|
My days at Kasisi were filled with the unbelievable smiles and
friendliness of the children, the steady and watchful presence
of the house mothers, and the graciousness and lightness of the
sisters.
I arrived virtually straight off the plane from Sydney to be
greeted by a busy Sr Mariola with “Aah do I know this woman? Let
me check the criminal records”. And for my stay of just over a
week, I was constantly entertained by her great humour and
energized by her indomitable spirit.
Sister Mariola gave me my project the Friday I arrived: to
produce a brochure about Kasisi for visitors. My other duty was
to help feed the toddlers, twice a day, at 10am and 3.30pm.
Throughout, I felt surrounded by big smiles, brown eyes, and
lithe ever -moving bodies; children quick to grasp a hand, wave,
or clutch their hands together in traditional greeting – all
beneath the growing grey skies and pelting rain that came and
fell on my tin roof, so often.
The heart of the Kasisi compound is a bungalow style block built
around a central courtyard area. You enter through an arched
passage way faintly Spanish in style. This darkened, cooler
passageway passes the door to Sister Mariola’s office, often
open revealing visitors on the chairs and sofas around the low
table in front of her desk. Smiling faces of the children grace
the wall behind her desk and there’s a gold fish bowl in the
corner.
From this passageway you enter the courtyard area and the
covered walk way which leads you through the home. Along this
walkway are framed paintings by the children, toys or mobiles
are suspended above the low wall and a mural type painting at
shoulder height all around the wall.
There is a rhythm and grace and punctuality to life here. The
children rise at 6am on school days, have breakfast and are off
to school. They return for lunch at 11am. Some return to school,
there are activities, and dinner is at 5pm.
At the weekend, children come to mass at 7am and on Saturdays
clean their rooms and do their washing. There’s a kind of
quietness that is not silent, interspersed as it is by crying
babies, and the chatter and laughs and shouts of children as
they play.
Clothes are hung to dry on lines and the playground swings and
gathered quickly as the rains begin, at first light then sheets
of it falling.
For the toddlers I helped feed, feeding time and bath time,
dressing time, sleep time are regular as clockwork. I would
arrive into their playroom and some of the bolder ones would
lean against my legs, reach out to be picked up, or shake my
hand. Having picked up a pink or blue plastic bowl with a
child’s name typed in dynamo on the side, I would call out their
name, and they would come and sit down in front of me on the
floor between my legs ready for me to feed them. When they got
distracted, or were shaking their head at the food one of the
house mothers would call out in njanje, “Iwe”, “You” or “stop”,
or some other instruction and the child would obediently turn
back ready for the next mouthful.
When it was dry enough the children were taken out into the
courtyard to the swings and open air and play and feed them
there.
I remember one day on the way back as they trailed back down the
corridor, some of them finding the old oven which was sitting
there, and banging on its side. They squealed and laughed and
banged and made such a din of excitement and thunderous hitting.
One of my little charges was Melody. She had a huge smile, was
quite bold and inquisitive and also quite a mimic. She would
copy my waving fingers and pulling a serious ‘no face’. She had
an extremely expressive face: scrunched up, a little frown, a
mesmerised absorption in pulling my hair, looking at my tummy.
The mothers often called out loudly in reprimand, Mel – o – dee.
When left alone with all 15+ I would sometimes undergo an
onslaught of being stroked, hair twisted, pulled, toys being
thrown at or dropped on me, or be leant against, or lain on by
these little bodies. The minute a mother called, they’d behave.
Next door to the visitor’s house I stayed in was the boys’
house: some street kids and some that had grown up in the Home.
They played football in the dirt yard in front after lunch or at
the end of the day, their bodies lithe and energetic.
I constantly visited with Sr Mariola, to consult, to find out
what was going on, to use the computer in her room. She arrived
and departed swiftly, always with greetings and humourous
asides. And she could chastise stridently when things weren’t as
they should be – followed by a wink thrown my way.
Sometimes Nellie is here in her office or in her sitting room or
bathroom with one of the other older girls. Now in her early
teens, Nellie has been cared for by Sister Mariola since she was
a few years old through major sicknesses and brain surgery.
She’s a focal point here and one of my key greeters and
inductors. On the first morning I sit next to her on the couch
and she squeezes my arm and plays with me, finally asking my
name. After Sr Mariola has gone to town shopping, and I head to
the toddlers for the morning with her, she asks me close to 80
times “Where’s Sr Mariola?” Then “Is she coming?” It was a
lesson in presence and patience to each time freshly respond,
she’s gone shopping, followed by she’s soon coming.
Sr Janina and Maria, the identical twins, were disarmingly
identical. I had constant problems distinguishing them often
having to resort to their shoes, or what task they were
conducting – which didn’t always work!
They were a constant source of kindness as they served me food,
took care of Sr Mariola, bringing her clean and ironed clothes,
taking her to eat, and cared for the children.
One late morning I visited the House of Hope where I met
Evaristo and Musiwa. I found Musiwa to be an incredibly
vivacious, nimble, and happy spirited young boy, inspite of the
slow healing burns.
After their lunch, he and Evaristo took me to Suzy’s bedside.
Suzy is really really sick and can’t speak. In her teens she lay
in bed, arms pencil thin and bent. The boys mimicked karate
chops as they posed for the camera – they loved being
photographed. They then pulled out shades and beakers and tooth
brushes and crucifixes from under the sink behind to pose. All
of this had Suzy laughing at them. I was touched by their care
for each other.
During most my stay there, it was warm and humid. Some mornings,
I’d wake to grey and cloudy skies and through the day we’d
wonder if and when the rain is coming, and then there’d be a
roll of thunder and the rain would start then suddenly be a huge
outpouring as it fell in the gutters and drains.
Then it would cool and clear and the water would soak away and
everything be glistening and fresh. Along the red pathways and
roads and streets around Kasisi, the grasses grown to above head
height and maize leaves and stalks reaching rapidly towards the
sky. The gathering grey clouds and the rain bringing coolness
and the clatter on the rooves.
Some days were sunny and hot, the humidity building, and us
taking cover in the shade.
The girls loved to be with friends and play and dance and sing
together. I was touched by how often the girls said their hobby
was praying with friends, or singing, or making friends, or
playing. So healthy!
One evening while passing through the yard, I stopped to talk
with and photograph a few girls. Soon others came, they ranged
in age from about 8 to 14. After some time we began playing and
singing songs. They knew so well how to welcome and include new
girls, who couldn’t speak their language. One would lead me, or
show me. I’d try and mimick and they’d laugh and if I didn’t get
a movement, they stop and slow down and show me. Such patience!
Next door to the two rooms which were home to the toddlers I
worked with, there were two rooms for babies. During the day the
older ones sat on the floor in the middle of their room. Just
sitting. They looked a little shell shocked and stunned,
especially by big white visitors!
On the wall above the vibrant pink cots was a sign: a baby is
God’s way of saying the world must go on. And here it does –
beautifully.
|
