El Orfanato

It started raining. We were heading out toward the orphanage and hailed a taxi. There were only the four of us girls, two from Texas, Kendra and I. The taxi sped around the narrow streets of Cuernavaca and I stared out the window. The buildings from the school progressively became less attractive, and the streets less taken care of. The rain became heavy. On the way I noticed the amount of homeless dogs digging for garbage in the alleys. The buildings were covered with graffiti, and the ride was silent. 

The taxi parked in front of a large brick wall with two grey heavy metal doors and the rain stopped.  We jumped out of the car. My heart was pounding because I wasn’t sure what to expect. We pushed the call button and a small peep-hole opened up in the metal door. Una mujer said in Spanish “Who is it?” We replied that we were students from the Institute of Kukulcan and we had our credentials with us to come and teach for the day. She told us to meet here at the other large metal entrance. I heard the unlocking of several bolts behind the door and she slid it open. “Welcome!” she said, and she greeted us all with the typical Mexican hand shake and kisses.

The moment we entered we saw two plates of food and some girls about the age of 10 coming and going from the food to the playground. The walls were lined with donation baskets of clothing and games for the children. The grounds were not huge but decent size with three connected houses. Children were playing everywhere and they had an old golden retriever as a pet. I couldn’t help but think of the movie “Annie.”  

The four of us were much more bashful than any of the children, and I think that helped me feel less like an outsider. Inside was a classroom, with long cafeteria style wooden tables and benches. I heard the rumble of about 15 young girls running down the stairs to greet us for their English lesson. They filed in and sat at the tables and whispered amongst themselves about the strangers standing in front of them.

I looked at each of them. I looked in their eyes. I smiled, they smiled, and then I knew we were going to be friends. 

I decided to sit at the table with the girls and talk with them. Our conversation quickly turned from learning English to discussing life.. they wanted to know where I was from, what I was going to be when I grow up, what high school I go to (haha), and then they wanted me to draw. Draw tinker bell, draw mini mouse, draw birds, dogs, cats. They all were so happy that I was there. They were playing with my hair and talking about life. 

I looked around at all the black haired, brown-eyed girls, I couldn’t help but imagine myself being born in that situation. I thought about my own life and where I’ve been, where I’m headed.  I thought about these poor girls and how at times I’m not much different than them. My parents have passed, and maybe theirs have to, or maybe their parents just didn’t want them. Either way, I saw the long road ahead of them. I thought about my struggles as a single mom, as a friend, as a worker, as a member of society. I thought about how much it has changed me, and made me weary of letting people in. 

Also, I thought about how great achievements come out of great struggles. I mean, look at where I am, in an orphanage, thousands of miles from my home, sharing my day with children that have no parents, and laughing with them, playing with them.

One of the girls said “Que quiere ser?” What do I want to be, what do I want to be. It just went over and over in my head.  I wanted to ask her the same question, but by the time I could, we were on a different topic. 

One girl slowly made her way over to me. She had smiling eyes, nice skin, and a round face. She looked wise, like the kind of person who watches and listens, and has been through too much already. Her name was Blanco, like the color, and she was about 14. She had a shy smile on her face. “Te gusta dibujar?” she said. “Yeah I love to draw,” I said. She said she loved to draw too and the remainder of our time there she sat close to me watching every move of my pencil.

Melonie, one of the other students I was with tapped my shoulder and said it was time to leave. Just like that our hour was up.  Every girl in the classroom ran over to hug us before we left. Blanco stood and just looked at me smiling. My eyes watered for her. I was ushered out, but turned to her and said, “keep drawing, just keep drawing.” She nodded. 

Driving up that small street I didn’t know how I would feel when I left. I am grateful everyday. I am grateful for small things and for big things, I am grateful for my children, and for my health. This day however, I am grateful for those little girls in that orfanato who smiled, and laughed, and cared for me.