when the paul’s opened the children’s home in july, they had six children waiting in line. it’s only september and the number has doubled. some have come because their fathers died of tuberculosis, others because there were too many mouths to feed at home. a precious few because they are all alone with no family, home, or friend who will claim them. whatever the reason for bringing them there, the doors remain open to all and arms fly wide open to greet them. i know i am here to design a hospital, i know my main purpose here is to work and bring the vision of a village medical center into view, but the deep eyes of these beautiful children has quickly captured my heart.
most mornings, i am up before the rest of my team and catch glimpses of their beginning activities from the screen of my window. their chores begin early and i see them hanging up the laundry on the line and sweeping the walk which leads to the street. they bathe themselves, often using up the entire water supply as they enjoy the still new phenomena of running water. they comb each other’s hair and decorate the braids with colorful ribbons. i can’t help but smile as i watch them care for each other as if they were family.
down the street and around the corner they walk single file to the paul’s house. no cook has been found yet for the home, designating rani as the children’s cook. not enough room for them inside the paul’s house, they squat in the way only asians can at the back of the house and enjoy whatever meal is placed before them. they are quiet, we hardly know they are there. off to school next, most to remedial classes in hopes of catching up from the neglect of studies at home. lessons continue long after the school day concludes and i often hear them practicing their telugu pronunciation in unison even after the sun sets.
i sneak out often from the ‘adult socializing’ in the eveings to enjoy a few smiles and laughs with them. my small amount of hindi is bad enough; i have no hope with this new teugu language. we’ve found other ways of communicating, though. they love posing for my camera and my camera loves them back. they sing me english sunday school songs and i search through into my elementary school repertoire for some of my own to give them back. we smile a lot and laugh even more. part of me wants to take them home with me, then part of me wants to stay here with them in their home.
as i hold your dirty hand, all that i can say to you,
is in the awkward smile i make,
i can’t explain why i came to this distant land.
and your simple smiles refresh my soul,
and i can’t help but love you enough,
for you have all you need.
as i look into your face, i see hope and not disgrace,
and strength that carries you along
the rugged road you travel on.
and as we go our separate ways,
you can be sure that i have changed,
because i’ve seen the way you live.
[galena. waterdeep]
