I’m going with a stock photo since cameras aren’t allowed in the orphanage….
Salema. Her name is Salema… the little girl who has captured my heart at the orphanage. Today, she was in a pink Hello Kitty sweatshirt and almost matching pink pants. I think it suited her better than the Rock the Band shirt. I couldn’t help but glance at the size as I was trying to reposition her in her crib, and it was a four-toddler. The pants had been pinned to keep them on. I’m guessing she is 11 or 12 years old, and her legs are so thin that when I took one of them in my thumb and index finger, there was at least an inch of overlap on my fingers. She was happy today, and I reminded her more than once that she had the best seat in the house, as her bed is right under a large window. When I pulled the colorful striped curtain back, she was able to feel the sunshine on her face and a gentle breeze, as one of the window panes was missing. The pleasures are tiny….a breeze on her face on a picture-perfect day and a soft stuffed dog nestled next to her. She was happy. Very happy. She would grab my lab coat every time I started to leave her, so I knew she was aware of my presence, and that felt good. I noticed that both of her palms had a brown stain on them, the same stain I had seen last week. It looked a bit like iodine. I assumed it was a marking to indicate a health issue to the nurses or aides, but when I asked Mohamed, he said no, it was the remainder of a henna marking that all the girls were given a few weeks ago for a religious holiday. I was touched that someone had put henna on the girls, none of whom would understand, as a part of a religious ceremony. Dignity. Respect. Love.
I’m starting to get used to the wails, the screams, the wheezing, and the raspy crying, or maybe less shocked is a more appropriate description. I find that a brief respite with the babies one floor up is a good recharge for my emotional batteries. Most of the babies have their name and birthdate above their crib, but there are a handful with only names, as the babies found do not have accurate birthdates. A social worker usually names the babies, unless they have already been named by the mother who gave them up. They are adorable, and mostly male, as the ones that get adopted out are usually the girls, as they are viewed as being easier to raise. Mothers are also more likely to give a son away than a daughter, as there is a fear that once the son gets older and learns of the circumstances of his birth (i.e., unwed mother), he might retaliate against her. They are all hungry for the tiniest bit of attention and touch, and it takes so very little to get them to go from crying to smiles and giggles. I was playing “this little piggy” with one of the baby’s toes when I realized the irony of the song, given that pigs are a rarity around here, as Muslims do not eat pork because it is considered unclean meat. No pigs. And sadly, no bacon. I changed from the “little piggies” to peek a boo as it seemed more appropriate.
I will return to the orphanage tomorrow, as the women’s center is closed on Fridays. Today, there were meetings at the school, which is why I ended up at the orphanage. The combination provides a nice cultural, intellectual, and emotional blend.
The traffic was chaotic this morning, as the King’s brother is getting married today (a celebration that lasts several days) and many dignitaries are in town. I find it all very exciting… Mohamed, not so much. He said he doesn’t know that much about it, but if I want to know more, I should ask a girl.