Ayudame Orphanage

Yesterday I visited an orphanage. It's something I've wanted to do, to be involved in, but the first time I've had the chance to visit one.

The area of town was good. I didn't feel uncomfortable trying to navigate the streets or getting out of the car. We opened the door and the first sound that greeted me was the steady cry of babies. Not screaming fits, rather just crying.

Karina visits there often. Children ran-up to her and threw their arms around her legs. More kids came out of rooms and Maddie and I soon found ourselves on the floor giving them hugs. They pointed and said words. They wanted our names. We pointed. I baby-talked with them – just right for all our levels!

I peeked into a few rooms. There was a room with well-worn couches and a tv playing. A room with around 10 toddler beds another with 15 cribs and one with 10 hospital bassinets.

We began our time with changing diapers of the babies. That was my first surprise. We took our babies into the bathroom where there was a changing mat on the counter. I stripped off the diaper to find a good blow-out.

“Where's the wipes?” I asked.

“We don't have any.” OK.

“How about wash cloths then”. Nope.

“What do you do?”

“Stick the baby's butt under the faucet.” OK.

“Where's the warm water?”

“We don't have any.”

Well, my baby was crying by the time we were finished with that diaper change. I snuggled him close until the tears disappeared. We finished feeding some of the babies their breakfast then just sat on the floor with them playing and mostly holding the fussy ones. Karina said the new kids cry a lot and want to be held more than the kids that have been there awhile. My heart broke.

Next it was bath time for the infants. My favorite! One of the workers did quick under the faucet rinses then bundled the babies into towels and handed them off. I took one and wiped the water from it's face. Boy or Girl? I opened up the towel. Boy. Smearing thick Desitin on his bottom I smiled at him. I dried him off, applied lotion and dressed him. I only got in a few snuggles before the next baby came out. So tiny! How old? A one month old premie. We got the infants dressed and lined up then began with the bottles. After bottles we walked them to sleep.

Lunch time for the babies! Rice, cut-up chicken, soup and fruit juice. Four hours and I was wiped-out. There are about 30 kids in this orphanage right now. Around 8 infants, 8 babies and the rest are walkers up to 8 years old. There were 3 women working. They did not sit down the entire time we were there. They made food, changed babies, gave baths and did the necessities. They did not have time to stop to cuddle a baby yet it was obvious they knew and enjoyed each child. These kids were content and helthy.  Well taken care of.  As volunteers we did the holding and comforting.  These women working here could not do the job of taking care of these kids without a steady stream of volunteers coming in.  

"Someone Knows My Name"

This was the latest book for my book club and I must say that it is an excellent historical fiction. The story follows the life of Aminata Diallo who was taken from Africa to be a slave in South Carolina. She escapes eventually making it to Canada. After living there an opportunity to return to Africa arrises and she takes it only to find that what she dreamed of as home is no longer a reality. Just as her physical journey makes a full circle, many of the questions she struggled with in the beginning make a full circle as well.

This fascinated me as she struggled with the question of “why do these Africans not help me?” when she was kidnapped. As she gained her independence then returned to Africa seeing others being taken she was powerless to help. Because there was no way she could save one person she had to learn how to live, mentally, with this situation. I just kept thinking that this is true oppression.

I was also struck with the thought that the Africans who had been taken from their homeland then enslaved in America and escaped to Canada had lost their identity. They had no place they belonged. As they tried to assemble their lives together, their hearts cried out “I am an African” but their actions and way they carried out their lives said “I am an American”. Maybe I thought about this because it mirrors the way our family is a bit. I see it in my kids. The longer we are away from America the less we fit in. We have seen too much to settle in a cozy little town again without having been truly affected. The further away from Western culture you are, the longer it takes to adjust once again.

So for what it's worth, this book is a really good read.   

The Driving Diva Strikes Again

Driving in Bogota is becoming an experience too great for words. But try I must.

This morning the school called and said “Maddie is sick. Can you come get her?” Not a problem – I have a car. No more hassle, no more frustration. I was driving along quiet nicely. Traffic was bearable. About a mile from the school I was boxed in by several trucks. Suddenly a pot-hole or should I say “abyss” appeared in front of me. With lightning fast reaction I swerved not hitting any of the trucks around me but I still managed to clip the side of the pot-hole. “Clunk” “Ding” - warning light. Everything felt the same so I finished my last mile to the school.

As I slowly drove past the school looking for a place to park, several men ran out into the street and started waving their hands and pointing at my car. My heart sunk. I knew they were not happily greeting me and commenting on my beautiful car. Nope, I had blown the tire.

Fortunately, one of the men was Nestor who is a driver for many of us embassy folks. A friend was at the school for a meeting and he had driven her there. The men pulled out the spare tire, the jack and tire iron thingy. While they began working on the tire, I went in to get Maddie. We came out and there they were, standing around my car discussing and talking, but not working. The lug nuts were stripped. Thank you Discount Tire. We stood there in silence. My friend got done with her meeting and took Maddie home for me. Men walked by on the street. They stopped. Long discussions began. (Please don't forget that this is going on in Spanish around me!) Men continued to come and go. Much pointing and the one word I could understand “importacion”. Yes, my car is a Dodge and they don't have many of those around here. Then men began arriving with various tools. I don't know where they were coming from, they just appeared to be walking down the street with tools in their hands to fix problems. Fortunately one man's tools did just the job to fix my problem.

With spare tire on I very cautiously drove home. Despite the craziness of the flat tire I am thankful that Nestor was there to help me out and that my friend could get Maddie home for me.   

5 a.m. mornings

A month off school was a relief to all of us. No 5 a.m alarms ringing! But today was back-to-school day. I staggered out of the bedroom at 5 surprised and pleased to see all the kids awake and showing signs of life. I fell on the couch and woke up again when my alarm rang at 6:15 telling me it was time for the kids to get out the door. I'm sure they got on the bus and fell asleep for the next 45 min. into school. I'm looking at the calendar and counting 11 long weeks until Spring Break. Time for some Colombian coffee!

Our Car

Our car has arrived and this means FREEDOM!

Chad felt he needed to run into the embassy for something the first day we had the car home. Although it was vacation for him, the possibility of freedom to choose to run in was too great. 30 min. after he left I got a call. “I've been in an accident.” Yep. There is this huge traffic circle here with 3 lanes of traffic. Often people in the innermost lanes make last minute (or so seeming) decisions to cross 2 lanes and make a right-hand turn. And one of those people did not see our bright red car and slammed right into Chad.

Here in Bogota the law is that you do not move cars - no matter how minor the accident - until the police have come and all reports are completed. This typically takes about 3 hours unless you are in a taxi and then you can plan on 5-6 hrs. You can imagine how annoying this is to other drivers on the road! So after the police arrived, and the insurance company lawyer, and the embassy liaison Chad was on his way again in approximately 3 hours! Fortunately there is just a little ding to be fixed under the gas cap.

Yesterday I needed to go to the grocery store for a major shopping trip. I was so happy that I did not need to call a cab, ride in a cab then wait 30 min. to get a cab home while trying to deal with 20 bags of groceries! So I hopped in the car and spent 10 min. trying to get out of the garage. Our parking garage is incredibly tight. You have to go back and forth a zillion times to make it around all corners and into your less than small space. The ramp out is a 90 degree turn and a steep incline. I found out that our car will not go up unless you gun it. So after getting the car in a position where I was not likely to scrape either side on the brick walls I gunned it. With my palms wet and sweat dripping down my forehead I paused in the driveway before turning into the street. But wait. The 12” curb on the right was sticking out into the street 3' further than the curb on the left. Somehow I never noticed that while walking everywhere! I turned, heard a crunch and the car stopped moving. I had no idea what had happened. I got out, walked around and stared at my car balancing on the curb. I could not go forward, the car would never make it over the curb and I could not go backward because the metal on the bottom of the car was stuck. I stood there with my jaw on the ground as the portero slowly walked out the door followed by Damon with the dog. While Damon was running up to get Chad a man driving a horse and cart stopped. The three of us stood there looking at the car while Chad came out the door. Chad took charge. The Portero, Damon, the horse-cart man and myself lifted the front of the car while Chad backed it up. A bit of scraping, some plastic falling off, paint missing and more dents. Lovely.

Well. 3 drives and 2 accidents and we are driving once again. I don't plan on having the hang of it without sweating up a storm for awhile. People darting across roads, 2 lanes of traffic turned into 3, motorcycles swerving between cars, busses belching out black smoke and me, puttsing along in my car.

Colombia 2011 in Picture