Orphanage Kiddies

As there were many children I had the privilege of working with, and I can't give specifics, I will just touch on a few of my favorites. (Not that I had favorites with the children, of course.) I have two babies. And by that, I mean children whom I imprinted on. 

The first is a boy around 3 years old. Unlike the majority of the kiddies that I worked with, he has no diagnosis save for being developmentally behind as a result of neglect. When I first arrived, he did nothing but sprawl on the ground and stare at the ceiling, all day. It was kind of funny. He does not talk, or walk, but would just look at us with a dazed expression when we tried to interact with him in any way. Seriously, I'm laughing just thinking about it. I set aside a minimum of thirty minutes a day to spend working with him on... Anything. Getting him to move, to make a noise, to even pay attention to something. The workers called him lazy, but he just didn't care. About anything. I would tickle him, talk to him, hold him. And he would just lay there, sagging out of my lap. Until I started to sing to him. I would sing, and he would listen. He would make eye contact, and I saw him smile. I started to find him toys that would play music, and he would always sway his head back and forth when he heard it. I would start singing from across the room, and he would crawl over to me, just to be near the music. He loved it. Soon, he would squeal every morning when I walked in the door and scoot over to me. He became much more responsive, and would laugh and smile at things. By the time I left, he could totter around (despite his very large, bobble headed cranium that would give anyone balance issues) while holding my hand, though he wouldn't do it for very long before going limp and sliding to the ground. He was my little bugaboo, and I love him so very much.

The other is a little girl who recently turned four. She is about the size of a normal four year old, but is mentally an infant. She can squirm around, but that is about the extent of her independent movement. I would cradle her and spin her around, and she was never more happy than when she was being held. Tickling her back would cause her to laugh uncontrollably, and breathlessly, which was the surest way to make everyone else laugh as well. I fell in love with her laugh. She would sometimes have seizures, and it would become hard to keep holding her when every muscle in her body was tightly clenched, and her back severely arched. She is a bit cross-eyed, and was always smiling. Always. One of my favorite memories is of sitting outside on the swing with her on my lap, laughing at the joy of being outside, and the feeling of the wind. (Of the four months I was there, the kids were allowed out of the orphanage and into the front yard only twice.) She has the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. That little girl is nothing short of precious, and every moment that I had with her was a gift.

There were so many others equally as special and unique, but I have probably said too much as it is. These kids were my life for four months. Just four months, but it was enough to change me. They taught me many things, but the most prominent in my memory is happiness. Despite the circumstances, I have never laughed as much, or played as hard. They taught me to be happy. 

Ukraine Part Two: Maidan

 It just so happened that our vacation dates for Ukraine aligned perfectly with the one year anniversary of the Ukrainian revolution of Feb. 2014. And Maidan was a mere two minute walk from our hostel. It was one of the most memorable experiences of my life. I was able to walk the streets where it all went down, and witness the hope and patriotism of the Ukrainian people.

This is the building the soldiers stood on top of, shooting down into the crowd. Walking around to the back, we could see how it had been burned.

Walking up the street with the flag and memorial service.

The parade went way up this hill, and the entire thing was lined with piles of flowers. The bridge in the distance was also a place that soldiers were stationed.

These coloured candles were placed in the spot a person had died by their family members. They were everywhere. 

This is a photo taken last year by my friend, Courtney, who had been living there at the time.

A view from the top of the street.

This video may cause motion sickness.

Ukraine Part One: Kyiv

Kiev, Ukraine is a beautiful place that took me mere minutes to fall in love with. I could have stayed forever. Though crossing the border was a royal pain involving many guards and incredulous people questioning my sanity for entering a war zone for sight seeing reasons, it was well worth the effort. 

This is the Lavra, which is a type of monastery consisting of a cluster of cells or caves for hermits. It was like an underground labyrinth with coffins of dead priests everywhere. We were given scarves for our heads, and candles for light before descending into the dark and narrow tomb, where we immediately became lost. It was brilliant. 

Inside the Lavra, where we most definitely were not supposed to take pictures.

And afterwards??? Yes. There were booths selling honeycomb and beeswax candles right outside of the Lavra. It would seem that they keep bees. Dreams can come true.

This was a memorial we walked through to get to Big Momma. Background music courtesy of Courtney, who is the one recording the video above.

Big Momma. It's pretty much their version of the Statue of Liberty. It was amazing.

Kiev Temple, where we spent Saturday afternoon.

St. Michael. One of many cathedrals visited. 

St. Andrew. This was at the top of a very steep and monstrous hill called St. Andrew's descent that we climbed multiple times a day. The hike was beautiful.

Our traditional flower crowns.

My marvelous friend, Courtney, at our favorite restaurant. Ukrainian food is scrumptious, and the tea is even better. We never dined out without ordering a pot of tea.

We also payed a visit to the Lviv Chocolate Factory and walked the cobblestone streets on market day, but I don't have pictures of these events. In short, Kiev is happiness. 

Crosswalks

100% of the time we need to go somewhere, we are walking. Which is fine, as I enjoy walking quite a bit. But Romania is lacking when it comes to things I am accustomed to. And again, I am fine for the most part. I can live without a dryer, without vegetables at every meal, and without the products and foods from home. I can live without English speaking co-workers, and without tampons. I can even live without my sister here to get my jokes, my references, and to assure me that no, I'm not crazy. Everyone should know who Cary Grant is.

It is very possible, however, that I will not live much longer without crosswalks. We cross a street at least once every five minutes out of the two-three hours we spend walking each day. And there are no crosswalks. Everyone remembers being taught "look both ways before crossing the street"? Yeah, that's not a thing here. You just kind of go for it and hope the cars screech to a stop in enough time. Or swerve around you. It's like this, only without a lucky cricket for protection:

And to think I used to be scared of getting hit in a parking lot...

On a completely unrelated note, here are pictures from our trip to Bucharest:

Rise Up

Rise up and find your courage.
Rise up and trust your heart.

Turn your face toward the foe,
And overcome your inner dark.

Though the path be treacherous,
Though the pain be long,

Set your soul on victory
For fate is with the strong.

Vanquish monsters out for blood,
Defeat the hardships in your way,

Swallow all your worries, doubts,
Never fear, be always brave.

Help will come throughout the journey,
When arms are strong and wits are fast.

Hope, and strength, and confidence,
In heroes from the past.

Here Be Dragons

All I knew about Romania before coming here... 

Yep. That one little sentence. It's a bit different than I had hoped.

I spend Monday - Friday in an orphanage for a few hours in the morning. I work in the non-mobiles section, which is full of kids who are, in some way or another, disabled. Due to some sort of child safety issue, I am not allowed to take pictures, name, or go into much detail about any particular child, so this will be brief. None of the kids in my section can talk and one boy is only a year younger than I am. The majority are in wheelchairs, strollers, or cribs, and they are rarely taken out. There are two little boys, about 4 years old, who have no diagnosis but simply never properly developed. Due to lack of social interaction, they do not speak, and never being allowed on the ground has resulted in their inability to walk.  It is hard work, and they are extremely understaffed. The nurses/workers here are wonderful. They are all beyond exhausted, but they love these kids. That much is very evident. They truly care about the children. But they are stretched thin. With a ratio of  1 caretaker per 15 children, it is all they can do to make sure that they are all changed, fed. and their medical needs are met. There simply aren't enough of them to hold, or talk to, or play with these kids. They can keep them alive, but their mental, emotional, social, and developmental needs are not met. Which is what I do. My biggest focus is getting them out. Letting them move and make noise so that the nurses can focus on what they need to.

What I've been struck with the most, is how happy these kids are. I have seen the biggest smile on a child whose hair I was stroking, heard uncontrollable laughter because I was holding and dancing with a child. Their entire day can be made by one song, or story, and they don't even have the foggiest idea what I am saying. None of them are aware of their situation. They don't know that they are disabled, that they have no family, that they eat nothing but instant potatoes in a bottle, (that would seriously be my breaking point.) They have complete innocence, and the ability to be perfectly happy when shown a little bit of love. It is not a sad place. It is a perfect example of having less and needing less.

Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday I teach English at the Kindergarten. Which is an adventure. It is pretty much an hour and a half of being as ridiculous as possible, but with a purpose. It's brilliant. These particular children are mischievous balls of energy that take immense delight in the fact that I haven't any idea what they are saying. I love it. And I've only made three children cry so far, so it's been pretty positive I'd say.

Tuesday and Friday I walk a couple of miles to the children's hospital, and spend a few hours with the "copii fara mama" ( children without mothers). These are either kids from the orphanage, or kids whose parents can't afford to stay with them. I love this as well. I spent today coloring mermaids with a little girl who has cancer.

I love all of these kids. I love playing, and seeing life through their eyes. I love messing around, and telling stories, and making believe. And this is my life for the next three months.

I have yet to see a dragon.

A Story of Loss

Once upon a time, a young maiden grew weary of living a manageable life full of things like time to spare and money in her bank account. So, she gave this all up to embark on an adventure that had, of course, been so romanticized in her head, she had little time for much else, and thoughts of normal things such as college and jobs had no place of their own to occupy.

Now, this maiden knew that the very best way to adventure was to jump into it as unprepared as possible. Of course she chose the place where no one had yet to explore. (No one from her program that is. It’s a pioneering trip of sorts.) Who was to prepare her for all of the strange and new ways of another sort of people and a new way of living? No one, that’s who. And off this maiden went, far away to an unknown land.

Well, this particular maiden was quite fond of floor sitting. No, really. Ask her family. Floors are ever so much better for sitting than chairs and sofas. They are always accessible, you have plenty of room for sprawling, and something about the floor just fills one with comfort; thus it had been a lifelong practice. And lucky for her, there just happened to be a floor in this new place.  Happily she sat, and all was well.

Or, that is, until a kind-hearted old woman, filled with concern, hastened over and began jabbering in Romanian and waving her arms about. Now, every child (for she was not quite grown) can recognize a chastising, no matter the language. The maiden just wasn’t sure what she had done wrong. Therefore, she simply stared uncomprehendingly, waiting for the woman to finish. And so it was until her coordinator/translator came to the rescue. Yay Mario! Mario told her that to sit on the floor meant a cold shock to the ovaries, and she would never have children of her own. The maiden muttered that if they had wanted to discourage floor sitting, they shouldn’t have made the rugs so cushy. The strange woman was still professing her righteous indignation.

And now the young maiden writes of her loss, to discourage floor sitters everywhere while there is still hope.  And she does all this while sprawled on the floor. So long as she’s barren, she may as well enjoy it.

Muchness

Muchness: The innocence and imagination that appears in the hearts of young children. As children grow older, they become more mature and gain responsibilities. They lose their muchness.

--Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll

It took me ages to decide on a blog name. I wasn't entirely sure where I wanted to take it, and I didn't want it to be limited to a specific topic in the future. So I decided to go with Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, which is the word you say when you don't quite know what to say. My parental units were unsupportive. Instead, I chose one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books; also a made-up word, and just as symbolic. In this wonderful story, our female protagonist has to become reacquainted with herself. She delves into the deepest part of her mind and spends the whole book trying to "become Alice." To find her muchness that had been left behind. It's brilliant. In the beginning of the book, she expresses her distaste for society and its rules. "Who's to say what's proper? What if it was agreed that ‘proper’ was wearing a codfish on your head? Would you wear it?" She eventually breaks away from the expected and begins to use made-up words because they hold more meaning, and she learns that the most authentic form of truth lies in the impossible. She finds her muchness.

Now how does this apply to my blog? I'm not entirely sure that it does. But that may be the whole point. It's nonsensical and has no limits. It's perfect.