The Roller Coaster Metaphor Just Doesn't Cut It

First, I apologize for not posting in a while. I had a few days where I saw a lot of sad things and I just didn’t feel like posting. I like posting the happy, frustrating, and funny, not the sad. And lately, I’ve been encountering a lot of sad.

There is a little boy at the orphanage. I’ll call him V. He’s amazing. He smiles constantly. Without fail, he greets the cars, opening the doors before the car hasn’t even come to a complete stop. He’ll take whatever you’ve brought and run it into the house. If you’ve come empty handed (shame on you), he’ll take your hand and take you into the house instead. He’s awesome, a breath of fresh air.

He’s mute.

And that makes me so mad!

Besides being the orphanage’s exceptional doorman, he loves to ride this plastic motorcycle that is too small for him. He rides it around and around and around the concrete and dirt yard. I arrive at the orphanage a different time each day and every single day, at some point during my visit, V will abandon the group of kids doing whatever they’re doing to go ride this plastic toy.

I took me several days to realize that V wasn’t actually “riding” the motorcycle -- he was dragging it. One of the back wheels was mangled and would no longer rotate. I thought about the effort this must have taken. He puts his whole weight on the thing, then uses his legs to push it forward a few inches, repositions, and then starts the whole process all over. All with the same gigantic smile plastered on his face.

On that particular day, I didn’t feel like rushing home to post my observations. And I’ve had a few days just like that, where the joy and sadness intermingle in a way that I don’t feel I can articulate.

So, that’s why I haven’t been writing. And, of course, because I now have a two-year old occupying my time! Yep… she’s with me! She’s with me! I can’t believe it but she’s with me! (And she doesn’t care for it one bit when I’m on the computer.)

I got the surprise news on Wednesday morning that I could bring Luyanda “home” on Wednesday afternoon. Problem was I was also scheduled to move from my suite to the cottage (where I’ll be staying for the duration) and the cottage wasn’t ready. And, there was one particular place I wanted to visit on my own, without Mgazi… the hospital where she was abandoned.

And I went there before I picked her up. And it broke my heart.

But I don’t feel like it would be right to post my visit to the hospital on this blog. Even though it was my morning… meaning, I’m the one who experienced the visit, it still seems like Luyanda’s story. Perhaps she wouldn’t want me to broadcast details of her upbringing that she may someday feel unresolved about. Blogs sometimes feel personal, and they are, to a certain extent. But they are in no way intimate. You are indeed, telling a story to anybody and everybody who happens to wander into the room. This story has elements that in some ways I wish I never knew.

So, let’s move on to the more joyful part of my day! Bringing Mgazi “home!” I keep putting “home” in quotes because until she sets foot in our house in Hawaii, with her sister and her father right there with us, she’s not yet “home” to me.

After the unsettling visit to the hospital, I had a hurried move between the suite and the cottage. Between my mom and I, we had four suitcases when we arrived. Two were filled with personal items for ourselves and Luy. Two were filled with items for the children at the orphanage. Those items were delivered. Mom has already left… so why is it that it took four people and eight trips to the car to move what should have been one suitcase worth of stuff to the cottage? I honestly do not know.

But it was frantic and it was cold and I was anxious and sad and astounded (really, where did I get all of this STUFF?) all at the same time.

An aside: I’ve referred more than once to this trip as a roller coaster ride. I need a new metaphor. First, roller coasters are predictable… even if you’ve never ridden a particular coaster before, you can still get a general feel for the ride while you are waiting in line.  Second, you are only doing one thing at a time when on a roller coaster. You are:

• slogging up the hill, with trepidation or anticipation
  
• teetering on the very peak of a hill, thinking, why did I think this was a good idea? OR, alternatively, Wow this is AWESOME!!
• speeding down the hill,screaming in terror or joyfully throwing your hands in the air
• hitting the bottom dip, trying to catch your breath, having just lost your scream to the wind, only to have to gather your wits, regroup, and do it all over again.

This experience isn’t anything like that. In this experience, you are doing all of those things, feeling all of those things, ALL AT THE SAME TIME. It’s exhausting.

So, here I am, freezing cold, wanting to cry from both sadness and joy, and trying not to jiggle the Pepsi Light as I transfer it to the car… nothing worse than flat pop in a foreign country, this I know.

I want to believe that I’m really going to go get her… bring her home… live happily ever after, but I’m wary. At the same time, I thought it was a good sign that the day was September 9th. Russell will have to verify, but I think we met on September 9^th, also, way back in 1994. (Another aside: Before we married, Russell made quite a big deal about wanting to wait 12 years before having children. We waited 10 before having Zaffron. Now, 14 years have passed to get child number 2! If you average that out… 12 years, on the nose! You’re welcome, Honey.)

When I arrived at the orphanage, everyone was inside. V wasn’t running up to the car ready to escort me in. And he wasn’t in the yard, riding the new motorcylce Pastor and I brought him the day before. It was just too cold! The kids were all in one small bedroom just hanging out. Luyanda greeted me warmly. I tried for the umpteenth time to get her to talk to me. She has never said a word directly to me. I think it has become a game. I’ll tickle her and jiggle her, while asking, “How are you? How are you?” in a silly, sing-song voice. And she’ll just stare back at me, holding back giggles. I’ll keep going, “Say I’m fine! I’m fine!” And at that point, where I’m begging her to tell me she’s fine, she’ll laugh and laugh. Today was no different. She just cackled in response to my cajoling and tickles. I think she thinks my attempts at her language are funny.

She was all smiles and cuddles until I started to change her clothes. She got very quiet and she resembled the Luyanda I met on day one more than the giggly kid I had gotten to know over the last few days. She was nervous. Something was up.

We stayed for about ½ an hour, asking last minute questions, saying goodbye to the kids. Luyanda never smiled. Mgazi wouldn’t even look at the camera during some hastily arranged group shots. 

Finally, after a teary farewell (on Maureen’s and my part) we drove off. Luyanda seemed sad looking out the car window, silently waving her little hand, so I nuzzled her neck and gave her a little jiggle and tried our standard game.

 “How are you? How are you?”

This time, and I’m so thankful for this, she said in a tiny little voice, “I’m fine” BEFORE she broke into a fit of giggles.

And that broke the silence. She’s been talking ever since. Of course,  I can’t understand a word she’s saying.

Every once in a while, I think I recognize something… “something something somethingJESUS! Something something HALLELUJAH! Something something BANANA!”

It’s music to my ears!