|
My first few hours at a shelter for street children in Tbilisi were spent trying to figure out a means of communicating with the children. I administered manicures. I sang of “Miss Mary Mack”. I engaged in several thumb wars. And, eventually hit paydirt with that trusted standby—UNO cards, which through gesticulation, grunting, and mews I was able to teach and learn the vocabulary of a seasoned player, including colors, numbers and something that I believe roughly translates as “booya!”
My limited language skills kept me from the evening studies. Instead, I helped with art classes and led a slap-dash decoupage project. I noticed that a lot of activities seemed geared toward developing gross and fine motor skills: writing, drawing, ping pong (table tennis), dodge ball, sewing, piano…even making the bed and the use of eating utensils at meals. Imagine. When the children first arrive, they generally don’t know how to hold a pencil or pen and have never used a spoon, knife, or fork. Over time the children adjust to these things. More importantly, they learn that it’s safe to just be a child here--that street law doesn’t apply inside the Sparrow’s Shelter. Remember: Trust is an acquired skill.
The staff has managed to re-create a semblance of home life while instructing the children in some pretty basic life skills. The care is broader and deeper than I’ve seen in other institutions, where effort is typically concentrated on feeding, clothing, and controlling the child’s habits and routine. We’ve all heard stories of the orphanage system throughout the former-Soviet Union. The suicide rate is astronomical for just this reason—Russian kids bereft of social ties and basic conditioning kill themselves within months of their release from orphanages. Sparrows caregivers have succeeded in knitting together a sense of camaraderie among the children and integrating them into the larger community.
The staff work on and care for the whole child, gently breaking harsh habits the children have picked up. They were reminded that there were additional clothes available to them, because they were probably not used to having more than one outfit. The staff helped soothe the children’s anxiety by offering extra bread at meals. New arrivals tend to hide bread “for later”—a habit that fades over time. They paid attention to the mood of the children, not just their outward appearance or behavior. Their inner lives mattered.
They were not treated as “street children”. They were kids, simply. They were individuals, and the caregivers sought to explore the potential in each of them.
The staff recognized that each child has within them a universe of knowledge, skills and experiences that are unique to their circumstance. These children are resourceful. They are survivors. After all, these children often had already raised themselves without any proper parental authority or supervision. Sometimes their histories seemed longer than their years.
As we prepared for a camping trip, I watched as a mountain of donated food goods were piled up in the front hall. The children commented that it seemed as though we had enough to survive on for ages,…that we had enough to survive a war. This was particularly heart-wrenching coming from children who were in fact survivors of the civil war that had taken place in Georgia just a few years ago.
So, it was with much fanfare, no sleeping bags, bug spray or sunblock that we made our way to the campsite, where, in the open space under the shadow of mountains, it was beautiful to watch as the children came into their own. Relieved of the necessity of fighting against the hardships of the street, or the complications of a broken family, the children were allowed to heal and grow. The children demonstrated initiative in constructing and outlining a football (soccer) field using the ash from the campfire. They also took it upon themselves and worked together to construct a swimming pool of sorts, using large rocks in the river to divert water. Every couple of days the girls and I would find a spot along the shallow river and take turns washing each other’s hair. We played a lot of UNO.
It was a real treat. It was therapeutic. It was fun. And when it was scary, the children worried about bears, not the violence of men. We made bracelets and found strange bugs. No one had to look for food or beg for money.
|
|
