Shekinah

So where was I? Over the crest and down into the orphanage, surrounded by Karen children. We had carried the food down that they would eat for the next two weeks, stored it in a hut and then gathered under a bamboo and leaf roof. At the front was a concrete step that served as a stage, and the group of Karen and Thai college students I had been traveling with immediately gathered the orphans attention by singing and playing guitar. After a few minutes the children were mimicking the motions of the leaders and jumping in rhythm. After a few playful songs the team changed into a slower tempo and then began praying. It was the children’s response that struck me most—they followed in prayer but their intensity needed no translation. They were speaking in urgent whispers, imploring God. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. In the States I would have sat down next to the child and asked what was going on and expected to help make it right. Instead their stories were imbued with a tragedy that I had neither the language nor the ability to explain to them. As I was being caught up in the depth of what they were expressing, the mood suddenly changed like a sunburst through a raincloud. The prayer had ended and their faces beamed. [In the past day I have thought more about this and it seems to fit their lives—the darkness of violently losing their home and parents, sometimes right in front of them, was contrasted with the eagerness that they radiate. It was in prayer and silent times that they faced their past.] A doctor and pastor from the US had also traveled with us and after the pastor talked to them, the doctor gave them a checkup. I had brought bags of items that were donated to ICC, including stuffed animals that the children had been eyeing since I arrived. The team of students held each one up, and after the children made the appropriate sound they taught them the English word. Lion. Bear. Dolphin (that was a new one for the kids), until each child had one.


There was one boy nicknamed Spiderman who seemed a natural fit for the Spiderman hat I brought. He has a natural at playing to the crowd, imitating what he thought Spiderman did (see picture). One girl hugged a Raggedy Ann doll, another was absorbed stroking the blond hair of a Barbie in a yellow dress. With the songs and the doctor and the pastor and the animals, a wall seemed to melt. Any hesitancy at all was dissolved when popsicles arrived and the children showed me how to stick the wrapper to my forehead. The green residue left them giggling, and one color after another my forehead was left a sticky rainbow. One of the boys started to tentatively grab my shoulders so I swung my arm back and grabbed his leg, and a full fledged wrestling match ensued, 6 or 7 boys each grabbing a limb. After that they taught me a strange version of rock scissors paper that involved a fist, two fingers, one, and an open hand.


To the side of the room I noticed one boy who hadn’t moved. As the others played, I sat next to him and the orphanage mother, Sara, told me his story. His name was Philip, and when his village was about to be attacked by the DKBA he and his parents fled to the jungle. They lived there, constantly hiding and running for months. Philip caught the measles which soon became severe. He nearly died, but was left blind.
At this point I looked closer and saw that he wasn’t looking down to the floor—he was blind, white cataracts completely covering his pupils. His legs were covered in scars, sores and fresh cuts. I asked about these and she said he would often try to walk on his own and hit against roots or rocks. The other boys would walk him arm and arm, but sometimes he didn’t want to wait for someone else.
His parents had been killed and with the aid of the Karen militia he made his way to the orphanage. The orphanage mother was hoping to find an eye doctor that could examine his eyes and possibly help.


It was now past 2pm and the children started making swimming motions and looking at me questioningly. I understood what they meant when Sara announced in English, Thai and Karen that it was time to go to the river. When she got to Karen, the children erupted and started running to their hut, boys and girls respectively. We all climbed the dirt stairs up the hill and started down the road to a nearby village. Three boys had attached themselves to my hands, and shirt and I tried to avoid stepping on their feet. One of them raced ahead to a village hut and when he came out the other boys surrounded him with open hands, but he said something in a strong voice, pointing to me and they put their hands down. He then handed me a small plastic bag of frozen root beer-flavored ice. Sara saw what happened and told me this was a favorite treat of theirs, and at 1 Baht apiece (3 cents), the only thing affordable for them. I ate it with enthusiasm, but was torn inside. Here was an orphan who fit everything he owned into a backpack buying something for me. I wanted to say no and buy him five, but that would have diluted his gift. I ate it and grabbed his hand.


We made it to the river and I saw why they had been so excited. Did I mention that this whole time I had been wiping sweat off my forehead? The temperature was so high (a thermometer the doctor had measured the ground temperature at 125 degrees) that relief seemed impossible. But here was a swimming hole that was deep enough not to dry, and was in fact deep enough for the kids to leap off a rock into. I followed and we played, splashing water at each other, trying back flips off the rock, and having a strange sort of war where as many boys as possible would try to hang onto my shoulders. The funny thing was that one boy kept trying to ask (via hand motions) if I could breathe while his friends clambered on; I was both tossing his friends off and reassuring him at the same time.
Sara announced it was time to head back and we started through the village again. This time we stopped at the hut and bought bags of ice for everyone. When we got back to camp the children headed down the hill and we went to the truck. The departure was abrupt; I had been swept up by their laughter by laughter and surrounded by their chatter. Now I was left with my pictures and memories. That was yesterday. Im ending today even more overwhelmed. I keep doing this “stay tuned” thing partly because upload speeds are frustratingly slow, but mainly because it gives me time to mentally catch up. I look at the pictures, my notes, and after about a day it seems much easier to pick a few specific instances to write about. The kids were overwhelming, not because of their bare feet, dirty T shirts, or tentative status as refugees, but because of their eagerness. I keep repeating that word because it fits well. Their default expression seemed to be joy and I left brightened and excited because of them. I changed my plans to return the next day.




The 11 hour time difference is finally catching up and coffee isn’t helping. Im off to search for a guesthouse with air conditioning. A teaser on who I met today: