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| Banabas |
After dinner a young boy showed up at the front gate. He said his name was Banabas and he was
wearing dingy pants and a clean black and orange locally made dress shirt. He says he’s 17, although he looks
closer to 13. He told us that his
parents died of AIDS and his 70-year-old Grandfather can’t take care of him
anymore. We sent word to Edem and
waited for him to arrive. Kids are supposed to be referred by a social worker
or we can get in trouble with the government. Edem came quickly and talked with the boy. He made sure he was fed well and tried
to send him home, explaining that he would need to talk to the boy’s family and
a social worker, but it was late and no tro tro was going to his village
tonight.
Mauli arrived and after much debate and discussion Edem
decided to try to find the social worker to see if the kid could stay the night
and if we can send him home in the morning and start the process soon. Banabus could very well be telling the
truth, or his family is pawning him off on HardtHaven hoping for a handout, so
it must be investigated. Edem
called up another friend who arrived in a new car. As he, the friends, and John hopped in, Edem turned to me
and firmly commanded that I “be a good mother and stay with the kids.”
Chauvinism aside, I’ve been in this house all day. All WEEK. I
barely leave and today was a struggle.
And now it’s just me here.
Well, me… and Sister Matilda.
I swallowed it, though, turned on my heel, and chose a story
to read. Diapered and tucked in
the twins. Checked the
homework. Corralled the older
children and oversaw while they cleaned up the office and porch for the
millionth time that day.
Minua took Nancy’s hand and lead her off to bed only to end
up hollering at her so loudly we could hear from inside the office. She was barking in Ewe and little Nancy
was sniffling and sobbing. When I
walked in Nancy was just standing there, shoulders slumped and a confused look
on her face while Minua lectured.
Nancy doesn’t sleep in diapers because they’re too expensive, but she
often wets the bed. Minua is her
older sister, so she has to clean it up and she’s sick of it. Understandably, but yelling at Nancy
won’t make her stop wetting the bed.
I explained this to Minua, who was still irritated at me for putting her
in time out earlier and all but refused to listen. She stomped off, passing Elikplim in the doorway. He sat on the bed next to Nancy and me
and started singing. Nancy stopped
sniffling while we folded up a bed sheet and tied it to her bottom half. She cuddled up and drifted off to
Elikplim’s lullabye, me with a lump in my throat. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, a little boy
sings an orphaned baby to sleep.
John returned alone with permission for Banabus to stay the
night and once the older kids were settled in their dorms he and I headed out
to the Maxi Spot.
Big Stars in hand, we bonded over memories of home. Tim, another Peace Corps volunteer,
Frank (an ex-pat who married a local woman and can often be found riding his
son around town on his motorcycle, both helmet-less), and another German guy
were across the street at another Spot.
John talked me into visiting with them, although I was still sore at Tim
for the Vacation Volunteer incident.
I promised to stop being a brat, and we ended up talking about the same
topic as last time, but with a positive spin. We discussed the new-ness of the home, volunteer
expectations versus reality, what should happen to keep the home going, and
what we all could actually actually do
about it. Small small.
John and I both peed on the side of the road on the way
home.
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