Before coming to Nigeria, my friend’s grandmother warned my very seriously, “Now you be careful that you don’t fall in love while you are there!” I wish I could say that I heeded her advice, but on Thursday I fell hopelessly in love with a five-month old baby named Simon at the government run orphanage. Simon is one of ten children currently at the orphanage, and all of them--Gloria, Precious, Peter, Moses, Lazarus, Emmanuel, Salemay, Abel, and John--left permanent imprints on my heart.
I almost collapsed from exhaustion after spending only one day in the nursery full of children, and I didn’t do nearly as much work as the two women that run the place all day, every day. Bath time and meal time were the most impressive aspects of life at the orphanage. Each child is bathed twice a day and rubbed down from head to toe with Vaseline to keep their skin soft, and baby powder to prevent rashes. The children are bathed in order from youngest to oldest, and the two minutes that each of them spend in the bucket being scrubbed are filled with howls of resistance. At first I observed, thinking that if I learned their bathing method I might be able to step in and take over to give the women a few minutes to relax. Casually dipping my fingers in the bucket, I was amazed to discover that the water was almost scalding hot!
I couldn’t hide my surprise and the matron laughed and laughed when I suggested that maybe the babies were crying because the water was too hot. Swinging Moses around by his wrist to scrub his backside she said that this was the tribal way; that the hot water would make the babies grow strong. I couldn’t argue with a woman who was twice my size with the traditional tribal designs etched deep into her cheeks. Undoubtedly she had had been bathed in scalding water herself, and she was clearly strong, but I couldn’t quite let go of my opinion that the babies may have preferred to acquire their strength in lukewarm water.
As soon as I had gotten the hang of the system, I jumped in to help dry the babies and apply the Vaseline. Being the one to offer a mostly-dry towel and refuge from the scrub brush and bucket, I was awarded with contented gurgles and finger sucking. I tucked each child in a cloth diaper, dressed them, and placed them in their respective cribs. All except for Simon. Once I had taken care of the rest of the children, I couldn’t resist letting him fall asleep in my arms.
In addition to the bathing, all of the clothing for the ten children has to be hand washed everyday. The single rope that serves as a clothesline is a testament to the insufficient resources provided by the government to care for these children. Only a small portion of the clothes fit on the line; the rest are strewn on the dirt and gravel in the middle of the orphanage compound to dry.
When they are not hand washing clothes, the women can be found crouched on the cement area outside the nursery, crushing peanuts and dry corn with a single glass bottle or with their hands. Three separate piles are made, one of crushed peanuts, one of corn, and one of rice. Once the ingredients are prepared, they are cooked in a large pot and dished into a communal bowl that is placed on the floor of the nursery. All of the babies except for Simon and Precious have learned to sit up by themselves, and they all scoot or crawl over to the bowl and happily dip their fingers in the mash. Although I was admittedly curious about the taste of this painstakingly prepared concoction, I resisted sampling the generous handful that Peter offered me. Instead I fake-gulped it down, and returned the sticky mess back into the bowl when Peter wasn’t looking. Peter was delighted by the game and by the time the bowl was empty I almost believed I had contributed to finishing the mash.
I left that day amazed at the strength and compassion of the Nigerian women who work for next to nothing, with almost no electricity and no resources, and yet they care for these children as if they were their own. Given the limited resources they have to work with, the children are in very good condition. The only child that was not healthy was John, who was abandoned in front of the orphanage last month. Although he is three years old, he is comparable in size to the other babies. With listless eyes, he would watch as the other children played and his painfully fragile limbs expressed his suffering and depression. Hopefully, his withdrawn demeanor and refusal to speak result from neglect and malnutrition rather than HIV. Although he has been tested, his status is not yet known.
The women at the orphanage care so much for these babies, but given that there are ten children with new children always arriving, they cannot give each child the attention and stimulation he or she needs to grow to full potential. While I am here, I will do what I can to help these babies, even if it is just offering my arms to hold them.
And if I am lucky I will find a way to sneak out of the country with Simon!