Thank you. Please come again.
January 18th, 2008
I felt just awful today — stuffy head, weak and woozy. I stayed home from Assisi (look at me, calling in “sick” even in India). I thought it was my last evening session at SEAM, and I wanted to rest up to make sure I could make it there to say my goodbyes to all the kids. (It turns out that while today was officially my final day, I’ll be able to tag along tomorrow night, too, before heading to the airport).
So I spent the afternoon tossing and turning in bed, my bangle bracelets catching on the mosquito netting around me. I couldn’t fall asleep. And I couldn’t quiet my mind. I thought fresh air might do me good (*fresh* air being relative here, of course). So I went up to the rooftop of our guest house.
When I got there, I sat in the little plastic picnic chair, as I’ve done every morning. But instead of praying or meditating as I usually do in that chair, I just found myself bawling. I’m talking weeping — as if my last friend and my dog had just died. (Let’s pretend I don’t hate dogs for that analogy to work).
I can’t explain what came over me exactly. The rush of the entire experience flipping through my mind, like a slideshow. The feeling that I only just got here, only just scratched the surface and I already have to leave. The guilt of having missed out on Assisi and not seeing those kids one more time, and not meeting the regular crew of kids who returned to day care there today after the long holiday break. I don’t even know if it’s exactly all that. All I know is that I was absolutely overwhelmed with sadness.
I cried it all out, following advice my father gave me not long ago after I’d had a particularly rough day: “Cry it out. Clean it out.” (He’s a plumber, so he likes drainage, ya know?) So, I cleaned it all out, wiped my runny nose, dabbed my puffy eyes and pulled myself together to go to SEAM.
Stephen suggested I bring my laptop to show the kids all of the pictures I’ve taken here, especially the photos and videos of them. And so we huddled them together, cross-legged on the floor. I sat in (another) plastic picnic chair. (This time, no tears). I scrolled through all the colorful pictures I’ve taken — of packed streets and vibrant colors, of sweet little faces and gracious people. And it was a chance to reflect back myself, to see where I started and where I came — sitting right there in the hall I had nervously entered two weeks ago, feeling blindfolded and uncertain of what to expect.
And when I got to the pictures and videos of them, they stood on their knees to see — pointing and laughing, thrilled to see their own images reflected back at them. It was pretty cool.
The group then serenaded me and Lucy, another volunteer wrapping up this week, with….The Jesus Song! It was lovely, and I did my best to sing along. (I’ve got it all on video, so I’ll be sure to post it when I return so you can all get a listen). Two of the children presented us with Thank You cards. On the inside is a class portrait-type picture of the group, with all of their little signatures. I told them I’d hang it up on my wall to remember them.
Rebecca did a quick change into a white dress to perform a “candle dance” for us. Her sister, Mikla, stood solo to sing a beautiful little song. And one teen boy (whose name I can’t remember, but whose signature tough-guy laugh I’ve got down pat — and torture him by mimicking it to him every chance I get), pulled out a box of matches, lighting them and putting them out in his mouth. (That prompted Ginny, one of the volunteers to shout warnings to the younger ones, “Now don’t you go trying that!”)
One by one, the kids came up and shook mine and Lucy’s hands, offering us the memorized goodbye, “Thank you. Please come again.” And I told them that yes, I’d like that very much.
The kids huddle around to see my photos.
Transcribing from a religious workbook, Rebecca shows off her typing skills. I took over the keys to try, and had forgotten how hard pressing down on the keys of a typewriter is compared to a computer. Makes me even more impressed with how fast she types.
The boys bunch in (maybe too closely) for a photo at SEAM.
Rebecca does a quick change into a white dress to perform her candle dance for us. She was so nervous, but did a great job.
Mikla, Rebecca’s sister, sings us a song.
wow! Sounds like you’re never going to be the same. I think I would have been a little overwhelmed too. How great that you did this Jo. Those kids are never going to forget you. And you’re never going to foget them.
posted by loretta waldman (01/18/08 2:26 pm)Are you wishing you could tuck a little someone whose name begins with A into your suitcase? I’ve loved reading all about your trip and look forward to hearing more upon your return.
posted by Shana (01/23/08 9:09 am)Dear Joann
We have so enjoyed reading your blog here in our Little Canada office. The stories of how you connected with these precious children - and your own growth are such a reward for those of us who work behind the scenes. Thank you for all you have brought to these children’s lives and sharing the stories with others.
Michelle
posted by Michelle Heerey (02/11/08 4:43 pm)Director of International Operations, Global Volunteers