Year 27, Day 109 - Africa

Cultural Adjustments


Wake up! Its 8:30am!


The kids are already awake even though its Saturday. My hours are messed up these days from working in a nightclub until 4 or 5am most nights, combine that with the jet-lag, and I'm pretty much a disaster anytime before 11am. Despite this, I slept well with all the fresh air that moves through the center, and also with the knowledge that I slept safely in a gated compound with a security guard who roams the grounds in the night. Luckily, there is THE most bad-ass batch of home-made fresh ginger tea to wake me up. Breakfast consists of us eating bread with butter, and the kids eating sticky rice with their hands. Once everyone is fed, we spend the rest of the morning sharing the balloons and bouncy-balls that we brought from England for the kids to play with. They are beyond excited about any new toy or trinket, and I'm certain your average North American kid wouldn't blink an eye at being given a balloon or a bouncy ball.

"JJJo!" - as they called him, patiently monitoring the
"Everyone will get one! I promise!" balloon distribution process.
And people, it was a process.

This sounds obvious, but its the truth and it became glaringly obvious in Africa. Kids are kids, regardless of wealth, race, religion, global location or what they've survived. They are imaginative - they can entertain themselves for hours and hours in unknown make-believe worlds. They are reckless - even though they have so little, they still break the toys they do have. They're resilient - they don't want to wreak their one pair of good school shoes and so they play tag bare-foot on the gravel. They still need to be disciplined and given structure and boundaries. And ultimately - they just want to be loved.

Around noon, it appears as though the entire village has arrived at the orphanage. We are told that we are invited to participate in some Muslim prayers to celebrate Ramadan. It was interesting - girls on one side of the room, boys on the other, sitting on mats on the floor, chanting in foreign languages. I may or may not have had a brief nap though as it was an extremely long hour. 

Around 2pm, we shared a fest of chicken and rice. We realize that the odds are that this is definitely the live chicken they showed to us last night. Nicole eventually points out that the random males at the fest are attempting to take discrete pictures of us. Initially I don't believe her... until one of them walks up and snaps one right in my face. Before we knew what was happening we were consenting to them taking pictures of the 2 of us. Then they wanted pictures of us with the group of them.... then this eventually escalated to them taking pictures with their arms on our shoulders, then couples pictures. Yup. We are most defiantly are on some Muslim locker room wall.

We lay down for our afternoon nap - a necessary reprieve from hanging out constantly with the children. When we awaken, we help with laundry. This is a process and Dada is picky about the way things are done. Dada is Rahema's hired help. She lives at the orphanage and essentially takes care of everyone. She cooks most of the meals, washes the dishes, does all the laundry, minds the 14 kids, and even sleeps in their room with them. She never takes a break, or really even has a space of her own. Dada is only 28 years old. Amazingly enough she does all of this with a smile, wit and charisma. Even with her limited English we communicated fine and many of my fondest memories from the orphanage involve Dada and her antics. The laundry process involves hauling buckets of water up from the well by hand, then hand washing and scrubbing each and every inch of clothing with rough soap and a brush. Rinse. Repeat. Re-use rinse water for wash water. Hang inside out on the line to dry in the sun. And god-damn it those whites are whiter than mine. When the cloths are dry, you gather them by stacking them on your head. Women carry almost everything on their heads. I can say from experience this is easier said than done.

The room the 14 kids and Dada sleep in.

That evening we have a good laugh as Mary E has taken it upon herself to haul all of the water out of the well. Its now dry and there are like 20-some 5 gallon buckets ready and waiting for use. The orphanage well does not produce its own water and so its necessary to call and have some more delivered. Water is a luxury, repeatedly used, and is cherished.

Mary E hauling an entire well worth of water.

We spend the evening outside doing chores and playing with the kids. When it gets dark outside at around 7pm, we go inside, where hopefully the solar panel has been charged enough to provide electricity to the place. I always felt bad for the neighbors at this time as you could see them huddled around fires in their make-shift huts made from metal and wood. It gets cool when the sun goes down. We play cards with the kids until eating supper at 8:30pm. That night I discover that my bed is being eaten by termites.... awesome. I definitely was not sleeping alone last night...

 

Our room.... and my discovery of my many bed partners.