In a crowded back lot, surrounded by cracked orphanage walls, the smell
of waste baking in the scorching mid-morning sun wafted repulsively to
my nostrils but attractively to a swarm of flies. I withheld the reflex
to gag.
of waste baking in the scorching mid-morning sun wafted repulsively to
my nostrils but attractively to a swarm of flies. I withheld the reflex
to gag.
The children seemed completely unaware, focused instead on vying
for my attention. Tiny hands threaded through the tangle of competing
limbs to find a fistful of fabric or a free finger.
for my attention. Tiny hands threaded through the tangle of competing
limbs to find a fistful of fabric or a free finger.
Part of the
group passed out multi-colored construction paper and crayons. Still
others began the art of paper airplane folding. A few more went out to
the dusty, city street to set up a tarp shelter. I gathered a little boy
in my arms and sat on the back lot’s steps.
group passed out multi-colored construction paper and crayons. Still
others began the art of paper airplane folding. A few more went out to
the dusty, city street to set up a tarp shelter. I gathered a little boy
in my arms and sat on the back lot’s steps.
I had noticed him
toddling around forlorn, quiet, with mournful eyes. He never uttered a
syllable and tickling didn’t work. He refused to smile. He just stared.
Looking into those eyes he wordlessly shared a great depth of sorrow and
pain.
He was content in my arms for only a few minutes before
squirming his way to the ground and independently crawling back up the
stairs.
At the top he stood and slowly toddled
through the corridor alone – a dispirited conqueror.
through the corridor alone – a dispirited conqueror.
