September 8, Afternoon- The Superhero & The Heart-breaker

September 8

Afternoon

Justice, eating in his pinstripe pants.

Justice, wearing his favorite pair of white pants with pink pinstripes (girls pants, donated to the home), was strolling, as he does, by himself around the periphery of the compound listening to his tape player.  He’s 14 years old, born January 27, 1993.  He and his brother Isaac are Kpando natives.  The two of them used to wake up and sell kenke at the market every morning from 5:00AM to 8:00AM, go to school until 2:00PM, then work in the farm until bed.  Justice came to HardtHaven every single morning for a week straight asking Edem to allow his brother and him to come live at the home.  His mother is alive and hasn’t been tested, but their father died from HIV/AIDS.  Although they didn’t exactly meet the criteria and weren’t referred by a social worker, Edem saw Justice’s potential and felt compassion for the boys’ situation, so he welcomed them into the home.  Justice is a very smart boy and pours over nonfiction any chance he can get, asking a million questions while he reads.  He wants to be a pilot someday because they are rich and get to see the world.  But for now, that pair of headphones are almost always sticking out of his ears, connected to a tape player that’s usually playing some Bob Marley music (they call Reggae music “Culture”). As the oldest boy, he’s often too old or too “cool” to play Memory and Uno with the other kids.  I figured he needed to learn a grown-up game.

I’ve never claimed to be much of a chess player, but I can see enough moves ahead that I can hold my own without embarrassing myself too terribly against most opponents.  I just don’t like to play very often, because I don’t like to lose.  Today I taught Justice, and by our third game he was asking me “are you sure you want to move there, Auntie?”

While Justice was defeating me, Christopher and Junior started playing catch with a bouncy-ball. 

Christopher, giggling.

Christopher, Juliet’s younger brother, is an adorably goofy and twiggy five year old (probably— DOB unknown) with big ears and an even bigger grin.  His knobby little knees are always covered in band-aids from his klutzy falls.  He’s a Superhero, you see, and he needs to fly from place to place, pausing only to strike muscle poses for his adoring Auntie-fans.  He taught me the Ghanian finger-snap handshake (regular handshake, slide to fingers-facing-up handshake, back to regular handshake, then slide your middle finger along the other person’s middle finger and snap the other person’s finger with your middle finger and thumb.)  It takes some practice, but he’s an expert, ‘cause he’s cool like that.

Junior, after playing with chalk.

Junior is a heartbreaker.  He cuddles up, shyly at first, with his big, puppy-dog eyes, and melts you into a puddle.  At age five (DOB July 14, 2002) he was Hardthaven’s first border, and in three short months his legs have straightened out so much that he can run like the wind, in a fit of infectious giggles, when chased by Aunties threatening to tickle.  “Auntie, no, stop!”  And then he gives you the puppy-dog eyes until you tickle again, and lets you until he’s out of breath – “Auntie, no!” and so on, until he’s tired you out.

The Superhero & The Heart-breaker

Today the Superhero and the Heartbreaker couldn’t control the wild bouncy ball, though.  They chased it through a game of Uno, sending cards flying.  They scrambled after it, stomping through the circle of older girls who were reading and gossiping at the picnic table on the porch.  They clambered after it as it soared over the twins, waking them from their nap in the shade.  They raced to prevent it from ambushing the kitchen… but they were too late. 

It flew through the open door, wack wack wacked against the wooden table and the floor, and then suddenly changed directions, slipping through poor Christopher’s fingers, and smacked Sister Matilda in the rear.

The boys froze for a brief second, eyes on Sister Matilda’s backside, then scrambled after the assailant, and booked it like their lives depended on it. 

Sister Matilda, the lumbering Sasquatch, thundered after them, bellowing in Ewe “MA-POH!”  (I will beat you!)  A switch appeared in her hand, like Darth Vader using The Force to summon a Light Saber.  She re-emerged from the boy’s room with Christopher shrieking and swinging from her claw, trying desperately to escape, and Junior, head hanging, tears streaming, following behind them.

She pushed Christopher into a stool and held him there as she hiked up her skirt and plopped onto the chair next to him.  She barked something in Ewe and Christopher bravely got up to lean over her knee. 

I found myself running across the compound, sweeping Junior up from his puddle of tears and turning to Sister Matilda.  She was ready for me.  She yanked Junior out of my arms and dismissed me with a firm shake of her hand, an abominable look, and a grunt. 

I just stood there as she caned Christopher.  My head ached and there was fire in my throat.  He squeaked a little each time the switch came down.  My knees felt weak. 

When she finished, she motioned for Junior.  Christopher, holding his backside, tears welling, stepped in front of her reach, shaking his head, whispering something.  Sister Matilda grunted and put Christopher back on her knee, starting over again.

The boys ran off to their room, hand in hand, to console each other.  The show was over, so the rest of the kids went back to their cards and their books.  The air thinned back out and the birds started chirping again.

I washed my face and went back to the chess game. 

“Justice, are the children beaten often?” I croaked.

“Yes, when they do not behave.  But Sister Matilda likes to beat too much,” he whispered back.