* Any names given to the characters of my experience are fictional, though the characters themselves are quite real. *
It's amazing how it only takes one second to change your life, let alone 30 minutes. It's also amazing how, as life goes on, perspectives change.
I remember my first exposure to orphanages while I was on a short-term missions trip to the Dominican Republic with my youth group back in 2009. I remember playing with the kids. I remember how happy they were that I was spending time with them. It felt great, and I was sad to leave, even though I had only been there for a couple of hours. I left that orphanage feeling like I had somehow impacted those children's lives, and with that, I never gave it a second thought of how it might feel to live in an orphanage, what it might feel like to be helpless, without hope. Perhaps, it was because I wasn't looking for things such as that. I simply wanted to spend time with the kids, and that's exactly what I did. I wasn't observing my surroundings; I was simply enjoying the few moments I had with the children.
Today, I am in distress - because I simply observed.
Yesterday, I visited an orphanage, and the 30 minutes that I spent there leaves me unsure of how to respond. I arrived with a small bag of cookies I wanted to give to each child there. (There are about 20 young children total.) I walked up to the receptionist in the small entry of the orphanage. She was smiling and seemed very kind, and told me that it was too late for me to feed the children cookies, but assured me that she would deliver them for me. I tried a couple of times to say that I wanted to be the one to give the cookies to them. She then got who I assumed to be the head of the establishment to take me in to see the children. As we walked through a dark hallway, she proceeded to tell me why I couldn't hand out the cookies to the kids, but she assured me that they would receive them another day. Whether the kids will ever see the cookies, let alone eat any of them, is up for debate; however, that is not what I am dwelling upon.
As I made my way from the hallway into the small playground outside, there were about a dozen children, ages ranging from newborn to about 3 years old. There were some on a merry-go-round, some walking around, one alone on a swing, and one very young child on the lap of one of the workers. Of these workers, there were about 4 of them, all standing or sitting under the shade, hardly interacting with any of the children (save the one woman rocking the child back and forth). Immediately, I noticed a 2-year-old boy come up to me, who almost started crying. (We'll call him Jason.) I assumed he wanted to be picked up. As I proceeded to do so, I noticed a fowl smell coming from him, and as soon as I held him in my arms, I felt a wetness seeping into my shirt. I carried Jason around for a little longer before putting him down, which he did not like at all. With some green feces on my shirt, I could see his soaking wet overalls, with what looked like dried liquid that had previously run down his legs. In normal circumstances, I would have been disgusted, yet my pity for this child overwhelmed me. I wrestled in my mind whether it was my right to tell one of these workers to do their job and to tend to Jason's needs. During this time, I noticed a small boy sitting by himself, far away from all people, on the outskirts of the compound. (We'll call him Nicholas.) I could barely make out his face, but it was easy enough to see that it was full of hopelessness.
I decided to walk Jason to the workers - who were again just standing or sitting around - and I suggested that he needed to be changed. I also showed them the remains on my shirt. I heard one of the woman talking in her native tongue (probably Luganda) to another person I could not see. It took about half a minute for this person - or anyone for that matter - to emerge to take this child for his care and changing. No one wanted to get up and tend to this boy's need!
I was indignant.
Once Jason was taken away, I was assured that I would have something with which to clean my shirt, though I wasn't as concerned with my shirt as I was about Jason's wellbeing.
During the next 10 minutes or so, I attempted to interact with a little girl, no more than 2 years old, who was sitting by herself with a doll. (We'll call her Haley.) I sat beside her, rubbing her arm gently. I took the doll that she was barely holding onto, and attempted to play with her, dangling the doll in front of her, but she wouldn't even look at me. It was if she didn't even acknowledge my presence. She didn't even seem to notice that I had her doll in my hands, for when I went to place it back in her arms, she didn't even seem to notice or care that the doll was back in her possession. What was going through that poor girl's mind, I have no idea, but I know for sure that it is not normal for a child to exhibit behaviour like this, especially when there were plenty of other young children who responded with smiles when I played with them on the merry-go-round.
Just then, Nicholas started to cry, alone, isolated, and hopeless.
Is it normal for babies to cry? Of course! When babies can't use words, it is the only form of communication to tell others of a need, whether it is hunger, thirst, touch, sleep, etc. This cry, however, was none of those. It was a chilling cry of abandonment, filled with the emptiness of loneliness and hopelessness. This, along with another cry of the same shivering pitch coming from within the building, made me sick. I told God how badly I wanted to leave this place, but I knew I need to stay for longer.
As I played with the children on the merry-go-round, I would gently spin them, high-fiving or fist-bumping them as they passed me by. The children responded with smiles and laughter. Every time. It never seemed to get old for them, and neither did it get old for me. One child, however, caught my attention. Sure, he was not the cheeriest of the rest, but that was not what drew my attention to him; it was the fact that his pants kept falling down. I wondered why this little boy, perhaps 4 years of age, could not keep his pants on, and I realized that his pants didn't even fit him! With no underwear on underneath, he kept being exposed with every move he made with his legs. Thankfully he had clothing in general, but I wanted to shake my head in disgust that he was not given clothing that fit him.
Just then, Jason clung to me again, wanting me to pick him up, this time cleaned and in new clothing. As I did, I continued to high-five the children on the merry-go-round with one hand, while holding this small boy in my other arm. As my arm grew weary, I tried putting him down in the merry-go-round, but he would start to cry as soon as I lowered him in the seat. He simply did not want to leave my side. I succeed a couple of times to get him to stay in the chair with the other children, high-fiving them as they spun around; however, with Jason, his high-fives were gentle, as if he desired to hold my hand instead. I eventually picked him up again, and he soon took the hat off my head and tried to place it on his. We interacted like this for a few minutes, playing with my hat. It was probably one of the only moments I saw him smile, or what seemed like a smile.
I knew I couldn't stay for much longer, though, so I tried as best as I could to get him seated again in the merry-go-round without him noticing me leaving. I didn't want to be the reason he cried. Who knows if he would have sounded like those other 2 children who broke my heart?
As I left, I said my goodbyes to the workers, telling them that I wanted to come back. This wasn't a lie, for I do want to go back, simply to spend time with the children and to make sure that they are being properly taken care of. At the same time, however, I don't want to go back at all. I could barely stand being in there for 15 minutes, let alone 30.
As I walked back into the hallway, I noticed a small boy - perhaps just over a year old - sitting by himself in the dark. Did anyone even know he was there? Would anyone even know - or even care - if he vanished? I tried to coax him into coming to me, but as he got up, he turned and exited the hallway, approaching the playground.
I turned around and walked down the darkened hallway to the door that leads to the entry. I looked at all the doors with locks on the outside of each one, only high enough for adults to reach. From within one of these rooms was where one of those shrilling cries I had heard earlier came from. Was there a child locked behind one of these doors?
I left that orphanage stunned. Was this what most orphanages are like? Was this what the orphanage I visited 6 years ago was like, only back then I didn't notice it - because I didn't observe my surroundings? It makes me wonder how much we as human beings miss, simply because we aren't observant enough. Perhaps if we opened our eyes a little wider, we would see the injustice surrounding us. Perhaps if we opened our eyes a little longer, we would see the hopelessness in others. They are hopeless because they do not understand what true hope is.
Hope is not a thing. Hope is not a strong expectation or desire for a certain outcome. Hope is a person, and His name is Jesus (1 Timothy 1:1), which means, my God saves! Jesus is the hope of the nations (Matthew 12:21)! And this hope lives in me! If I have such hope - hope that says, my God saves! - how can I go about my day when I am surrounded by such hopeless people, and not be compelled to share this hope that I have?
Perhaps here in Uganda, the hopelessness is a little more noticeable, a little less covered up than in North America, but I am certain that with a little adjustment to our eyes, our ignorance will be unveiled, and God will reveal the hopeless surrounding us. May God compel us with the same compassion that Jesus had on the crowds as He walked among them (Matthew 9:36). May God compel us with a burning passion to share the hope we have to a hopeless world. God, send us among the crowds.
Wherever we find ourselves.