Better to Have Loved and Lost

  Mwanza, Tanzania
Friday, August 15, 2008

The day began like any other. I drank coffee and chatted with my housemates. I ate a piece of toast, brushed my teeth, doused myself with mosquito repellent, checked my bag for pencils, and headed to the orphanage.  I passed the house two doors down and five-year old Kelly hollered, "I love you, love you so muchy!"  Without even having to think, I returned the daily greeting and continued on my way. I stopped at a duka and bought some water then paid a man at a fruit stand 100 shillings for a banana.  It was like every other morning in Buswelu except for two major differences. First, I had somehow walked all the way to the orphanage without a single person calling me a Mzungu. Second and more significant, it was my last day with the children.  I paused outside the gate to suck in the tears forming in the corner of my eyes.
 
Jo, who is leaving Mwanza after three years as volunteer coordinator, Liz, and I had thrown a party for the children on Saturday.  Most of the children understood that the party and my sleepover indicated that I would be leaving soon.  Earlier in the week several began to ask me when I was leaving.  When I walked inside, I could tell by from the colored pencils, paper and flurry of activity that the children were busy making my farewell cards.  I popped in for a quick hello and went to play with the little ones. Someone had tied a piece of rope to a metal frame, and the rope hung in a large U. The children piled a deflated soccer ball, a piece of cardboard, and plastic bags over the rope creating a swing. 

The children's swing

They took turns pushing each other and shouting with glee. I thought, not for the first time, how clever and resourceful were these children.
 
My morning students, Neema, Helena, and Margreth all brought me letters before they began to get ready for school. It was only a week ago that Margreth let me touch her, but she made me a beautiful card that told me she loved me, not once but twice. The card brought tears to my eyes as it also said. "I am Margreth. My sisters are Happy and Joy." This was followed by the names of her parents; the parents that abandoned her. I took a deep breath, so the tears would not fall. I wanted to avoid an emotional scene as I knew it would make things more difficult for the children. I thanked Margreth for the beautiful card and tried to hug her. She was not quite ready for this step, but did allow me to take a photo of her and she even smiled.

Margreth and I

As the second and third grade children left for school, I promised them I would wait until they got home so we could say our good-byes then.
 
Avoiding ugali and taking an emotional time-out, I had returned to the house for a quick lunch.  Jaco had taken some children to the doctor, so I walked alone.  My last walk to Hands of Mercy; I wondered if I would ever walk this path again. Trying to be honest with myself, I told myself this was the last time. It was not because I did not want to return, but because I fear I many never be able to come back. It was so expensive to get here.  And if I came back, I would want Mike to make this journey with me.  I knew his job permitted him from coming here for any meaningful length of time.  However, I found myself imagining, Mike and I walking to the orphanage someday in the future. 
 

Josef

Josef was playing football when I arrived. I waved to him, but he remained standoffish.  Yesterday, I told him that I was leaving. I did not want to surprise him nor did I want him to hear this from another child.  I knew he would be upset, but I did not expect him to start sobbing and bury his head in my lap.  I realized this was all going to be more difficult than I feared. 
 
Joel and Gloria ensure the children's basic needs are met. They are fed, clothed, and typically get medical attention when needed.  I feel I will become defensive if people pity these children as they are bright, beautiful, resilient, and fun.  I do believe there is a shortage of consistent love, attention, and care. This is mostly due to cultural differences in raising children, as well as to Joel and Gloria spending a lot of time searching for financial support. Unfortunately this results in a lack of adult supervision.  The volunteers really are the ones to provide love, but as we come from foreign countries we do not provide consistency.  While Josef's tears ran down my leg, I told him I loved him. In my head, I wished repeatedly that he had the same someone to love him everyday. 
 
I planned on remaining at the orphanage until all the children returned there by 6:00 or 6:30 pm.  Until it was time to say my good-byes, I wanted things to be as normal as possible.  I found many of the girls, including Stellah, playing in the bedroom. She pulled out a notebook and had me write all my contact information inside. I wrote down how to use an email and told her to get one when she was older.  She then asked me when I was coming back. I had anticipated this question and did not want to tell them that I would return when I did not think it was possible.  I told her I would love to come back, but I did not know if I could.  Then using the best excuse a thirty-one year old childless woman can use in Africa, I told her that Mike and I were planning on having a baby soon.  I explained this would make traveling more difficult.  In class the other day, Salome had already picked out the names of my future children, but Stellah still thought this was funny.  I told her I would send her pictures of my swollen belly, and she and the other girls laughed hysterically and told me I was too small.  However, they still made me promise to send the photo.  The girls then asked for paper, I gave them all I had. I then disappeared as I knew they would use it to write me letters.
 
Most of the afternoon passed as I fought back tears behind my sunglasses alternated with fits of laughter.  After a delightful game of hide-n-seek, Joy decided it was time to play school.

Joy Teaching

She was the teacher and the lesson was shapes.  I found this totally adorable despite Joy's interpretation of a teacher's job consists more of yelling and hitting students with a stick than teaching.  To avoid the punishment, I sat up straight and recited my letters while contemplating the consequences of kidnapping Happy and Joy and bringing them with me.
 
After Joy had successfully chased her pupils away with her stick, I snuck back into the main living room.  I noticed Stellah sitting silently staring at the globe in her lap.

Stellah

Salome looked at me with her enchanting eyes and asked, "Who will teach us now?".  I assured her that more teachers were coming soon. Stellah stood and crawled behind the curtain. When I joined her under the cloth, I saw a few tears stream down her face.  She stiffened in my embrace so I kissed her on the cheek and gave her some privacy.  As I walked back to the classrooms, Mary grabbed my arm and in the only English she knew cried, "You Me Picture". I snapped a photo, and she said, "You Me Sese". I told her to go find Sese and I would take one. 

Mary & Sese

As I sat in a classroom waiting for Mary to return, Diana entered and stuck her arm in my face.  Apparently she could not find any paper, so she had written, "I love you Jinja" on her arm.

Diana's Arm

I was so touched that I could not help but cry.  When I looked at Diana she was crying too.  I hugged her and told her I loved her. I took a photo of my arm and told her I would keep it forever. 
 
As Diana and I hugged and cried, Stellah walked silently through the room.  After Diana had calmed down a bit, I went to check on her. In an empty classroom, Stellah sat alone on the floor, her back facing the door. I could hear her tears.  I sat down next to her and wrapped my arms around her.  Not having the ability to say all I wanted to say in Swahili and knowing she would understand almost all in English, I told her the things I wanted to say to all the children.  I apologized for all the volunteers that come and go.  I told her I was so sorry it had to be that way.  I told her she deserved someone to stay and love her, and that I did love her and would always remember her.  I told her I was a better person for having known her and that I was so very proud of her. I then handed her a letter.  I had written letters to my students complimenting their strengths and telling them how much I loved them and would miss them.  As I am still not sure I know every child's name, it would have been too difficult to write one to every child. I had given Gloria a letter to read and translate to all the children that night and I hoped it would be understandable that it was only my students that had received individual letters.  Just in case, I wanted to wait until the end of the day to pass them out. However as Stellah and Diana were crying and alone in different rooms, I decided it was time to hand them out.
 
I knew I how to say I love you and miss you in Swahili, but wanted to say more to my students. I wrote the letters in English knowing the older teens would be able to translate.  Josef brought his letter to 16-year-old John and began to cry as soon as John read the first line.  I felt awful.  I had written that he was a wonderful boy-kind, smart, and strong.  I had hoped the letter would make him feel better not worse. I realized that I had greatly failed in my goal to avoid excess emotion and feared that dragging out the afternoon was causing the children more pain.  Luckily the sun was beginning to descend in the sky, and the afternoon school children began to return a few at a time.  Yet there was no sign of Margerth. Just as I was beginning to wonder if she was purposefully avoiding saying good-bye, she walked through the gate. I took a deep breath and told myself I could do this.
 
I began by thanking Gloria as this was the easiest good-bye.  Then I slowly made my way through the orphanage and around the compound where the children played. I wanted to make sure that I said an individual good-bye to all my students and the other children I had grown close with.  I approached Happy and Joy and told them in Swahili that it was my last day.  They looked at me strangely then Joy lifted up my glasses to see if I was crying. I think the sight of my tears frightened them a little as they nervously giggled and ran away.  I did not expect them to understand, but there was no way I could leave without saying a proper good-bye to them. While I asked Happy for a hug, Josef ran up to me bawling.  In a mix of Swahili and English, he began to beg me to take him with me to America. I had not anticipated this and I felt my heart rip in two.  He was sobbing to the point that he was shaking as he pleaded to come with me. I tried to explain that I couldn't but I would if I could.  I was too upset to think of how to say this in Swahili, so all I could say was "Pole sana, Tanzania sayma hapana" over and over which roughly translates to "I am very sorry, Tanzania tell me no." "Ginger hapana saymay hapana," (Ginger no tell me no). I am not sure if this made any sense but again I hugged him, kissed him and told him I loved him and would miss him.  Then I had to tell him good-bye.
 
Thankfully, Happy came up with her arms stretched. I gratefully picked her up for a hug.  I called "Twende!" (Let's go) to Joy and she ran and grabbed my hand and walked me to the gate. Along the way, I said my final good-byes to Diana, Neema, Helena, Margeth and the others.  Stellah was last seen right by the gate, but when I approached she was gone.  Uncle Davey (one of the adult helpers) stood there and informed me that she had gone down the street, but sent Helena to find her. Joy jumped in my arms and I was able to tell her how much I loved her before she jumped down excited to be outside the orphanage walls.   In the meantime, the children gathered outside the compound and I hugged and kissed them all again. By this time, neighbors had also begun to crowd around curious as to what was going on, and I could not help but laugh through my tears as they stared at the spectacle. Stellah ran up the road. I threw my arms around her telling her I knew she could do anything she wanted.  I managed to give Margreth half a hug then returned the kisses being blown to me by Joy.  John, Dennis, and Naisibu, some of the older boys, were escorting me home as the sky was getting dark. We walked away, and I turned to see some of the girls running behind. As Uncle Davey yelled at them to come back, I gathered them in one final group hug.  And in the shortest seven weeks of my life, my time at the orphanage ended.
 
The next morning I packed my bags while Jo packed her boxes. She was leaving Tanzania on Sunday. She apologized that she had a horrible song in her head as she sang Roxette's "It Must Have Been Love." I joked that would now be the sing in my head as I left Tanzania.  And as my taxi pulled away from the house, Jo and Sara dramatically belted the cheesy ballad into fake microphones...
"It must have been love, but it's over now.
It must have been good, but I lost it somehow."
The song continued in my head as I made the final trip through Mwanza.  My heart ached and my eyes stung from crying.  Saying good-bye was utterly heart-wrenching, but I knew I had to abide by my favorite motto. I knew my sadness was proportional to the love I had acquired.  I knew that each tear that fell had been matched by smiles and laughter.  I had told Stellah the truth when I said I was a better person for having known her. I am a better person for having known and loved them all. My greatest hope is that the children are also better for having known me even if I had to say good-bye.
 
 
 
 
 
A previous volunteer recently updated the Hands of Mercy website.  There are now 49 children, so they are not all on here, but it is a good website if you want to check it out. http://www.webingenio.es/handsofmercy/