Arrival

The Moei River divides Thailand and Burma. We (A team of Thais and I) drove up and down a mountain road on the Thai side for three hours before reaching a dirt turn off marked only by a small blue-lettered sign is labeled “Shekinah Orphanage.” Nothing is visible except for two large blue water tanks and a steep drop off beyond. I stepped out of the truck hesitantly, not sure if this was it or not. Two Karen men were sitting on their haunches in the shade of a nearby tree and watched me. I walked up and smiled, and then past them to look down into the valley about 100 feet below. The sides were incredibly steep, and on the slope were perched some bamboo huts. I thought the orphanage must be around the hill or out of sight, but then I heard the shouting of children. They were streaming out of the huts and running to a path that went straight up the hill. As they ran they shouted excitedly to each other and soon I was surrounded by the children of Shekinah orphanage.

They were both excited and shy at the same time, running up to the truck then stopping abruptly and standing still with their eyes averted. I myself was torn between taking pictures (never a bad picture with these kids) and wanting to get out from behind the camera and just get to know them first. I chose the second option and am glad I did because it freed up my hands. The children had already crowded around the truck where the food was and instead of grasping to get some immediately, they shouldered it (or lugged whatever they could) and started back down the hill. I jumped in and grabbed a bag of cucumbers.

Getting down the hill was a trick the kids were far better at than I. They ran down around me as I slipped on the loosely packed dirt that seemed impossible to get footing on. Stairs had been carved out of the hill and cut bamboo shoots served as a wobbly railing, but it took all I had to not drop the bag. The kids seemed to be a bit apprehensive, and to tell the truth, so was I. Some were only 5 or 6 but I found myself very aware of their background. They were from Burma, and had been separated from their parents (by death or distance) by the terrible ongoing war. Sometimes this was when they were hiding in the jungle for weeks or months to evade the DKBA (the Bhuddhist militia that has systematically destroyed Christian Karen villages within Burma). Other children have far worse memories of their parents being killed in front of them. Somehow each of them made it to the first orphanage. However, last June the orphanage was again attacked by the DKBA. Four local Christian Karen soldiers slowed down the assault and in the middle of the night the children were able to escape across a river.

All this was on my mind when I first saw them. However, it wasn’t long until that cloud cleared in the brightness of their laughter. They were so excited to see us. We put the supplies in the storage hut and then all crowded into a 15 ft by 35 ft concrete-floor hut that I learned serves as their assembly area, school, clinic, church, and playground. They knew exactly where to sit: boys to one side, girls to the other, youngest up front.

It’s midnight my time and after going non-stop for a number of days I need to stop messing with the 56 kbps connection I found and get some sleep. I can’t wait to begin where I left off.