The Children's Home

I revised my last entry since I realized that just complaining about my flight here was not very interesting. Hopefully, it's a little better now!

Yesterday, while John worked at the hospital, Dianne and I went to our first orphanage play date. We spent the morning making small packets out of some of the supplies that you all kindly donated. We made 70 packets, each containing a crayon, a pencil, a bar of soap and a fun little thing (like a sticker or a hair clip).

We were joined by Anne, a lovely woman who is also staying at the guesthouse. Anne was born in Ireland and now lives in Eastern Tennesee. She is a teacher by trade who has spent many years teaching in foreign countries, sometimes funded as a Fulbright Scholar. She has the nicest lilt to her voice, her Irish and Southern accents melded together. Anne is here visiting her daughter who is researching a poisonous fungus that grows on the corn here so she was looking for a way to spend her time while her daughter was working.

We went to The Children's Home, an orphanage that has some government subsidy but is mostly run on private donations. (I think the social worker who is our contact there first warmed up to us when I told her that in the States, we must rely more and more on private donations to support our nonprofits as well!) Most of the older children were in public school so we were greeted by the little ones who are all aged 4 and under. The children were so excited to see us, screaming "Obruni!!!" as they came running up and immediately clung to my legs. Some asked me to zip up their sweatshirts, despite the 80 plus degree weather, just to have the contact. Others made gestures to be picked up and would immediately settle their heads against my shoulder.

We took turns singing songs to one another, then sat down in smaller groups and read stories. The book I used is a nonsensical story to help teach the alphabet, so the children had fun identifying letters for me and repeating the refrain, "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom." Most were content to sit quietly and play with my hair or touch my cheek.

It's mostly hard to think about what hard lives these little ones lead. Walking the streets in Ghana, you see mothers everwhere with their children slung low on their lower backs, constantly in contact with their mother's bodies, and cradled by an extension to their dresses. I suspect that these children aren't just fascinated with my foreigness, but are instantly loving out of a desperate need for the natural contact that their otherwise denied. Furthermore, a teacher told us that they are all awoken at 5:30 in the morning, eat breakfast at 7 and aren't put to bed until 8 at night. When asked if they get naps after lunch, she laughed at the idea of that! It's also a little difficult to watch teachers herding the children into better behavior using switches or ignoring the fights that would break out between the children.



Anyway, it'll be interesting to see if there's a difference in treatment when we go to an orphanage this afternoon that is run entirely on private donations from two foreign doners and the labor of the pastor who founded the place. John will be coming with us to medically evaluate the children. We think it's dangerous that the two of us will be there at the same time as we might not be able to resist bringing home a little one with us. It is a bit amusing to think of what would happen, living in Utah as an interracial couple with a Ghanaian child!

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