A Kaleidoscope of Kids

A Kaleidoscope of Kids

Joel always looks scared.  He thinks he looks tough but to me he looks scared.  He flinches whenever anyone comes near.  He is the first child in the group to strike out with a punch or a kick to the others.  I’ve caught him off guard a few times, surprised him with kindness.  His face is long and hollow.  His arms and legs are bony.  His clothes are tattered and dirty. I’ve only seen him wearing cut-off sweat pants that are ripped down the right side of his right leg.  There is a big hole in the crotch.  When the kids laugh at this, he sheepishly closes his legs, unaware that he had been exposing himself to the group.  Embarrassment shows on his face, soon turned into anger that will fuel his fights with the others.  Initially I pegged this kid as a trouble- maker but quickly saw through his thin veneer.  Everyone else blames Joel for everything.  Unfortunately, labels come easily here and they stick. 

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Amalee is a bundle of energy.  Five or six years old, no one seems to know, he is a mighty might.  He starts his day as early as 4:30 AM, on high speed, and deems the day over only when he stumbles, literally falling asleep while moving.  He plays throughout the day with one hand only, using the other to hold up his trousers that are without an elastic band.  I thought myself ingenious by fashioning a belt made of garbage bags but I soon noticed the bags hanging on fence posts, now serving as flags for his warring army in his on-going game with his small friends.  No doubt his mother purposely dresses him in breeches that fall down.  There is no telling what this little guy could do if he had use of his two hands all day!   Missing his two front teeth, Amalee is all smiles, all day long and I can’t resist smiling back.

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Mia is a beautiful girl with a wide smile, probably around six years old. Her small and perfect white teeth are accented by the many colorful beads that hang from her head.  Her mother and older sister go off to the market each day to sell vegetables from their garden.  Mia is solo for at least eight hours most days.  I have no idea who serves her lunch or what the arrangement is should she need help.  She simply wanders around the compound and is my biggest tormenter, staring into my windows, climbing on my metal screen door and endlessly calling out my name, or what she thinks is my name, Mama Hobin.

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There are three brothers that live directly behind me, the first kids who welcomed me upon arrival.  They are Nicque, Inoque, and Betuel.  Polite and mild mannered, they always offer to help me at the well.   I explain that I enjoy this bit of physical activity and as I live alone, my chores are simple.  They apologize each time.  I think they are apologizing that I live alone as this concept is strange to people here.  Their bible is on them at all times and after dinner, I hear them singing around the fire, bible verses in Portuguese and  bits of English.  We started meeting at my house every Saturday morning to practice English and for them to assist me with Portuguese.  They are eager and well mannered.  After about an hour of practicing simple sentences, I brought out a picture book of holiday food.  In hindsight, poor form on my part to show photos of food to hungry kids.  While they have a solid family, like most of the people here, they are normally hungry and the images of Christmas turkey, pies and cookies literally had them drooling.  I told them we wouldn’t use the book next time.  Honestly, the book made me hungry and homesick too!

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Natalia, like many other fifteen-year old girls, is difficult to reach.  Her moods are hot and cold and I imagine she thinks the same of me.  The eldest girl in her family, she is in charge of all of the meals, caring for her five younger brothers and sisters and the laundry.  Her beautiful face is worn beyond her years.  She tells me she did not learn to read in school and hasn’t gone in years.  I imagine she was always tired and hungry in class, not a condition conducive to learning.  We are practicing our alphabet together and learning to read in Portuguese.   I emphasize over and over the importance of learning to read and the opportunity she has to become more independent.  Most times Natalia doesn’t want to practice her alphabet or reading at all.  She likes to look at all of my things and paints her fingernails and toes with my magic markers.  But as she does, I repeat the alphabet and simple pairings of rhyming consonant and vowels, hoping she is listening.  Now that we have started to sit together and read, it has become apparent that most of the kids, even the ones in school, do not know how to read.

Meli is my very favorite.  She is a sturdily built girl with orange tinted hair.  This is a sign of malnutrition.  She has large brown eyes and a face that expresses so much. She is energetic and happy though her life isn’t easy.  Her mother left the family for another man.  In Mozambican culture, the children stay with the father should the mother decide to leave.   I am told her father drinks and beats the children.  The eldest and only girl, ten-year old Meli is always in the front yard washing dishes and starting the fire to cook the meals.  She tells me she sees her mom a few times a year.  She is inquisitive and the fastest learner of the group and has stolen my heart.  She is kind and thoughtful and respectful.  She talks about her dreams, the only one in the group has done so.  I hope to do what I can to encourage her to continue to dream – and to work towards making some of those dreams come true.

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These kids, and about fifteen others, run around the compound night and day.  They laugh and squeal and fight and yell.  They seem more violent than kids back home, biting and hitting and kicking.  Even the very little ones, mimicking the older ones, take part.  It seems every other word or phrase contains the word batar – “to hit” and threats continually spewed from the older to the younger ones.  And, very unlike the USA, these kids all play together, ages ranging from 18 months to 16 years.  The older ones look after the younger ones and wouldn’t think to exclude them from activities.

Most of them are dressed in rags, wearing the same one or two outfits.  Yesterday one of the girls, ten- year old Tina, who is wise beyond her years, appeared in a brand new pink t-shirt and skirt.  She was unusually quiet and with a haircut as well.  I haven’t been able to ask about her new look.  I have a hunch that it is symbolic of her becoming a woman, as her mom is about to deliver the fifth child of the family.  When this happens, Tina will take on even more work than she already does now. They live in a house without a roof and often go without food.

As is true with most all families here, having more children is a matter of economics.  Mothers depend on their children to care for them in their aged years as there is no social security system of any kind.  The more children one has, the higher the odds that a higher percentage of them will grow to be productive adults and thus aid their parents.  While we would focus on having fewer children to provide them with more focus and options, that isn’t the way here.  Even if a woman had fewer children, there are no promises that there will be opportunities for these kids.  So, the more children one has, the more likely it is, by simple mathematics, that parents will have someone to aid them in their later years.

I’ve been overwhelmed by these kids with their loud play, their relentless calling at my door and window at all hours, their curiosity to go through even my bathroom trash and litter the yard with the unhygienic contents.   Mostly I am overwhelmed with their lack of respect for any privacy.  But, I think too, I am overwhelmed knowing what I can’t do for them, how I might impact their life in some small way but that each night they will still go to bed hungry and dirty.  And, now, I am getting to know them.  They are no different really then any other kids except for the sad, sad fate of being born here in Mozambique, Africa.