Tuesday

Steve

Ohh Tuesdays. I always say they're my least favorite day. Maybe in Haiti too... I began the morning with a quick breakfast, then headed over to see the children. They were still being bathed, many of them looked as horrified as I did about cold water poured over their heads. I went to the balcony to sit with Josephine, who was already wearing a beautiful pink shirt we had brought as a donation. I gave her my ipod so she could hear some super-cool tunes, and we were quickly joined with my best zanmi, Steve.

For breakfast, they were to be fed a soupy mixture of beans and rice. I was assigned to feed BJ, who has severe autism and cystic fibrosis. He was soooo excited for "manje", he knocked the plate out of my hand, all over Clifton, his buddy in the wheelchair next to him. As helpers rushed to clean up Clifton for the second time that morning, and I hastily tried to clean soup from the floor, BJ began to cry and wail, thinking he had ruined everything, mostly his precious breakfast. I found my twin, Soni, and was graciously given another bowl of the food, and once I returned to BJ and had him well fed, I felt I had fixed that pwoblem. As I walked by him a few minutes later at prayer time, he grabbed my hand, and laid his head against my side, smiling hugely. It gripped my heart, and I knew he felt loved as well.

As I was walking around, attempting to wipe faces after breakfast with one of few washclothes they have, I noticed a small boy rocking in his bed, with a helmet on. I recognized him from the book we had as Junior. I also remembered reading that Junior was found abandoned and living in a forest. He prefers to keep to himself, he has a problem with self-mutilation (hence the helmet), and he is a cuddler. He is also 26 years old...same as myself. Age and number of years are being defined in a new light this trip. Most of the "babies" we spend hours rocking here, are actually 5-11 years old, but were so malnutrioned during the time of their abandonment, they are miniature. So I coaxed Junior out to prayers, by stroking his hands, and telling him what a special "zanmi" friend he is to everyone.

During prayer time, I was asked to begin our prayers. Its funny....I didn't know what to say...I think I mentioned something about a good day, a good meal, and for lots of love and laughing. With Steve by my side all day, that wasn't a pwoblem at all.

Alcindor "Cendo"

I was assigned to the kitchen to help make the children's lunch. There I got to meet the resident cook, Cendo. He speaks english almost fluently, but claims he needs a lot of work. I told him my name, but it turned out it is much easier here for me to go by my sister's nickname for me, "Lala". Cendo and I talked about everything, including his broken heart. I told him we're going to go out in the village and find him a lady! I hope his english is clear enough to understand that I didn't mean we're going to go out in the village, and I'm going to be his lady... for he kept telling me the rest of the day to never forget that I am special and beautiful.

I've discovered as true with most autistics, Steve has a hidden brilliance...in music! His singing voice is gorgeous, although the only thing he sings is "JEZI, HALELLUJAH, BEF!" (Jezi=jesus, Bef=beef???) Often time we have impromptu music beat sessions- either with a toy harmonica, or make-shift drum pots.

The afternoon gave us a bit of a break, so some of our group broke off to take a walk through the jungle mountain. You'd be amazed at the length people travel with objects the size of refrigerators, wait, let me rephrase, actual refrigerators on their heads, up steep hills. Meanwhile, us blancs were slipping and sliding, stopping for photo ops. Hidden away, in the side of a rocky slope where the pigs, cows and goats freely graze, we found a group of locals playing a game of soccer...with an old basketball, in a pit of mud they had cleared especially for the occasion. I could just hear the dramatic music in the background of my head, as the dirty, muddy blancs took the final score... and launched into a crazzzzy victory dance that looked more like a seizure of the limbs. We said our "au revoirs!" and headed back down the slippery slope towards the orphanage. Once at the bottom, we looked back, and found the group of locals had adopted our victory dance, and the new seizure-limb craze has spread across the island already!

The rest of the afternoon I spent either washing more dishes by hand, and playing a huge role in bringing in the fun in bike-time. There are some pretty cool "wheels" available to the children who can use them to fly in circles around the patio. Some with less abilities were brought out for the fresh air and attention, and the rest were being serenaded by guitar in their compound, while girls fixed them up with stick on tattoos. Every ounce of individual attention they receive is soaked up completely, and even those with very little cognitive or verbal skills are able to show in the most minute ways how important we are to them.

Papa,                                                               Father,
yo di m' se malere.                                           They say that I am poor.
Mesi, Papa.                                                     Thank you, Father.
Fe m' pov an espri tou,                                   May I also be poor in spirit,
pou m' sa erite wayom bondye a.                    that I may inherit the Kingdom of God.