore and stayed back in attempt to get some quality time with the other children and save some funds on entry fees to palaces we've already seen as well as avoid the jam-packed car and long lines on a really hot day.) In the morning we brought candy and other goodies for prizes next door and taught some new games to switch things up. Squid was a favorite and played over and over until all players had received a prize.

Nina leading a competitive game of Simon Says

In the heat of the afternoon everyone retreated indoors to nap as they do most days (one of my favorite things about India) and the games resumed later in the afternoon before Nina and I went up to lead a fellowship, share a snack, and read a book to everyone in the boys room.

Reading one of my favorites, An Awesome Book of Thanks by Dallas Clayton

Though our hopes for a short vacation with the 'left outs' (the children who don't have families or who's families can't or don't want to take them during their summer break) to coastal Chennai in Tamil Nadu were unfortunately shattered (at least for now) due to lack of funds, it was nice to spend a day playing and rewarding the kids and enjoying them enjoying each other's company.

Lazy Days

©Nina

Just hanging with my girls

Smackdown on a Smackdown

As the house grew quiet and Nina and I were getting ready for bed, we noticed a howling in the big house next door. We immediately recognized it as Nithin's cry and at first shrugged it off, assuming he was getting a bath. When it didn't stop, and I thought I heard other suspicious noises along with it, I stepped outside to investigate. Since we moved out, Amma, who had lived downstairs with us and whatever children happened to be living with us, was alone so little Nithin had been brought back downstairs to live with her. It made me nervous knowing that he would be down there alone with her, as I know she can be really rough, especially with him. I have gotten used to her love taps for him, even her more disciplinary swats, but the repetitive sounds I heard from another house and several rooms away made me sick to my stomach. As I stepped outside and peered in through the kitchen window I could see Amma in the living area and could hear her yelling in Telugu, obviously at Nithin. As soon as I saw her raise her hand high and come down with a loud, nauseating smack followed by a piercing scream from Nithin, I knew we had to do something. We immediately went upstairs (even though in our pajamas we were wearing our most inappropriate clothing -- shorts) and reported what we saw to Assin, Bendang's wife. With Amma, one has to be careful. The language barrier is high and her temper can flare. I love her, but she has her own plethora of problems and often takes her anger out on helpless little Nithin. Bendang went in and there were some strong words exchanged (though we couldn't understand them) and soon Nithin was headed up to stay with the boys.

2 year old Nithin

How could anyone in their right mind lay a hand on this innocent little babe?

There is no way we could have slept knowing that he was over there being manhandled by an old and cantankerous woman. Maybe we are just as afraid of Amma as Nithin is, after all we did hide behind the stairs watching to see that he got out rather than face the beast ourselves, but as long as we brought the beating to someone's attention, then we have done our job for today. Whether they think we are softies or not, no matter the cultural differences, it is never okay to treat a child that way. Never.

Can I get a little water up in here?

It's been almost 24 hours since we've been without running water in the new house. I know it doesn't seem like that long, but you'd be surprised at how hot and dirty things get in that span of time (especially when there is a pit toilet involved.) It doesn't help that we have a 6 year old that is having bathroom issues and soiling herself everyday and we have to fill and heave buckets of water from next door to clean ourselves, our dishes, and 'flush' the toilet. The heat is getting pretty intense here, and not that we would normally be splashing around in a sprinkler or anything to keep cool, but I've realized I've taken for granted the luxury of washing my hands and feet when I need to, and how much cooler it really does make you feel. Losing running water is not uncommon around here, in fact it happens quite often. Luckily in the big house there is a supply underneath that can be reached with buckets on a rope and it is usually fixed within half a day or so. Still, even then, things get to be a pain when there are over 70 people living there. The latest problem is with the water pump at the new house, which has its own host of problems, including the worry that the broken door to the room Nina and I share will be an invitation for scorpions and snakes when the monsoons come.

Monsoon sounds so good right now.

Water is one thing I will have an incredibly renewed appreciation for when I return home. Not just that I can actually put a glass under my faucet and drink the refreshing nectar (as much as I want!), but also the fact that when I turn the knob, water always comes out.

New Hope Next Door

Once again, it's been an eventful few days around here. We had been waiting for the go ahead to move with the girls and the girls' warden Sabitha to the little (and I mean really little) house next door. It took a while to renovate, but the final rental payments have been made and yesterday was moving day. Nina and I now currently reside on top of each other practically breathing each others already-breathed air. I'm exaggerating, it isn't that bad, but it sure is hot, and if you want to keep your head on your shoulders, you have to be careful not to sit up too straight on the top bunk or the fan might cause a horrible accident. The middle room will eventually hold all of the girls, but none of the beds have been moved in yet. We have done away with the quarantine (we didn't have a choice) and all the girls along with poor lonely Kishore are sleeping together on mats on the floor. It is already cramped with 10 kids, but the number will come close to doubling when the summer vacation ends and those who have gone to stay with relatives return.

(Above photo: Nina in our new room, sitting precariously under the low whizzing fan.)

A few days ago the lucky ones started filing out to enjoy their vacation with loved ones. The house(s) have quieted down a bit and we will soon have a fraction of the children for a few weeks. Most will return in the beginning of May to prepare for the new school year. Others have just been relaxing, and many have at least had a visitor. Uday and Manisha left yesterday, but will not be returning. Their mother has been 'rehabilitated' and claims she can now care for her children. We hope that she is able to love and care for them in the way they need. I know I should be happy, but after getting to know them down in quarantine, especially caring for Uday after his accident, I got a soft spot for the pair and am really going to miss them!

Some of the girls taking an afternoon nap in the new house

(From left to right: Nishmitha, Nakshathra, Swetha, Monica, Revathi, Sneha, Kishore)

We had another lice infestation incident, the worst I have ever seen (and hopefully will ever see) in my life. We took Monica upstairs to get her head shaved and with the first cut, saw the most appalling farm of lice and eggs that had not only been reproducing at an incredible rate, but were also feasting on her poor little scalp. I feel terrible for Monica, she has been through a lot in the past month and I can only imagine what is going on in her head. At just 6 years old, she and her brothers were dropped off by their mother (her father was MIA), then she came down with the chickenpox, followed by the worst case of lice ever, had her head shaved, and has moved three times in the past few weeks. First she is moved into a home without parents, living with sixty-some other children, then moved down to a small room filled with sick children, then moved back upstairs (crying because she didn't want to go back up after she had come down and lived with us and had some individual attention) and now she's been moved to the building next door to sleep on the floor. Her father stopped by today out of the blue and she refused to go outside and spend time with him, which only makes me wonder what kind of turmoil she experienced before she got here. I can't imagine how overwhelming it must be to be so young and have such an unstable life. I am trying to comfort her as much as I can, and know she must be feeling some major anxiety as she has had 4 bathroom accidents in the past three days. She has a permanent look of worry on her face and it breaks my heart. All she wants is someone to love her and hold her and treat her like the light of their life, the things that a mother should be doing for her. We will do our best, and every smile that lights up her face is a sign that we are doing something right.

I don't know if you can see, but she was teeming with lice

©Nina

Monica with a new 'do, snoozing in the new house

Healing Exercise

Me with the quarantine unit after leading some morning exercises. (from left to right: Thomas, Kishore, Nakshathra, Manisha, Nishmitha) ©Nina

On The Mend

Our Wounded Soldier

Uday, the aftermath: a missing tooth along with a shiner, some puncture wounds, and swelling.

Even though he's a little down-and-out, Uday still has smiles and love for his friend Thomas

Another Bump in the Night

I was awakened again last night to a soft tapping on our door. I sat up, but didn't see anyone in the doorway that we left cracked, so I lay back down. I thought I heard it again, but saw nothing, and tried to fall back asleep. Finally a quiet 'Auntie?' from little Monica got me to my feet. She is very young and still hasn't realized that we speak two different languages, so all I could make out from what she was saying was 'Uday.' I looked where she was pointing and noticed an extra body on the floor. At bedtime, I had made Thomas come down from the top bunk where he, Uday, and Kishore (the newest member of the chickenpox quarantine unit) planned on sleeping. Thomas and Uday had been fighting earlier and I didn't want them quarreling in the night and someone getting hurt. 'Uday is coming.' Monica said. '_________ is coming' can mean a lot of things in India. 'Blood is coming' (someone is hurt and bleeding) 'Red is coming' (You have a new pimple) 'Water is coming' (someone is crying) 'Take and come' (this can mean a lot of things, see also, 'go and come,' 'go and take,' or any arrangement of the words; the meaning depends on the situation.) Last night 'Uday is coming' meant 'Uday fell off the top bunk.'

(Above photo: Uday (far right) playing with Thomas (left) and Karun (center)

I brought him into our room and turned on the light. As soon as I saw all the blood and the size of his little swollen face, I felt sick. Nina and I took him upstairs to get Bendang. After knocking and ringing the bell several times, we finally awoke Lillian (John Kohlen), one of the older boys, who let us in. We knocked several times on Bendang's family's door but no one answered. As I stood there with Uday I realized that if Bendang did get up, what was he going to do? There was no vehicle here to take anyone to the hospital, and even if there was, who would drive it? Flustered, questions started running through my mind. Why aren't there enough beds for everyone? Why don't the top bunks have railings? Why is there no way to get to the hospital if there is an emergency in the middle of the night? Why did I let any of them sleep on the top bunk? They are seven years old, I should have known better. We took Uday downstairs and cleaned him up. His top teeth had gone all the way through his bottom lip and one was loose but not completely knocked out (though later he would come back from the doctor without it, which wouldn't have been a big deal if it hadn't been an adult tooth.) His eye was swollen almost shut and his cheek and chin were puffy. We gave him half a tablet, cleaned and dressed his wounds, applied an ice pack to his face, made a space for him on the mat on the floor next to Thomas and Monica, and went back to bed ourselves.

As I lay awake in bed, I couldn't help but feel like there was more I could do. Even now, here, I am still privileged. There I was, laying on a bedroll protected by a mosquito net while Uday lay broken on the floor in the next room. I had gotten to talk to my family that day, when was the last time he saw his? I tried to think of what would happen in this situation at home. What would my mother or sister do if this was one of their children? Probably there would have been a trip to the clinic, but if not, the child wouldn't be sent back to bed to sleep on the hard floor without the comfort of a mother. I went out and sat on the floor rubbing his back in attempts to comfort him and help him fall back to sleep. I was feeling guilty for allowing this to happen, sad because he was hurting, angry at his parents for the lack of love that was causing him to lie rigid under my touch and not relax in my care.

This morning, I was still overwhelmed with a sense of guilt. I couldn't help but feel that it was my fault. I tearfully called my Dad and caught him just before he was heading to bed back at home. He was able to sooth my worry, saying that I didn't know something like that would happen, that I couldn't blame myself, and everyone makes poor decisions. He reminded me of the infamous lapse in judgement he had when I was 5 that landed me in the emergency room. I was able to laugh and forgive myself a little bit. My poor Dad, it's been 20 years since that day and still we haven't let him live it down.

Poor Uday, injured just as he was recovering from the chickenpox. Here he is enjoying a healing turmeric bath.

With every day that passes, I feel more and more like a mother. Like my Dad said, you don't have to give birth to be a parent, and I am really beginning to understand that lately. I feel the pressures to make the right decisions with these kids, the responsibility for their health and well-being, and the unconditional love that a parent has for their child. That no matter what they do, no matter how much they frustrate you or are naughty, disobedient, and fight, it doesn't matter, you love them and show them compassion no matter what. They may not be my children -- they may not be anyone's -- but the are God's children and it is my responsibility to love them and care for them the way any mother would. I am still figuring it out, and clearly I make mistakes, but I am learning and getting better with each step I take.

Turmeric, The Golden Healer

Our chickenpox quarantine unit has thinned out a bit, but just as we thought the itchy boils were on their way out, two more kids were sent down to live with us after contracting fresh cases. We now only have six children down here, but the two newbies, Maria and Manisha are in a lot of pain, with flu like symptoms and itching all over. Thangmaigam, Sharavan, Someshakar, Karun, and Swetha have been 'cured' and were sent back upstairs to make room in the infirmary.

Several times a day we strip, clean, and apply calamine lotion to the ones who have fresh pox. I feel terrible because there is not a whole lot we can do but give a tablet for the pain and apply the calamine. The pox are multiplying and spreading quickly to every part of their body including under their knickers. I can't imagine being in their position, young children with a painful illness and no mother or father to care for them.

Mercy applying the turmeric oil to Swetha

The other morning I walked into a room full of yellow children. Amma had made a paste from turmeric and oil and the kids were slathering each other with it. Turmeric can be used as an ayurvedic treatment to dry up the blisters and quicken the healing process. I have to admit, it was pretty amusing to see a room full of naked yellow children. After the paste dried, they each bathed with water neem leaves and burned their chickenpox clothes in the pit out back. Though an unfortunate time for these kids, I have once again learned a lot through it. I now know what to do in the future if my own kids get chickenpox, and in the process learned a few more Indian secrets.

The Night Bandit

Just as I was beginning think we were really getting somewhere with the new group of kids living with us, we encountered a little problem. Last night we had made it clear that they (the boys especially) were to go to bed and go to sleep, and not keep anyone up like they had the night before. Before Nina and I went to bed, I checked them, soundly sleeping like little chickenpox angels. I was awoken some time after 1am to a crinkling sound. I noticed our door was open (since they are sick, we left it cracked in case they needed us in the night) and sat up to see what was wrong. I thought I would see a whimpering child, but to my surprise a small shadowy figure squatted closely to the ground with his hand inside the box of treats that we keep under our bed. When I sat up and gasped, he bolted, leaving the booty (hard candy) where it fell. I ran out to see who it was, but of course didn't have my glasses on and by the time I did and got out there, the culprit was back in place pretending to sleep. I thought to check their chests for the one with the racing heart but decided to wait until morning to see if I could rouse a confession.

In the morning Nina and I sat the kids down for a talk and explained to them what had happened, and that as a consequence there would be no games or toys for anyone today. If the person responsible wanted to come talk to us, that would be fine, but we had already decided that a confession would not reinstate the games. Then I uttered the parental words I never thought I would say, the horrendous phrase burned into every child's memory....'I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed.' Just as we suspected, an argument ensued and a faulty confession came forward from the youngest boy in the group, Karun. Karun is always being picked on as the smallest, and I had pretty much already eliminated him as a suspect (he was out like a light when I went out to check.) Soon the kids all started asking for the games, but this time we held strong and kept them locked away in our room. Later when asked again if he stole the candy, Karun said he did not, but again confessed when Bendang questioned the boys. We may never know for sure who snuck in our room in the middle of the night and stole from our box of goodies, but I'm pretty sure the burglar was scared enough by being caught in the act to not try that again.

I'm pretty sure this little guy is innocent, but he tried to take the wrap for everyone else after the older boys got ahold of him.

In the end, it makes me sad. Some of these children come from backgrounds where stealing is a way to get by. Some may have even been instructed by parents to steal, or had to in order to survive. It makes me sad that they couldn't think of another way to get what they wanted other than sneaking in the middle of the night to steal something that doesn't belong to them. We tried to make it clear that there are plenty of ways to get what you want without lying or cheating or stealing, and I hope that they have learned that lesson. I do know one thing: I am not looking forward to the day I have to say those terrible words again.

!ndia takes the Cup!

It was pretty exciting here last night as India pulled in the last few runs to snag the Cricket World Cup. At about 11pm the boys room erupted with celebration and pride for their country. When we stepped onto the roof to survey the surrounding action, there were fireworks going off in every direction, a city celebrating victory. It was pretty awesome to be here now and witness the anticipation and excitement!

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!NDIA GO!!

Lolli Pops and All Night Romps

It was as if the admission of guilt of frustration for the kids was all I needed to gain some patience and perspective. Yesterday was a great day spent bonding with our 'new' kids, playing outside, reading, joking, and getting to know each other. I scored 119 (I'm pretty sure illegal) runs playing cricket with the boys (hey Dad, The Slugger is back!) and Nina and I have earned quite the rapport with the kids for our skills and voices during the dramatic telling of the Three Little Pigs (she as the Pigs and I as the Big Bad Wolf.)

We ended the night by giving out Tootsie Pops in celebration of Nina's birthday, which would come to back to bite us later on. After a delicious birthday celebration at George's we returned at almost midnight to find the lights on and the kids crawling about like animals. After a stern warning to 'Get in bed, now' the lights finally went out and things quieted down. But at 1am, a wired Thomas stumbled into our room asking about bracelet making, and another hour later I awoke to arguing, the lights on once again and everybody awake. By this time I had adopted my middle-of-the-night-evil-mother-voice and warned them that if they didn't get in bed RIGHT NOW, they would be sorry. Somewhat of an empty threat seeing as, what do you take away from children who have nothing? (Which leads me to understand more why physical reprimand is the norm around here.) That was the trouble in the beginning, but now that crafts and games have been sent from the USA, we have a bit more leverage. So this morning the balls, crayons, puzzles, and games are jailed in our room in hopes to make a statement and ensure a good night sleep tonight.

Lesson learned: Don't give candy to a bunch of rowdy kids before bed unless you too want to be up all night.