Through bleary eyes I managed to find some clothes. My room mates had headed to the showers but I decided that, for today, cleanliness was way overrated. I stiffly got dressed and went in search of a cup of tea. The clouds had disappeared overnight and I walked out of the church into bright sunlight. Blue sky and sunshine was just what I needed to shake off my earlier grumps!
The children had already arrived at the preschool and in the kitchen their breakfast was being served out. A great big vat of what looked to me like gloopy glue (but turned out to be mealie pap - corn porridge) was being scooped out and ladled into cups to be taken to the hungry children. I was glad we had bought breakfast cereal on our shopping trip, as I wasn't tempted by the pap!
We eased into the day, with more orientation with Gerrit, and some training. After lunch, finally, it was time for us to visit Asiphé, the orphanage for disabled children and those with HIV/AIDS. When I signed up for the Life Change Team, this is what I was signing up for - to spend three weeks with these disabled children, and maybe to be able to use my professional training as a speech and language therapist too.
Asiphé is in walking distance of the church compound, so we walked along the road in the sun, dodging the puddles in the red dirt road. We reached the compound and walked up the path towards a low building with a shady veranda along one long side. A woman was leaning on the fence, giving a bottle to a small baby with a very wobbly head. Gerrit, who was accompanying us, explained this was the youngest child in the orphanage - an 8 month old baby boy who had cerebral palsy.
We were then mobbed by a group of five children of various ages. They clamoured for our attention and dragged us inside the orphanage. Gerrit introduced us to Janet and Bryn - an English couple who were volunteering at the orphanage on a long term basis. They had been on the Life Change Team the previous year, and this piece of information filtered its way into my brain - this type of team could seriously affect your life, if you let it...
Gerrit then left us in the capable hands of Janet, who would introduce us to the children and house mothers. The 14 children, whose home we were in, had eaten their lunch and some of them were being settled into bed for an afternoon rest, which was their routine. We were shown the therapy room where they did physio exercises in the mornings, ate their meals, and played with some sparse toys. Bright murals adorned the walls - painted by a Dutch team who had visited the previous year. There was an ancient television set in the corner, with a video player too. The children who had mobbed us on arrival were now sitting here watching a children's video. These were the mobile children, three of whom had a diagnosis of HIV; two had hydrocephalus - their larger heads revealing their late diagnosis and treatment. Another girl, about 8 years old, who was in a wheelchair was with them; she looked up quizzically as we walked in. We sat and talked as best we could to them for a while, resorting to makeshift signs and gestures to overcome our English /Afrikaans language barrier.
Our tour then continued. The older boys were all in bed, resting, so we didn't linger too long in their big dormitory, but made our way into the adjoining babies / toddlers room. The two mobile toddlers were put into bed - but didn't stay there for long! One little girl with cp was in her cot, and frustrated that she couldn't escape some of the team entertained her, while others tried to persuade the escapees to get back into bed. Then Denise, the first woman we had seen, came into the room, as baby Leroy had finished his bottle. She was heading to his cot, but Janet suggested that one of our team members might like to hold him. I watched, with a pang of envy, as he was handed to the nearest team member to them. I was furthest away. But then, I realised they were cuddling and passing him on to the next team member. Gradually he got nearer and nearer to me, with me willing each person not to hold on to him.
After what seemed an age, he was next to me, and then being handed to me. What a gorgeous baby he was! Beautiful brown soft skin, fine black hair coiled into tiny tiny curls all over his head, long long eye lashes framing dark brown eyes, little rosy red lips. But holding him, I realised that he was unlike any other 8 month old I'd held before. For a start, that head was wobblier than some newborns I'd held. I was very conscious that it needed supporting all the time. I could also feel how stiff his arms and legs were, in stark comparison to his floppy trunk and neck. He was also not best pleased to have been a human pass the parcel and started whimpering in my arms. Instinctively I held him tight and started rocking him, quietly singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" under my breath, in time to my rocking arms. I felt him relax and he looked up at me with his big brown unfathomable eyes, gave a yawn and then fell into a relaxed sleep.
As there was no one else to pass him on to, I sank down onto the bed behind me, and sat looking at this tiny boy in my arms, zoning out from the surrounding conversation, wondering what story lay behind his short life. Such a precious baby, with no family to treasure him.
And then suddenly I was aware of movement in the room and snapped out of my reverie. It was time for us to leave, and I had to pass my sleeping boy over to be placed in his cold cot.
Walking back to the church compound, my thoughts stayed at Asiphé, thinking of the children I'd just met, the three weeks ahead that I would spend working with them - and most of all, that tiny boy who had looked deep into my soul with his big, serious eyes before he drifted off to sleep...
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