Foggy Friday

Oh how I dreaded Friday since it is next to Saturday, when we leave. The rain (lapli), let up enough that some of the children were able to attend their weekly therapeutic riding session. At around 8 am, two large vans pulled up, and the eager children were carried or escorted down for their one escape from the facility that week. Steve came out wearing a brand new pair of riding britches. Almost all of my "visitors" group chose to accompany them, so I stood with Jacky at the balcony, watching and sending them off with waves, air kisses and au revoirs!

Those of you who know me may wonder why I would give up the chance to see my children riding horses, two of my favorite things in the world. It was simply because I couldn't fathom leaving the other children in wheelchairs, dirty blankets, and trapped in their own disabilities behind. The staff had a pretty good remedy for these children anyway.

Everyone was wheeled downstairs after their breakfast, and gathered in the main dining room. The Brad Pitt of Haiti, Gary, who happens to be the second assistant director (next to Manno), was already at the house, and ready to take to his guitar. Manno also proved to be a master of guitar and jembe drum, and we began our dance/praise party. The songs and chantings were mostly of the Haitian song book, but the beautiful Gary had a few classics we all knew in his repertoire. "This is the day...that the lord has made/ sa se jou a, segne ya fe ya".

Haitian Brad Pitt Gary and Manno at the guitars

I spent two hours dancing, attached to Baby John. He is a verrry special case and may be responsible for my motherly protective instincts. The first day we were given a tour, I saw a small rascal crouched in the corner, detached from the rest, grubbing on his plate of food like a chimpanzee with his hands. I knew I wanted to get to know this one on first sight. He has a temper, and often runs away crying. He sits in the autistic class every day, crazily beating two sticks on the table (he would make for a very intense drummer in a heavy metal rock band). The background pamphlet on each child I had read mentioned he occasionally has a very endearing laugh and extraordinary smile...if you can find a way to seek out his joy. This was to become my new challenge. I had that opportunity realized one morning after breakfast, when I went to wipe his hands and face clean after his mad feeding frenzy in the corner. As I approached him with a towel, he began to wimper and cry, but I gently stroked his chin, pleading, "pou souple, zanmi mwe, ou remnen / please, my friend, I love you" It worked, as the next thing I knew, John leaped into my arms, wrapped his legs around my waist, and was not seen once the rest of the week without clinging to myself or one of the other female visitors. He became obsessed with that attachment, screaming and crying anytime he was pried away from his captive. Later, during my ride to town, Jacky told me that he had never seen John connect to anyone in such a way, so we had indeed made a huge difference. Although I now have bruises on my waist, and massive arm muscles from holding him, the staff refer to John has Lala petit gason, or Lala bebe. "Lala's son".

So during our makeshift dance session on Friday, I was wrapped by John, and danced for hours, with the two of us patting out the beat on each other's backs, until I was blessed by his laughter and smile. For one miraculous moment, bebe John released himself from my grip, joined the circle, and began dancing his praise with the others. My heart and pride literally exploded, and I cried at the sight, thanking God I was witness to that joy. The dancing followed with the resident minister leading devotions and passages from the Bible, in Creole. I slowly progressed around the room, holding hands and stroking each confined child until I was sure they had received an adequate amount of the love and attention they desperately desired, then I would move onto another, to repeat my therapy. "Brad Pitt" Gary followed in my example until lunchtime, when we feasted on the most delicious cuisine, which Cendo had slaved away for 5 or 6 hours to prepare. The other children returned, and we shared some downtime for awhile, until it came time to say our goodbyes.

First we attempted to prepare the children for bed. There was a lack of clean dry clothing, as the rain had made it impossible to hang clothes out on the line to dry. Many of the children were still in their riding britches, and some were simply left in the soiled diapers and pants they had slept in the night before. Our group had left a huge pile of clothes for donation in the guest house, so I methodically went back and forth between the houses, matching each child in need with an item of ours that might hopefully fit their tiny frail bodies. My hope is that in wearing these clothes, each child remembers who of our group they belonged to, and will feel they are still encompassed by our warmth.
It was while I was removing Josea's shoes, a technical genius (he has his own Best Buy stored under his bed, I swear), that he did something unexpected. He began to stroke my back, as I had been doing for the others all week. I was shocked by how comforting and tender it felt. There was an immediate release of stress, and although he isn't able to speak, rather he grumbles sounds, I knew how much he appreciated our work that week.

Junior...the 26 year old rescued from trash.

The other children were not quite as forgiving that we were saying goodbye, some, including Steve, ran away as I approached. They seemed so hurt, as though they were being abandoned. It made me cry, and I was mad at myself for showing them my pain, when they spend everyday living in the world of that pain. As our dinner bell rang, I sat with Junior for awhile. He began his methodical self-picking, and grinding his teeth, as though he was severely stressed. I kept repeating to him that he was special, loved for the rest of time, and no body would ever forget about him again. I assured him he is a handsome man, and he mattered to everyone in the world.

I sat with Cendo til it became dark, confessing my own fears, worries and thoughts about the kids. He reassured me with promises that my work will make a difference, and I left him to depart for my group's evening devotions, where KC shared with us, the Orphanage's plans for the future. This I will save for another day, because now I must go through the process of determining how I may best offer my service to assist them with this massive $4 million dream project for Wings.