Dearest Logan, Meg & Kate, Mom , Sppecccialll gang, and great friends,
here comes a little reality that i learned the third week about orphanages in Cusco... you are all up to date about the joys of loving the boys.. you have seen the faces and know the projects.. can probably imagine the singing and carrying on that happens when you get a bunch of kids around.. so at this point the chicken coup is complete... the requests for paint, and curtains and lots of chickens has been made... i have talked to the psychologist about supplies and musical instruments and we are waiting on the carpenter to repair the chicken pens.. 12 places to nest.. the roses have been pruned, the edges manicured.. walls have been painted ... and toys made..beading done.. nails clipped... stories told....
it is monday morning.. of the third week....usually when i arrive i have some plan set for the day.. gavin and i have shopped for paint, paper and brushes in that real peruvian market that my heart beats faster in .. just at the thought of being robbed... anyway i am ready for fun with my little gang... whoever they are...we have more beads and time to feel out a day...
i enter the study room.. i am used to the smell of urine in the carpet now... little hands in mine... the room is large.. with turquoise walls and tall windows on both sides with chocolate shutters with secret doors that open to control the winds... they are barred... there is no escaping this place... outside is the long open space that includes the new chicken coup and guinea pig house... it is piled with boards and discarded broken furniture...
the walls of the room are bare... except for a few posters and a large list of boys names with birthdays listed... and lengths of time they have lived here... chairs are piled upside down on the tables and there is nothing personal here...
at the end of the room the shelves once full of books has been emptied... my heart sinks... there must have been eighthundred books there... where have they gone... i am deflated..
i go to the directora, Janet... she comes into the study room with me... she explains... she has moved the books to her office, under lock and key, because she is responsible for the books and when she leaves she has to pay for all the damaged books . the boys were tearing out pages from the books for their projects at school and she has to pay for them..
so it has been about five weeks without books... now, the books, once piled in the office corner have been moved ..somewhere... i have no idea..
she went on to say that this place used to be run by the nuns and there are boys here, edie, (my cha cha student) being one, who lived through that reign... many of the staff are still here and know the conditions that the boys suffered through.. she said that edie, about 15, who loves michael jackson, like every other boy here, has marks on his back from being beaten by the nuns...
a word on edie. when he paints he always paints his name... onto a fully painted page in capitols... EDY. he is about five feet tall .. he wears glasses and has a soft laugh.. and also a ball cap.. he goes to school at 12:30 and wears a cerulean blue sweat suit.. the top zippers which is always clean. he loves music and the cha cha and a version of the waltz and is not shy to request to dance... he is polite to me, works at his english and is kind to the others...
the directora has been here for about 4 years... she does love the boys.. but seems involved in the running of this place keeping every day afloat...she told me that when she came here there was proof of abuse to the boys that she tried to make public but the staff would not come forward to help her cases and so nothing happened... with tears in her eyes she told me there are only three people here that she trusts...
over the past two weeks both gavin and i have worked at so many things with the boys... the staff have disappeared into their offices... the rooms all get locked...there is a mistrust here.. huge... like everything will be stolen... i am not sure what everybody does.. except the carpenter who has touched my heart.. because he is kindof like a dad to the boys.. hugs them and puts his gigantic hand on their heads and gives them a little push.. he worked on the blocks and airplanes with us, and always was on our side... the other staff, well, there is the cook, and a nurse mama woman who is in charge of medicine, a secretary, the psycologist,(not sure what he does?) a man who swings keys around and gets the boys eating or in the showers or to school on time... a guard who doesn't smile and a mama figure who always wants to know if i have food for her in my backpack...now i know there is also a dentist who visits and i have seen him three times since i have been here as well as two social workers who have an office and are young and polite.. no one speaks english and there is little for me to say other than" buenos dias" ..
she leaves... i try to take in what she has just told me.. i am sad.. i wonder about this place and being here...
the blocks have disappeared... the planes are gone....the boys are not wearing their bracelets...
walking up the street i pass the stalls of shops selling cement and bags of dirt.. barrels of alocohol and a sewing machine buzzes in a small alley.. there is no change here...only deeping wrinkles and dust worn into tired clothes that changes from one day to the next..babies grow... children get bigger.... the orphanage is no different..it will go back to the same when i am gone.. before i am gone...above the courtyard purple mountains and blue skies remind me of the beautiful....
that day .. i took a little one in my arms and on a worn velvet bench in the courtyard, just rocked him to sleep.. hummed.. sang... with tears rolling down my cheeks... sleep little one.. you are warm and loved... and so am i..
all my love.. put on a fire. love mom, me...
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