Why do the little monsters make me love them so much it hurts.

There's something about a crying child that tugs at every maternal instinct I try to deny. S., the little monster who calls me "MAMMY!" with one breath and then refuses to make his bed with the next, cried on my shoulder last night. He told me the other day that he loved me. Or, he told me as well as a 10 year old from an orphanage in South Africa can manage. "Me love you," he announced one day when I came to take him to his medications in the morning. The HIVSA rep told me that she thinks he has ADD and a low IQ. The ADD portion I may agree with, but not the low IQ. There's something about S. that makes you love him. The sticky hugs. The cheekiness. The demands - "Kiss!" Or, as he calls them, "Boops!" He does speak broken English since its not his mother tongue, but he seems pretty eloquent in Zulu. I don't know how well he'd sit still in a class but he knew enough last night to realize that the cards we were drawing to thank the camp sponsors meant that camp was coming to a close. He drew one flower on his card forlornly (insisting on using my lap as his desk) and then fell silent. He announced "Want sleep!" and fell over like a narcoleptic. I've never seen anyone fall asleep so fast. He kept waking up with tears leaking out of his eyes and crying heaving sobs. I put him in his bed, only for him to stumble out again a few minutes later to throw his arms around me and cry tears against my neck. He fell asleep on me with one arm holding me securely around the neck and the other hand patting my face sleepily as he'd mumble repeatedly "Me love you. Me love you." It brought tears to my eyes, especially considering that he's the one I'm always dragging out of the dirt, telling him to stop fighting, no pushing, go wash your hands. And his response is always "NO!" I'm sure orphanages these days are nothing like the institutions in Little Orphan Annie, especially since S. and his brother K. seem well adjusted, but it still made me want to take both of them home with me.

I eventually put S. back into his bed when it seemed like he was sound asleep, and I tucked the rest of the kids in for their bedtimem story. Usually, because these kids are from Soweto, they insist on closing all the curtains and doors tightly before they go to sleep even though we're in rural area. I normally have to yell through the door when I read them their bedtime story. That last night though, when I read them their bedtime story as usual,

S. woke up again to climb out of bed and open the door all the way so he could see me as he was lying in bed.

I turned 24 today. At breakfast, the boys sang me happy birthday before they got on the bus. I got a little shiny-eyed as they were boarding. Today (the last day of camp), S. refused to let me hug him or touch him, scowling "NO TOUCH!" whenever I tried to even cut his food for him. But when he saw my tears, he leaned out the window of the bus and grabbed my hand, scowling "No cry!" as the bus pulled away.

For all the levels of frustration that they caused in one way or another, I was sad to see them go today. There were a lot of nice photo ops at the goodbye as the buses pulled away, but something stopped me from whipping out my camera and snapping away. Being behind the camera somehow alienates you from the situation, making you an observer and no longer a participant. Never have I wished more for a little camera behind my eyes so that I could replay their hands waving out the windows and their heads poking out. I think I would feel better knowing that they were going back to loving families, but the harsh reality is that I don't know what they're going back to. Most of my kids live in children's homes, and others live without any adult supervision - only with their siblings. While they were at camp, I at least knew that they were getting 3 meals a day, a hot shower, and were safe. I have no such assurance now that they're gone. The older boys broke my heart more than anything else. The younger ones I know will have caretakers at the children's home, but some of the older boys are returning to the street. Most of them were crying because they didn't want to leave camp. A lot of them are good kids and I can only hope that they're going to turn out okay. I'm frustrated with the English language as I feel like I can't adequately express my thoughts right now. I think it's a mixture of incoherence due to too much emotional stimulus and exhaustion. I can't help but feel like my life in the U.S. is so... soft in comparison. Cubicles. Excel sheets. Paperwork.

All I want to do right now is eat chocolate and bury myself in meaningless fashion magazines.

041002_05boardingbuses Originally uploaded by nantron

041002_08goodbye Originally uploaded by nantron