I went and saw some orphans at Son of God orphanage this afternoon. I was searching for a girl my dad met there a couple of weeks prior. Her name is Magdala.
As we walked up to their orphanage and introduced ourselves to the people in charge, I watched for Magdala. I wondered if she’d be one to come running or if she was the shy type.
Children began poking their heads around the corners and smiling. One little boy, who looked about seven years old, had bumps all over his shoulders, chest and back. He smiled as he walked up to me. Taking my hand, he placed it on his scabied upper body. If I were his size I would be hugging him. Instead my arm simply dangled at his side. He didn’t let go of my hand either. He turned around and began surveying the room, as if he finally felt safe enough to take in his surroundings.
I looked up from him to the hall behind where we stood, which led to a courtyard in the back. Other children appeared from the end of the hallway and ran by. With each girl that ran past, Magdala’s name resonated in my mind.
I asked the little boy his name. Jubie. He then held fast to my shorts as I shuffled down the hallway. Shuffled because another little boy led me forward, holding my shorts as well. His stride was short and he stayed close to me.
I rounded the corner at the end of the hall and tried my luck at conversation with one of the men. I asked him about Magdala.
“Magdala?” he asked. “No Magdala. No.”
I wondered if she’d left or if something happened to her. I looked around at the kids, hoping to find her. Maybe I was pronouncing it wrong. I tried several different ways. Nothing. Jubie wandered off with some friends.
A woman came up to us to help. Then it hit him.
“Magdala!” he said, excited that he had remembered. Looking back, it’s easy to see why he would forget her. There were 125 other orphans! He looked around at the others and said something in Creole. They started yelling all around for Magdala. A minute later a little girl in a white princess looking dress, all chock full of fluff and lace, walked slowly up. Her hair was put up in hair ties, poking in several different directions. Magdala.
I spent some time with her. I told her with the help of a translator how loved she was and how people were thinking about her and praying for her back at my home. She accepted the doll and letters written to her in a room with just a few of us so as not to make the other orphans feel badly or left out. One of them started crying in the window behind me.
After a few minutes, I made my way to the front room and sat down. Jubie found me again and held my hand. I asked him his name again. I wrote it down. Two others quickly ran up
to me and told me their names. They motioned for me to have them written
down on my scrap piece of paper as well. Billie and Wenley. A little
girl did the same. She tried unsuccessfully to hold back a smile as she
told me her name. Sagafina. She was shy, but her presence was light and
peaceful. They may as well have said, “Don’t forget my name either!”
They wanted to be remembered. Like Magdala was remembered. They hung on me and fought for my attention, starving to be noticed.
Five minutes later I walked out of the orphanage. Jubie followed close behind, hanging onto the back right leg of my shorts. I said goodbye and they waved as we left.
